by Mary Daheim
“It’s Wayne. Can I talk to Mrs. Flynn?”
Renie glanced at Judith, who nodded. “Sure,” Renie said, opening the door. “Has Mr. Peterson got everything under control?”
“Yes,” Wayne replied, entering the compartment. “The state troopers are meeting the train at Wolf Point. Are you pressing charges?” he asked Judith.
“Probably. I should speak with the police first.”
“I’ll mention it to them,” Wayne said. “Ironic, isn’t it? Maddie and Tiff will be taken off the train along with Willie’s body.” He shook his head. “What a mess. I don’t know how Pepper copes. She keeps her feelings under wraps.”
“Yes,” Judith agreed. “But suppressing emotions can be self-destructive.”
Wayne looked defensive. “She’s upset, of course, but…” He paused. “People are hard to understand.”
“True,” Judith said. “Thanks for telling us about Maddie and Tiff.”
“There’s one other thing.” Wayne seemed embarrassed.
“Pepper would like copies of those pictures. Could you make some for her?”
“I’ll do it when I get back home,” Judith said. “It’ll be almost two weeks. Where do I send them?”
“There’s a PO box in Kalispell,” Wayne said. “I’ll get it for you. But there’s one other thing.” He paused again.
“Yes?” Judith encouraged him. “What is it?”
“By any chance, did you find a gold wedding ring at your B&B?” Judith did her best to sound casual. “Yes, I did. Is it yours?”
“No. It belongs to Pepper.”
Judith feigned surprise. “It does? I didn’t know she was married.”
“She isn’t,” Wayne said. “Never has been, as far as I know. But it’s a family keepsake.”
“Oh.” Judith took the gold band from her pocket. “Someone found this,” she explained. “I put it in my slacks and forgot to take it out. I couldn’t fit the initials to any recent guests, but I assumed whoever lost it would contact me eventually.” She handed the ring to Wayne. “See what I mean?”
“RK and JG,” Wayne murmured. “Pepper’s last name is Gundy. If it’s for an anniversary, the 1990 date might be for her parents, but I think they’re dead.”
“Yes,” Judith said, and wished she hadn’t.
Wayne seemed perplexed. “Oh? Did she talk to you about them?”
“Uh…no, it was just an impression.” Judith smiled. “Maybe she’ll tell you when she gets the ring back.”
“Maybe.” Wayne sounded dubious. “Hey—we’re slowing down. We must be in Wolf Point. I have to help Pepper and Mr. Peterson with those two crooks.”
After Wayne left, Renie looked sternly at Judith. “Don’t you dare.”
“I’m gone,” Judith said, grabbing her purse and zipping up her jacket.
“Oh, hell!” Renie threw on her coat. “What’s the plan?” she asked.
“To get off,” Judith said, starting down the steps ahead of Renie.
On the lower level, an unnatural silence struck Judith. The only sign of life was Mr. Peterson, hands clasped behind his back, standing near the door to the accessible bedroom. He took a few steps forward when he saw the cousins.
“What can I do for you ladies?” he asked.
Judith spoke just as the train’s whistle blew and the signal crossing bells clanged.
“How long will we be in Wolf Point?”
“I’m not sure,” the conductor replied. “Two passengers are boarding, three are getting off. Those young women will be taken into custody and”—he paused delicately—“the removal of Mr. Weevil.”
“I see,” Judith said. “Is the station open?”
“Yes.” While the train slowed to a crawl, Mr. Peterson went to the door. “We’ll be here at least fifteen minutes, but we can make good time before the Williston stop. Excuse me. I have to get off.”
“So do we,” Judith said. “Promise you won’t leave without us?” The conductor didn’t seem to hear. He was opening the door as the train stopped. Setting the footstep on the platform, he hurried to the station.
“Go,” Judith ordered Renie. “And give me a hand.”
On the ground, the cousins moved briskly to the blue and white building. A state patrol car, a city police vehicle, and a hearse were parked nearby.
“See the wolf statue?” Renie murmured. “It’s a reminder of the trappers’ heyday. Fur is good. Why did I toss out my fox-lined raincoat?”
“Keep moving. It should be warm inside.”
