Mayhem at the Orient Express

by Kylie Logan

  “And if it was Chuck Anderson?” I didn’t want to beat a dead horse, but I wondered if Hank was thinking what I was thinking.

  “Then he sure could be our killer,” he said, confirming my suspicion. “He knew where the jewelry was hidden, because he was the one who hid it.”

  “And he called Peter to place that takeout order and never expected him to come back so soon,” I added, just in case anyone forgot about this. “He was there to get the jewelry, ran into Peter, and—”

  No one needed to fill in the blanks; we all knew what happened after that.

  We watched a few people get off the ferry and a line of people who’d been waiting on the dock filed on. Jayce gave the horn a toot.

  “So now what?” I asked Hank.

  When he looked south over the lake to the mainland, Hank’s expression was grim. “Somebody will find him,” he said. “We’ll put out an APB and I guarantee, somebody over on the mainland will nail the son-of-a-bitch. For now . . . well, I guess the good news is that he’s off our island.”

  • • •

  “I guess the thing that really bothers me is that we weren’t able to prove anything.” Yes, I was grumbling. Could anyone blame me? It was Monday evening, and after the stressful week we’d all had, we decided to bend Alvin Littlejohn’s rule just a tad. Our book discussion group was still meeting, only at the B and B. With a pitcher of margaritas.

  Don’t tell Alvin, but we weren’t talking about Murder on the Orient Express as much as we were about Peter’s murder.

  “Hank hasn’t heard a word from any police department over on the mainland.” Chandra crunched into a tortilla chip. “And until they find Chuck—”

  “If they ever find Chuck.” Leave it to Kate to be painfully honest, even when this was something none of us wanted to hear. She must have realized it, because she puckered like a prune. “I’m just sayin’. It doesn’t hurt to look at things—”

  “Through very un-rose-colored glasses.” Luella apparently didn’t hold this against Kate, because she gave her a quick hug. “It’s okay, honey, we know. No one could make a success of a business like you have without being levelheaded and willing to face facts head-on. Even if they’re not the facts you like.”

  “You got that right.” Chandra snapped another chip in two.

  “So the facts are . . .” I trailed a chip through the bowl of salsa in front of me. “That Ted was mad at Peter because Ted got fooled and rented him the space even after Peter stiffed him back in Cleveland.”

  “Check.” Kate made a mark in the air. “That’s why Ted lied about the peanuts. He wanted us to think that was the reason he and Peter were fighting, when they were really fighting about the lease. He thought if word got out that they knew each other previously, it would make him look like a suspect.”

  “Does it?” I asked no one in particular. I hated second-guessing my own (if I do say so myself) brilliant deduction about Princess Dragomiroff, but as Luella had pointed out, sometimes there is no escaping the facts. “Ted doesn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder, and he does have motive.”

  Chandra wrinkled her nose. “I thought we thought the murderer was—”

  “We did. We do,” I assured her. “I just want to get everything lined up and in order. Ted could have done it, though I think murder is a pretty drastic way to handle a lease dispute. My guess is that Ted’s the type who would have used the courts, not a knife, to settle things with Peter. And then there’s Amanda—”

  “Well, can you blame her for hating her ex?” Chandra topped off her drink. “If there’s one unalienable right every woman has, it’s the right to hold a grudge against an ex-husband.”

  Even when each of us fixed her with a look, she went right on looking bitter. In a Chandra sort of way. Which meant her mouth was pulled into a thin line and her eyes were narrowed. But there was still a little smile that tickled the corners of her lips.

  “Well, just because Hank and I sometimes get along doesn’t mean I don’t hold a grudge,” she explained, and grinned. “Besides, when I think that Hank was actually flirting with Mariah . . .” She shivered.

  And we all laughed.

  “Chuck had us all fooled,” I said. “The fact that Mariah was so perfect, that should have told us something.”

