by J. C. Eaton
I laughed. “Maybe she’ll consider it next year.”
“I doubt it. You don’t know Grace. Anyway, we rent a popcorn machine and also sell hot dogs and soft drinks. And this year we’ll even have kettle corn. It’s a great fundraiser for us. We set up a big grill right next door to the train track by the horseshoe pits and wait for all those Sun City West grandkids to show up.”
“Don’t tell her the rest of it, Tracee,” a guy called out from the table behind us. “You’ll scare her away.”
Tracee turned her head. “Thanks a heap.” Then she looked at me and groaned. “Every year, heaven knows why, Grace or Evelyn delivers a boring, mind-numbing talk about the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad. I’m hoping this year will be different and they say a few words about Wilbur. It’s the closest to a memorial he’ll get, seeing as his wife is awaiting trial.”
“I’ll make sure to put it on my calendar. Bakery scents and boring speeches notwithstanding.”
I left the Model Railroad Club work session having made very little progress regarding the tap shoe that wound up in Roxanne’s closet after it was donated to the resale charity shop. I did, however, glean more information than needed regarding liquid smoke scents, Golden Spike lectures, and Tracee’s admission of guilt regarding kissing Wilbur. Big deal. Who hadn’t the guy kissed? As for that tap shoe, it had now become more valuable than the Hope Diamond as far as I was concerned.
“We need to put the Midnight Run on our calendar for next Friday,” I said to Marshall as soon as I got in the house. “It’ll draw a big crowd and maybe we’ll stumble on a decent clue. How do you stand this? Every little snippet of information I get has tentacles on it. I feel as if we’re overlooking something, but I don’t know what.”
“Whoa. Slow down and kick off your shoes. I picked up Italian sandwiches from the deli. You must be starved by now. And as for the investigation, you’ll be pleased to know Rolo discovered something ‘gadgetry worthy.’ ”
“ ‘Gadgetry worthy’?”
“Yep. Those were his words. Means it’s going to cost us. Too bad it’s another dead end.”
“What? What did he discover? What dead end?”
“Thomas Tartantian is alive and well in Hong Kong. In fact, he’s the CEO of Nan Tian Industries. Nan Tian. Not an anagram, but close enough. According to Rolo, Nan Tian is the number-one producer of minigears for ATM machines. Rolo tracked him down by following the money trail dating back to when Thomas was fired. Investments, purchases, loans . . . Thomas was able to parlay his wealth, so to speak, like a seasoned gambler. His expertise in mechanics obviously helped with his start-up company. This was right under our noses all the time. I guess you know what this means, don’t you?”
I groaned. “That he wasn’t harboring a lifelong grudge against Wilbur?”
“Hardly. In fact, if it wasn’t for Wilbur getting him canned, he never would have taken that giant leap to start his own business on the other side of the globe.”
“My mother was right. Roxanne is going to rot in jail. Railroaded for a murder she didn’t commit.”
“Look, even if a jury does find her guilty and evidence to the contrary surfaces after the fact, she’ll be exonerated. I would also expect her lawyer to appeal a guilty decision.”
“Still not very hopeful,” I mumbled.
“I think Nate would disagree. Thomas Tartantian isn’t the only suspect on that reprimand letter list. Sure, the infractions were minor, but that doesn’t mean the reactions from the letter holders were. This morning he picked up where I left off and gave Gloria Rouzoni another call.”
“The paper-clip lady?” I laughed.
“Uh-huh. Nate wondered what she could tell him about the other names on the list.”
“And?”
“The two winners of the insubordination letters, Jenko and Norton, were cited for wearing jeans to work, which went against company policy. Didn’t matter they were designer jeans, according to Gloria. Wilbur blew those women into HR like a windstorm.”
“Yikes. I’m surprised the guy wasn’t drawn and quartered by half the employees. Seems strange he was murdered years later. And in Sun City West of all places.”
“Which brings me to my next train of thought. Maybe the motive was more recent.”
“Guess we’re back to Choo-Choo Chicks and Rhythm Tappers, huh?”