Mr. Peterson had entered the station, but came back out as the cousins reached the door. “You’re right,” he said grimly. “The Gundys aren’t on the train. Their great-grandson’s waiting for them. He’s worried. We’re checking with Scuttle to see if they got stranded.”
“Don’t forget the Zs,” Judith said, hugging herself to keep warm.
Mr. Peterson looked chagrined. “We assumed they were in the club or dome cars. After long delays, passengers tend to party and lose track of time.” He looked to his left.
“Excuse me. Here come the men from the funeral home.”
Judith glimpsed the newcomers, but Renie tugged at her arm. “Stop gawking,” she said. “You’ve never seen funeral directors in parkas before? It’s not snowing, but it feels way below freezing.”
An anxious-looking young man with longish blond hair and a scraggly beard opened the door for the cousins. “Thanks,” Judith said—and stopped in her tracks. “Are you waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Gundy?”
“Yes,” the young man said. “Do you know where they are?”
“No,” Judith replied, noticing the plump, dark-haired woman eyeing them from behind the service counter. “They got off at Scuttle.”
“Scuttle?” The young man was incredulous. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I’m Mrs. Flynn and this is Mrs. Jones. Are you the Gundys’ great-grandson?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled shyly. “I’m Randy. I know the train got into a wreck. Did they get hurt in the crash?”
“No,” Judith replied. “A younger couple was with them. Their first names are Dick and Jane. Do you know them?”
Randy looked dubious. “You putting me on?”
It took a moment for Judith to realize what the young man meant. “You’re too young to have read the Dick and Jane primers. They were dropped by most schools’ curriculum before you were born.”
“My granny helped raise me,” Randy said. “She saved some of her old schoolbooks. When I was a kid, I’d look at them. Kind of old-fashioned, but I liked that dog, Spot.” He shrugged diffidently. “So The Greats are okay?”
“Yes, I think so. You’re certain you don’t know Dick and Jane?” Randy wrinkled his nose. “Maybe. What’s their last name?” Judith took a chance. “Weevil.”
“Oh!” He looked embarrassed. “Sure. My grandpa worked for his dad. You know—Wee Willie Weevil. Willie’s coming to town. He helps plan our rodeo. Come summer, it’s a big deal around here.”
“So I’ve heard,” Judith said. “You must’ve seen Willie at last year’s rodeo.”
Randy shifted from one booted foot to the other. “No. I dropped out of school. Been working at East Glacier the last few years. Got my GED in June, but my girlfriend and I broke up.” He fidgeted with the silver chain around his neck. “Better track down the old folks. Thanks.” He started to turn away, but stopped. “Oh—got anything to write on? I should leave my number with the train dude.”
Judith reached into her pocket. “I may have…”
The plump woman at the counter spoke up. “I’ll take care of it, Randy.”
“Thanks, Marsha,” he said. “Here.” He scribbled something on a tablet she’d put in front of him. “Want me to write my name on it?”
Marsha’s black eyes twinkled. “You think I don’t know how to spell it after all those years I helped your granny raise you?”
Randy looked sheepish. “It’s a habit. Lots of folks screw it up.” He hurried out th
e front door.
The cousins exchanged curious looks. “How hard is it to spell ‘Gundy’?” Renie murmured.
Judith nodded. “Not that hard. Stay put.” She went to the counter. “Hi, Marsha,” she said. “How do you spell Randy’s name? I should probably have it along with his cell number in case we hear anything from the train staff.”
Marsha studied Judith and Renie for a moment. “Oh, why not? You look like good-hearted souls.” She printed the information on a separate piece of paper and handed it to Judith. “There you go.”
Judith tried not to look surprised when she saw what Marsha had written. She realized the Gundy parent might have been his mother, but she’d never guessed that his father’s last name was Kloppenburg.
Marsha was on the phone. The cousins had stepped away from the counter and were standing on the opposite side of the station. Judith put her purse down in one of the chairs for ticketed passengers and people meeting new arrivals.
“Now what?” Renie asked in a low voice.
“Okay, so I’m baffled,” Judith admitted. “We need to talk to Marsha. She looks like the chatty type.”