  “Maybe it did tell us something,” Luella pointed out. “Maybe Mariah was just Mariah and this has nothing to do with Chuck. Maybe those condoms in her room—”

  “Weren’t because she was hoping to meet someone but because he was,” Kate said. “I think Bea’s right. Chuck and Mariah are the same person. After all, nobody’s that perfect.”

  Of course, Kate was, and the fact that she didn’t even realize it surprised me. And realizing that, I actually felt my opinion of Kate soften. Well, just a little bit, anyway.

  Warm and fuzzy moment complete, I got back to the matter at hand. “Something tells me none of this would have happened if the real Poirot were around. No offense, Chandra,” I added, and since she was sipping her margarita, she wiggled her fingers to tell me none was taken. “Our friend the Belgian detective would have seen right through Chuck’s disguise. If,” I added, just to be fair to all sides, “Chuck really was disguised.”

  “Maybe a detective would have caught on right away. In a book. But let’s face it, life isn’t a book.”

  How true! I nodded. “In so many novels, things are usually tied up nice and neat at the end. Authors have that luxury. Each author is in charge of the universe she creates. Christie was able to give us a satisfying solution to Orient Express because she set up the story in the first place. With all the clues lined up and all the pieces in place, the ending just flowed organically.”

  Luella had passed on a margarita. She finished her bottle of lite beer. “There you go, talking like an English teacher again!” She sat back and yawned. We’d convened our little meeting at the usual time, seven o’clock, but what with discussing the book (a little) and the events of the last week (a lot), it was almost eleven. “I’ve got to get a move on,” she said. She pushed back her chair but she didn’t get up from the table. “I’ve got a charter going out in a couple days and there’s plenty of cleanup to do on the boat thanks to the snow.”

  “Back to reality.” Kate finished the last of her drink, keeping her place.

  “Yeah, time to get back to the real world.” Chandra sat back, but she didn’t get up, either.

  “It’s sure going to be quiet around here,” I commented. “It’s been—”

  “A huge inconvenience for everybody,” Kate said.

  “A major hassle,” Luella added, “what with all the work we’ve all had to do to keep everything up and running and everyone happy.”

  “A big old pain in the butt.” Chandra grimaced, but when it came to hiding her true emotions, she wasn’t much of a player. Her cheeks dimpled. “I mean, what with having to spend a week with the likes of my book discussion group and the world’s two most annoying neighbors.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.” Kate reached for her purse.

  “Which is exactly what I was thinking,” I added, not to be outdone. “Which is why I was wondering if maybe you’d all like to stay for just another night.”

  Luella’s eyes lit. “One more breakfast together.”

  “And a chance to discuss our case again in the morning,” Kate added.

  “Meg brought over a batch of frozen almond cranberry muffins this afternoon.” Chandra’s eyes twinkled. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you about them, Bea. You were supposed to look in the freezer and find the surprise. But if we’re all here in the morning . . .”

  “My girl makes one heck of an almond cranberry muffin,” Luella said.

  It was all the encouragement we needed to make up our minds.

  20

  I woke up to the sounds of someone walking around upstairs.

  “Big deal,” I grumbled at the same time I punched my pillow and flipped over. “Guests in the house,” I reminded myse
lf. “Kate and Luella and Chandra.” Only no Hank for Chandra to pay a clandestine visit to, and no sounds of water running in the bathroom, either.

  With a mumbled curse, I rolled to my back so I could push myself up on my elbows and listen some more.

  Footsteps, surely. And not like someone was just walking around to get a drink of water or a book to occupy the hours when sleep wouldn’t come.

  Slow footsteps.

  Stealthy.

  Like George Mattingly’s the night I woke up back in my New York condo and found him in my kitchen.

  That’s all it took. That one thought.

  My body froze and my mind went numb along with it. All that stuff about taking control of my life and owning my power was great in theory, and from the safety of my therapist’s office. But when push came to shove and reality thumped to the sounds of furtive footsteps, I’m afraid it was a little hard to remember.

  That is, until I heard something else—scuffling, and a muffled cry.

