by Mary Daheim
Judith was tempted to say she wouldn’t answer any more questions until the trooper revealed his source. But that would be a mistake. She knew from Joe that a witness’s lack of cooperation was adversarial. “He was a guest at my B&B last week,” she finally said.
“It was the only occasion I ever encountered him.”
“Excuse me,” Purvis said, “but didn’t you see him at the depot?”
“I saw him being wheeled to the train. I haven’t laid eyes on him since.”
Purvis looked faintly skeptical. “Your reservation was made under another name—Jones. Why didn’t you use yours?”
“The reservation was made by my cousin,” Judith replied. “I had no idea I’d be traveling with her. And yes, Jones is her real name.”
“But at the last minute you decided to join this Mrs. Jones.”
“She begged me to come. She doesn’t like airplanes. Our husbands both have business in Boston this week…” Judith shut up. It was never smart to babble when cops asked questions.
Apparently Purvis read her mind. He waited almost a full minute before speaking again. “When did Mr. Weevil leave your B&B?”
“Um…” Judith wished her brain worked faster, but it seemed as tired as the rest of her body. “He arrived Tuesday about six and left Wednesday afternoon.”
“Was that according to plan?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Their reservation at your B&B,” Purvis said, still impassive and composed. “I assume it wasn’t open-ended.”
“That’s true.” Judith raised her head and managed to stare defiantly at the trooper.
“Mr. Weevil insisted on jumping off our roof, despite warnings from my husband and me. He misjudged his landing, which is how he fractured his leg and his arm. We had to call 911. The medics took Mr. Weevil to a hospital and he never returned to Hillside Manor. By the way, my husband is a retired police detective. If you doubt my word, I’ll give you Joe’s phone number. Surely you wouldn’t consider that a fellow law officer might lie.”
“That depends on the situation,” Purvis replied. “Even in domestic disputes, spouses often take sides against the officers who show up at the scene of what has obviously been a no-holds-barred fight.”
“I know. But,” she added, “Mr. Weevil violated innkeeping rules for guests. He’d jumped out a window earlier, but landed safely.”
Purvis nodded slightly. “I understand that first leap was the result of a wager your husband had made with Mr. Weevil. Mr. Flynn had, I’m told, more or less dared Mr. Weevil to jump.”
Judith briefly closed her eyes. I know where this is going, she thought with a sick feeling. “Untrue,” she asserted. “My husband made a glib remark that Mr. Weevil took seriously. Joe wasn’t home when Willie made his first jump.” Anger had replaced Judith’s earlier fears. “Why are you asking these questions?”
Trooper Purvis looked uncomfortable. “Comments have been made by Ms. Gundy. She’s expressed qualms about Mr. Weevil’s death.”
Judith barely heard Purvis’s last few words. “Who?”
“Dorothy May Gundy, Mr. Weevil’s companion.”
“Do you mean Pepper?”
Purvis did his best to maintain his aplomb. “Who’s Pepper?”
“The redhead that I assumed was Willie’s wife.”
“I don’t think so,” Purvis said. “Her given name is Dorothy—”
“Please,” Judith broke in, “what’s this person saying about me?”
Purvis cleared his throat. “She insists you got on this train to finish what began at your B&B. Ms. Gundy accuses you of murdering Wee Willie Weevil.”
Chapter Eight
Good God!” Judith cried, staggering to her feet. “Is Pepper crazy?”
Purvis looked faintly puzzled. “You mean Ms. Gundy?”
“You know who I mean,” Judith retorted, looking up at the trooper, who had a four-inch height advantage. His regulation hat’s high crown made him even more imposing. She visualized Joe in that kind of headgear, recalling that he’d once tried on Mike’s forest ranger hat. Wearing jeans and with his slight paunch, Joe had looked like Smokey the Bear. Judith and Mike couldn’t keep from laughing. The memory made Judith giggle.
And giggle some more. “Ma’am?” Purvis said in an uncertain voice.
Judith couldn’t stop giggling. She had to lean against the trooper to keep her knees from buckling. “So…funny,” she gasped. “Everything…funny!”
