Thanks for your help Nicole!

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Francie's POV

The clock blinks "2:57 AM" unmercifully. It took me long enough to fall asleep, and now I'm lying awake in the middle of the night. Ok, I am not a happy camper. I yank the smooth covers over my head, determined to get some rest, when it hits me.

I remember.

Will told me about Kate Jones. She was supposed to be seated next to Danny on a plane the night he was killed. Will was investigating it.

I sit up in bed, alert. So, Kate Jones is connected to Sydney. The ticket isn't some freak coincidence. But I guess I knew that. I think for a second that the fact that Syd and this random woman are intertwined is actually kind of comforting – now this drama actually has some direction to it. But the cruel reality of how they are connected quickly shakes that train of thought off its tracks.

Danny. Danny…why would these girls be linked only now? Why not half a year earlier? The timing is too random. Unless…Sydney has been hiding this for six months.

Wait a minute! *Will* told me about Kate Jones in the first place! So why hadn't he bothered to refresh my memory yesterday? Maybe he forgot. No, Will's a reporter. His type don't forget. I crack my knuckles – a bad habit that I lapse into when I'm frustrated. Shit. He's got some explaining to do.

The red harshness of my Radio Shack antique proclaims that it's now 3:13 AM.

Screw it. Will is up to something, and I'm calling him.

I climb out of bed, clumsily and hastily searching for my zebra print slippers. Successful, I haphazardly slip them on, my brain more focused on getting to the phone – quickly.

I dial Will's number and the phone rings, once, twice, three times. Ugh, I should have just waited until the morning. Sometimes my impatience gets the better of me. But he finally answers on the fourth ring.

"Will Tippin," he yawns from the other end. My mind is overflowing with things to say, clever comments to ease him into an explanation. Unfortunately, my impatience takes control again.

Almost immediately I blurt out, "Why didn't you remind me!?"

"What? Francie?"

"Will! Wake up! Why didn't you say anything when I didn't remember that you had already told me about Kate Jones?"

"Is that what this is about? Fran, go back to sleep."

"Why not?" I push. "Sydney's my friend too, you know."

There's a pause in the conversation; silence lingering like a black cloud. I don't know how to continue, and Will doesn't know how to respond. I don't believe this. Why would Will lie to me? What is it that's keeping Will, of all people, from telling me the truth? I hold the phone between my face and my shoulder. I feel alone and betrayed, and I wrap my arms around my chest in a feeble attempt to make myself feel loved.

Finally, I ask quietly, "Will, what aren't you telling me?"

He hesitates before answering. "It's a classified investigation."

I think about that response for a minute. I don't know much about reporting. That could be a completely viable excuse. But on the other hand, "classified investigations" might not exist. And why would it have been classified anyway? The investigation hadn't appeared to be that important, that front-page. It was never even published. And if it was classified, why would Will have said anything to me in the first place? I'm not sure if it's the truth or not. So I decide to call his bluff.

"That's crap, Will, and you know it."

"Can I just point out what time it is?" he complains.

"Don't change the subject," I fire back.

"Francie, this is insane. It's just a plane ticket. Be reasonable and call me in the morning."

But it's not just a plane ticket! I crack my knuckles again in frustration. Sydney hid this from us, and now Will is shielding something from me. My alert brain begins to see the big picture: that the ticket is a clue to Danny's murder for God's sake! I feel in it my gut that I am right. Still waters run deep.

"There's something more, or Syd wouldn't have kept this from us," I urge, thinking inside that Will is doing the same thing.

"Look, just wait until Sydney comes home on Tuesday. We can't do anything until she's here to talk to us."

"I'm not so sure Sydney's the only one who knows something here."

There is nothing but silence from the other end of the phone.

"Come over for breakfast tomorrow, Will," I offer. "But only if you're ready to tell me what's going on inside that twisted mind of yours."

I hang up without waiting for a reply, reasonably confident that he will concede in the morning.

I replace the phone and slip back to my warm, comfortable bed, proud of how assertive I just was with Will. A slight smile graces my face as I collapse back into bed. I pull the warm down-filled comforter up around my shoulders and bury my head in the pillow.

My smile soon fades as different Kate Jones-Sydney scenarios torment my brain. I see Sydney and Danny holding hands, with a faceless woman creeping up behind them with a gun. My forehead wrinkles and I squeeze that image away, replacing it with other thoughts of what would hold the key to this ticket stub enigma.

I start to fade into a restless sleep when my ideas are interrupted – what is Will going to say in the morning?

I catch one last glimpse of the clock before sleep captures me.

3:57 AM.

One hour has passed.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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