Angie wasn’t at the automat.
Sitting for a quick cup of coffee to keep up appearances, Peggy barely drank half of it before she left lipstick on the mug and a five cent tip, opening her umbrella for the dusk rain.
Angie didn’t show up for dinner.
Having arrived at the Griffith just in time for Mrs. Fry to hustle her off to her room to drop off her trappings before joining an overdue mandatory supper, Peggy decided, concern mounting, that she’d try the other woman’s room next.
Angie wasn’t in her room.
Knocking, and knocking again, raising her voice as what almost felt like fear settled heavily in her stomach, Peggy frowned, lightly tried the woman’s door, and barely convinced herself she didn’t need to pick the lock.
Angie didn’t come back all evening.
Staying up, unable to get the dread thick in her throat to ease away, Peggy laid back on her bed with her hand clenched around her gun, ears pricked to down the hall and manging only a couple snatches of sleep.
Angie wasn’t at breakfast.
Casually asking a couple of the other women, sliding on a tight, easy smile, if they knew where Angie was, all Peggy got before excusing herself to the powder room to touch up the foundation over the bags under her eyes were innocent shrugs and reassuring platitudes, barely mollifying her enough to make it into work.
Then, Angie wasn’t at the automat during Peggy’s lunch run.
Knowing it was a day Angie was scheduled to work, Peggy called the other waitress she knew over. “Have you seen Angie today?” she clipped politely, arms crossed, hands clenching, head tilting and barely covering the agitation in her body.
“Angie?” Darlene tilted her head, frowning. “Sure. She was in earlier. Begged the rest of the week off.”
Equal parts alarm and relief and hurt shot through Peggy, stinging. “Did she say what she was doing?” When Darlene gave her curious look, she forced a smaller, more real smile than before. “We had plans for tomorrow, you see, so I’m only trying to figure out if they’re still viable or if I’ll have to find someone else to accompany me.” It was a lie, but Darlene didn’t need to know that.
“Oh, of course. Wasn’t very nice of Angie if she just left like that, but I’m actually not surprised. She’s impulsive, that one. Mmm…” Darlene thought for a second, “I think I overheard something about her family? Oh, and she left in the nicest car you’d have ever seen.” She laughed nonjudgementally, “Gee, if that’s what her family can afford, why’s she working here?”
Mumbling something that was agreement and good cheer and innocent interest, Peggy was just about to thank the waitress and let her go back to her job when a thought hit her. “Did you see who was driving the car?”
Darlene nodded. “Yeah, some handsome man? Clean cut, with a mustache though - and looking somewhat like that Howard Stark?. All I could really see. Hope that helps!”
“Oh it does, thank you,” Peggy responded, distracted, rage starting to boil in her chest. Quickly throwing back the rest of her coffee and sweeping her hat onto her head, she stalked out of the automat, flagged down a taxi, and directed him to Jarvis’ residence.