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“Yes, it’s awful,” the woman affirmed, clutching the barf bags as if they were golden tickets. “Trust me, you don’t want to witness it.”
Given the sold-out flight, it wasn’t like we had any other option.
“Well, you’re in for a treat!” he said, his eyes twinkling as he leaned eagerly across my personal space to address her. “I’ve developed a natural remedy for air sickness that will revolutionize travel forever.” He paused for effect, clearly thrilled by our captive audience. “It’s based on an herb they use in the Andes for altitude sickness. Just chew it, and your nausea vanishes—like magic, all natural and scientifically sound!”
The woman perked up and her interest piqued despite herself. “Really? An herb, you say?”
My eyebrow arched involuntarily. My agricultural studies had introduced me to nearly every plant on the planet, and this sounded dubious at best.
“And it really works? Where can I get some?” she inquired.
His smile widened. “It’s still in the prototype phase, but imagine being the first to invest in something that could change flying forever! I’m currently looking for backers. Interested?”
There it was—the sales pitch.
It smelled as fishy as it sounded.
I caught the woman’s eye, who seemed oddly intrigued despite her late husband’s notorious scams. Was she really falling for this?
Feeling a responsibility to intervene, I cut in. “You’re talking about coca leaves?”
“One hundred percent,” he grinned, “in a gummy form.”
I shook my head. “That’s not feasible.”
He bristled. “And you’re suddenly an expert on the subject?”
“Actually, yes,” I replied coolly. “I have a master’s degree in agriculture from the University of Copenhagen. Besides, coca leaves are banned in most countries. How do you plan to navigate that?”
He faltered, then muttered, “Still figuring that out.”
“And they’re addictive,” I added, for good measure.
The woman’s interest deflated. “Why would I want in on that?”
“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance,” he tried again.
“Pass,” she said flatly.
His frustration bubbled to the surface as he glared at me and grumbled, “Looks like I am sitting next to a literal buzzkill.”
“I can help you with your problem,” I said, spotting an escape. “My friend, who is sitting up in the middle of the plane, would love to swap seats with you. Seat twenty C. Tell her Ronnie sent you.”
He picked up his things and stood. “Gladly.”
The woman chuckled as he walked away. “I like your style, Ronnie. By the way, I’m Ann. Thanks for getting rid of him.”
“Anytime, Ann.” I smiled, then watched as Daphne made her way back to us, relief etched on her face. “Welcome to the VIP section.”
“You are a lifesaver!” she said. “Do you mind if I have the middle seat?”
“Not at all.” I stood and let Daphne slide into her seat, then I took the one on the aisle.
She beamed, settling in, then fastening her seatbelt. “My seat mate wouldn’t stop bragging about his arm-wrestling days at the local pub. He kept showing his ‘victory grip’ on the armrest!” We both burst into laughter as she mimicked the action. “It’s all in the wrist!”
“Men!” Ann said, shaking her head with a laugh.
Daphne glanced up at my head. “Hey, what happened to your sunflower hat?”
