Murder on the Mullet Express

by Gwen Mayo

  First, the professor came in, followed closely by the two women that always hovered around the old gent. The deputy that had been hanging around the hotel for the past week followed them in and shut the door.

  Nobody was talking.

  He wiped his hands again, then took out his handkerchief and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. The waiters had set up a nice spread, but he knew better than to help himself to a tall glass of sweet tea. The hospitality was for the guests.

  A couple of new people arrived. The old guy smiled and greeted them like this was just a normal gathering. The newcomers were friendly enough, but the gent with Bowden was watching everyone.

  The man nodded.

  Bowden, standing next to him, asked, “Could you swear to it?”

  He took a moment to think about it. “Yeah. Will I have to?”

  “If it goes to court.” Bowden put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe it won’t come to that.”

  The stranger nodded again, then took a seat in the back row.

  Chapter 15

  The projector whirred, and the scene at the station with Teddy mugging for the camera began. Rosemary Carson tittered at the poses she struck.

  Cornelia leaned close to Mrs. Carson. “Watch this next part very closely. I shot it myself.” On the screen, Pettijohn walked toward the train’s engine. The focus shifted, panning at first, then was interrupted by a violent jerk to the scene of the fight. Janzen and Hofstetter circled, locked in a black-and-white battle. Hofstetter made his vicious uppercut and Rosemary gave a soft gasp, raising her hand to her mouth, as Janzen crumpled. Once again, Cornelia watched as the railroad staff broke up the fight, sending each combatant to a separate railcar.

  The view shifted. Some travelers climbed into the passenger cars while others lagged behind, fanning themselves in a climate warmer than the one they’d dressed for. The camera’s eye continued, resting on the baggage car now. Men hoisted suitcases and sacks of mail through the open door, stopping briefly to let one man out. That man jumped to the ground, carrying a flowered carpetbag in one hand. A female figure, approaching from the passenger area, thanked him noiselessly before opening it. After a brief search, she pulled out a medicine bottle and returned the bag to the man. He climbed back into the baggage car.

  “Stop there,” Cornelia told the projectionist. “Did you recognize anyone in the scene, Mrs. Carson?”

  Rosemary Carson rose, and went to the refreshment table to fetch a glass of tea.

  Cornelia joined her there. “Well?”

  “Yes, I recognized a number of people. Your uncle, Teddy, and, of course, the men in the fight.”

  “Did you see yourself?”

  “Me?” Her brow furrowed as she examined the screen. “Oh! You mean at the luggage car? That was me?”

  “Indeed it was. The man standing in the doorway was the gentleman that helped you recover one of your bags before departure. You told him that you’d left your aspirin in your luggage, and the sun was giving you a headache.”

  “Yes, I did. I’d forgotten that. My, I do need to lose weight. I didn’t realize how heavy I’d gotten.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your figure.” Teddy had already forgotten her promise to keep quiet. “Winter clothing is just very thick.”

  “No more talk of women’s figures, Teddy,” Cornelia snapped. “Back to the point. Do you have that bottle now?”

  “That particular bottle? No,” Rosemary said, looking wary. “I threw it away after I took the last of the aspirin. The sun is very intense.”

  “I understand. Teddy is also very sensitive to the sun, and has taken a great deal of aspirin since we arrived.”

  Teddy made a face.

  Cornelia didn’t acknowledge it. “As a nurse, I’m familiar with the packaging of many medicines. It’s a bottle, not a box, so probably not a powder. A tablet, then, but not Bayer. What brand was it?”

  “Brand? I have no idea,” Mrs. Carson said. “I picked it up while we traveled. I didn’t pay much attention to the brand, I was simply happy to have some.”

  “Mmm-hmm. When did you first take some of these particular tablets?”

  “I don’t remember. Maybe the second day on the train to Jacksonville.”

  “And when did you finish off the medication?”

