by Janet Dawson
“I am sorry, Mr. Kelsey,” the conductor said. “We will do everything possible to locate your wife’s brooch.”
That lets out the children, Jill thought, watching the exchange. Even if the kids were collecting items for the scavenger hunt, jewelry is most definitely not on the list.
Mr. Kelsey was giving a description of the brooch to the conductor. “It’s gold, and it’s shaped like a basket, about two inches across, with flowers. The petals are rubies and sapphires. I told Edith to put it in her purse, but she had it wrapped in a hankie, stuck down in that case with her makeup. We’ve traveled on the Zephyr before, y’know, and this is the first time anything has turned up missing. I sure hope you can find it. It’s got some monetary value, of course, but since it was her grandmother’s, it’s got more sentimental value to my wife.”
“If you’ll allow us to search the compartment,” Mr. Gaskill said, “just to be sure the brooch hasn’t fallen and rolled into some sort of hiding place.”
Jill and the conductor searched the Kelseys’ compartment, but there was no sign of the brooch. They left the unhappy Mrs. Kelsey sitting on the bench seat inside, her makeup case beside her, as she twisted the lace handkerchief in which the brooch had been concealed.
Outside in the corridor, Mr. Gaskill sighed. “People will get careless and leave their valuables in their rooms. It’s human nature, I guess, trusting that things won’t get taken.”
“For the most part, they don’t,” Jill said.
Passengers felt safe while traveling in the enclosed atmosphere on the train. As the conductor said, human nature made them let their guard down, relax the vigilance that they might ordinarily use. People were inclined to be careless about their personal belongings. But the sleeping accommodations—roomettes, bedrooms, and compartments—locked only from the inside. So passengers were well-advised to keep valuables with them. But not everyone took such precautions.
Over his shoulder, Jill saw the worried look on Mr. Lovell’s face. He quickly masked it, hiding his feelings. But she knew the porter was afraid he would be blamed for the theft, as Frank Nathan had been blamed earlier, when Mrs. Clive’s cigarette case disappeared. It was unfortunate, but when things went missing on the train, suspicion often fell on members of the crew, particularly the Pullman porters, who were in and out of the passengers’ compartments. And some passengers were quick to blame the Negro members of the crew. At least Mr. Kelsey hadn’t directly accused Mr. Lovell, the way Mrs. Clive had Frank Nathan.
Things happened, she knew. In the two years Jill had been a Zephyrette, she knew that a waiter had been dismissed for pilfering food from the train’s stores. And another member of the crew, a brakeman, had been fired for excessive drinking. But the porters she had worked with seemed to be hardworking and honest.
“It wasn’t Mr. Lovell,” the Pullman conductor said now. “I’ll vouch for him, just like I vouch for Mr. Nathan. Never a hint of trouble from either man.”
Mr. Gaskill looked perturbed. “I am aware of your concerns and I will take that into consideration. Now, one instance of theft, I might consider a member of the crew. But three—that gold pen yesterday and the case and brooch today? We definitely have a thief on board. A thief who waits until passengers leave their compartments to go to the diner, or up to the Domes or the lounges.”
Mike Scolari had been listening to the exchange from the doorway of his compartment. “My grandfather may have seen something important,” he said now.
“Then I’d like to speak with your grandfather,” the conductor said.
Mike opened the door wider. Jill followed the conductor into the Scolaris’ compartment. Jill had spoken to old Mr. Scolari several times during the journey. He was nearly bald, and what remained of his hair was snowy white. Lines and wrinkles furrowed his face. He sat on the bench seat, a small plaid blanket thrown over his legs. “Gramps, this is the conductor, Mr. Gaskill. And you’ve met Miss McLeod, the Zephyrette.”
His brown eyes twinkled like those of a younger man. “Yes, I have met her. Just like you said, she’s very pretty.”
“Gramps,” Mike said, a warning in his voice. “None of that now. This is serious. Tell the conductor what you told me, about that fellow coming into the compartment.”
