Death Rides the Zephyr

by Janet Dawson

  “She drinks a lot and she has an eye for the gents? Not a good combination,” Mr. Gaskill said. “I agree with your conclusions. She may be holed up in a compartment with one of those men. Happens all the time on these trains, even if the man and the woman are married to someone else. If that’s the case, I’ll bet the porters have spotted something. We’ll have to search the train. Please find the Pullman conductor, and have him meet us in the diner.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jill walked back to the sleeper cars. She found Mr. Alford in the Silver Pine, and relayed Mr. Gaskill’s message. Together they headed for the diner. Mr. Gaskill and the brakeman were already there. They stood at the counter with the dining car steward.

  “We search the train,” the conductor said, after briefing the others on the problem. He turned to the brakeman. “Mr. Bradshaw, head forward and relay that to the attendants in each of the chair cars. Check the baggage car, see if she might have gone up there, though I don’t know why she would. But anything’s possible.”

  The brakeman nodded and headed toward the front of the train. Mr. Gaskill turned to the Pullman conductor. “Mr. Alford, you’re in charge of the sleeping cars. I understand Miss McLeod has already spoken with the porter in Mrs. Tidsdale’s car. Please speak with the other porters. See if there’s any chance Mrs. Tidsdale is…spending some time in another compartment or bedroom with another passenger. Miss McLeod, please come with me. We’re going to do a walk-through of our own.”

  Jill followed the conductor and the chief porter to the sleeper section. In the Silver Gull, Si Lovell was at the open door of one of the linen lockers. He looked at the delegation and frowned, shutting the locker. Mr. Alford took him aside and the two men conferred.

  “I did see Mrs. Tidsdale. I was delivering lunch to the Scolaris in compartment F.” He indicated the door in the middle of the sleeper car. “Young Mr. Scolari asked for lunch to be delivered at a quarter past twelve. I fetched the tray from the kitchen and carried it back here. Stepped into the compartment with the tray and helped the young man get everything set up so he and his grandfather could eat. Anyway, it was when I was carrying that tray that I saw Mrs. Tidsdale come into the car.”

  “Coming from the diner?” the conductor asked.

  Si Lovell shook his head and gestured to the door at the rear of the Silver Gull. “No, sir. She was coming forward from the sleeper cars.”

  Jill considered the timing. She, Mrs. Tidsdale, and Emily had gone to the diner. That was shortly after noon. It wasn’t long after they’d arrived in the diner that Tidsy had begged off, saying she had a headache. She must have returned to the Silver Palisade, which was the next sleeper car to the rear of this one. Then she’d walked forward again, to this car, the Silver Gull. Why? To visit Mr. Paynter in bedroom A?

  But Mr. Paynter had gone up to the Vista-Dome in the Silver Hostel. She’d seen him climb the stairs as she, Emily, and Mrs. Tidsdale had left the lounge, heading for the diner. Then Mr. Paynter had arrived in the diner as well. She’d seen him at the steward’s counter, after she, Dr. Kovacs, and the Finches had been seated.

  “Did you see her go into any of these compartments?” the conductor asked Mr. Lovell.

  “Not then. I stepped into compartment F about the time I saw her enter the car. So I’m not sure if she walked on through or went into a compartment.”

  Mr. Gaskill mulled this over, then asked the question that Jill had on her lips. “You said ‘not then.’ Had you seen her go into a compartment on this car at another time?”

  The porter sighed. “Yes, sir. Twice. Both times yesterday. I saw her go into that Mr. Washburn’s bedroom, that’s bedroom J. It was last night, before dinner. He’s a fellow that brought a lot of liquor with him. He’d been bothering Miss McLeod a time or two.”

  “Is that true, Miss McLeod?” Mr. Gaskill scowled.

  “Just a wolf, sir. I can handle that,” Jill said. “Go on, Mr. Lovell. You saw Mrs. Tidsdale go into bedroom J.”

  “Yes, I did. Guess she had a drink with him, but she didn’t stay. Short time later I saw her come out. And the other time I saw her go into bedroom A. That’s where Mr. Paynter is staying.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lovell,” Mr. Gaskill said. “Well, nothing for it but to ask.”

