Death Deals a Hand

by Janet Dawson

  “I do like a drink now and then. I am partial to a good Scotch.” Miss Margate had a wicked look on her face, as though she might signal the waiter and ask him to bring her an alcoholic beverage.

  Mrs. Higbee sniffed again. “Utah is dry, of course.”

  “Of course,” Miss Margate echoed. She stifled a smile.

  The waiter brought their food. Thank goodness, Jill thought. She picked up her spoon and dipped it into her soup. Delicious.

  Miss Grant cut into her luncheon steak, focusing on her meal as Mrs. Higbee peppered Jill with questions. The elderly woman was equally curious about Miss Margate’s visit to San Francisco. Then Mrs. Higbee leaned forward over her plate of fish and addressed Miss Grant. “Where do you live? And what do you do?”

  Miss Grant looked at her, eyes narrowed behind her glasses, as though she was deciding whether to answer. “I’m a librarian,” she said finally. “From Aurora, outside of Chicago.”

  “Oh, I know Aurora,” Miss Margate said. “We lived there when I was growing up. Then we moved to Naperville. I live in Winnetka now. So you’re a librarian. Do you work in the old Carnegie library on…? Now, what street is that on? I don’t remember.”

  Miss Grant had been looking past Jill, out the window. Now she looked nonplussed, as though at a loss for words. “The main library?”

  “Benton Street, I remember now,” Miss Margate said.

  Mrs. Higbee gave Miss Grant a hard look. “I should think you’d know the address of the library where you work.” When Miss Grant didn’t answer, Mrs. Higbee began to hold forth on libraries. She was of the opinion that certain books that she disapproved of should be removed from the shelves. Miss Grant was having none of it. She ignored Mrs. Higbee’s remarks and concentrated on her lunch, methodically cutting her steak. Jill and Miss Margate made small talk, steering the conversation away from Mrs. Higbee’s various dislikes.

  The dining car was filling up now. The steward seated Doug Cleary and Pamela Larch at the table on the opposite side of the aisle, where an older couple was already eating their lunch. Doug introduced himself and Miss Larch to their dining companions, then both took menus and studied them. Doug glanced up and smiled at Jill, then he returned his attention to the young woman next to him.

  Jill heard Vic Fontana’s booming voice above the chatter of the dining car. He and Mr. Geddes took seats at a table in the middle of the car. Mr. Fontana caught Jill’s eye and smiled, then he turned his gaze on Avis Margate and his smile broadened. Miss Margate looked away, suddenly interested in her lamb chops.

  Mrs. Higbee, ever alert, turned slightly in her seat to look back toward the two men. “Who are those dark, foreign-looking men?”

  “Mr. Fontana and Mr. Geddes,” Jill said. “They’re business associates, traveling in the sleeper cars.”

  Mrs. Higbee gave Miss Margate a pointed look. “Do you know them? That short one acts as though he knows you.”

  Miss Margate took her time answering, her fork poised over her plate. “I believe I saw them last night in the lounge.”

  “Hmm. Fontana. Sounds Italian,” Mrs. Higbee said, a sour look on her face. “And Geddes. Who knows what kind of name that is. It might even be Jewish.”

  Miss Grant, at the window seat across from Jill, had turned her head to one side, peering out the window. Now she raised her hand and tapped the glass. “I thought I saw something move out there. An animal.”

  “It could be a deer.” Jill looked out the window. Now that the California Zephyr had left the upper section of Gore Canyon, the landscape near the tracks and the Colorado River was open, with thickets of brush. But she didn’t see anything moving, other than the train. “Sometimes I’ve even seen bighorn sheep along this stretch.”

  Mrs. Higbee launched into a story about her son’s recent hunting trip in the Utah mountains, then she finished her lunch and paid her check. When she’d left the dining car, Miss Margate rolled her eyes. “Thank God she’s gone. What an annoying woman. I just hate people like that. You handled her nosiness very well, I must say.”

  “We get all kinds on the train,” Jill said.

  “How diplomatic of you to say so.” Miss Margate smiled.

