Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
returned my attention to the inside of the plane, to the overstuffed gray-haired woman asleep beside me, to the backs of heads in seats for, and not wanting to. So I started going through the purse of the woman next to me. Perhaps that sounds bad. It wasn't. I'd been doing it for years and nobody ever complained. looking straight at me. I didn't want her to think I had taken it while she was out of the room, so I probed the contents of her purse, which she always kept in the upper right drawer of her desk. "It's in your purse," I blurted out. I was sent home with a stinging note. Since then I've kept quiet. At one time I assumed everybody was able because I had to catch the seven o'clock plane at San Francisco luggage to another, looking for my beat-up suitcase. I went through slips and slippers, lingerie and laundry, a jig saw puzzle and a ukulele. I never did find my suitcase because I found the bomb first. The bomb was in a small bag—a woman's bag judging by the soft, flimsy things you'd never find in a man's—and I didn't know it was a bomb right away. I thought it was just a clock, one of those small, quiet alarms. I was going to pass it by and go on, but what held me My mind was churning when I turned from the window to look around at the unconcerned passengers, the woman at my side asleep again. I thought: Which one of these.... No, none of them would know it was My heart was beating in jackhammer rhythm my mouth was dry and my mind was numb. Tell somebody about the bomb before it's too late! No, they'd think I put it there. Besides, what good would it do? There would be panic and they'd never get the plane down in time—if they believed me. I goggled at her, managed to croak, "No, thanks." She gave me an odd look and moved along. My seatmate had accepted hers and was tearing at the cellophane. I couldn't bear to watch her. I closed my eyes, forced my mind back to the luggage compartment, spent a frantic moment before I found the bag again. I had to stop that calling in ahead, but wouldn't that just bring suspicion, questions. Maybe I could convince them I could stop a clock—but not before the bomb exploded. And then what? My secret would be out and my life would be changed. I'd be a man not to be trusted, a prying man, a man literally with gimlet eyes. Leaving the apron with the other passengers, I tried to walk as unconcernedly as they through the exit gate. I would have liked walking through the terminal and out the entrance and away, but I could not. I had my suitcase to get, for one thing. The damned bomb was the other. So I strolled out into the concourse again to look at the plane and watch the baggagemen at work, transferring the luggage to two airfield carts. They weren't as careful as I would have been. It was impossible to tell from this distance just which bag contained the bomb I could hardly identify my own scarred suitcase. The There was a flurry of ticket matching, hands grabbing for suitcases, and a general exodus on the part of my fellow passengers, too fast to determine who had got the one with the bomb. Now all that was left was the attendant and I had two bags—my own battered veteran of years, and I shook my head. "Just waiting." Just waiting for somebody to pick up a bomb. I lit another cigarette and glanced now and then toward the baggage claim area. The red bag was still there. All sorts of theories ran something very mundane, the matter of a printing order. But what could I do? If I left the airport, the attendant would eventually take the bag inside and there would be an explosion, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself. But he moved on down the steps, nodded at the redcap, and started across the street to the parking area. I could have called to him, "Hey, officer, let me tell you about a bomb in a little red bag." But I didn't. I didn't because I caught a movement at the baggage claim counter out of the side of my eye. The attendant had picked up the bag and was walking with it up the ramp to the rear of the air terminal. Picking up my own suitcase, I went "No. I'm waiting for someone." I turned my back to him, put down my suitcase, leaned against the device, but it was far away. When I tried to dampen it, the wheel escaped my grasp. "Do you have my suitcase?" I blinked my eyes open and looked around. The blonde in the plane stood there looking very fresh and bright and unconcerned. In her right hand glanced at me indifferently, and then started for the entrance with it. "Just a moment," I found myself saying, grabbing my bag and hurrying after her. At her side and a little ahead of her, I said, "Listen to me." She looked annoyed and increased her stride toward the door. "It's a matter of life or death," I said. I wanted to wrest the bag from her and hurl it out through the doorway into the street, but I "Please put the bag down. Over there." I indicated a spot beside a telephone booth where it would be out of the way. She didn't move. She just said, "Why?" I must not have seemed a complete idiot because she said, "All right, but—" I didn't listen for the rest. I went into the booth, closed the door, She glanced at the bags. I told her they'd be all right. We followed Over coffee I explained it all to her, how I had this extrasensory ability, how she was the first person I had ever revealed it to, and how I had discovered what was in her overnight bag. During the telling, her untouched coffee grew a skin, her face grew pale, her eyes grew less curious and more troubled. There were tears there when I finished. I asked her who put the bomb in her bag. "Joe did," she said in a toneless voice, not looking at me any more but staring vacantly across the room. "Joe put it there." Behind her eyes airport policeman. After I explained it to her, the girl—she said her name was Julia Claremont—agreed to tell him she thought there was a bomb in her bag, that she had noticed a ticking and had become worried because she knew she hadn't packed a clock. It wasn't good, but it would have to do. for a long while. "She was supposed to meet me, and when she wasn't here, I got worried. The two bags weren't there. I ran to the entrance and nearly collided with the redcap. "See anybody go out of here with a little red bag and an old battered suitcase?" Julia's bag in his right hand, mine in his left. He seemed in no hurry. "Hey!" I shouted, starting toward him. and threw both bags into the rear seat as he got in. The car was a hundred feet away and gathering speed by the time I reached where it had been parked. I watched it for a moment, then walked back to the entranceway where Julia was standing with the redcap, who said, "That man steal them suitcases?" "That he did," I said. over to the office." But we never left the spot because an explosion some blocks distant shattered the air. Julia's hand grasped my arm. Hard. We stood there. I could visualize the wreckage of an old gray coupe in the middle of a street, but I couldn't visualize the driver. That was all right. I didn't want to see him. I didn't know what Julia was thinking. She said, "About those bags," and looked at me.

<question>:
Why didn't Julia pick up her suitcase with the other passengers?

<options>:
A Julia was detained by customs before she could get to the baggage claim.
B Julia went to call her sister before collecting her suitcase.
C Julia was told that her suitcase didn't make the flight when they were mid-air.
D Julia didn't want to be near the suitcase when the bomb went off.

<answer>:

B