A sudden noise caused Judith and the trooper to stiffen. She couldn’t see around Purvis’s broad form, but realized that the compartment door had been slid open. She also recognized Renie’s outraged voice.
“What the hell…?” A pause followed. “Is this an interrogation or an assignation?” Renie demanded, almost drowning out Mr. Peterson’s loud protests.
Judith stopped giggling. Purvis cautiously took two backward steps.
“Mrs. Flynn is somewhat hysterical,” the trooper said in a strained voice.
Renie stood with fists on hips. “And would be because of…” She paused for an instant. “Police venality? Sexual harassment? Cop bafflement?”
Mr. Peterson had been poised to grab Renie, but froze. Jax’s eyes were shut tight as she leaned against the wall. Matt and Laurie were clinging to each other. Emily was climbing onto the luggage rack. A cell phone rang nearby.
Purvis glanced at Judith. “We’ll finish this conversation later.” He reached inside his jacket, took out his cell, and stalked off into the corridor. As he went past the luggage rack, Emily’s foot slipped, dislodging a big duffel bag. It fell against the trooper’s legs. Emily fell on top of the bag, letting out a bloodcurdling scream. Jax’s eyes flew open. Emily thrashed wildly in the bag’s denim folds. Purvis scooped her up—and dropped his cell phone.
“Mama!” Emily screeched, kicking at Purvis. “Mama!”
The curly-haired woman ran out of the family room. “Put my baby down!”
Purvis loosened his grasp. Emily broke free, snatched the trooper’s cell, and showed it to her mother. “Can I have thith?”
“No,” her mother replied. “Give it to the policeman.”
Emily stamped her foot. “No! Mine phone!”
Purvis joined mother and child. “I need that,” he said, pointing to the cell Emily was holding behind her back. Getting down on his haunches, he offered a strained smile. “I have to catch some bad guys, so I need the phone…Emily.”
“Wha’ bab guy?” Emily asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Purvis explained quietly, “because you have my phone. I have to find out who the bad guy is.”
Emily surveyed the other adults. “I thee a bab lady,” she said—and pointed at Renie. “Pub her i’ da jail.”
Everyone stared at Renie, who looked like she wanted to throttle the kid. Emily took advantage of the lull, broke away from her mother, and skittered back to the family room. At the open door, she turned for a last look at the grown-ups. “I gots a phone, ’n camerth, ’n bibeo gamth, ’n a iPab.” She stuck out her tongue. “Pl-uff-hpt!” Emily went inside and closed the door behind her.
“Darn,” her mother said. “Now she’ll wake the twins.”
“Oh, God!” Renie cried softly. “There are two more like Emily?”
“They’re babies,” Jax said.
Renie snorted. “Not for long. I bet Emily used to be a baby, too.” Judith watched the exchange between Purvis and Emily’s mother. They were both speaking in low voices, but enough of the conversation could be heard to indicate that the trooper wanted his cell phone ASAP.
“What’s Mom’s name?” Judith asked, sidling over to her cousin and Jax.
“Courtney Mueller,” Jax replied. “She’s traveling with her children to visit relatives in North Dakota. Her husband’s in the Middle East.”
“Sounds safer than around here,” Renie said, turning to Judith.
“What’s with the trooper?”
Judith shook her head. “I’l
l explain later. He’s going into the family room.” She turned to Jax. “Where’s the so-called Ms. Gundy?”
Jax pointed to the handicapped room. “She’s still there, with the…body. So is Mr. Fielding.” She winced. “Gruesome.”
Mr. Peterson, who had been speaking quietly to Matt and Laurie, broke off the exchange as a red-faced Purvis strode out of the family room. “Does anyone have a spare cell?” he asked. “Emily hid mine and won’t say where.”
Nobody responded. Purvis sighed heavily. “Then I’ll have to wait until her mother can coax her into telling where she ditched it.”
Mr. Peterson took out his own cell. “You can borrow mine.”
“Thanks,” the trooper said.
The conductor handed the phone to Purvis. “Meanwhile, can Dr. and Mrs. Chan return to their roomette?”
