Death Rides the Zephyr

by Janet Dawson

  The she straightened, and turned to face the conductor, who stood in the doorway. “It’s not here.”

  “Step outside and let me take a look,” Mr. Gaskill said. Jill complied. The compartment wasn’t big enough for both of them. She watched as the conductor knelt, then leaned over, running his hands under the seat. Then he got to his feet, brushing off his trousers. “Nothing under there except lint. Are you sure you brought the envelope to your compartment?”

  “Yes, I did. I put it on the seat and—”

  She stopped as a man and a woman with a little boy came down the corridor, heading for the dining car. “We don’t have a reservation for dinner,” the man said. “I thought you would come through the cars and give us a reservation card.”

  “I’m sorry, I was delayed,” Jill said. “The dining car steward is aware of the situation. He’ll seat you.”

  After the passengers departed, the conductor stepped out of Jill’s compartment. “Let’s go to my office. We can continue this conversation in private.”

  Jill followed the conductor to the Silver Palace. Mr. Gaskill opened the door to the conductor’s office at the rear of the car. Once they were inside, he shut the door. “Now tell me again what happened when Dr. Kovacs gave you the envelope.”

  Jill played the scene over in her mind. “I set the envelope on the seat, near the book. Then I took the bag down and… Emily Charlton came in. She’s the little girl Mrs. Tidsdale is escorting to Denver. She said she wanted to help me get ready for the Christmas party. So I took the bag and carried it…”

  She stopped and thought for a moment. “Emily sat down on the seat. She was bouncing up and down. Then just as I left, I ran into Mr. Scolari, the man who’s traveling with his grandfather on the Silver Gull. He offered to help with the party. Then Emily came out of the compartment and the three of us went to the dining car.”

  Now Jill frowned and looked at the conductor. “Emily could have taken the envelope. I wasn’t looking at her while I talked with Mr. Scolari. My back was to the compartment. She could have, because of the scavenger hunt.”

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  “She was with me when I found the professor, helping me make dinner reservations. She’s with the Bensons now.”

  “Let’s talk with her.” The conductor opened the office door as the train moved into a curve. Then the Zephyr’s whistle blew, a succession of short, repeated bursts. That was the warning signal for an emergency, or to alert people or livestock on the tracks. The engineer was stopping the train. Jill felt the bump, bump, bump as the air brakes began to engage in each car ahead of them.

  “What the hell?” the conductor said, leaning toward the small window of his office.

  Something heavy hit the roof of the train. The loud bang was followed by more thumps, some louder than the others. Jill heard someone screaming in the passenger car as the train slowed and finally came to a stop.

  “Rock slide,” the conductor said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The boulder was about the size of a grand piano. It had been pushed along the rails by the impact of the lead locomotive. Now the huge rock lay in the middle of the tracks, inches from the front of the engine. Jill shivered in the open door of the vestibule. She was in the first chair car, the Silver Pony, looking out at the boulder, which was visible from here because of the curve of the tracks. Other rocks, smaller in size, lay around the boulder, and beside the train, all the way back to the Silver Solarium at the end. The Colorado River was below, its water looking black as it rushed along between snow-covered banks and icy rocks.

  Mr. Gaskill and the brakeman had climbed down to the snowy verge of the track, but they couldn’t walk forward more than a few feet, because of the rocks and the cliff overhanging the river. Now they returned to the vestibule and climbed aboard.

  “They’ll have to blast that son-of-a-bitch,” Mr. Gaskill said. “Those smaller rocks we can push out of the way. But that big one will have to be blown up.”

  The attendant on the Silver Pony shut and locked the vestibule door. “We got people hurt, sir. One of those rocks broke the glass on one of the panes up in the Vista-Dome.”

  “Go through your car and find out how many people are injured,” the conductor said. Then he headed forward, through the baggage car. Jill hurried to catch up with him. The baggage man was busy righting sacks and packages that had fallen. One of the coffins that had been loaded on the train in Oakland was still aboard, the other three having been taken off the train at their earlier destinations. Fortunately it was strapped down.