  Bedroom J was near the end of the row of accommodations. Now the conductor led the way to the door. He rapped sharply.

  Mr. Washburn had a bottle of bourbon in his hand when he opened the door. He looked past the conductor at Jill and grinned. “Hey, there, little lady, c’mon in. Bring your friends. We’ll have a party.”

  “No, we will not have a party,” Mr. Gaskill said.

  “What? Why not? Got some really good bourbon here.” Mr. Washburn raised the bottle, weaving back and forth in the doorway.

  “Are you alone, Mr. Washburn?” The conductor’s question was a formality. Even Jill, peering past Mr. Washburn, could see that there was no one else in the bedroom.

  “Was until now.” Mr. Washburn reeled as the train headed into a curve. He grabbed the door jamb to steady himself. “Nobody here but us chickens.”

  “I understand a passenger named Mrs. Tidsdale came to your compartment last night before dinner and had a drink with you.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Mr. Washburn leered. “That little blonde is a hot number, I can tell you that. Had a couple belts of bourbon. Then she left. Said somethin’ about had to look after some kid. But I got my suspicions. She’s spreadin’ it around, with some other guy.”

  Mr. Gaskill was looking at Mr. Washburn as though the man had three heads. Jill tightened her lips at Mr. Washburn’s implication. But wasn’t that what she’d been thinking? That Mrs. Tidsdale was in a man’s compartment? Now that she thought about it, maybe Mr. Washburn had seen something.

  “What makes you say that?” she asked.

  “Trying to get into that other bedroom, wasn’t she?” Mr. Washburn took another swig from his bourbon. “Saw her. She was trying the door handle.”

  “Which compartment?” the conductor asked.

  “The one at the end.”

  “Which end?” There was a hint of exasperation in Mr. Gaskill’s voice.

  Mr. Washburn stuck his head through the doorway and looked down the corridor, first to the left, then to the right. “Was it that one, or that one? Not sure. Maybe it wasn’t even the end. Maybe it was the one next to it. What the hell does it matter? Say, are we done with the questions now? Gonna rest my eyes a little bit before dinner.” Mr. Washburn didn’t wait for a reply. He backed into his bedroom and shut the door.

  The conductor shook his head. “Not a very reliable witness. The man is three sheets to the wind.” He looked at the bedroom next to Mr. Washburn’s quarters, at the very end of the row. “Is there anyone traveling in bedroom K?”

  “That bedroom is empty, sir,” the porter said. “The passenger got off in Helper.”

  “That leaves bedroom A at the other end of the corridor. And we know Mr. Paynter is in bedroom A. Who’s traveling in compartment B, next to Mr. Paynter?”

  “A married couple, Mr. and Mrs. Cole,” the porter said. “And bedroom C was a Mrs. Casey, but she got off in Green River, Utah. Can’t think why Mrs. Tidsdale would try to open either one of those doors, if she did. She must have reached out to steady herself.”

  “You’re probably right. That leaves Mr. Paynter.” Jill followed the conductor as Mr. Gaskill walked to the other end of the corridor. The conductor knocked on the door of bedroom A. Jill heard Mr. Paynter’s voice. “Who is it?”

  “The conductor. Open the door, please.”

  The door opened and Mr. Paynter stared out at Jill and Mr. Gaskill. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Paynter, we’re looking for a passenger named Mrs. Tidsdale,” the conductor said. “It’s come to my attention that you and she have spent some time together during the trip. I understand she came to your quarters for a drink last night. And the two of you were together in the lounge this morning.”

  Mr. Paynter looked over
Gaskill’s shoulder, straight at Jill, but she couldn’t read the expression in his dark eyes. “Yes. Mrs. Tidsdale and I have had several drinks together since the train left Oakland.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  Mr. Paynter shrugged. “This morning, in the lounge. It was after breakfast. I didn’t note the time. Why do you ask?”

  “We’re tracing Mrs. Tidsdale’s movements,” Mr. Gaskill said. “She seems to be missing. It’s been suggested—”

  “I know what you’re suggesting.” Mr. Paynter addressed his words to the conductor, but he was looking at Jill. “Just because I’ve had a few drinks with the woman doesn’t mean she’s here in my bedroom. She did come here last night for a nightcap, but she didn’t stay. The woman’s attractive, and I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. But it didn’t work out that way. That kid she’s traveling with puts a damper on that sort of thing. But if it will make you and Miss McLeod feel better, go ahead, have a look.”

