by Molly Fitz
“I’m Angie,” I explained. “The conductor asked me to keep an eye on Grizabella since I have a cat of my own with me on the train,” I yammered on. I needed to stop going on about the conductor every few minutes, but I didn’t know what the other train people were called and I wanted to sound official.
“Is Rhonda okay?” the woman asked, trying to look back at me over her shoulder as we continued to stumble forward.
“Oh, yes,” I lied, needing to get her somewhere private—and with backup—before sharing the truth. “Thank goodness we found you just in time. Say, how do you know her?”
“Oh, um, well, she’s my sister. Half-sister, actually,” she corrected herself immediately, then added, “We weren’t close.”
“I know how that goes,” I said with a smile in case she looked back again. I was an only child, but I would do anything I could to keep her talking and moving, anything to build up some kind of rapport, seeing as it could just save my life. “What’s your name?”
“Sariah Smith,” she mumbled. “Will this take long?”
“Almost there,” I promised as we finally headed into the viewing car. My mom was already there waiting.
“I know you,” Sariah said, stopping in her tracks and raising a hand to point at my mother. “You’re—”
Mom’s hand shot out in greeting. “Laura Lee, Channel Seven News, serving Blueberry Bay, the great state of Maine, and now the full Northeastern Seaboard.”
“I watch you on the news,” Sariah stuttered. “What are you doing here? Investigating a story?” She glanced back toward the rear exit, but Mom placed a firm hand on her shoulder.
I moved toward the other end of the car, but Sariah didn’t follow.
Mom jumped in to help out. “Yes, I’m investigating a story. And I need to speak with you, if you’ll just come with me.”
“Um, don’t I need to sign a waiver or something?”
“Nope. This one’s off the record. C’mon.” Mom shoved her perhaps a bit too forcibly into the next car.
“Almost there,” I assured her again, practically pulling her as Mom pushed from behind now.
“I don’t think I can—” Sariah grunted. I’d have felt bad had I suspected she was innocent in all of this, but as the cats had said, she reeked of guilt. Even I could practically smell it with my weak human olfactory sense.
“And we’re here,” Mom announced before Dad swung open the door to Rhonda’s room.
Sariah screamed the moment her eyes fell on Rhonda’s dead body. She tried to run, but Mom and I formed a barrier in the doorway, blocking her misguided attempt at escape.
Sariah sobbed, choked, and screamed again. “Oh my gosh, what happened to Rhonda? Help, help, help! Somebody get me out of here!”
“We need to shut her up,” Dad cried as Sariah continued to shout and shove at me and Mom. “What should we do?”
Melvin darted forward, a weapon held at waist height but disguised by his jacket. All I could see was an ominous bulge along with the manic rage splashed across his face, but from the way he postured, I was sure it had to be a gun under there. “Quiet, or I’ll give you a reason to be quiet.”
Oh my gosh, this was wrong on so many levels. A very big part of me wanted to tie Melvin up and stash him somewhere so he couldn’t cause any more problems.
But then Sariah stopped crying and started confessing everything.
Chapter Fifteen
“Everyone calm down,” Dad said in a patient, measured voice that must have been so hard to keep, given the current circumstances. He bravely stepped forward and inserted himself between Melvin and Sariah, daring either of them to continue acting out. “There’s no need for things to turn violent.”
Melvin stepped around dad and narrowed his gaze on Sariah. “There is, if she doesn’t start talking and fast.”
“That’s not ne—”
“He wasn’t supposed to hurt her!” Fat tears rolled down Sariah’s cheeks and onto her sweatshirt. “You have to believe me. I didn’t know he was going to hurt her.”
“Who?” I asked from the doorway, anxiety ripping the words from my throat. If Melvin shot at Sariah, the bullet would likely tear into me, too. I so did not feel like dying today.
“Who wasn’t supposed to hurt her?” I asked again when she failed to answer.