“Hold it,” Renie said, looking skeptical. “Marsha was not in your original plan. Marsha didn’t exist in your mind until five minutes ago. Why are we here, risking a long, cold walk to Williston, North Dakota?”
“It’s like war,” Judith said softly but firmly. “Battle plans change. Strategy, and all that. Come on, she’s off the phone.”
The cousins went to the counter. “Marsha,” Judith said, wearing a tired version of her friendly expression, “or should I call you Mrs….?”
Marsha chuckled. “Birdspeak, but call me Marsha. I’m a member of the Assiniboine tribe. You’re on the Fort Peck Indian Reservation.”
“I knew that,” Renie said, as if she was the brightest kid in third grade.
Judith shot her cousin a baleful glance. “Ignore her. She’s a member of the Asinine tribe. You must know Randy’s great-grandparents. I’m worried about them. They were taken off the train by a younger couple.”
“I overheard what you said to Randy,” Marsha said. “Don—Mr. Peterson—I’ve known him forever—was pretty upset.” Her dark eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Poor man. He doesn’t know the worst of it. Excuse me.” She turned away, removed a tissue from a small box, and dabbed at her eyes. “Train crews become friends after a while. I’ve worked here for fifteen years.”
Judith waited for Marsha to collect herself. “You mean Mr. Weevil?”
Marsha shook her head. “No, though that’s sad, too.” She sniffled and looked toward the front door. “Here’s one of the state troopers. Ask him.”
Judith turned around. J. L. Purvis trudged into the station, the long day’s weariness weighing him down so heavily that he looked shorter and leaner since Judith had last seen him in Scuttle.
“Jake,” Marsha called to him. “Can you tell these ladies what happened? I’m going to put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
Purvis didn’t act surprised to see the cousins. “Why are you here?”
“Why are you here?” Judith retorted. “Is this part of your territory?”
“No,” he replied, “but we’ve got lots of miles to cover in Montana. I’m no stranger in Wolf Point.” He gestured at the vacant chairs. “Sit. I’m beat.”
“Aren’t we all?” Renie murmured, but she was the first to comply.
Purvis took his time settling his tall body into the chair. Judith noticed that his uniform and boots were dirty and a bit damp. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He was, after all, a member of Joe’s law enforcement fraternity.
“I’ve done some checking,” Purvis said, removing his hat and speaking quietly.
“You’re more than what you seem to be, Mrs. Flynn.”
“Oh.” Judith sighed. “Are you referring to the FASTO Web site?”
“Yes,” Purvis replied. “You should’ve told me.”
“I don’t advertise,” Judith said. “Nor did I create the site. Frankly, I find it embarrassing, especially when people refer to me as FATSO.”
Purvis didn’t seem to find the acronym humorous. “You aren’t fat,” he said, eyeing Judith up and down. “Skinny women are kind of creepy.”
“What did you want to tell me?” Judith inquired. “Is it the Gundys?”
Purvis moved his head, stretching his neck. “No.” He swallowed hard. “The body of Roy Kingsley, the missing train attendant, was found earlier today by a creek near the train crash.”
Chapter Fifteen
Judith’s worst fears for Roy were confirmed. “Was he murdered?”
Purvis nodded. “Afraid so. That’s why headquarters sent for me.”
Marsha seemed to have her emotions under control. “I can hardly believe it,” she said, leaning across the counter. “Roy was a fine man.”
“That doesn’t keep people from getting murdered,” Purvis said.
“How was he killed?” Judith asked.
The trooper hesitated before answering. “Stab wound, up close and personal. He was your sleeping-car attendant, Mrs. Fat—Flynn. Sorry. I mean…I’m sorry about a lot of things about now.”
“Of course,” Judith said. “Do you think it happened on the train?”
“Probably, but we can’t be sure,” Purvis replied. “He was found late this afternoon by some kids who were horsing around near the train wreck site.”
A memory gnawed at Judith. “How far was that creek from the tracks?”
Purvis looked up at the ceiling panels. “Not far, but out of sight from the train. It was almost dark when the kids found him. They live around there. The other attendant, Jax Wells, told us you were one of the last people who saw him.”
“True,” Judith said. “That was around nine. He seemed quite chipper.”