  Mr. Paynter stepped back and beckoned for the conductor to enter the bedroom. Mr. Gaskill looked inside. “Thank you, Mr. Paynter. Sorry to disturb you.”

  Mr. Paynter smiled, barely moving his lips. Then he shut the door.

  “Now what?” The Pullman conductor asked as they moved toward the rear of the car. “We can’t search every bedroom and compartment.”

  “We look through the other cars,” Mr. Gaskill said. “Check all the common areas. Talk to the train crew and the porters.”

  The conductor led the way into the vestibule of the Silver Palisade, where they spoke with Frank Nathan in his compartment at the end of the aisle of roomettes. They looked at bedroom A, which was usually occupied by Mrs. Tidsdale and Emily.

  The conductor had just stepped out of bedroom A when the door to bedroom D opened and Mrs. Clive came out. “You’re not the same conductor.”

  “No, ma’am, that was Mr. Wilson. I’m Mr. Gaskill. I boarded in Grand Junction.”

  “I’m Mrs. Clive. My gold cigarette case has been stolen.” She glared at Frank Nathan. “I’m sure this porter took it. What are you going to do about it?”

  Mr. Gaskill inclined his head. “I’m aware of the situation, Mrs. Clive. Mr. Wilson, the conductor you spoke with earlier, gave me a full report before he left the train. Rest assured that we’re doing everything we can to locate your property.”

  Mrs. Clive sniffed. “Well, it’s not enough. I want my cigarette case. I expect the matter to be dealt with fully before we get to Denver.” She swept past them and walked forward, in the direction of the lounge.

  “Sir, I didn’t take that case,” Frank Nathan said.

  “Let’s deal with one crisis at a time.” Mr. Gaskill gestured toward the rear of the train. “I want to check the other sleepers, and the Silver Solarium.”

  The porters in the Silver Pine and Silver Rapids hadn’t seen Mrs. Tidsdale. They entered the Silver Solarium. As they passed the bedrooms, Jill heard the typewriter behind the closed door of bedroom C, Miss Stafford working on her book. In the buffet, the Finches and Constanzas were playing bridge. Mr. Finch hailed the conductor, asking questions about their location. Mr. Alford moved to the bar and took the porter aside.

  Jill continued back to the lounge. All the seats were full of passengers. She climbed up to the Vista-Dome, following the sound of Mike Scolari’s voice. He was at the front of the car, with the children.

  “Look at those deer tracks on the river bank.” He pointed, then he glanced up and saw Jill, an inquiring look on his face. She shook her head. Then she walked down the stairs, speaking briefly to the adults in the observation car, trying not to let on that there was a problem.

  When they returned to the diner, the brakeman was standing with the steward at the counter. “No sign of her,” he told the conductor. “If she’s on this train, it’s not in the baggage car or any of the chair cars.”

  “She doesn’t seem to be in any of the Pullmans either,” the conductor said.

  “What do we do now?” Jill asked.

  “We—” Mr. Gaskill broke off as Alvah Webb entered the diner, coming from the passageway alongside the kitchen and pantry.

  “Is something wrong, Miss McLeod? I seen the porter in my car and that brakeman looking like they was searching for someone.”

  “We’re looking for Mrs. Tidsdale,” Jill said. “The woman you saw last night in the Silver Hostel. Have you seen her?”

  “I saw her in that lounge car this morning, but not since.”

  Jill made the introductions. “This is Mr. Webb. He’s the passenger I told you about, the one who helped me get Mrs. Tidsdale turned around last night when she was…”

  “Drunk,” the conductor finished.

  “Beg your pardon,” Alvah Webb said, “but there’s something I need to say about Mrs. Tidsdale. She was play-acting.”

  “What do you mean?” Mr. Gaskill asked.

  “I mean she was play-acting at being drunk.”

  The crew members stared at Mr. Webb.

  “She smelled of liquor when she got on the train in Oakland,” Jill said. “For most of the trip she’s been in the lounge, drinking. The steward can back me up on that.”