  “Why does this matter?” She turned to Bowden. Her hands were balled up, and she opened them quickly. “Am I being charged with a crime, Sheriff? I heard that the poisoned man had been killed by his binder boy for the cash. Or are you referring to the man stuffed in the barrel and loaded onto the train? My husband can attest that I couldn’t even lift my own trousseau when we were married.”

  “No, ma’am. I want to interview you as a potential witness. Or even as a fellow victim.”

  She started to retort, then paused at the meaning of his last words. “Victim?”

  He nodded. “We have taken Dani Hegstad into custody. When his employer died, he feared that he would be arrested. He might even be accused of the poisoning. Mr. Janzen had purposely hired someone unfamiliar with English in order to freely conduct his unsavory business practices, but the boy was able to figure out that he was working with a crook. So, he took the money and fled.”

  The sheriff paused before continuing. “During questioning, though, he told us that you had been most solicitous to Raymond Janzen after the incident with Mr. Hofstetter. He was understandably sore after the blows he received. You were kind enough to offer him some aspirin from your purse.”

  “Oh.” Rosemary looked down at her glass of tea, searching it as if her next answer could be found in its dregs. Alas, the hotel used Tetley bags.

  “The lad said that his boss became ill shortly after. They both blamed it on the fight at the time.”

  The sheriff tilted his head to catch her eye, causing his moustache to droop in interesting ways. “Dr. Duffy, who attended the victim in his final hours, informed us that it was poison. I spoke to the medical examiner in Tampa, and he confirmed that Mr. Janzen was poisoned with savin.”

  “Savin? What is that?” The middle-aged woman feigned curiosity, but she didn’t quite master the expression.

  Not someone accustomed to lying, Cornelia thought. She took no pleasure in providing the explanation.

  “There is no legal medical use for savin tablets.” She drew herself up until her spine was ramrod-straight. “It does have an illegal one; to promote an abortion.”

  “Abortion?”

  “Miscarriage is a less clinical term. Savin may cause a miscarriage, but it does as a byproduct of its poisoning the user.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” Rosemary asked. “You said that I was a witness, or even a victim. Of this—savin?”

  Bowden retook the helm. “My deputies have checked the restaurant where Janzen and Hegstad had lunch before boarding the train. No one else became ill, and Dr. Duffy assures me that the reaction to savin begins fairly quickly.”

  “The only other substance he ingested was your aspirin,” Cornelia added. “Uncle Percival offered him a drink from his flask, but Mr. Janzen was already ill by then. That’s why I was asking you about the brand and when you’d taken the tablets. They may be the source of the poison.”

  “Oh.” Rosemary’s shoulders dropped and she half-smiled. She pulled a folded fan from her bag and opened it. “It is terribly warm in here.”

  Cornelia watched the woman try to dry the sweat on her forehead. Her heart ached with pity; this was merely a pause before the true harrowing began. She looked at Bowden. He took a gulp of ice water, ignoring them both for the moment.

  Rosemary eventually broke the silence. The woman probably couldn’t stand it. “Thank you for your concern. I understand why you were so interested.”

  “I’ve tried to remember the different times I’ve seen you over the past week,” Cornelia said. “I don’t recall your being ill, which was your good fortune.”

  “No. But wait—there was a canteen he drank from. Perhaps M
r. Hegstad or, perhaps, even Mr. Hofstetter added something to his libation.”

  “Unlikely,” Bowden said. “When Dr. Duffy contacted us about the potential poisoning, we impounded the canteen of water. I asked that the doctor examine them, and he told me there was no telltale scent of the savin. I reckon I’ll send it in for full testing, though.”

  Another silence. The sheriff heaved a sigh and took up the reins of the interrogation.

  “Mrs. Carson. Are you positive that a search of your possessions wouldn’t turn up the bottle?”

  “Now see here,” her husband said. “There is no call for you to go digging about in my wife’s unmentionables.”

  Rosemary’s shoulders went up again. “Why would you search them?”

  “Miss Pettijohn has brought some irregularities to my attention. They led to my making some phone calls to Virginia and St. Augustine.”

