by Janet Dawson
Emily looked dubious. “I like French toast. With bacon.”
“Then French toast and bacon for you, ham and eggs for me,” Mrs. Tidsdale said. The dining car steward directed them to a table. The Bensons arrived, with Billy and Chip bouncing up and down. “Bacon and eggs, bacon and eggs,” Chip sang, to the tune of “Three Blind Mice.”
“Coffee, black, and lots of it,” his father said.
Jill laughed and headed for the public address system. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is your Zephyrette, Miss McLeod, welcoming you to Utah and the Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad, the Main Line Through the Rockies.
“A variety of scenic wonders will be yours to see today. Beautiful rock formations such as Castle Gate. The bleak, forbidding, and yet beautiful Utah desert. Industry and agriculture will be side by side at Helper and Price, Utah. Colorado’s famous peach-producing area at Grand Junction and Palisade. Once little-known but now famous Rifle, Colorado, where oil is being extracted from shale at a government experimental plant. The marvelous canyons of the Colorado River, including the Glenwood Canyon, inspiration for the Vista-Dome car. The high spot of today’s trip will be when we are in the Moffat Tunnel. That’s nine thousand two hundred thirty-nine feet above sea level. Your ‘Vista-Dome Views’ booklet tells you when and where to look. Don’t miss any of these western wonders, for this is a travel day you’ll long remember.”
By the time Jill finished the announcement and turned off the mike, the Bensons were seated in one of the semi-private nooks and the waiter was delivering their food. Both boys quieted as they forked up bacon and eggs. Mr. Benson looked livelier now that he had a cup of coffee in front of him.
The train headed down the eastern side of the Wasatch Plateau. This was a steep grade, and the next town on the route, Helper, Utah, was named after the helper engines that would assist the westbound trains in making the climb to the summit. The train also stopped in Price, which was just seven miles from Helper. After that, it was another hour to Green River.
After the train pulled out of the Price station, Jill walked back through the Silver Hostel. There were people in the coffee shop section, which also served breakfast. In the lounge, she saw Mrs. Tidsdale at her usual spot near the bar, a drink in front of her. Mr. Paynter was with her. Tidsy smiled flirtatiously as she pulled out a cigarette and he lit it with his Zippo.
Jill headed back to the Silver Gull. She passed the porter’s seat, but didn’t see Si Lovell. He must be in one of the compartments, she thought. At the other end of the car, she saw Mr. Smith, the gruff, unpleasant man who was traveling on the Silver Palisade. He walked forward, as though headed for the dining car. They both neared the middle section of the car. Then Si Lovell, carrying a tray of breakfast dishes, stepped out of compartment F. The porter stopped, but not before he bumped into Smith.
“Watch where you’re going, boy,” Smith snarled. “You damn near spilled that coffee on me.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Mr. Lovell drew back against the window opposite the compartment door, leaving room for Smith to pass.
Now Mike Scolari appeared in the compartment doorway. “It was an accident. No harm done, and no need to blame the porter.”
Smith turned to him, mouth twisting. “Mind your own damn business.”
“Good morning, Mr. Smith, Mr. Scolari,” Jill said, hoping to defuse the situation. “Can I be of any assistance?”
Smith glared at all of them. “Stupid damn nig—”
“Watch your language in front of the lady,” Mike Scolari said.
“Is there a problem?” The voice came from behind Jill. She turned to look and saw Mr. Cole in the doorway of compartment B. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the noise down. My wife’s still asleep.”
Smith growled, deep in his throat, then he shouldered his way past Jill, heading for the front of the car. Jill turned to Mr. Lovell, who stood holding the breakfast tray. On first glance, his face was impassive but Jill noticed a tightness around his mouth. It bothered her when the passengers verbally abused the porters, or called them “boy” or worse instead of their names. She knew that porters traveling in the Southern states often had a rough time from the passengers. Mr. Smith was particularly unpleasant and it was clear he didn’t like Negroes. She wondered if he was from the South, but he didn’t have an accent.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lovell,” she said.
“Me, too,” Mike Scolari added. “That guy’s a jerk.”