Mr. Scolari turned his gaze from Jill to Mr. Gaskill. “Mike and I had lunch here. I’m crippled up with this arthritis of mine, so I have trouble walking. Makes it hard to go to the diner. After we ate lunch and the porter collected our trays, Mike went back to the observation car to look at the scenery. I don’t expect him to stay here with me all the time. If I need help I ring for the porter. And he’s a good fellow, that porter.”
Mr. Scolari stopped and cleared his throat. Then he continued. “Anyway, a few minutes after Mike left, a man opened the door and took a step in, like he was coming inside. Then he saw me, and backed out in a hurry. Mumbled something, saying he’d gotten the wrong compartment. After he shut the door, I heard him—or someone—open the door of the next room. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Guess anyone could open the door by mistake. Bet it happens all the time. But now, Mike tells me something’s missing. That makes me wonder about that fellow I saw.”
“It makes me wonder, too,” the conductor said. “Can you describe the man?”
“Not very well,” Mr. Scolari said with a shrug. “I was dozing. I get sleepy after I eat. And I saw him for just a few seconds. Let’s see.” He thought for a moment. “Younger than me, that’s for sure. He was middle-aged, forties or fifties, maybe. Ordinary-looking clothes. A face you wouldn’t pick out of a crowd, that’s for sure. Oh, and he was losing his hair. Sorry I can’t be more specific.”
“Thank you, Mr. Scolari,” Mr. Gaskill said. “If you think of anything else that might be helpful, please let us know.”
Jill followed the conductor out of the compartment. “Is there anyone traveling in compartment G?” he asked.
Both Jill and Si Lovell shook their heads. Compartment G had been the Gunthers’ compartment. They had left the train early that morning.
“That compartment’s been empty since the passengers got off in Salt Lake City,” the porter said. “It’ll be empty till we get to Denver.”
“So our thief went down the line of compartments, looking for one that was occupied—and empty,” Mr. Gaskill said. “Once inside, he searched for something valuable. In this case, he found it. I wish the old man had given us a better description. Middle-aged, ordinary, losing his hair. That description could fit half the men on this train.”
Mr. Gaskill looked at Mr. Alford, the Pullman conductor. “We’ll have to keep a sharp eye out for anyone who looks like he’s prowling around the compartments. Alert the other Pullman porters about the thefts. I’ll speak with the dining car steward and the waiter in charge. All of us need to be on the lookout for anything suspicious.”
As the conductor headed forward and the Pullman conductor went back to the other sleepers, Jill looked at her watch. They were due into Glenwood Springs soon. It was time for her next announcement. She went to the public address system in the diner and lifted the mike.
“We are now approaching Glenwood Springs, railroad gateway to the world-famed Glenwood Springs-Aspen winter and summer recreational area.
“Leaving Glenwood Springs, we will enter the western end of Glenwood Canyon of the Colorado River, the great beauty of which inspired the Vista-Dome car. It was here that Mr. C. H. Osborn, vice president of General Motors Corporation, first conceived the Vista-Dome idea. In commemoration of that event, a stone monument has been constructed across the river near the highway about midway through the canyon. The monument supports a stainless steel scale model of a California Zephyr Vista-Dome car. If you watch carefully, you may see the monument as we pass the station of Grizzly.”
After she replaced the microphone, Jill walked back to the Silver Solarium. The observation car’s lounge was full of passengers. She went up to the Vista-Dome, and found all four of the Finches in t
he front seats, Mr. and Mrs. Finch on one side, their two daughters, and Emily, on the other. Just behind the girls, the Bensons crowded into two seats with Billy and Chip sitting on their parents’ laps.
“I’m really looking forward to the view as we go through Glenwood Canyon,” Mr. Finch said. “The scenery is spectacular. Now that the snow has let up we should be able to see everything.”
Ed Benson pointed as the train approached a bridge. The tracks crossed the river several times on this stretch. “Here we go, crossing the river again. Lots of ice on the banks, but that water in the middle is flowing fast.”
“I’ll bet it’s cold,” Billy said.
“Sure is, sport,” his father said.
They were coming up on another snag, a dead tree. At the very top Jill saw a bald eagle. “Look, another eagle. We should see more in Glenwood Canyon and the canyons after that, Gore and Byers.” As they went through the tiny community of New Castle, Jill pointed at a slope to the south of the tracks. “You see that mountain over there, that patch with no snow?”