“It would seem so. That Midnight Run you mentioned may put all the players in the right place for one of them to break down and confess.”
“And how’s that going to happen?” I asked.
“I haven’t gotten there yet. Give me time. Meanwhile, let’s get into those Italian subs before they get too soggy from the oil.”
“I’m famished. I don’t care how soggy they get.”
CHAPTER 36
It seemed as if we were ruling out suspects faster than identifying them. The scorned-lover idea evaporated into thin air because, as Tracee pointed out, no one took Wilbur seriously. And that included Candace. The only things she took seriously were her possessions, and Wilbur had been one of them. And while the jealousy angle between Candace and the mystery pixie-haired woman might have played out in a verbal assault at Bagels ’N More, I seriously doubted Candace was our killer.
With no viable suspect on the horizon for the Midnight Run, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. What I didn’t expect, however, was a new plan to emerge from my mother’s imagination.
It was Sunday afternoon when the “brainchild” hit her, and naturally she called me. “Operation Agatha will increase its intensity at that midnight train run.”
I was stunned. “ ‘Increase its intensity’? What on earth do you mean?”
“We only took care of half the issues. Cecilia doesn’t have to worry about being bad-mouthed in this community thanks to Shirley’s intervention, but we have no idea who the woman with the spiked orange and blue hair is.”
“I wouldn’t call it ‘spiked,’ but—oh never mind.”
“Never mind is right. We have a better plan. And all of the book club ladies will be taking part.”
Heaven help us.
“I don’t know about you, Phee, but I happen to listen to those detectives on TV.”
“You mean those actors?”
“Let me finish. All of them say the same thing—go back to the scene of the crime. Well, that’s exactly what’s going to happen on Friday at dusk. Of course the crime took place at dawn, but we can’t have everything.”
“Oh dear God, no. Do not tell me you plan to reenact the murder?”
“Of course not. We simply plan to mill around and spread the word the killer is in the crowd. That’s the other part of what they say on TV. The murderer always returns to the scene of the crime.”
“You’ll start a panic. Haven’t the book club ladies done enough? First Aunt Ina at the restaurant—and for your information, Bagels ’N More had to undergo a surprise health inspection. It was on the news. Then, Streetman’s impromptu performance during the Rhythm Tappers’ show. I’m sure the man who played the part of the sultan won’t go near a pair of tap shoes again.”
“You’re being overly dramatic.”
“I don’t think so. Nate and Marshall intend to be at the Midnight Run. If anyone knows how to question people inconspicuously, they do. Like all of us, they believe Roxanne is innocent, and they’re working behind the scenes to prove it.”
“Then tell them to move to the front of the stage, because this is the last chance we have.”
“Now who’s being dramatic?”
It pained me to admit it, but my mother did have a point. If none of those people from Sherrington Manufacturing in Iowa had anything to do with Wilbur’s death, it meant someone from a closer circle probably did. I knew all the Model Railroad Club members and friends would most likely be there, but I wasn’t so sure about Roxanne’s friends from the Rhythm Tappers. That was why I decided to intervene.
As soon as I got off the phone with my mother, I called Cec
ilia and asked her to call a few of the Rhythm Tappers to tell them it would be the least they could do for Roxanne. As I explained to Cecilia, “The Midnight Run is the closest thing to a memorial for Wilbur, and Roxanne is behind bars, so their attendance would be appreciated.”
Three hours later she called me back to say, “I called everyone on the list and believe it or not, they agreed to go. I even spoke with Candace, who told me to forget about the gold charm. You were right, Phee. She doesn’t want to be implicated.”
Then I made one more phone call to my friend Lyndy, who informed me she wouldn’t miss the Midnight Run for the world because her aunt had told her it was really a sting operation to catch the killer.
“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” I asked.
“Of course not. But face it, it’ll be better than any comedy show we’ve seen in a while.”
* * *
On Friday morning Nate drove to the Fourth Avenue Jail to have a chat with Roxanne about the timeline. Even though he and Marshall had been through it before, both of them felt as if something was missing.