  At the front of the car a connecting door opened onto the rear locomotive. After the winter cold of the open vestibule, Jill felt heat emanating from the 1500-horsepower engines and the boiler that provided steam and hot water for the passenger cars. She followed the conductor and the brakeman into the back end of the locomotive, the smell of diesel fuel filling her nostrils. The space behind the engines was dark and grimy, with a toilet in one corner for use by the engine crew. A passageway to the right of the huge engine led up to the front, where another door led to the next engine.

  The engineer, walking back from the lead engine, met them here. Jill stood in the doorway, straining to hear over the sound of the engines, loud even on idle. The engineer removed his blue-and-white-striped cap and wiped sweat from his forehead.

  “Saw that boulder coming down in front of me,” he said. “I throttled down and braked, but I knew I was gonna hit it. Not enough time to stop. It’s big. This time of year, with the freezing and thawing, I expect rock slides. But I haven’t seen a boulder this big in a while. And the damn rocks are still coming down.”

  As if to punctuate his words, more rocks rained down on the Zephyr, banging as they hit the roof and sides of the train.

  “Can we push the boulder out of the way?” the conductor asked.

  The engineer shrugged. “Maybe. We’ve got the power to move it. I’ve done it before, with smaller rocks. This one’s mighty big, though.”

  “Give it a try. It’s nearly sundown. We’re losing the light. But first…” Mr. Gaskill beckoned to the brakeman. “Tommy, shinny up that telegraph pole. Send a message back to Glenwood and ahead to Kremmling. Tell them what happened. They’ll send a track crew. And tell them one of the passengers is dead, a Dr. Kovacs. It looks like murder.”

  At the surprised looks from the crew, he added, “I’ll fill you in later. Don’t say anything to the passengers about this suspicious death. In the meantime, we have injuries. There’s a broken window in the first Vista-Dome, and who knows what else. Miss McLeod, get your kit and set up a first-aid station in the Silver Hostel. Get on the PA system and let people know. Tell the onboard crew to make note of injuries and damage. While you’re at it, see if we’ve got any doctors or nurses aboard, anyone with medical training.”

  Jill nodded. She left the warmth of the locomotive and walked back through the baggage car to the Silver Pony, the first chair car. At the stairs leading up to the Vista-Dome, a male passenger was holding a handkerchief to a woman’s bleeding forehead. Above him, the porter was helping a woman and a child down the stairs. “We got nine people with cuts, Miss McLeod,” he called. “Some bruises and scrapes, too.”

  “We’re setting up a first-aid station in the Silver Hostel,” Jill said. “Have the injured people make their way back there. With that window broken in the Vista-Dome it will get cold in this car. See if the baggage man has something to patch it with, a big piece of cardboard and some tarps, some canvas. Do the best you can.”

  She headed back through the Silver Palace, where the porter was tending to an elderly man who had fallen and twisted his ankle when the train stopped. Mr. Webb hailed her as she went by. “What can I do to help?” he asked.

  “We’re turning the Silver Hostel into a treatment station.” She indicated the old man. “If you’d help that gentleman back to the car, we’ll put some ice on that ankle.”

  Mr. Webb nodded and moved toward the i
njured man. “Let me help you there. If you’ll just put your arm around my shoulder…”

  Jill continued through the Silver Saddle, relaying the same message. In the Silver Hostel, she told the steward to get ready for injured passengers. When she reached the Silver Plate, she raced past the kitchen and pantry to the steward’s counter. There two of the waiters were supporting one of the chefs, who was groaning with pain.

  “Boiling water splashed all over his hands when the train stopped,” the steward said. “We put ice on it right away, but he’s hurting bad.”

  “Take him to the lounge.” Jill keyed the mike on the PA system. “This is Miss McLeod, the Zephyrette. The train has been hit by a rock slide. There is a large boulder on the tracks ahead of us. Porters, stewards, and other crew members, please check with all the passengers on your cars and determine if anyone is hurt and whether there is any damage to report to the conductor. All injured passengers and crew members, please come to the Silver Hostel, where we’re setting up a first-aid station. If there are any doctors, nurses, or people with medical skills on board, please come to the lounge as well. We need your help.”