“All the other mountains have snow,” Nan said. “Why is that one bare?”
“It’s called Burning Mountain,” Jill said. “There’s a coal seam fire that’s been burning for over fifty years, under the surface. The soil is too hot for plants to grow, and in the winter, it’s so hot it melts the snow.”
In another ten minutes the Zephyr reached the outskirts of Glenwood Springs. Outside, the Colorado River roiled along on the north side of the tracks, making a channel between the ice that extended from the shoreline. Jill pointed to the south side of the tracks, where another river flowed swiftly from the slopes, rushing toward its confluence with the Colorado River. “That’s the Roaring Fork River. It flows into the Colorado. We’re coming up on the bridge now.” The familiar clickety-clack of wheels on rails changed timbre as the observation car rumbled over the bridge. “Upstream, other rivers flow into the Roaring Fork. One is called the Crystal River and the other is the Fryingpan River.”
“Fryingpan?” Nan laughed. “That’s a funny name for a river.”
“Good fishing in the Fryingpan, so I’ve heard,” Mr. Finch said.
The California Zephyr slowed, then came to a stop at the Glenwood Springs station, on the south side of the river. Jill glanced at her watch. The train was right on schedule. On the platform, people were bundled against the winter cold. Beyond the station snow that had fallen earlier had been cleared and shoveled into piles.
The stately old Hotel Colorado was on the north side of the river. Built of brick and sandstone in the 1890s, the hotel’s bulk stood out amid the smaller buildings surrounding it. Clouds of steam rose from the large hot springs pool in front of the hotel.
“The springs look inviting.” Mrs. Finch smiled. “Let’s come back and stay there.”
“That’s a splendid idea,” her husband said. “Perhaps in the spring, when the girls are on a break from school.”
“President Theodore Roosevelt stayed at that hotel,” Jill told Emily. “Your teddy bear is named for Teddy Roosevelt.”
Emily looked dubious. “My bear is called Benny.”
“I know. But teddy bears are named that because of Teddy Roosevelt.”
“Was he the same family as the other President Roosevelt?” Cathy asked.
“Franklin? Yes, they were cousins, several times removed,” Jill said. “Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt was Teddy Roosevelt’s niece. Her father was his brother. What other presidents were related?”
“John Adams,” Emily said, “and John Quincy Adams.”
“That’s right.” Jill looked out the Vista-Dome and saw the conductor walking along the platform. She couldn’t hear him call, “All aboard,” but the station stop at Glenwood Springs was brief and the train would be on its way soon. A moment later the Zephyr began to move, picking up speed as it headed east. She pointed at the north side of the river. “Those are the Yampah Caves. They were used by the Ute Indians. I’m told that yampah means ‘big medicine.’”
All around her the passengers were exclaiming over the canyon’s beauty. Glenwood Canyon wound for fifteen miles, carved by the Colorado River through layers of Paleozoic limestones, sandstones, and shales, then Precambrian granites of coarse pink. Layers of limestone near the town of Glenwood Springs held lots of caves, many with hot springs. Here and there water seeped from the canyon walls, creating waterfalls that froze in the winter.
“The railroad was built through here in eighteen eighty-seven,” Jill said. “It was narrow-gauge, and then it was converted to standard gauge. Here comes Jackson Tunnel. It’s the longest of the tunnels here in Glenwood Canyon, just over thirteen hundred feet.”
Jill stayed in the Vista-Dome until the eastbound Zephyr passed the westbound Zephyr, at a place called Grizzly Creek. The passengers waved at their counterparts in the Vista-Domes on the other train. In another five minutes they would reach the Shoshone Dam, which had been built in 1905.
Jill checked her watch. “They’ll be done serving lunch in the dining car at two. As soon as everything is cleared away, the crew and I can get ready for the Christmas party. Excuse me, I have some things to get from my compartment.”
As the train passed the dam and entered the Shoshone tunnel, Jill went down the stairs to the lower level of the Silver Solarium, then headed forward through the Silver Rapids and the Silver Pine. When she reached the Silver Palisade, she stopped at bedroom A, tapping lightly on the closed door. No answer. Mrs. Tidsdale must be asleep. Best not to disturb her.