“You didn’t hear or see anything suggesting trouble?”
Judith shook her head. “No. Though…” Whatever reference she’d heard or seen about Roy remained elusive. “If he wasn’t seen after nine or even nine-thirty, he must’ve been killed on the train. We were ahead of schedule at Essex. Did Jax agree with the time of his disappearance?”
“Yeah, she did.” He reached inside his jacket. “After ten a.m., the train made stops at Browning, Cut Bank, Shelby, and Havre. Except for Havre, they were quick ones. But Roy wasn’t seen outside at any of those places. He might not have gotten off if he didn’t have to assist passengers in your sleeper.”
“I got off at Shelby to use my cell,” Judith said, “but Jax was the only attendant on the platform. We didn’t go out through our sleeper because we were going to get some snack items from the bar.” She paused as Marsha announced that the coffee was almost made.
“Black,” Purvis said. “Strong.”
“That’s how I do it,” Marsha said as Mr. Peterson returned.
“Are we leaving?” Renie asked, getting up from her chair.
The conductor gave a start. “Excuse me? Oh—no. We have another problem.” He turned to Marsha. “Do you know the Rowleys?”
Marsha looked disgusted. “From way back. What now?”
“We can’t find Mr. Rowley,” the conductor said. “His wife swears she doesn’t know where he is and doesn’t much care.”
“I don’t blame her,” Marsha said, “though I can see why she’d drive a man to drink. Uh-oh—here she comes. Watch out. She’s on the warpath.”
Irma Rowley stomped through the doorway, loaded down with belongings. “Go ahead,” she said to the conductor. “If that drunken skunk of a husband is still on the train, take him all the way to Chicago and dump him off in that big lake they got back there.”
“Ma’am,” Mr. Peterson called to her, “come back. Please.”
“Please yourself,” Irma said over her shoulder, opening the other door. “I’m half froze and I’m going home to build me a fire.”
The door swung closed behind her. Marsha shook her head. “The last time Irma did that, she burned down h
alf the house. It’s a bad idea to set off a fire in the living room when you don’t have a fireplace.”
Mr. Peterson looked helpless as he spoke to Marsha. “Do you think Mr. Rowley got off ahead of Mrs. Rowley?”
“Who knows?” Marsha responded. “Nothing they do surprises me.”
Purvis had gotten to his feet. “If she reports him missing, I can put out an APB, but he has to be gone forty-eight hours before we do it.”
The conductor seemed at a loss. “I’ve had them on this route before. They have family in Missoula, so they board around seven-thirty a.m. That gives Mr. Rowley a long time to drink himself into a stupor, especially on this trip with the delays. I hate to think of him wandering around in the dark. He could get hit by a car or fall in a creek. The Amtrak police can find him faster than I can.”
The elusive remark suddenly came back to Judith. “Get them on it ASAP,” she said, standing up. “Mr. Rowley may be in danger.”
Both men eyed her curiously. “I agree,” Mr. Peterson said. “It’s cold—”
“No.” Judith interrupted. “The threat to Mr. Rowley is from Roy’s killer.”
Mr. Peterson and Purvis gaped at her in astonishment. Renie spoke up. “I don’t know exactly what she means, but you better believe her.”
The conductor balked. “I’m employed by Amtrak and follow company rules. I’ll have to get clearance before proceeding with a search by our police.”
“Hold on,” Purvis said. “I agree with Mrs. Flynn.” He turned to Judith. “Did you see Mr. Rowley on the train?”
“Yes,” Judith replied, “but earlier in the day. If he got off along the route, Mrs. Rowley should know. Check with her first. And,” she went on somberly, “make a thorough search of the train before we leave Wolf Point.”
Mr. Peterson was turning red. “Now just a goldarned minute, Mrs. Flynn. Who are you? A major stockholder in Burlington Northern Santa Fe?”
“No.” She glanced at Purvis. “You explain to Mr. Peterson. I never promote myself as a sleuth. It just happens. Encountering bodies, that is.”
Purvis reluctantly gave in. “Let’s talk in private.” He gestured at Marsha, who’d been watching with fascination. “Is the restroom unlocked?”