Purvis, whose leathery face was growing less flushed, scrutinized the pair. “Yes. But,” he went on, “don’t go anywhere. I need formal statements.”
Matt looked resentful; Laurie still seemed on edge. Judith smiled at the couple as they started up the stairwell, but neither Chan noticed.
Renie addressed Purvis, who seemed to be having trouble using Mr. Peterson’s cell phone. “Are you finished grilling Mrs. Flynn?”
“For now,” Purvis mumbled. “I have to contact my superiors.”
“Good luck with that,” Renie said, watching the trooper fumble with the device. “Try smoke signals. We’re not far from Little Big Horn. Blow a big C for Custer and wait to find out who blows back.” She grabbed Judith’s arm and headed for the stairs.
Inside their roomette, Judith collapsed into her chair. “The so-called interview with Purvis was so incredible that I can hardly talk about it.”
Also sitting down, Renie waited for her cousin to continue, but Judith was staring into space. “Say something,” Renie demanded, “or I’ll have to hurt you.”
To her own surprise, Judith laughed. “I realized I suddenly feel better—emotionally, I mean. It’s as if I knew this was coming, lurking like some kind of stalker. Now it’s out in the open, so I can deal with it.”
Renie leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. “Gosh. It’d be helpful if you’d tell me what lurked. And stalked. Or is it a secret?”
“Of course not,” Judith said. “Apparently the woman we know as Pepper has accused me of killing Willie.”
“That’s absurd,” Renie declared. Why ‘the woman we know’? Fill me in so that when the butterfly net guys come, I can explain why you’re nuts.”
Judith related her interview with Purvis. “That’s as far as we got when you barged in. I assume his phone call was from a superior.”
“Probably wanting to know if Purvis was on the right track.” Renie let out a weary sigh. “We’re on the tracks, but going nowhere.”
“True,” Judith agreed. “The question is why Pepper would accuse me of trying to kill Willie. Does she—or Matt Chan—think Willie’s death is suspicious? Something unusual must’ve occurred just before or just after Willie died. Why else would Mr. Peterson have asked Laurie Chan to come downstairs? She was with Matt when Willie expired. She has no medical expertise. Maybe it had to do with what Laurie saw or heard.”
“Publicity,” Renie said. “When a celebrity dies, sales memorabilia skyrocket. It’s as if the public wants of a piece of The Deceased. Pepper must be very angry at Willie for dying in a place where there’s no big media coverage.”
Judith considered Renie’s words. “You mean she’s frustrated because he died in a remote area, so she’s resorting to foul play for publicity?”
“Very likely,” Renie said. “That angle prolongs the sad saga until she can get besieged by eager reporters. Her best bet is probably the Twin Cities, but I wouldn’t count out Fargo. Except,” she added after a pause, “I think we go through there in the wee small hours.”
“Why me?” Judith demanded. “Why not somebody more…colorful?”
“Well…” Renie seemed perplexed. “The only reason I can think of is that…you’re here.”
“How did Pepper know that? She hasn’t seen me on board.”
“She probably saw your luggage on the rack downstairs. The tag has your name, address, and phone number.”
“True.” Judith thought for a moment. “That’s just plain bad luck.”
“I agree.” Renie rubbed her eyes. “Damn. Something set off my allergies. I’ll bet Emily wears peanut butter under her clothes.”
Judith was familiar with her cousin’s lethal reaction to peanuts. “I’ve got tissues.” She delved into her tan slacks’ pocket, but Renie shook her head.
“I’ve got my own.” She took out a travel packet of Kleenex.
“Remind me to make a sign I can wear saying ‘Off-Limits to Emily.’ The kid’s…” She paused, noticing that Judith was staring into the palm of her hand. “What now?”
“It’s a ring one of my guests found in room two. I forgot it was there.”
Renie downed the pill with a swig of Pepsi. “Any idea who lost it?”
“No,” Judith replied. “I went back through the guest register as far as October first, but couldn’t find a match for the engraved initials. The ring was under a rug that may not have been moved recently. That was…Friday? I’ve lost track of time in all the confusion, but I was wearing these slacks.”