Mr. Lovell let out a sigh, as though he’d been holding his breath. “Don’t worry about it, sir. It happens.” He turned and walked forward, taking the tray of dishes back to the kitchen.
“It happens, all the time, but it shouldn’t,” Scolari said. “Mr. Lovell will get a big tip from me when we get to Denver. Not that it takes the sting out of bigots like that and their race prejudice. I’m Italian. All the time I was in the service, they called me names, too. You must see lots of jerks on the train.”
“Sometimes. But I meet lots of nice people, too. There are more of them than the unpleasant people, so I try not to let the other ones bother me.”
He smiled at her. “That’s a good attitude to have.”
He went back into the compartment and shut the door. Suddenly Jill heard loud voices, coming from one of the compartments behind her. She turned. The raised voices were coming from compartment B. It sounded as though Mr. and Mrs. Cole were arguing. But hadn’t Mr. Cole said his wife was asleep?
“…make our move soon,” Mrs. Cole said, sounding so close that she must be standing just the other side of the door.
Jill backed away. She really shouldn’t be eavesdropping. Now she walked the way she’d originally been headed, toward the rear of the train. Still, she couldn’t help wondering.
“Make our move soon.” What did Mrs. Cole mean by that?
Chapter Twelve
The California Zephyr pulled out of Green River, Utah at 9:53 A.M. The next scheduled stop was Grand Junction, Colorado, at 11:43 A.M., just under two hours. Jill walked back to the Silver Solarium, where she saw Mrs. Clive climbing the stairs to the Vista-Dome. The Finches and the Constanzas sat in the lounge, next to Mr. and Mrs. Cole. Across from them, Ed and Norma Benson were chatting with Mrs. Tatum. Jill heard voices from above, passengers in the Vista-Dome. The area around Green River was high desert, its wide-open landscape covered with snow. To the east loomed the Rocky Mountains.
A group of children, radiating pent-up energy, gathered at the rounded back of the car. The Finch girls, Nan and Cathy, were at the center of the group, which included Emily and Billy and Chip Benson. Tina Moreno, the little girl who’d scraped her knee the day before, was there. So was George Neeley.
Mrs. Finch looked up and smiled. “Oh, Miss McLeod, there you are. The girls tell me they’re bored. I’m afraid they have already read all the books they brought with them. I know you’re having a Christmas party later on, but any ideas for keeping them occupied right now?”
“How about a game?” Jill suggested.
The children swirled around her, seconding the notion with enthusiasm. “That sounds like fun,” Nan said.
“A card game?” Mrs. Finch smiled at her daughters. “I’ve been teaching the girls how to play bridge.”
“Mrs. Tidsdale taught us how to play poker, a game called seven-card stud,” Emily said.
“Did she indeed?” Mrs. Finch raised an eyebrow. “Looks like I may need to have a word with Mrs. Tidsdale.”
“A lady in the lounge car had a word with Mrs. Tidsdale,” Emily said. “Mrs. Tidsdale told her to put a lid on it and mind her own darn business. Only she didn’t say darn.”
Ed Benson laughed and the other men joined in. “I’d pay money to see that,” Mr. Finch said over his wife’s exasperated sigh. “Now, Margaret, poker’s a good game to learn, like bridge.”
“Poker’s all right,” Norma Benson said. “My brother taught Billy how to play the last time he came for a visit.”
Mr. Finch n
odded. “No harm in playing a friendly game of nickel-dime-quarter around the kitchen table. I did it all the time when I was growing up.”
“So did I,” Mrs. Tatum said, chuckling.
“It was pennies, nickels, and dimes,” Cathy said. “I won thirty-seven cents.”
“I’d rather the children didn’t learn to gamble just yet,” Mrs. Finch said. “Even if it was pennies. Thirty-seven cents, indeed.”
“I don’t want to play cards,” Nan said. “We’re all tired of sitting. We want to move around the train.”
“It’s all right to walk from car to car,” her mother said. “Make sure you don’t get in the way of Miss McLeod and the rest of the crew. They have their jobs to do. And don’t bother the other passengers.”
Nan grinned, a mischievous light flashing in her eyes. “Let’s play a mystery game. I’ll be Nancy Drew. Cathy can be Bess and Emily can be George.”