  Rosemary turned to Cornelia. The look of betrayal in her eyes pierced like a glass shard. “What did you tell him?”

  Cornelia met her gaze directly. She deserved that much. “You told me that your sister had died in the epidemic of 1918, and you named your daughter, born during the summer, after her. On another occasion, though, your husband remarked that your daughter was eight-and-a-half. She was born in 1917, not 1918.”

  “I must have made a mistake. Margaret died of influenza of the stomach; I guess I thought it was the Spanish Flu in 1918. It was so long ago.”

  “Must you put my wife through this, sheriff?” William Carson said. “You have nothing but a lot of speculation from a spinster with an overactive imagination.”

  Teddy broke in. “There is nothing imaginary about savin poisoning. The medical term for your sister’s illness is gastroenteritis. That is also the most visible symptom of savin. We’ve seen its effects before.”

  “Bringing things to the point,” Bowden said, “I have been thorough in investigating Miss Pettijohn’s suspicions. I contacted the Reverend Archibald Janzen in St. Augustine… Raymond Janzen’s father. Mr. Rowley was of some assistance in letting us know where he was from. After breaking the news of his son’s death, I learned that Janzen had attended Washington and Lee in Lexington, Virginia. I believe that’s where your family also resides.”

  “Yes,” Rosemary muttered. The fan lay on the table in front of her, forgotten. Her forehead glowed with perspiration.

  Her husband put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “We have little connection to the college. My wife and I had never met Janzen—that is, until this trip.”

  “Perhaps not, Mr. Carson, but can you say the same of your late sister-in-law? Mr. Janzen was a student at Washington and Lee from 1915 to 1917. Then, he was seized by a sudden fit of patriotism, and left school to serve in the Great War. His father thought it was most unlike him.”

  The sheriff glanced over to where the railman had retreated. “According to Mr. Rowley, some sort of trouble with a woman was involved.”

  Her reply was a long exhalation that ended in a hiss. “Can’t you leave this alone?”

  “No, I can’t,” he said softly, “Whatever my personal opinion of the man, my duty is to investigate his murder.” Bowden’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Mrs. Carson. I’ve called the authorities in Lexington to request the date and circumstances of your sister’s death. Must I also make inquiries of her friends and other members of your family about more personal information?”

  “No!” She slapped her palms on the table so hard that several petit-fours leapt from the plate. “Leave them alone! I’ll answer your questions.”

  “Rosemary,” her husband pleaded. “Stop and let me call our attorney.”

  Tears rolled down her face.

  “Your sister knew Mr. Janzen,” the sheriff said.

  “Yes, to her great misfortune. She told me how charming, how handsome he was. She hoped he would propose marriage soon. Her friend Sissy would be her maid of honor, and I would be the matron.” Her face was wet, and not only from sweat.

  “She was fine at Easter. The next Sunday, Sissy came to fetch me when I was dressing Billy for church. Meg was ill, very ill. She’d been vomiting for two days and wouldn’t see a doctor. Sissy hoped I could talk some sense into her.”

  “And did you go to your sister?” Cornelia knew that, one way or the other, it had already been too late to help Meg.

  “She looked dead. Dead, but still able to speak. She was too weak to keep me from calling the doctor, but she refused to answer his questions. I got it out of her later. Meg thought she was… Must I say it?”

  Bowden cleared his throat. This type of talk evidently embarrassed him. “Perhaps, Mrs. Carson, we can just skip to what your sister did.”

  “She told Mr. Janzen about it. She thought her darling Ray would do the right thing. He’d already done the wrong thing, so I don’t know why she thought he would help her then. She wanted a ring. He gave her a bottle instead. Medication to regulate the female cycle.”

  “Savin,” Cornelia said.

  “Yes. I showed it to our family doctor, and he said that there was little hope of survival. I swore him to secrecy and we nursed her ourselves, Sheriff. Meg didn’t want our parents to learn the truth. I didn’t, either. So I watched my sister die in agony.”