Renie took the ring from Judith and studied it closely. “Engraved with RK and JG, 1990. Anything odd about the guest who found it?”
Judith shook her head. “Her name is Libby Pruitt, a Northwestern University professor on sabbatical.”
“Very suspicious,” Renie murmured. “You can’t imagine how many peculiar colleagues Bill ran into at the U.” She rubbed her eyes again and suddenly let out a little shriek. “I forgot to ask Bill what Oscar’s going to do without him. Maybe he can leave the TV on so that—”
“No!” Judith cried. “Talk about loony professors! And their wives. Don’t say another word about Oscar.”
Renie looked miffed. “You’re a poor sport sometimes. I should’ve brought Clarence along instead of you. Oscar doesn’t like to travel. We’ve had some awkward experiences with him in the past.”
“Yes, yes, I know all about that,” Judith said impatiently.
“It’s a good thing Mom was willing to have Clarence stay with her,” Renie went on.
“They enjoy each other. She can talk his lop ears off. Of course he can’t roam free at her apartment, but she does let him out so they can cuddle.”
“Double gack,” Judith said. “I hope Aunt Deb puts pants on him when he sits on her lap. Bunnies have poor hygiene.”
“Mom has a special towel for him to shi…to sit on. It’s green, his favorite color. Like lettuce.”
“I don’t want to think about it,” Judith declared. “You aren’t really going to call Bill, are you? He hates the phone.”
“Well…” Renie’s ruminations were interrupted by Jim and Sharon Downey, who were standing in the open doorway.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Jim asked. “We came back from the dome car and overheard some people talking about a man who died. Was it the truck driver who raced the train?”
Judith half rose from her chair. “Hi. Sorry we can’t offer you a seat.”
Sharon laughed as the couple stepped inside. “Hosting get-togethers in the sleeper is awkward. We’ve been sitting for a long time anyway.”
“The dead man is Wee Willie Weevil,” Judith answered without any show of emotion.
“He came straight from the hospital after a bad fall.”
“Oh,” Jim said. “The daredevil. That’s too bad. He couldn’t have been any spring chicken.”
Sharon’s face grew somber. “Poor guy. It must be extra hard for his family to cope with the logistics in this situation.”
“You’re so practical,” Jim said with a teasing glance at his wife.
“If it’d been me, you’d have made sure I stayed alive until we got home.”
The cousins and the Downeys confirmed their sittings. Jax smiled faintly, but before she could move on, Sharon asked a question. “We’ve been sitting here for over an hour. Are we still waiting for the new engine?”
“Um…yes,” Jax said, avoiding eye contact. “The body has to be removed, but there are complications. And the snow is causing delays.”
“Why?” Renie asked. “Can’t they keep Willie on ice?”
Only Jim showed any sign of amusement. Jax looked appalled; Sharon appeared embarrassed. But Judith was resigned to her cousin’s insensitivity. “I understand,” she said, “that someone has suggested foul play. I assume that’s why the trooper is aboard.”
Jax stared at Judith. “I thought he was trying to find out about Roy.”
Judith had already considered a possible connection between Roy’s disappearance and Pepper’s accusations. “Maybe.”
“I hope so,” Jax said softly. She squared her slim shoulders. “I have to check with my other passengers.”
As Jax went out of sight, Sharon put a hand on Jim’s arm. “Let’s go, Jimbo. Maybe I can take a quick nap before dinner.” She waved at the cousins. “See you in the dining car. Is it bridge or pinochle tonight?”
“Your call,” Judith said.
“How about a game of Clue?” Renie muttered after the Downeys left. “With real weapons and real bodies.”
Judith shot her cousin a sour look. “Has it occurred to you that the only person accused of foul play in Willie’s death is me?”
“Maybe you can solve this case by announcing you did it, and then you can arrest yourself.”
“Get serious. What do we know about Willie?”
“Hmm.” Renie fingered her chin. “He’s dead?”
“Stop acting like a twit. I mean his life and times. Mike and Justin talked about Willie quite a bit—at least when they were younger.”
Renie shrugged. “So? I don’t recall hearing them. Why would I?”