“I’m already George,” the boy from the Silver Pine said.
“I’ll just be myself,” Emily said.
“I want to play, too,” Billy said.
“Me, too,” Chip chimed in.
“You’re a bit young, sport,” Ed Benson told Chip.
The Benson boys converged on their parents, pleading. “I’ll look after him, Dad,” Billy said. “I won’t let him get into any trouble or bother anybody. Honest, I won’t. Please, please?”
The adult Bensons exchanged looks. Then Norma Benson nodded. “Well, just for a little while. Until lunch.”
Jill had been thinking of games that might involve a mystery. She needed something that would keep the children occupied and use up some of their bottled-up energy. “How about a scavenger hunt?”
The Coles had been listening, amusement on their faces. Now Rita Cole tilted her head to one side, smoothing back her ponytail. “A scavenger hunt? What’s that?”
“It’s a game,” her husband said. “Used to play that when I was little. Got a list of things to find or things to do, and the first person—or team—that finds all the stuff on the list wins. Am I right, Miss McLeod?”
“Yes, you are.” Jill moved to the writing desk and pulled out a pen and a sheet of stationery. She wrote a list of things that would be easy for the children to find on the train, starting with the items on the desk—pen, stationery, envelope, postcard. She added magazine and newspaper, as there were plenty of those discarded after folks had read them. Coaster and menu—the children could find those in the lounge. There were lots of promotional items in the cars, such the California Zephyr pamphlet called “Vista-Dome Views.” At this time of year, there were CZ Christmas cards as well. And timetables, she added. One from the Western Pacific and one from the Denver & Rio Grande Western, just to make it interesting. She looked over the list and quickly wrote out another copy.
“All of these things are on the California Zephyr,” Jill said. “The mystery is where you find them. We’re due into Denver at seven o’clock, so let’s see how many of these things you can find and bring back here to the Silver Solarium by five o’clock. I’ve made two lists, for two teams, with each team finding all the things on the list. Team one will be Nan, Cathy, and Emily. Team two will be George, Tina, Billy, and Chip.”
“That’s great.” Nan took one list and George took the other.
“Remember, girls,” Mrs. Finch said. “Don’t take any personal items. At least not without asking for permission.”
“And don’t go into other people’s rooms,” Mrs. Benson added, directing a stern look at her sons. “You should be able to find those things without bothering the other passengers. Understood?”
“We’ll be good,” Billy assured his mother. “I’ll watch Chip.”
The other children chorused their replies, promising to behave themselves, and surged forward, heading toward the sleeper cars.
Mr. Finch smiled at Jill. “They’ll find all those things by lunch, Miss McLeod. Then we’ll have to figure out another way to keep them busy.”
“By then it will be time for the Christmas party,” Mrs. Tatum said.
“I hope they won’t make a nuisance of themselves,” Norma Benson said.
“I’ll go check on them in a half an hour or so,” her husband said. “In the meantime, let’s enjoy some peace and quiet.”
“Miss McLeod, how much longer until we reach Grand Junction?” Mrs. Tatum asked.
Jill looked at her watch. “It’s just after ten. We’re due into Grand Junction at eleven forty-three. I’d say an hour and forty minutes.”
“Thank you, dear. I’ll stay here a while longer, then I’ll go back to my bedroom and get my things ready. I’m really looking forward to seeing my daughter and her family.”
Mrs. Finch closed her book and turned to Mrs. Constanza. “Like the children, I’m tired of reading. How about another rubber of bridge?”
———
The California Zephyr crossed the Utah-Colorado state boundary, at a place called Westwater. It had once been a railroad and farming town, but now it was a ghost town. It was here that the train joined the Colorado River, flowing out of the Rockies in the distance. The Silver Lady would follow the silvery upstream course of the river for the next 238 miles.
Jill went up to the Vista-Dome over the Silver Hostel and looked out at the river. It was covered with ice on both banks, with the swift current running in the middle. She spotted a bald eagle perched at the top of a snag, a dead tree that was still standing, and then another one, skimming the water. “Bald eagles are fish eaters,” she told the passengers. “That’s why you see them near rivers and lakes. Look, there’s another one. In just a few minutes we’ll be entering Ruby Canyon.”