Our witness cried so hard she staggered forward, barely able to keep herself on her feet.
Mom draped Sariah’s arm over her shoulder and guided her over to the bed. “C’mon, sweetie. It’s okay. You’re safe with us.”
Melvin followed, his weapon still threatening from beneath his jacket. “That’s right. As long as you keep talking, then you have nothing to worry about.” I wanted to bonk him on the head. Couldn’t he see that he was terrifying everyone around him?
Dan twisted the lock on the door, then looked to my father for guidance, who crossed his arms over his chest and took up sentinel at the room’s one exit point.
It was like we were billiard balls. All of us suddenly rearranging, bouncing into new positions, staying near the edges of the room. I moved close to where Rhonda still lay splayed across the floor. That way, every time Sariah spoke to me, she’d be forced to glance upon her dead half-sister. It wasn’t to be cruel, but rather to keep her honest and remind her how much was at stake here.
Not just for her, either. For all of us.
“Who wasn’t supposed to hurt her?” I pressed again, keeping my voice kind and hopefully free of judgment.
Sariah sniffled and shook her head. Perhaps we needed a more indirect approach to ease her into talking.
“You know, I met her,” I said with a far-off smile, even though the past I was remembering had only happened several hours prior. “We sat together for a while in the dining car and talked cats.”
Mom handed Sariah a tissue from her purse, and she blew her nose into it. “That sounds like Rhonda all right.”
“I thought you weren’t close,” I pointed out, again trying my best not to sound accusing even though Sariah had for sure played some part in the crimes that had happened aboard this train tonight.
She shook her head and balled the tissue in her first. “We weren’t, but I follow her online. That’s how I recognized Grizabella.”
The cats. I hadn’t noticed where they’d gone.
“Over here,” my tabby called from near the bathroom, either reading my mind or sensing the worry that crept up on me when I realized I’d lost sight of him.
I turned toward him and smiled upon spotting him unharmed and unafraid.
Grizabella, however, stared at Sariah with fierce, unblinking eyes. She needed the answers, needed to know why this horrible thing had happened to her mistress.
“You said he wasn’t supposed to hurt her,” I reminded Sariah again, approaching my follow-up differently this time. “What was he supposed to do instead?”
Sariah shook her head and peered at me through red-rimmed eyes. Apparently, my sudden change in questioning had thrown her. “He was only supposed to take what’s ours. That’s it.”
“And what was that?”
“The necklace.”
The image of that beautiful piece of jewelry flashed in my mind’s eye. Pearls, gold, amazing craftsmanship, but worth killing for? Not to me.
“The family heirloom?” I asked.
“Yes, she was wearing it tonight. I saw her when she came off the train to speak with us at the Bangor station.”
That’s right. I knew I’d seen her on the platform. With Sariah here, all the pieces were finally starting to feel like they belonged to the same puzzle. Soon we may even be able to discern the picture. I suspected I knew what happened next but asked anyway. “What did you talk about?”
“We asked for the necklace back. She never should have gotten it.” Sariah balled both of her hands into fists, then let them go, looking at me with equal parts anger and sorrow.
“I’m guessing she said no.”
“He barely even got two words
out before she turned away and ran back for the train.”
“Then what happened?” I asked.
All the others in the room remained quiet as Sariah and I continued our conversation. They all needed to hear this, too.
She turned to Mom and addressed her answer there. “He said that one way or another the necklace would be ours, and then we followed her onto the train. He knew she would say no, so we were already ready with the tickets.”
“And what was the next part of your plan? What were you supposed to do after she said no?”
“Not my plan. His. I was supposed to find a way to stop the train in the middle of the night so that he could pay her a visit and take the necklace back. Then we were going to meet in the viewing car and exit together from there.”
“But you’re still here,” I pointed out with raised eyebrows.
Sariah faced me once more. “Yes. He never showed up.”