  I was out of bed so fast, I didn’t bother with my bunny slippers. I took the steps two at a time, and when I got upstairs to the hallway, Luella was already standing outside the door of her room. I didn’t need to be a famous Belgian detective to know something was wrong. Her eyes were wide with fear and her face was as pale as her pink flannel nightgown.

  But then, I could hardly blame her. There was a man standing right behind her. He had one of Luella’s arms twisted behind her back. His other arm was around her. The gleam of the night-light outside the bathroom door glinted off the knife he held to her throat.

  Dim light or not, I would have recognized those shoulders anywhere.

  “Chuck Anderson.” My voice hop-skipped, just like my heartbeat. “Or should I say Mariah Gilroy?”

  He didn’t so much smile as he flashed his teeth. “I wondered when someone would catch on. You gotta admit, it was inspired.”

  “If you hadn’t left Mariah’s clothes behind, no one ever would have caught on,” I told him. “But you didn’t need them anymore, did you? You arrived on the island as a woman, and you left as a man. It was the perfect cover.”

  Chuck inched out into the hallway, bending Luella’s arm to get her to move, and instinctively, I lunged forward.

  “Stay where you are.” Chuck gave Luella’s arm another twist and though she didn’t call out, there were tears in her eyes. “You let me leave, and no one will get hurt,” he said.

  I made a sweeping gesture that would have done Vanna proud. “So leave.”

  With Luella in front of him like a shield, he took another couple steps out of the room.

  “Only . . .” I moved forward to block the stairway. “Luella’s staying here.”

  Mariah had a decidedly attractive smile. Chuck, not so much.

  Aiming that predatory smirk my way, he inched closer to the stairs. “You think I’m that stupid?” he asked. Call me psychic, I don’t think he was really looking for an answer. “All I have to do is leave the old lady behind and walk out of here and you’ll be right on the phone to the cops.”

  “I can understand how you’d think that.” I refused to budge. Chuck would have to go around me—or through me—to get to the stairs. “Let Luella stay and I won’t call the cops. I promise.”

  His laugh sent a chill up my spine. “And I just fell off the turnip truck. No. If I’m going to get off this island, I’m going to need a little insurance.” He tugged Luella’s arm. “She’s it.”

  “But taking Luella with you, that’s not really going to make a difference as far as you leaving the island, is it?” There I was, trying to reason with a murderer. It might have been crazy, but it was my only option.

  He inched the knife closer to Luella’s bare neck, and in the blade flashed in the glow of the night-light. “It better make a difference, if you want to see her alive again,” Chuck said. “Or maybe I should just take care of her right now. It’s her fault I had to come all the way back here.” With a grunt, he shoved Luella toward the steps.

  Luella opened her mouth in a silent scream and threw out one arm in a useless attempt to steady herself. I let out a shout and moved forward to try to catch her just as Chuck yanked back on Luella’s arm to keep her from tumbling down the steps.

  After that, a couple things happened all at once.

  The door to Suite #3 inched open and a sleepy-looking Chandra stepped out into the hallway, rubbing her eyes. She didn’t stay sleepy-looking for long. Not once she realized what was happening.

  The door to Suite #1 popped open, too, and her robe hanging open, Kate raced into the hallway.

  And Chuck laughed.

  “Now this is just perfect,” he said, but not like he actually believed it. “I’ve got you all here.” His gaze slid to me. “And here I was counting on you being home alone tonight.” I didn’t like the way he said that, or the look he gave me when he did. At the same time, I told myself not to panic, because that worst-case scenario hadn’t materialized; I reminded myself that this scenario was bad enough.

  Still hanging on tight to Luella, Chuck took another step in my direction, and I knew I had to do something to stall him. I didn’t know what or how. I only knew that in spite of the fact that my knees knocked against each other and it felt as if there was a hand around my throat, I couldn’t let him leave the house with Luella.

  “You said it was her fault.” I blurted out the words and pointed toward Luella. “You said you had to come back because of Luella. What were you talking about, Chuck?”