  “You were very brave,” Teddy said, dabbing her eyes.

  “What happened afterward?” Bowden asked.

  “The doctor was kind enough to tell my parents that it sounded like a digestive illness, based on my description. The illness had been swift, and no one realized how serious it was until she died. Meg was young, and everyone assumed that she would recover.”

  Rosemary dried her eyes on the handkerchief her husband handed her.

  “The doctor couched his words very carefully when he broke the news to our parents. Mother blamed Sissy till the day she died for not having the doctor in sooner. Sissy endured it, rather than telling her the truth.”

  Teddy reached over, squeezed her hand. “I am so very sorry. You did the right thing—not telling her, that is.”

  “Begging your pardon, ladies, but we need to return to the present,” Bowden said. “You took a bottle out of your luggage. What did it contain?”

  “The rest of the pills that scoundrel gave my sister. I moved them to an empty aspirin bottle before I left Virginia.”

  “Rosemary, please stop!”

  “I’m sorry, darling,” she said to her husband. “That man destroyed Meg. Then he killed her. I had to do something.”

  “I understand,” William Carson said gently.

  “Do you?” She searched his face.

  Bowden shifted from foot to foot as he tried to avoid looking directly at the Carsons. “It sounds like you knew Mr. Janzen was here before you came down, ma’am.”

  “I did. Sissy’s husband got an advertisement with his picture. He remembered the man from Washington and Lee, and showed it to her. She showed it to me and… and I was incensed. Him, all smiles and success in his expensive suit. My sister, dead and disgraced.”

  Premeditated. Cornelia wished that the poor woman would stop talking, stop making it worse for herself, but Rosemary continued.

  “I wrote to him under my married name, gave him my cousin’s address in Norfolk. Arranged for a meeting here at the hotel. I requested a lunch meeting, to give me the chance to slip the pills into his coffee or sandwich, perhaps. As it turns out, I didn’t need to go to the trouble. Someone else he’d wronged gave me the opportunity sooner.”

  “That would be Mr. Hofstetter,” Bowden said.

  “Yes. It was easier than I thought, putting a sweet smile on my face and offering pity to him for his injuries. We’d never met. I am not sure he knew Meg had a sister, so he didn’t think twice about washing my headache pills down with the water in his canteen. I sat in the other railcar, where I was less likely to become a suspect, but oh, how I wish I could have watched as it began to work.”

  “I… if you say so, ma’am.” Bowden looked away, his mous
tache dipping low.

  Rosemary turned to Cornelia. “You and your friend helped care for him. Tell me… was he in much pain? Did he die in agony? I hope so.”

  “Rest assured,” the nurse replied, “the savin lost little potency over the years.”

  “Good. Meg can rest in peace now.”

  Chapter 16

  Cornelia thought about the murdered man she’d met on the Mullet Express as Mitch drove her to Inverness. Raymond Janzen was already condemned to death and his execution had begun before they met. It was impossible for her to feel sorry for him, now that the sordid story of his life was laid out. If ever a man needed killing…Cornelia didn’t follow that thought any further. Everything she knew about him was secondhand. Such stories… fraud, theft, murder, treason… the latter cut deep.

  If only Rosemary Carson had left Uncle Percival out of the crime. That was another path she hesitated to follow. Would she have let Rosemary get away with murder? Would she feel less guilty about ferreting out the truth?

  She did feel guilty. When it came to Rosemary Carson’s arrest, the blame fell on her shoulders. Rosemary had committed premeditated murder and tried to place the blame on Uncle Percival. She gave no thought to the consequences of her actions, no thought to what she was doing to her husband and children. Cornelia had done nothing wrong, but she wallowed in guilt.

  “We’re here,” Mitch said.

  Cornelia was embarrassed that she had not noticed.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Mitch said. In the mirror, he watched her press her lips together, making her square chin look even more stern. The tight bun in her iron-gray hair did nothing to soften her features. “I could take those letters in for you and leave them with Sheriff Bowden.”