Desperation clawed at the edges of my brain. I so badly wanted to know who the he in Sariah’s story was, but there were other details I needed to find out first—rather than risk her breaking down again.
“Why did you both want the necklace so badly?”
“It rightfully belonged to us. It had been passed down for generations, long before our ancestors ever settled in America. Not only is it worth a fortune, it has sentimental value, too.”
“So it’s a family thing, but you said yourself that Rhonda was family.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited, hoping my words had the incendiary effect I wanted. If so, they could blow this whole thing open and finally get Sariah to reveal the identity of her mysterious partner, the he.
“No.” She closed her eyes and her cheeks turned red, but still she spoke. “Her family took everything from us. And it was a cold, hard slap to the face when Father gave the necklace to her instead of one of us.”
I didn’t say anything, hoping Sariah would volunteer more on her own. When she didn’t, someone else stepped in.
“How did her family hurt yours, sweetie?” Mom asked from her spot beside the sobbing witness. Most of her tears had dried up now, however, anger taking their place.
“When I was five, my father left to start a new family. He said he had fallen in love and the lady was pregnant, so he had no choice. But he did have a choice! He just didn’t choose us. He left and he took everything from us. All of the money and privilege that should have been our birthright went to the new family, went to Rhonda. So, when he told me his plan to get our necklace back, of course, I wanted to help. Wouldn’t you?”
“I understand where you’re coming from,” I said, nodding along. “I also believe that even though you hated Rhonda, you hadn’t planned for her to die.”
She straightened and sat taller on the bed. Some of the tension drained from her fists and tightly set jaw.
There, I’d given her something important. Now she had to help by providing that final piece we so desperately needed. “Can you do me one last favor and tell me whose plan it was? We need to know who hurt Rhonda so that we can make sure you and everyone else on this train stays safe.”
“He’s not going to lay a finger on me. I’ll kill him first,” Sariah said between clenched teeth, and I believed her.
“But who is he? Who’s he, Sariah?” I practically begged now.
“He is our brother. Jamison.”
Chapter Sixteen
All eyes were on Sariah, including mine.
“There,” she growled at Melvin, who still held his weapon at the ready. “I’ve told you everything I know, so how about you stop threatening me with that gun or knife or whatever you have in there?”
Melvin snickered and pulled the weapon from his jacket, causing us all to flinch as he tossed it onto the bed beside Sariah. “As they say, the pen is mightier than the sword.” The smug grin on his face showed just how clever he felt he’d been.
Sure enough, a gold-tipped fountain pen lay on the comforter, shining in the light cast down from overhead. A pen!
Crazy Melvin had proven useful, after all.
“Gotcha!” he cried, and I half-expected him to break out into an endzone-style victory dance.
A collective groan rose throughout the room.
Sariah sneered at the false weapon, then picked it up and threw it back toward Melvin. “Figures.”
“How did you stop the train?” Dad asked, pointedly ignoring Melvin.
The writer withered when he realized we wouldn’t spend the rest of the night applauding his clever ruse. But our investigation was far from over. We still hadn’t caught the killer.
“That’s easy for a mechanical engineer,” Sariah answered with a casual shrug.
“No one has been able to get the engine going again, but they were able to get power back,” Dan added from his place beside Dad.
Our witness chuckled wearily. “Lights, that’s electrical engineering. Not my area.”
Clearly, this woman was very educated. Being abandoned by a parent definitely sucked, but did she really end up having such a bad life? Were things truly bad enough for Jamison to murder Rhonda as a way of paying for their father’s sins? Everything in me screamed no.
My own family had a twisted backstory, one Mom and I had only recently discovered and still didn’t quite understand. But I would never in a million years hurt someone for answers—or for revenge.
I guess that’s why I was the P.I. and not the murderer. And thank goodness for that!
“Have you seen Jamison since the train stopped?” I asked, remembering my role.
“No. Like I said, he never turned up at our meeting spot. The jerk probably made a run for it without me.”