The canyon, twenty-five miles long, got its name from the red sandstone, vivid even in the thin winter sunshine. Erosion over thousands of years had carved steep cliffs, spires, and arches. The train slowed as it wound alongside the canyon walls, in places just a few feet from the tracks. To the south was the Colorado River, white water in the middle between sheaths of ice. In places the canyon walls receded into side canyons, with trees poking from slopes covered with snow.
It began to snow as the train neared the end of Ruby Canyon, lazy flakes swirling from a gray sky. The terrain leveled out into farming country. The train whistle blew a crossing warning as it went past a country road. Jill left the Vista-Dome and walked back to the sleeper cars to help Mrs. Tatum get ready to leave the train when they reached Grand Junction, the next stop.
When Jill entered the Silver Palisade, she heard raised voices and saw several people in the corridor outside the bedrooms. One was Frank Nathan, the porter, standing back from the group as Mrs. Clive shook her finger at him. The other passengers in that section, Mrs. Loomis, Mrs. Tatum, and Mrs. Benson stood in the doorways of their bedrooms.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Norma Benson said, her boys crowding in behind her. “Ed went to find the conductor.”
“What’s happened? Is something wrong?”
Mrs. Clive turned to Jill, her face red with indignation. “My gold cigarette case is gone. I left it here when I went to the observation car. When I got back it was gone.”
“Perhaps you’ve misplaced it,” Jill said.
“No, I haven’t,” Mrs. Clive snapped. “Someone stole it. I want this car searched, and you can start with that colored man.”
Frank Nathan shook his head. “I didn’t take your cigarette case, ma’am. I’ve never even seen it.”
Mrs. Tatum spoke up, her voice placating. “It may have fallen on the floor and slipped under the seat.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s been stolen, I tell you.” Mrs. Clive glared at the porter. “That colored man is the thief. He’s the only one that’s in and out of these rooms.”
The conductor, Mr. Wilson, rounded the corner from the roomette section of the car, followed by Mr. Alford, the Pullman conductor. Ed Benson brought up the rear.
“What seems to be the problem?” Mr. Wilson asked.
“My cigarett
e case has been stolen.” Mrs. Clive glared at Frank Nathan. “That colored man must have taken it.”
“We will certainly look into the matter,” Mr. Wilson said. “What does the cigarette case look like?”
“It’s gold, about three inches by five.” Mrs. Clive sketched a shape in the air. “It looks like an envelope, with a triangular flap on one side. On the other side it’s engraved, to look like an address and a stamp. It has great sentimental value, besides being quite valuable. I really must have my case back.”
Jill remembered seeing the cigarette case when Mrs. Clive checked in at the Oakland Mole. Shaped like an envelope. Oh, dear, she thought. The children, the scavenger hunt. Surely they wouldn’t…
“I do think we should look through your bedroom, just to be sure,” the conductor told Mrs. Clive. “Miss McLeod, will you help us?”
Jill and the conductor quickly searched Mrs. Clive’s bedroom, but the cigarette case was nowhere to be found. Before they went out to the passageway, she told him about the scavenger hunt. “I hope one of the children hasn’t mistaken the cigarette case for a real envelope.”
Mr. Wilson frowned and shook his head. “Yes, I saw some children earlier, taking postcards from the lounge. They told me about the scavenger hunt. They don’t seem like they’d take something from one of the bedrooms. But the cigarette case is definitely missing. And so is that gold pen you told me about this morning. We have a thief aboard.”
They stepped out into the passageway. “The case isn’t in the bedroom,” Mr. Wilson said.
“I told you it was gone. It’s been stolen.” Mrs. Clive glared at Frank Nathan, who was standing with the Pullman conductor, then she turned an equally poisonous look on Billy and Chip Benson, who clustered around their parents. “This is just the limit. It’s bad enough to have to deal with these grubby, noisy children running wild all over the train.”
Norma Benson put her hands on her hips and scowled at Mrs. Clive. “Now just a minute. What is that supposed to mean?”