  She hung the mike back on the board and turned to the passengers and waiters who’d been in the dining room. “Is anyone hurt?”

  “Thank the Lord, no,” one of the waiters said. “Just a few bumps and bruises.”

  The sandy-haired man at the table nearest Jill was traveling in one of the chair cars with his wife and two small daughters. Jill had seen the family board in Green River. “Pete Carlisle,” he said. “I was a Navy hospital corpsman during the war. You got a kit?”

  “In my compartment,” Jill said.

  Mr. Carlisle nodded and turned back to his wife. “Take the girls back to the car, Ella. I’m gonna help out.”

  “The glass in the Vista-Dome on the Silver Pony broke,” Jill told the steward and the waiters. “We have some people with cuts. We’ll need bandages. Please bring some clean napkins.”

  One of the waiters spun off toward the linen locker. Jill led the way back to the lounge car, stopping at her compartment for the first-aid kit. She and Mr. Carlisle headed for the lounge. The steward had cleared the tables, setting glasses and ashtrays on the counter separating the lounge from the kitchen.

  Most of the passengers had left, except for one, Mrs. Clive, who was arguing with the steward. Now she rounded on Jill, an angry expression on her face. “This is so annoying. First my cigarette case gets stolen by that porter and you’re not doing anything about it. Then the train stops and my drink spills all over my dress. Now we’re going to be late getting into Denver. How late will we be?”

  “I have no way of knowing that, ma’am,” Jill said. “We’ve sent messages back to Glenwood Springs and ahead to Kremmling. A track crew is on its way, but it will take some time for them to clear that boulder from the tracks.”

  The woman sniffed. “Well, honestly. I’ll have to have this dress cleaned and I want the railroad to pay for it.”

  Jill sighed and resisted the urge to smack Mrs. Clive. “We’ll deal with that later, ma’am. Please return to your car. We have injured people and we need to treat them.”

  Mrs. Clive huffed and puffed, muttering imprecations and threatening to call the head of the railroad. But she left.

  Then the tall, white-haired man who’d boarded the train in Grand Junction entered the lounge, carrying a small leather bag. “I’m Dr. Parker. Retired, but I still know how. And I have my own kit. I always carry it when I’m traveling.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Jill said. “This is Mr. Carlisle. He was a Navy hospital corpsman. Here’s the train’s first-aid kit. There’s not much in here besides Merthiolate and aspirin, and some soda mints. We have people with cuts from broken glass in the first chair car. One of chefs in the diner was injured when boiling water spilled on his hands.”

  “We’ll manage.” Dr. Parker set his bag on the counter and opened it.

  The chef who’d been burned came into the lounge, groaning in pain as he held out his burned hands and forearms. “It hurts bad.”

  “Ice, and plenty of it,” Dr. Parker said, examining the burns on the chef’s hands. The lounge steward sped toward the kitchen and filled a bowl with ice, passing it over the counter to the doctor.

  The woman with the cut forehead arrived on the arm of the male passenger who’d been with her earlier, holding the bloodstained handkerchief to her head.

  “Let me take a look at that,” Mrs. Constanza said from the doorway. She smiled at Jill. “I was a nurse in Italy before I married my husband.”

  Mrs. Finch was there, too, a step behind Mrs. Constanza. Her smile had a grim touch. “I was a Red Cross volunteer during the war. Give me something to do, even if it’s dispensing aspirin. This is turning out to be an eventful trip.”

  “If you’ll get some water, Margaret,” Mrs. Constanza said, “we’ll clean this cut and see how serious it is.”

  “I’m way ahead of you, ma’am,” the steward said, passing a bowl of water and a white napkin over the counter. Mrs. Finch took it and she and Mrs. Constanza took the injured woman’s arm and steered her to the seat nearest the bar.