“It can seem like the most inconsequential of details, but sometimes people fail to disclose things they observed because they think those recollections don’t matter or won’t have any bearing on the case,” Nate said as he got ready to head out of the office for downtown Phoenix.
I had just put some files away and was standing near the door. “Are you hoping Roxanne will remember something?”
“It’s a Hail Mary, but yes. She was the one who drove her husband to the model railroad exhibit that morning. Maybe revisiting that ride will refresh her memory.”
“I hope so. Because all we’re left with is a possible derailment tonight if those book club ladies go through with part two of Operation Agatha.”
“Bite your tongue.”
* * *
It was a little before eight when the sun started to set. Coral, turquoise, and pink tones filled the skies, and with evening temps expected to remain in the low seventies, it was a perfect time for the Midnight Run. Nate had told us he’d be there as well but wasn’t sure when.
Marshall and I had grabbed sandwiches at Arby’s before pulling into the Beardsley parking lot. Somehow the thought of elbowing through a crowd of grandkids in order to buy grilled hot dogs wasn’t all that appealing.
“Check out the lineup of Buicks,” Marshall announced. “Your mother and her friends must be here already.”
“Better yet, check out the line in front of that popcorn machine. If I’m not mistaken, that’s my aunt Ina in some sort of a bonnet. Yeesh. And look, there’s Shirley and Lucinda right behind her.”
“It’s a full house all right. The crowd stretches from the railroad exhibit all the way to the horseshoe pits.”
“Look! That’s Vickie Owen by the soft drink table. I recognize the platinum hair. She should have worn a hat like my aunt.”
“Why?” Marshall asked.
“Because Herb will be circling around her like a vulture. He nearly scared her away at the H/O scale meeting we attended, but that won’t stop him.”
Marshall laughed. “At least your mother left the dog at home.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s her heading this way and she’s not carrying one of those floral tote bags.”
I thanked the gods under my breath.
“Phee! Marshall! It’s about time you got here.” My mother’s voice reached across the lawn to the edge of the parking lot, where we stood. “Hurry up, the crowd’s gathering by the train tracks. Oh, and not a word about Wilbur’s dead body. There are lots of children here.”
And now they all know about the dead body, thanks to you.
My mother was right about the children. They seemed to be everywhere. Running, shrieking, throwing popcorn at each other, and climbing over the berms that separated the railroad tracks from the horseshoe pits. A few of the people I recognized from the Model Railroad Club were guarding the main G-scale track as if it was about to be attacked by vandals. They weren’t far off.
In addition to the garden scale railroad that encompassed the Beardsley Park exhibit, I noticed a few tables had been set up with smaller train layouts. Apparently, the H/O scalers wanted their share of the action, too. Big Scuttie was standing in front of one of those tables with at least a dozen or so kids surrounding him. I figured the guy must be in his glory.
“Boy does this bring back memories,” Marshall said. “I had a Lionel train as a kid. It went to my cousin Bruce when he turned ten.”
“Why did you give it up?”
He squeezed my shoulder. “I discovered girls.”
I didn’t think it possible, but my mother’s voice got louder. “We can all revisit memory lane later. The program is about to start. You’ll want to get a good spot so you can hear what’s going on. This is a huge crowd. Cecilia told me she called the Rhythm Tappers and all of them should be here.”
By now we were halfway across the lawn area and only a few yards from the railroad track. I thought back to that morning when I climbed over the trains to check out what I had hoped to be a long palm frond or wooden pole. Then I thought about Nate’s comment regarding details that could have been missed, but I was positive I was in the clear.
I elbowed my mother and pointed. “Say, isn’t that Montrose over there? Looks like he’s chatting it up with Evelyn. Hold on a second, Olga is about to join them.”
“Probably boring Railroad Club business,” my mother replied. “Hurry up, we want to be near the tracks. And keep your ears open for any mention of Roxanne or the murder.”
I must have done at least three mental eye rolls as we nudged through the crowd. I kept my eyes on Montrose, Evelyn, and Olga, but I wasn’t exactly sure why. None of them were on my radar as the killer.
