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On board my flight to Guadalajara I leaned back in my seat and braced for take-off. I was becoming spoiled in first class with comfortable seating and pampering by the flight crew. I always flew coach on my own dime even when I could afford to fly first class because I couldn’t justify the extra cost in my mind. When we leveled off I took out The Secret Room, one of Jacqueline Summerfield’s books that I had recently purchased on the chance I’d find something in one of them that could lead me to the murderer. Her books were easy reads. I could scan the book during my flight and reasonably obtain a good feel for the contents. The book was boring and absent of any clues thus far.
I couldn’t help but notice the young man sitting directly across from me. He was young, early twenties, and t
