In-Flight Infiltration (short story)

The following was submitted as my Writing Battle entry for a 500-word story, with the randomly assigned genre of "In Plain Sight" and two additional, randomly selected prompts (I got multiple chances to re-draw, and these are what I ended up with!) for item and character: a lollipop and an assassin.

In Plain Sight: a genre where typically the culprit, the evidence, or the crime itself is completely visible to everyone from the very beginning.

I got some great feedback from the peer judges, and I'm going to expand this into a longer short story. Primarily I got dinged on being far too obvious with my final sentence. I think with more words (and more than 48 hours to write!) I can make this a far more robust read.

Margaret stood beside a woman she had never flown with before and whose many years at Delta were permanently etched into her face in the form of pinched lips and faded eyebrow tattoos marking perfectly matched arches of disapproval. Together they studied 3A — window seat, cowboy hat, sucking vigorously on a lollipop, rolling it with his tongue from cheek to cheek periodically.  

"The mouth noises," the flight leader muttered. "Disgusting. And if he sets that stick down on my tray table without a napkin, I swear I'll flip it like Jesus in the temple."

As if he'd heard her, the man in 3A looked up, caught them staring, and winked; a slow, Brad-Pitt-in-Legends of the Fall grin. Margaret returned his gaze, coolly appraising his square jaw and broad shoulders. He is nice to look at, she acknowledged.

The woman scoffed, then stepped back into the galley, folding her arms across her chest. "The audacity. He thinks we're staring because he's handsome, not because he's ill-mannered and doesn't belong in first class."

"Oh, come on," Margaret said, gently nudging the senior flight attendant with her elbow. "He's kinda cute. I gave him a napkin with his drink. I'm sure he'll do the right thing."

"We'll see." 

–

The man in the cowboy hat didn't stir for landing. Seatbelt fastened, seat upright, chin dropped to his chest, hat pulled low — there was no reason to wake him. Rules were rules, and he'd followed every one of them. 

Only after the cabin emptied did Margaret walk back to check on the last passenger. "Sir, it's time to go. Everyone else is off."

No response. She touched his arm. Shook it gently. His head lolled to the side. Margaret touched the brim of his hat with the tip of one finger to peek underneath at his face. Her eyes widened in alarm to see it slack and dull. 

The lollipop stick was buried in his ear canal, driven in clean, up to the round lump of candy. There was surprisingly little blood. The dead man slumped there, looking like a traveler getting a few minutes of needed sleep on a long flight.

"Well," she called down the aisle, keeping her voice even. "I found the lollipop stick." 

Just then, Margaret's phone rang, the screen displaying her manager's direct number. Strange, she thought, he never calls unless there is a major problem. She answered it on the third ring. "Mr. Dillon? What's wrong?"

"Margaret! How did the plane take off with only three flight attendants?"

"I don't understand. All four of us were on the flight."

"How is that possible when Colette is here in my office?"

The other two flight attendants, who sat at the back of the aircraft, came up the aisle pulling their luggage, asking with curious faces what's going on?  Putting her hand over the mouth piece of the phone Margaret asked them "where is the flight leader?" 

The woman was nowhere to be found, having accomplished the perfect in-flight assassination.