  “Oh, come on!” His face twisted. “You haven’t figured that out yet? You got the rest of it right. I mean, you knew who I was, so you must also have known about the loot I had hidden upstairs at that Chinese restaurant.”

  I nodded, then wondered if he could see me in the half dark. “Yeah. I know that. The night the storm started, you went to get the jewelry and ran into Peter. That’s why you killed him, wasn’t it?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You make it sound like it matters.”

  “Everyone matters.” I could have slapped myself the moment the words left my mouth. This was not the time for a can’t-we-all-get-along speech. Chuck was in no mood to be conciliatory, and frankly, it wasn’t sounding like all that good an idea to me, either. “You went back and got the jewelry. And last Saturday, you planted it in Levi’s bedroll. Why?”

  “It sure wasn’t to make him look guilty, that was just dumb luck.” Chuck was nearly to the top of the steps now. “The package ripped open. The one I had the bracelet in. Just when I stepped into the kitchen.”

  “Which is why you asked for that first cup of coffee. To distract me!” In hindsight, it seemed so obvious. “And rather than have the bracelet drop onto the floor where somebody might see it—”

  “I kicked it into the sleeping bag. I thought I’d have time to go back and get it, but you four . . .” Chuck made a face. “You collected the bedroll for that stupid play of yours.”

  By this time, Luella and I were nearly toe to toe. I either had to stand my ground or give way to Chuck and let him lead her down the stairs and out the door.

  That, or stall him a little while longer.

  “That doesn’t explain why you came back,” I said. “Unless . . .” Honestly, I wasn’t trying to impress the guy. I mean, really, who cares what a lying, murderous thief thinks of me? “You didn’t just bring the bracelet with you from the restaurant. You had the rest of the jewelry, too. Those rings Hank said were never recovered.”

  “And my room was being cleaned,” Chuck said. “Which means I couldn’t stash the stuff in there. So I ducked into the only empty room.” He tipped his head back toward Suite #6. “Then that little girl had to go and get sick.”

  “And someone was in the room with her for the rest of the weekend.” It made sense. But it didn’t help us out of the jam we were in. “You came back tonight, and you got what you came for,” I told him. “And really, none of us cares if you leave with the jewelry.”

  “Right. Like you’re no
t the four nosiest broads I’ve ever met.” Chuck took a step forward.

  And I saw my one and only chance.

  I moved back just far enough to be out of his way, and as soon as his gaze dropped to the steps so he could see where he was going, I grabbed Luella’s arm and pulled her to me for all I was worth. Chuck hadn’t anticipated a move so bold, and he hesitated just long enough for me to whirl around and push Luella into Chandra’s open arms.

  “You can’t do that!” Chuck swung his arm and I heard the swish of the knife cutting through the air right in front of my nose. Honest, that’s the only reason I ducked and lurched forward. I had no intention—well, no conscious intention—of knocking him down the steps.

  Anderson’s feet went out from under him, but I suppose if prison teaches you nothing else, it hones your reflexes. Poised in mid-air and with no more than a nanosecond before he started to tumble, he snaked an arm around me and took me down the steps with him.

  Somewhere between the top step where my left ankle twisted and the next one down where my arm landed under me, I heard Kate yell. “I’ve already called the police, Anderson.” I got a quick look at her face as she peered over the side of the railing, and in one of those lucid moments that comes only at the most inconvenient times, wondered if Kate Wilder’s face was the last thing I’d see while I was still alive.

  Wouldn’t that be a kick in the pants?

  No worries. The next thing I saw was the carpeting on the stairway coming up to meet my nose.

  And the knife that Anderson still clutched in one hand, dangerously close.

  He hit, butt to step, grunted, and slid to the bottom of the stairway.

  I wasn’t quite so lucky. My shoulder smacked into a riser, and I oofed out a grunt of pain and bumped down the rest of the stairs.

  I’m pretty sure I didn’t black out. But the next thing I knew, Anderson was standing over me, that knife of his dangling from one hand.