  More injured passengers from the chair cars began straggling in, with cuts from the broken glass. Others came from the sleeper cars, some with bruises and bumps. Mr. Carlisle worked in the coffee shop area, while Dr. Parker examined people in the lounge. Jill moved from place to place, helping where she could. In the passageway she saw Mike Scolari, holding a bloody handkerchief to his chin.

  “How did you get that?” She drew him into the lounge and pulled away the handkerchief. He winced as she dabbed a napkin in warm water and cleaned the blood from the inch-long cut.

  “I was helping Gramps back from using the toilet. The train braked, and Gramps lost his balance. So I threw myself between him and the bulkhead, to break his fall. He’s okay, just a little shaken up. But I banged my chin on something, not even sure what it was. Hurts like hell. Pardon my French. Am I going to have a scar on my noble visage?”

  Jill smiled. “Probably not. It bled a lot but it’s not too deep. A scar would just give you character.”

  “I’m enough of a character as it is. Or so my family tells me.” He winced as Jill applied Merthiolate to his cut. “Ouch. That stuff stings. What about that other matter?”

  He was referring to the murder. “The brakeman telegraphed the stations in Glenwood and Kremmling,” Jill said. “So they’ve been notified about the rock slide, and the other matter. Not much we can do now, except wait for a track crew to clear the rocks.”

  “Can I help with anything?”

  Jill put a bandage on his cut. “We’ve got plenty of help here. It would be best for you to go back to your compartment. It will take a while for a track crew to reach us and get that boulder out of the way. Oh, would you check on Emily, please? She’s in the Bensons’ bedroom on the Silver Palisade.”

  “Will do,” he said, departing with a wave. He returned a short time later, reporting that Norma Benson had fallen when the train stopped. “She’s okay. Just strained her back. She took some aspirin and she’s lying down. Emily, Billy, and Chip went back to the Silver Solarium so their mom can rest.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go back and check on her later.”

  For now, Jill had plenty to do. Passengers kept coming to the lounge, complaining of cuts, bruises, and sprains. Jill turned to a new arrival. “Sit down and put your feet up, ma’am. Yes, it’s bruised. I’m sure it hurts. We’ll put some ice on that.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jill felt as though she’d spent the whole evening here in the Silver Hostel, seeing to injured passengers and answering questions. But when she checked her watch, it had been less than an hour since the train hit the boulder. Most of the people who’d been injured had been treated in the lounge and coffee shop and had returned to their seats and sleeping accommodations.

  Darkness enveloped the train. The conductor came into the lounge and reported tha
t track crews were on their way to clear the rock slide. There was no estimate of when they’d arrive. Dinner was being served in the dining car, retaining some semblance of normality.

  “Thanks for all your help,” Jill told the passengers who had helped their injured compatriots.

  “Glad to be of service,” the doctor said, shutting his bag. “I believe I’ll check on that chef who burned his hands before I head back to my bedroom.”

  “He’s lying down in the dormitory,” the lounge steward said. “If you’ll follow me.”

  Mr. Carlisle closed Jill’s first-aid kit and headed back to the chair cars. Mrs. Constanza washed and dried her hands, while Mrs. Finch stretched and yawned. “Goodness, it’s time for dinner. I’d rather stretch out on my bed and take a nap.”

  As she and Mrs. Constanza left, heading back to the sleeper cars, Jill wished she could lie down as well. But she’d have to settle for washing her face in the basin in her compartment. Then she’d get some dinner. Her stomach felt empty.

  She picked up the first-aid kit and carried it out of the lounge. As she went up the steps just outside, heading back toward her compartment, Jill was surprised to see Clifford Cole at the end of the car. It looked as though he was closing her door. But surely that was her imagination.

  “Are you looking for me, Mr. Cole?” She set the first-aid kit on the floor. “May I help you with something?”

  “Yes, my wife’s been hurt,” he said. “It happened when the train stopped. She banged up her ankle. She’s got a really bad cut and it hurts when she tries to walk. Please come back to our compartment.”

  “Let me get the doctor. He’s just here in the dormitory, seeing to an injured crew member.” Jill turned and took a step.