Seconds later Montrose and Evelyn walked to a small podium that had been placed in front of the garden track. It was equipped with a microphone, and I imagined the same electrical source used for the outdoor lighting was what powered the mic.
Montrose took the microphone and cleared his throat. “Welcome, everyone, to the Sun City West Model Railroad Club’s Midnight Run. I see the kettle corn is a big hit, and so is the Thomas the Tank Engine for the little ones. Our Model Railroad Club is open to all Sun City West residents, and we hope you’ll consider joining. We have G-scale and H/O scale, so dig out those old trains you have packed away and come to one of our meetings.”
Then he handed the mic to Evelyn. She motioned with her hand, and all of a sudden Grace was at her side. “I’m Evelyn Watross, and this is Grace Svoboda. We’re in charge of the housekeeping at our club room. Also, the archives and our museum area. As some of you know, we preface the Midnight Run with a delightful look back at history. Specifically, the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad.”
Just then, someone shouted, “Your speech last year took longer to finish than the Transcontinental Railroad!”
Evelyn seemed to ignore the comment. “As much as Grace and I would like to regale you with stories about our nation’s history, specifically the Golden Spike and its relevance, we’ll instead offer a tribute to our late president, Wilbur Maines, who died on these very train tracks.”
One of the kids immediately piped up, “Can we see the dead body?” He was quickly shushed by an adult.
Evelyn continued. “Wilbur Maines was, by all accounts a—”
“Lying, cheating womanizer who got what he deserved.” It was a woman’s voice that could be heard above the crowd. I couldn’t tell who it was, but the speaker made everyone in the vicinity gasp. Except perhaps for those folks who were familiar with rumors of Wilbur’s dalliances.
Then Montrose took the mic from Evelyn and demanded the crowd refrain from making derogatory remarks. “There are young children in the audience. Keep that in mind.” He clicked off the microphone and turned to Evelyn. Unfortunately, Grace picked up the mic and turned it back on. She was about to speak when Montrose’s
voice could be heard all over the park. “Wrap it up, Evelyn. We want to get the damn train running.”
Guffaws and chuckles came from everywhere, but there was one I recognized immediately—Nate’s. He stood a few yards to the left of the podium and waved at Marshall and me.
“Think he had any luck with Roxanne today?” I whispered to Marshall.
A second later his phone vibrated. “Hmm. A text from Nate. To answer your question, I’d say yes. Nate’s just waiting for Rolo to finish up his end of the investigation. Not easy tracking down all those players from Sherrington.”
At that moment Grace spoke the most welcome words of the night, “Let the Wilbur Maines Memorial Train Run begin.”
With that, the ladies walked away from the podium, as Montrose had done minutes before. Next thing I knew, a train horn sounded and everyone jockeyed past me to get to the tracks. Everyone except Vickie Owen. She was headed in the opposite direction, with Cecilia at her heels.
CHAPTER 37
I grabbed Marshall’s arm and motioned to the parking lot. “Cecilia’s chasing after Vickie Owen and I don’t think it has anything to do with the Rhythm Tappers. Vickie’s a Choo-Choo Chick. Something’s up for sure.”
Without waiting for Marshall to respond, I took off after Cecilia. Thankfully, my mother didn’t notice because she had already elbowed her way to the train tracks for Wilbur’s memorial run.
Mountaintop hikes and walks with Lyndy paid off because I managed to be a few yards behind Cecilia in a matter of minutes. Those tap dance rehearsals must have done wonders for Cecilia’s stamina because she kept running without pausing to catch a breath. As I got closer, I could hear her yell, “Killer! Killer! I know who you are. You won’t get away with it.”
I wasn’t sure what Cecilia knew or how she knew it, but I was certain of one thing: Cecilia had just accused Vickie of murder. I was stunned. So stunned I momentarily slowed down, and that was when Cecilia tore off her black cardigan and threw it over Vickie’s head, as if she was capturing a hawk or a falcon.