  On the other side of the table, Miss Grant frowned, and her voice was full of venom when she spoke. “She’s an old busybody. The world would be a better place if people minded their own business.” With that, she reached for her meal receipt and pulled a wallet from her purse. She paid her tab and departed.

  “My goodness,” Avis Margate said. “That old biddy certainly touched Miss Grant’s nerves.”

  It did seem that the old woman had said something to annoy Miss Grant, Jill thought. She wondered whether it was a particular remark, or simply Mrs. Higbee’s numerous questions.

  Now the waiter appeared and cleared the two vacated places at the table, setting that side with fresh place settings for two more passengers. “I’ll bring your desserts right away,” he said. He left and returned a moment later with floating island and a slice of apple pie for Miss Margate.

  “I shouldn’t have anything, after that enormous lunch,” Miss Margate said. “But I have a hard time resisting pie, in any way, shape or form.”

  Jill dipped a spoon into her dish and savored her first bite. She looked out the window. The train had already passed through the tiny collection of houses known as Radium and another outpost known as Yarmony, which was named, like a nearby mountain, for a Ute Indian chief.

  “I can’t imagine anyone living here,” Miss Margate said as she cut into her pie. “To someone from the Chicago area, it looks like the back of beyond.”

  “Ranchers and miners,” Jill said. “We’re approaching State Bridge. It’s an old lodge and stagecoach stop. Teddy Roosevelt stayed there while he was president. And it used to be a speakeasy during Prohibition.”

  “Good Lord, how could anyone get to the place?” Miss Margate asked.

  “I believe the remote location was part of its appeal as a speakeasy,” Jill said. “It’s not easy to get here, which means that the place was so out of the way that the bootleggers didn’t have to worry about interference from the sheriff’s office. Whichever sheriff’s office that would be. At this point, I think we might be in Eagle County, but I’m not sure.”

  “Hi, Miss McLeod.”

  Jill looked up and saw Timothy Shelton standing at her table. His mother stood behind him. “Hello, Timothy.”

  “We’re going to have some lunch,” the boy said. “I’m really hungry.”

  “After that enormous breakfast you ate?” His mother laughed.

  “That was ages ago,” Timothy protested. “I’m hungry now. Can we sit with you?”

  “Of course,” the dining car steward said, coming up behind them.

  Timothy sat down across from Jill. “I’m Betsy Shelton,” his mother said, “and this is my son, Timothy.”

  “We’re from Lincoln, Nebraska,” the boy added. “How about you?”

  “Avis Margate.” She favored the little boy with a wide smile. “I live in a town called Winnetka. That’s near Chicago, which is a great big city by Lake Michigan. That’s where the train started its trip.”

  “We live by a creek,” Timothy said. “And when we go to Omaha I see the Missouri River. That’s a pretty big river.”

  “I know,” Miss Margate said. “We crossed it last night.”

  Mrs. Shelton took a menu from the stand and looked it over. “What would you like to eat, son? I’m going to have a ham and cheese sandwich. Does that appeal to you?” He shook his head. “No? They have chicken salad. You like that.”

  The little boy nodded. “I’ll have chicken salad. Is that your dessert, Miss McLeod? What is it?”

  “I’m having floating island,” Jill told him.

  The boy’s eyes widened. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s like a pudding, with meringue—that’s cooked and sweetened egg whites—floating in a dish of custard. It’s very tasty.”

  “I
’d like to try it,” Timothy said. “But I was thinking about a chocolate sundae, too. I really like chocolate sundaes.”

  “I’ll order the floating island, and you order the sundae. That way we can taste both of them.” Mrs. Shelton marked the menu check and handed it to the waiter.

  The boy leaned forward in his chair. “Hey, the train is stopping.”

  Jill checked her watch and then glanced out the window. It was half past twelve and the CZ was on schedule. “We’re coming into a little town called Bond. This is a short crew change stop where we get a new engineer and fireman. After that we’re going into the Dotsero cutoff.”