Jill continued forward past the roomettes, heading toward the vestibule. As she reached roomette two, Dr. Kovacs called to her. “Miss McLeod, I wonder if you would do me a favor?”
“Of course, I’d be happy to.”
He rose from his seat and held out a sealed white business-sized envelope, addressed to himself at the physics department in LeConte Hall on the Berkeley campus. “Would you keep this for me, please? Just until we get to Denver. Then I will relieve you of it. I would be most grateful for the favor.”
Jill hesitated. Then she took the envelope. “All right. I’ll put it in my quarters right now.”
“Thank you,” the professor said. “I do appreciate it. I’m concerned about someone…well, I will explain later.”
“It’s something to do with Mrs. Cole, isn’t it? Your ex-wife.”
“Her name was Rivka Mehler when I met her.” The professor’s mouth quirked, as though the words tasted sour. “So now she’s married again, to this man Cole. I take it they are traveling in one of the sleeper cars. Is it this one?”
Jill shook her head. “They’re in the Silver Gull. That’s the sleeper car between this one and the diner.”
“We are both Jews who came to the United States in nineteen thirty-nine, before the war started in Europe,” Dr. Kovacs said. “I’m Hungarian, from Budapest. She is from Czechoslovakia, a town called Cheb, near the German border, in an area known as the Sudetenland. You were a history major, so I think you must know about the Sudetenland.”
“I do,” Jill said. “Annexed to Nazi Germany in October of nineteen thirty-eight. Neville Chamberlain and ‘peace in our time.’”
He nodded. “Kristallnacht—the Night of Broken Glass—happened just a few weeks later. The Nazis burned synagogues and destroyed Jewish businesses all over Germany. Rivka’s father was a Socialist, she said. Socialists were targets of the Nazis, as well as Jews and Communists. She left Czechoslovakia, went to Poland and Sweden, then to the United States. We met in New York City in ’forty-two, and married a short time later. A hasty marriage. It didn’t last. She went with me to…” He stopped.
“Los Alamos,” Jill finished. “Where you worked on the Manhattan Project.”
“Yes. I reported to the Hill in ’forty-three. She arrived a few months later. She hated New Mexico, hated the isolation, the primitive conditions we lived in up there. She left late in ’forty-four and divorced me the following year. I have not seen her since she left Los Alamo
s, and that was eight years ago.” He sighed. “Our relationship is long over. I was just surprised to see her on the train, with her new husband. And something else, another man.”
“Mr. Paynter,” Jill said. “You’ve seen him before. I could tell from the way you looked at him in the dining car. And I think you also know Mrs. Tidsdale.”
“You don’t miss much,” the professor said.
“It comes with being a Zephyrette for nearly two years. It’s taught me to read people and situations.”
“This situation is complicated,” Dr. Kovacs said. “I have written about it. That’s what’s in the envelope, that and some other things. If you will keep the envelope safe until we reach Denver, I will explain it all to you.”
“You don’t have to. It’s your business.” Jill tucked the envelope under her arm. She continued forward, with a brief nod to Frank Nathan, who was taking a few minutes’ rest in his porter’s seat. She went through the Silver Gull, then into the diner, now closed for lunch service. There was a flurry of activity as the waiters cleared tables. “I’m getting my things for the Christmas party,” she told them. “I’ll be right back, to help set up.”
“Wait till you see the cake I baked, Miss McLeod,” the chef said as she headed past the kitchen prep area. “It’s almost too pretty to eat.”
“Nothing’s too pretty to eat,” one of the waiters chimed in.
Jill laughed. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She reached the Silver Hostel. Once inside her compartment, she set the professor’s envelope down next to the Agatha Christie novel. She reached for the blue carpetbag she’d brought with her when she boarded the train in Oakland.
Emily darted into the compartment. “Is this where you sleep? It’s awfully little.”
“Yes, it is.” Jill looked at the tiny space, which seemed crowded now, with herself and the nine-year-old girl.
Emily sat down on the bench seat and gave it an experimental bounce. “I want to help you get ready for the Christmas party.”