  “I’m an alcoholic,” Mr. Webb said. “Recovering, as we say. I know drinkers, because I am one. And that Mrs. Tidsdale, she’s not a drinker. Last night she was play-acting.”

  “But why would she do that?” Jill asked. Now she doubted her own eyes. Mrs. Tidsdale had certainly spent most of the trip in the lounge with a glass of Scotch in front of her. But had she really consumed that much?

  Mr. Webb shook his head. “I don’t know. But she must have a reason for wanting people to think she’s a drinker.”

  The conductor frowned. “Whether she’s a drinker or not, the woman is missing. She doesn’t seem to be aboard the train. I can only conclude that she got off in Glenwood Springs and didn’t get back on. There’s nothing else we can do except send a wire back to the station in Glenwood Springs, to see if Mrs. Tidsdale has turned up at the station there.”

  He consulted his pocket watch, then leaned over and looked out the window, where the Colorado River ran swift and cold between icy banks. They were coming up on a milepost, one of the markers that was placed every mile along the tracks.

  “We’re almost to State Bridge,” Mr. Gaskill said. “Then we’ll be heading into Gore Canyon, and Byers Canyon after that. Once we get out of the canyons, we can stop at Granby and send a message.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  State Bridge consisted of a lodge with a few rental cabins on the north side of the tracks. Mount Yarmony loomed in the distance. The bridge that gave the place its name crossed the Colorado River, the road heading south. This had been a stagecoach stop in the 1890s, before the railroad came through here in 1905. The lodge attracted hunters, now as well as then. Among them was Theodore Roosevelt, who’d stayed in cabin number three back in the days before he was president. During Prohibition the lodge lured other sorts of patrons, those in search of illegal liquor. Its remote location was far from the reach of law enforcement, making it easy for the liquor trade and other vices to flourish.

  Now the place looked deserted, frozen in time on this late December afternoon. Then Jill spotted smoke coming from the lodge’s chimney.

  “What is this place?” Ed Benson asked as the Zephyr passed the lodge. He and his wife were seated on one of the rear-facing settees at the back of the Silver Solarium. Billy was standing at the curved fish-tail end of the car, looking out at the snowy landscape, while Chip dozed on his mother’s lap.

  “It’s called State Bridge,” Jill said. “It used to be a speakeasy.”

  Mr. Benson smiled. “A long way for a fellow to come for a drink.”

  “It was a long way out for the sheriff, too,” Jill said. “I guess that’s why it was a successful speakeasy.”

  Jill opened the dinner reservation binder. If nothing else, she could take refuge in her daily routine. The Christmas party and the search for
Mrs. Tidsdale had put her behind, and it was less than an hour until the first seating for the Chef’s Early Dinner. She’d have to speed through the cars to make sure the reservations were completed by then. She asked the Bensons about their dinner plans.

  Mrs. Benson smoothed Chip’s dark hair as the little boy stirred on her lap and woke. “We get into Denver at seven. The boys will be too hungry if we wait until then. We’d better have the early dinner at five like we did last night.”

  Jill filled out the reservation card and handed it to the Bensons. “Come on, sport,” Mr. Benson said. “Time to go back to our room.” He stood and took Chip’s hand.

  “Daddy, I found a treasure,” Chip said.

  “Sure you did, sport,” his father said.

  “But I didn’t take anything,” Chip said. “I’m a good boy.”

  “Yes, you are a good boy. Especially when you’re asleep.” He grinned at his wife and walked forward through the lounge, heading for the sleeper cars.

  “He must mean the scavenger hunt,” Mrs. Benson said, her arm around Billy’s shoulder.

  “He’s been calling it a treasure hunt,” Billy said. “Say, Miss McLeod, when are we gonna find out who wins the scavenger hunt?”

  “We’ll do that after I finish making dinner reservations,” Jill said.

  The Bensons left, and Jill made reservations for the other passengers in the lounge. The Finches and the Constanzas were still playing bridge. “I think we’d better have an early dinner, too,” Mrs. Finch said, “since we’re getting off in Denver. Five o’clock?” She looked at her husband and he nodded. Jill filled out a reservation card and gave it to Mrs. Finch.

  “I shall miss our bridge games,” Mr. Constanza said. “It’s been a pleasure traveling with you.”