“He was probably trying to frame you for it,” Melvin pointed out. “That’s what I would do if I had to write a character like that. As a novelist, I mean.”
When still no one gave him the attention he craved, Melvin cleared his throat, then quieted again.
“We did find a bit of blood outside the train,” Dad offered, bringing all eyes to him.
Sariah sighed and fell back on the bed, making us all tense. “Well, then, there you go. Betrayed by both my siblings in one night. Yay me.”
“Sariah,” Mom said gently. “I don’t think Rhonda ever meant to hurt you. It’s not her fault, what happened with your family. Things were probably hard for her growing up, too.”
“She was lonely all the time,” Grizabella said softly from her spot by the bathroom. “My poor, poor mistress.”
Since Sariah couldn’t understand Grizabella’s words, she spoke over them. “Well, whatever the case, I’m sure the cops are on their way to arrest me, and meanwhile Jamison gets away with the whole thing.”
“He’s not going to get away with it,” I promised. “We know it was him, and I’m sure the police will agree.” We’d solved the murder. Catching the bad guy should be the easy part, right?
Sariah sat up and shook her head bitterly. “Yeah, but he’s gone. He got away.”
“Not necessarily,” Octo-Cat piped up as he crossed the room to stand at my side. “Remember how cats are superior to humans in pretty much every way?”
I wanted to respond to that—if only to set the record straight, lest he later claim I had agreed with him—but we had a room full of people who didn’t know my secret. Instead of asking him to explain himself, I widened my eyes at him, willing him to explain.
Thankfully, he understood. “Yeah, yeah, you don’t want to talk in front of the others. Anyway, cats are awesome. Cats are the best, and this cat can find that killer who’s on the loose.”
“Yes!” Grizabella cried in delight. “Yes, we can sniff him out. Brilliant idea, my darling.”
Octo-Cat became stock still, turning only at his neck to stare at the Himalayan with bright, beseeching eyes. “Your darling?”
She nuzzled him and purred. Everything about her softened. “And my hero.”
Octo-Cat melted like a giant slab of butter. “Oh, Grizabella. I’m so glad you love me back!
I will devote all my lives to you. At least all the ones I have left. I will never let you down. I—”
“Will you help avenge my mistress?” Grizabella asked pointedly.
“Oh, yeah, baby.”
The cat soap opera playing out before me would have been cute under any other circumstances, but right now, we had a bad guy to catch.
“Sariah, I have an idea,” I said, eager to get on with it.
“Sure, it was your idea,” Octo-Cat scoffed, then immediately went back to cuddling and licking his new girlfriend.
“What I told you before about watching Grizabella because I have a cat, too, that was true. But I didn’t tell you that my cat is also a highly trained stunt cat. We were, uh, on our way down to Georgia to do some work on an upcoming film before all this happened. Anyway, Octavius here is extremely well trained, and I think if we give him something of Jamison’s, he could use it to track the scent and find our guy.”
Sariah studied Octo-Cat as if trying to decide whether he was up to the task. In the end she frowned and said, “Great thought, but Jamison’s probably made it pretty far by now. What’s the point?”
“Probably. But, then again, do you know how fast a cat can run?”
“I’m not really familiar with—”
“Up to thirty miles per hour,” Melvin interjected, waving his phone to show us he’d found the answer in record time.
Sariah quirked an eyebrow and glanced at Octo-Cat again. “Okay, that’s pretty fast, but how are you sure your cat will even stay on his trail? And aren’t you a little worried about sending him out there on his own? It sounds like he’s really valuable if he’s a celebrity and all that.”
“Well…” I pretended to hesitate, seeing as Sariah seemed to need a few more moments to get on board with the idea. “Let’s just say I trust him, and I know he can do this for us.”
“I’ve seen him in action before,” Mom said from her perch on the bed. “And she’s right, that cat is pretty incredible.”