by McHugh, Mary
“Well.” I stopped. How could I put this so he wouldn’t think I was imagining this whole thing?
I dove in. “About a half hour ago, Dora invited me into her suite for some tea. She said she wanted to show me pictures of her daughter. You know, the one who died. I thought, ‘Why not?’ Up until then I believed that she was a devoted fan of Shambless. I mean, she talked about him as if he were a god.”
“So you accepted her invitation and . . .” the inspector urged.
“She had a whole bunch of photographs of her daughter. She told me about her husband who deserted her when he found out their little girl had cystic fibrosis. She poured me a cup of tea.”
“And?” He seemed to be growing impatient.
“I was feeling sorry for her. I took a sip of the tea and was almost bowled over by the strong scent and very sweet flavor of the tea.”
“What kind was it?”
“She said it was a blend she made herself and always carried with her. She seemed a little too eager for me to try it. I took one sip, and I knew it was oleander that I smelled because of that bag of leaves I gave you this morning. The one that Hawkeye found. The tea smelled just like that. I decided not to drink any more of it.”
“Good choice,” Javier said.
“The weird thing, Javier,” I said, “was that when I mentioned Shambless, she said she hated him. You should have seen her face. It was distorted with rage when she talked about him. She said he was always saying bad things about children with disabilities. How doctors should get rid of them in the delivery room. How parents got all that government money to take care of children who shouldn’t be allowed to live. I nearly fell off my chair, because up until then, I thought she worshipped him.”
“That still doesn’t explain why she would want to harm you, though,” Javier said.
“For some reason she thinks I know that she killed Shambless. I don’t know why, but I’m sure she was trying to poison me with that tea.”
Javier grabbed my arm. “Come on, Gini. I want to have a taste of that tea.”
“You don’t think I’m nuts?” I said.
“Maybe, but you’ve told me enough so that I want to find out more,” he said. “Let’s go.”
He hurried me along the corridor to Dora’s suite and knocked on her door. There was no answer.
Javier knocked again, louder. “Open the door, please, Señora Lindquist. It’s Inspector Cruz.”
The door opened. Dora’s weak smile turned to a look of hostility when she saw that I was with the inspector.
“We’d like to talk to you for a minute, señora,” Javier said.
“Of course, Inspector. Please come in.”
We walked into her suite. The photos of her daughter were still lined up on the dresser. All signs of our tea party had disappeared. There was no pitcher of tea, no plate of cookies, no cups and saucers. The only remainder of my visit to her was a strong, sweet smell in the air. The same smell that kept me from drinking the tea she offered me.
“What can I do for you, Inspector,” Dora said.
“Señora Miller said you invited her in for tea and to see pictures of your daughter. Is that true?”
“Yes, of course. Señora Miller had expressed some interest in hearing more about Darlene. I got out some photos for her to see. I offered her a cup of tea. I always do that. It’s a Southern custom,” she said.
“Do you have any tea left?” the inspector asked. “I always enjoy a cup of tea in the afternoon.”
“I would be happy to make a fresh pot of tea for you, Inspector,” she said. “I don’t have any of the tea I shared with Señora Miller. She didn’t seem to care for it anyway.”
“Don’t bother,” the inspector said. “I wonder if I might see the teapot and teacups you used.”
“Certainly, Inspector.”
Dora opened the door of a small cabinet under the table by the window and pulled out the flowered teapot and two cups and saucers I had seen before. They were sparkling clean. There couldn’t have been one whisper of tea left in any of them.
The inspector turned to me.
“Señora Miller, is this the teapot and cups Señora Lindquist served you from?”
Dora was watching me intently.
“They’re the ones, Inspector.”
“Would you mind showing me the tea you served to Señora Miller?” the inspector asked.
Dora reached in the cabinet again and pulled out a bag of tea leaves. The label on the bag said ROSE HIP TEA.
“Is this the only kind of tea you have, Señora Lindquist?”
“Yes, this is my favorite kind. It’s a little sweet for some people’s taste. I guess for Señora Miller it was way too sweet.”
Dora drew herself up and pursed her lips.
“May I ask, Inspector, why you’re interested in my choice of tea?”
“Señora Miller thought perhaps you were serving her your own special brand of tea.”
“Oh, I see.” Dora said, glaring at me. “I have been quite aware for some time, Inspector, that Ms. Miller suspects me of killing Mr. Shambless. I certainly don’t know where she got that idea. I don’t have any oleander tea, if that’s what she told you.”
“Señora Miller was under the impression that you did not like Mr. Shambless as much as you insisted you did,” the inspector continued. “She claims you said you hated him because of his comments about children with disabilities.”
Dora looked the inspector right in the eye. “I said no such thing. I admired Mr. Shambless. I was devastated when he was murdered. She’s the one who was heard to say she would like to kill him. You should be looking for poison in her room, Inspector.”
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, señora,” the inspector said. “We have to follow up all leads, you understand.”
“I do understand, Inspector,” she said. “Next time, I hope you have a more credible witness than someone who obviously dislikes me because of my conservative beliefs.”
She opened the door of her suite and stood there waiting for us to leave.