  As the train made its brief stop, Jill explained the history of the cutoff, which connected the Moffat Route and the Denver & Rio Grande Western route. “That long tunnel we went through earlier is called the Moffat Tunnel, and it’s named after a man called David Moffat. He had a railroad called the Denver, Northwestern and Pacific, and the name was changed to the Denver and Salt Lake. But the tracks never actually made it all the way to Salt Lake City. In fact, it never got out of Colorado. Mr. Moffat’s railroad ended in the town of Craig. But since we left Denver, we’ve been traveling on what’s called the Moffat Route.”

  “You really know a lot of railroad lore,” Avis Margate said, finishing her pie as the waiter brought the Sheltons’ sandwiches. The train was moving again.

  “I have to,” Jill said. “I get so many questions. Anyway, it’s only thirty-five miles from Mr. Moffat’s tracks to the Denver and Rio Grande tracks, so in the nineteen-thirties they built the cutoff to connect the two. At the northern end of the cutoff is Orestod, and at the southern end is Dotsero, which is Orestod spelled backward.”

  Timothy had been nibbling on his chicken salad sandwich, rapt as Jill talked about railroads. Now he asked, “What happened to Mr. Moffat’s railroad?”

  “It’s now part of the Denver and Rio Grande,” Jill told him. “Soon we’ll be going through Red Canyon, and then we’ll get into Glenwood Canyon.”

  “And when we get to Glenwood, we’ll see the hot springs on the other side of the river,” Timothy finished.

  “One of these days I’ll have to plan a visit to Glenwood Springs,” Miss Margate said. “From what I’ve heard, it sounds marvelous, soaking in a hot pool.”

  Mrs. Shelton nodded. “It’s lovely. I recommend it.”

  The train plunged into darkness as it entered the Yarmony tunnel, over six hundred feet long. As it came back out into the sunshine, Jill said, “We’re coming into McCoy now. It was a stagecoach stop before the railroad came through here. Look for the big water wheel on the south side of the tracks.”

  “I see it,” Timothy cried, craning his head. “It has icicles on it.”

  Miss Margate looked out at the giant water wheel. Then she picked up her luncheon check and looked it over. “It’s been fun talking with you, Timothy. Now, I’m so full I do believe I’m going back to my car and take a nap.”

  “You don’t want to miss the scenery in the canyon,” the boy told her. “It’s spec…” He looked at his mother. “How do you say that?”

  “Spectacular,” Betsy Shelton said.

  “In that case, maybe I’ll go up to the Vista-Dome,” Miss Margate said. “But I could very well doze off.” She put a few bills on top of the check and stood up, heading back toward the sleeper cars.

  Jill pushed back her chair and stood. “I should go, too. It’s time for me to do another walk through the train. I’ll see you later, Timothy.”

  She stepped away from the table and looked around the dining car. Miss Brandon sat at a table for four, along with Mrs. Warrick, Dr. Ranleigh and her niece Rachel. Jill heard enough of their lunchtime conversation to discern that they were engaged in a lively discussion about history, in Colorado as well as England.

  Uncle Sean entered the dining car, coming from the front of the train. He stopped at the steward’s counter, waiting to be seated. Then he saw his son.

  Doug Cleary and Pamela Larch had finished lunch and were getting ready to leave. As they stood, he turned and saw his father standing next to the counter. Seconds stretched as they looked at each other. But neither man said anything.

  Sean followed the steward to a vacant place at a table already occupied by Mr. Poindexter and Mrs. Tyree. He greeted his dining companions and sat down. Doug looked down at Miss Larch and took her arm. They walked down the aisle, heading back toward the sleeper cars. Sean watched them go. Then he pulled a menu from the stand and opened it.

  Mr. and Mrs. Oliver entered the dining car. As they passed his table, Sean looked up. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, studying Mr. Oliver, as though he recognized him. Then he shook his head and went back to perusing the menu.

  Jill left the dining car and made a short stop in her compartment in the Silver Chalet. Then she continued walking forward, checking the lounge and the coffee shop. As she entered the third chair car, the train plunged into the thousand-foot-long Sweetwater tunnel. Once the train exited the tunnel, she climbed the stairs to the Vista-Dome. The CZ headed into the Dotsero Cutoff, crossing several bridges on its route. Snow covered the ground on both sides of the river. In Red Canyon, the cliffs above the tracks glowed a dark brick red against the snow visible in the ledges and crevices, with dark green pines clinging to the slopes. Jill pointed out a seep in the canyon walls, frozen during the winter, now trickling as the ice melted to form a waterfall.

  “There’s an old volcano just east of Dotsero.” Jill said to the passengers. “I’ve read that it’s the last active volcano in the state of Colorado. But don’t worry. It hasn’t erupted in several thousand years. I understand that the crater is mined for red rock.”

  As the train came out of Red Canyon, it passed near the small town of Eagle, where the Eagle River joined the Colorado. Now the train turned in a more westerly direction, preparing to enter Glenwood Canyon. And Jill had another announcement to make. She left the Vista-Dome, her seat quickly taken by a passenger eager to look at the scenery. She headed downstairs and retraced her steps to the dining car.

  Chapter Nine

  Jill walked down the passageway alongside the kitchen. Uncle Sean was still at his table in the dining car, lingering over coffee and a piece of apple pie, and talking with Mr. Poindexter. She smiled at him, then she turned to the public address system across from the steward’s counter. Picking up the mike, she pressed the key and began to speak.

  “We are now entering the Glenwood Canyon of the Colorado River. The canyon’s great beauty inspired the creation of the Vista-Dome car. It was here that Mr. C. R. Osborn, Vice President of the 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.

  “Glenwood Springs, at the western end of Glenwood Canyon, is the railroad gateway to the famous Glenwood Springs–Aspen winter and summer recreational area.”

  She replaced the mike and started through the dining car, just as Uncle Sean got up from the table. “Guess I’d better get a seat in the Vista-Dome,” he said.

  “Same here,” she said. They walked together through the car to the Silver Chalet, where he climbed the stairs to the dome above the lounge. Jill continued walking forward. In the second chair car, the Silver Mustang, she climbed to the Vista-Dome. Timmy Shelton and his mother were seated in the front. Across the aisle were Mr. and Mrs. Halleck and their daughter, Polly.

  Jill found a seat in the middle of the car and was promptly greeted with questions from the passengers, about the canyon and the river. “The rocks you are seeing are Paleozoic limestone, sandstone and shale,” she said. “Further into the canyon are some Precambrian granites. Those are pink in color. There are lots of caves near the town of Glenwood Springs, and that’s because of
the limestone.”

  “Are there hot springs in town?”

  “Oh, yes. As we approach the town you’ll see steam rising from the Glenwood Hot Springs, which is across the river from the station, near the Colorado Hotel. There’s another site at the edge of town, called the Yampah Vapor Caves. I’ve read that they were originally used by the Ute Indians, and that Yampah means Big Medicine. The whole area is honeycombed with springs. Now, just over there is a sheep ranch, called the Bair Ranch.”

  She pointed at the buildings scattered across a meadow, and chatted with passengers as the train headed toward two short tunnels near Shoshone Dam, which had been built in the early part of the century. So had the Shoshone Power Plant, which was two miles downstream of the dam. At times during the summer and fall, the river downstream from the dam was down to a trickle, as the water was diverted into the power plant tunnel. But now, in early spring, the river was running higher with snowmelt, ice still visible along the banks on either side.

  “Glenwood Canyon was the inspiration for the California Zephyr’s Vista-Domes,” Jill continued. “And there’s plenty of railroad history. There were lots of silver and gold mines in the area, so three different railroads were competing to get to Glenwood Springs. The Denver and Rio Grande Western won that competition. It took years to build the tracks. The route was completed in 1887. As we go into the canyon, you will see how narrow it is in places. The company used dynamite to blow up rock and create a shelf for the railbed. At that time it was narrow gauge, with the rails three feet apart. In 1890, the route was switched to standard gauge, which means the rails are forty inches apart. There are three tunnels. The first one is near Hanging Lake, which is a beautiful lake high on the rim of the canyon. After that, there are two short tunnels near Shoshone Dam, which was built in 1905. The last tunnel, before we get to Glenwood Springs, is Jackson tunnel. Keep an eye out for the eastbound California Zephyr. The eastbound and westbound trains will pass each other near Grizzly Creek.”