As I followed the inspector out into the corridor, Dora said to me in a low voice, “I’ll be in touch with you soon, hoofer.”
It was not a friendly good-bye.
Javier walked me back to my suite. He didn’t say anything.
“She lied, you know, Inspector,” I said, not at all sure he would believe me.
He surprised me. “I know that. You have no reason to make any of this up, Gini,” he said. “Of course I believe you. But we have a problem. A suspect without any evidence. I suppose rose hip tea would have as sweet a taste and smell as oleander. It’s what you told me she said about Shambless after pretending all along that she thought he was God that convinced me you are telling the truth.”
“Javier, how come you believe me instead of Dora?” I asked.
“Because you’re a friend of Janice,” he said. “She wouldn’t have a liar for a friend.”
“Thank you for that,” I said. “What will you do now?”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do until she makes her next move.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, that next move might be against you.”
He took my hand in both of his. It was ice cold. “I’m responsible for the health of all dancers on this train,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”
“Thanks, Javier,” I said.
“Are you dancing tonight?” he asked me.
“Yes, if my legs hold up. They’re a bit shaky at the moment.”
“Well, she can’t kill you while you’re dancing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Reasonably.” He smiled. “I’ll be here. Don’t worry.”
Tina was waiting for me. “What happened? Tell me.”
I told her about our visit to Dora and the rose hip tea.
Tina made me sit down on my bed. “Listen, Gini, we don’t have to dance tonight, you know. I’ll just tell Eduardo that we can’t do it.”
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br /> Her kindness brought tears to my eyes. “I’ll be all right, Tina. As Javier said, she can’t kill me when I’m dancing.”
“We have a little while before the performance. Rafaela is giving a Spanish lesson. I think I’ll go. Want to come? It might get your mind off Dora for a while.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” I said. “I’ll join you.”
Gini’s photography tip: Are you sure you want
to put that picture on Facebook?
Chapter 13
Hablas Español?
Rafaela stood by a blackboard at the front of the car. The room was small and lined with bookshelves. It was a library and a place to play Scrabble and other board games most of the time.
“I want to teach you some basic phrases in Spanish,” she said. “Some things that might be useful if you come back to our country again. I hope you will.”
The next time I come back to this country, I thought, I want to visit some peaceful little village where nobody has killed anybody for a long, long time.
“The most basic phrase you might want to use,” Rafaela said, “is ‘Hello, my name is . . .’ This is how it’s written: Hola. Me llamo . . . I am called . . . It’s pronounced ‘may yamo’ . . . Let’s go around the room and you can each tell me your name.”
We all told her our names and she smiled. “Muy bien,” she said. She pronounced it “mooey bee-en,” which most of us already knew meant “very good.”
“You might want to ask the other person his or her name,” Rafaela said. “You would say, ‘¿Como se llama usted?’ Try that. Ask your neighbor her name and tell her yours.”
We all exchanged names with each other and, of course, smart aleck wise ass that I am, I couldn’t resist asking Rafaela how to say “I forgot my name.”
She laughed, and said, “You would say, ‘Me ol-vide, ’but it’s not the best way to make friends in Spain.”
A woman in the back raised her hand. “Rafaela, how do you ask where the restroom is?”
“Good question,” Rafaela answered. “The best way to ask is ‘¿Donde estan los servicios, por favor?’ If you ask, ‘¿Donde estan el bano?’ you are asking for a room with a bathtub in it. You don’t really need a bath.”
“How do you say, ‘Where is a good restaurant? ’ ” Mary Louise asked.
“Do you ever think of anything besides food?” I asked her.
“Occasionally,” she said, “but the food here is so good I want to be able to ask if I’m here by myself some someday.”
“Easy,” Rafaela said. “You just ask, ‘¿Donde puedo encontrar un restaurante bueno?’ You’ve probably figured out that donde means ‘where,’ so just say ‘¿Donde esta . . .’ and look up what you want to find in your Spanish-English dictionary. Let’s try something a little more difficult. Give me an example of something you want to say.”
“How about ‘Are you married?’ ” Janice asked, and we all laughed.
“You would say, ‘¿Esta usted casado?’ That’s if you’re talking to a man. I see one gentleman here. He would say, ‘¿Esta usted casada?’ ”
“I don’t think my wife would like that,” he said, pointing to the woman sitting next to him. She laughed along with him.
Rafaela said, “What else?”
Pat said, “How about, ‘I think you need to see a good therapist.’ ”
“Again,” Rafaela said, “That’s that’s probably not the best way to make friends in Spain, but if you meet somebody really disturbed, you would say, ‘Creo que se necesita un buen terapeuta cogni-tivo. ’ ”
“What’s the best travel tip you would give someone planning a vacation in Spain?” Tina asked.
“Always working,” I said to her.
“Well, who knows better than Rafaela?” she said.
“Gracias,” Rafaela said. “I’m sure you all know by now that means ‘thank you.’ But to answer Tina’s question, I think the best travel tip is, if you don’t know how to ask for something in Spanish, just smile and ask in English. You’ll find most people here speak your language, or at least know enough to help you find what you want. Gini, we haven’t heard from you. What would you like to say in Spanish?”
“Where is the nearest policeman?” I said.
“Do you really think you’re going to need a policeman on this trip?” Rafaela asked.
“I sincerely hope not,” I said. “But I’d just like to be prepared.”
“Let’s hope you will never need it, but if you do, the Spanish word for policeman is ‘policia.’ ”
She gazed around the car, and said, “You might want to take a class in Spanish when you get home. There are lots of online classes available. I’m prejudiced, I know, but I think it’s a beautiful language.”
We all applauded and left, saying “gracias” as we went out the door.
That night, after a light supper of cold shrimp and salad, I changed into my flapper clothes. Short filmy dress. Sexy garters. Silk headband across my forehead. Long string of beads swaying as I did a quick time step to get in the mood. Rosy knees and rhinestone earrings. I was psyched.
The audience was getting settled, talking and moving chairs, rustling, laughing, quieting down as Eduardo walked out on the dance floor.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have the great pleasure of presenting our five Happy Hoofers, our beautiful flappers who will dance ‘Forty-Second Street’ for you.”
The audience broke into wild applause as the CD started playing through the train’s sound system. We tapped onto the stage, our flapper skirts flipping around our rouged knees, our rhinestone garters flashing as we swung into a time step. We shuffled off to Buffalo, did a few high kicks, then danced and swirled across the tiny stage. Could we be any sexier with our sensational legs, curvy bodies, and younger than young spirits? I can’t help it. We were just the best. All of us dancing our hearts out, moving to that music as if it were written just for us.
The music switched to the Charleston. Instantly we were all flashing feet and bending knees. We were heating up this paneled railroad car, opening up the narrow gauge, flashing our smiles, flipping our curls, making that room sing, baby. We were the cat’s meow, the top of the hill, the best of the best. We finished with a fast and sexy dance around the audience and back to the stage for our final bow.
Great roars of “hooray” and “more, more, more, formidable,” and applause loud enough to reach the Picos de Europa mountains outside our train. We were flushed and laughing, being hugged by people we didn’t know.
I saw Janice looking out across the audience, waiting for Javier, wondering where he was, but knowing that his work came first.
I started toward her to cheer her up. Before I could get to her, Tom pushed his way through the crowd around us and whispered something in her ear. She looked startled and then took his hand and followed him out of the car. Sylvia was nowhere in sight.
“Let’s change and get something to eat,” Tina said. “I don’t know why, but I’m hungry all the time.”
“Probably pregnant,” I said.
“Bite your tongue,” Tina said. “It would have to be another immaculate conception if I am. Oh, Gini, look, there’s that great-looking Lab that was at the restaurant with us. He brought Jonathan with him. Fascinating guy.”
“Oh, good,” I said. “That’s Hawkeye, the hero of the day.”
We worked our way through the crowd.
“Hey there, Jonathan,” I said when we reached him. “I’m glad you got here. Were you here for our dance?”
“Gini?” he said. “Is that you? I loved your ‘Forty-Second Street.’ It’s one of my favorites.”
“Jonathan, I’m with Tina. You met her at the restaurant.”
“Hello, Jonathan,” Tina said, shaking Jonathan’s hand. “Okay if I pet Hawkeye?”
“Can we go somewhere where we can sit down? Then it’s okay to pet him. He won’t be working.”
We walked over to the bar to get a cava from Juan. I was relieved to see him back behind
the bar, unsmiling and stoic as usual.
“Juan, I’m so glad you’re back,” I said.
“I’m very glad to be back, señora.”
“We all knew you couldn’t have killed Shambless.”
He didn’t say anything, just looked at me as if to say, Then what was I doing in jail?
He handed us our cavas and we took them to a table on the side.
Tina reached down to pet Hawkeye when we were settled.
“Could I ask you a question?” she said to Jonathan.
“Sure,” Jonathan said.
“I’m doing research for an article on guide dogs for The Times magazine. Could I talk to you about them when we get back home?”
“My favorite subject,” Jonathan said. “I thought you worked for a bridal magazine.”
“I do, but I also freelance when I can. Are you based in New York?”
“No, I’m in Boston,” Jonathan said. “But I’d love to tell you about these dogs. They’re amazing animals. The training is intense. Can you come up to Boston when we get back? I can put you in touch with some people who know a lot more about them than I do.”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
“I feel funny bringing this up,” Jonathan said, “but it’s hard to tell there was a murder on this train.”
“Two, actually,” Tina said.
“Well, how come it’s party time,” Jonathan said. “How come nobody is talking about it? Did they arrest the murderer? Do they know who buried the oleander leaves, or whatever they are, under that tree.”
“No,” I said. “I think I know who did it, but I don’t have any evidence.”
I looked around the room to be sure Dora wasn’t listening to me, and continued in a lowered voice.
I told Jonathan about my tea party with Dora and my unfruitful visit to her afterward with the inspector.
“Wait a minute,” Jonathan said. “You’re basing your whole theory that Dora killed Shambless on her tea being too sweet?”
When he put it like that, it did sound a little weird. Was I just making this whole thing up about Dora because she made tea that smelled like oleanders?