Murder on the Sugarland Express

by Angie Fox

  “This is a bad time,” he said. “I got mimosas on ice and a wicked breakfast casserole on the potbelly stove.”

  I stepped around him to where Molly sat. She cared, and where Molly went, Frankie would follow. “Stephanie was killed the same way as that poor ghost we saw,” I told her. “I’m not sure if Frankie mentioned it, but he was mistaken for a police detective when I located him last night. We met an officer who was on board the night of the murder and has taken it upon himself to investigate the girl’s murder back in 1929. He’s working on the case again and he asked for our help.”

  “My help,” the gangster countered, unable to resist. And just like that, I’d trapped him.

  “Oh, Frankie.” Molly leapt up and hugged him, despite her wet toes. “I’m so proud of you.”

  He glared at me when he realized what he’d admitted.

  Molly didn’t notice. She was too busy fawning. “A detective…” She stroked a hand down his arm. “Wow.”

  “It is something,” he said, still shooting me death eyes, the muscles in his neck so rigid they looked ready to pop.

  She had to realize he wasn’t an actual crime-fighting hottie. That honor went to Ellis. But I didn’t bother telling her that as she gazed at Frankie like he was Captain America and Superman rolled into one.

  At last he looked down at her and noticed. “Heh. Well, I do what I can,” he said. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being the object of girly fawn eyes, at least not for acts of valor. He straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “That officer needs me on the case. I know how criminals think.”

  Did he ever.

  “Still,” he said, taking her hand, “I don’t wanna steal that investigator’s thunder by solving the case too quick. So I say we have that breakfast, hit the hot tub with our mimosas, and give the guy a chance to sort it out on his own.”

  “Frankie!” Molly appeared positively scandalized.

  “Just kidding.” He grinned, converting it to a sneer when he turned his attention back to me. “It looks like I’m the guy for the job.”

  “Hooray,” I said. We had our very own reluctant crime fighter. Well, for as long as I could keep him on the case. “You should go with him and watch him work,” I said to Molly, who nodded enthusiastically.

  Frankie forced a smile for Molly. “You’re killing me,” he said through his teeth.

  “Well, don’t worry about that,” I told him. He was already dead.

  Better still, I’d accomplished my first task. With the ghosts working on their side, that left me free to question some of the live people on our trip.

  * * *

  I made it back over the walkway to the main part of the train because I didn’t have a choice. When I entered the rear passenger car, I found Manning standing outside compartment 9, looking a bit green in the gills.

  “Morning,” I said, leaving off the “good” part, fully expecting him to question my business at the back of the train.

  He merely nodded as I passed. “We’re lucky to have Mr. Wydell on board,” he said, and I knew exactly which brother he meant.

  “We are,” I agreed, stopping at the door to compartment 8. “I’m just going to check on—” With the stress of the morning, I’d completely blanked on the reporter’s name. “Her,” I finished, with a genteel lift of my chin.

  Much trust and goodwill could be gained by proper behavior, even if one still wore a robe minus slippers.

  I knocked and the door cracked open. The redheaded woman from last night answered the door in a simple T-shirt and jeans, her short hair pulled back in a multicolor bandana. “Yes?”

  “Hi.” I gave her my biggest, brightest smile. “My name is Verity Long. From compartment 10. I wonder if I might come in and speak to you for a moment.” I nodded toward the conductor, as if he approved of this meeting and so should she.

  She followed my gaze and seemed relieved to see someone else in the hallway. “Is there something going on?” she asked, stepping back to let me enter.

  “Yes,” I said, not bothering to sugarcoat it, “I apologize for my dress.” Or lack thereof. My grandmother would need a fan and a pinch of smelling salts if she saw me out like this. My mother would blame herself. “But after the tragic events of this morning, I’m not at my best.”

  She gave a quick nod. “Eileen Powers,” she said, holding out a hand for me to shake. “I heard you in the hallway when they found her.” She gestured toward a velvet couch just like the one in my room and moved a few file folders so I could sit. “How awful,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

  I forgave her casual concern. Perhaps she hadn’t known Stephanie well, although she certainly had enjoyed some familiarity. I’d watched Beau’s girlfriend visit this compartment last night.

  “It is a tragedy,” I said, watching for her reaction and getting none. We faced each other on the couch, with me nearer the window and the scattered stack of file folders on the table. I bumped my ankle on the lamp she’d relocated to the floor. “It appears she was killed overnight or in the early morning hours. My boyfriend and I are light sleepers, but we didn’t hear a thing. Did you?”

  She snorted out a laugh. “I heard plenty earlier.”

  “Ah. That.” I wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “If they were dogs, I’d have gotten out the hose.” She rubbed a hand along her jaw, amused at her own joke.

  I felt the flush creep up my neck.

  “My,” I managed, embarrassed for them and for me. I had no reason to feel responsible, but there it was. Perhaps it was because I’d chosen him once upon a time. Or maybe because the reporter was so frank.

  Her earrings, made from vintage, black-and-white typewriter SHIFT keys, swayed as she shook her head. “The kicker was, when I went over there to tell them to pipe down, she answered the door fully dressed. He was drinking scotch. I don’t get it.” She shrugged. “At least they kept it down after that.”

  “That is unexpected.” And strange. Had they been putting on a show for Ellis and me? But that didn’t make sense. Beau seemed to genuinely like Stephanie, and anyway, it wasn’t like he’d invite a girl on a train just to make me jealous. Or would he? I wondered how much he knew about his perfect woman.

  “How well did you know Stephanie?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t even asked her last name.

  “I didn’t,” she said plainly. “Never spoke to her before the incident last night.”

  She’d said it so easily, yet I knew she was lying.

  “You’re here by yourself and you didn’t talk to anyone?” I clarified, giving her room to talk.

  She folded her hands in front of her. “I’m here to write a travel piece for a magazine, not to make friends.”

  You’d think she’d at least want to conduct a few friendly interviews with the passengers.

  I crossed my legs and kept my posture straight as if we were meeting at high tea rather than on a doomed train while I was still in my robe. “I heard you were a journalist,” I said. It certainly explained the stack of notes. “I commend you for staying in your room and letting the police handle the situation next door.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “I’m a freelance travel journalist. I’m not after a crime story.”

  “Good,” I said, watching her brows rise ever so slightly. “How long have you been working as a travel writer?”

  She leaned back against the arm of the sofa. “Long enough,” she said, not answering the question.

  She was up to something. I just didn’t know what. I folded my hands in my lap and leaned closer. “The police are going to ask me about last night, so I might as well warn you,” I said, taking a risk. “I know you met with Stephanie last night.” At her frown, I added, “I watched her enter your room as I was heading back for my wrap.”

  “Your wrap?” she asked dubiously.

  “Yes.” I notched my chin up. It was the wrap that kept on giving. I’d have to thank Melody again for letting me borrow it, even if I hadn’t actuall
y gotten to wear it out.

  She watched me closely. “You really saw her, didn’t you?”

  “Of course.” I hoped I wasn’t saying too much. The idea made me nervous.

  She stood. “Son of a—” She tightened her hand and turned. “What time was it?”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. “At around ten o’clock. Why?”

  Her jaw worked and her cheeks flushed red. “I was out at the back of the car, on that tiny observation platform, trying to reach my editor.”

  “Without a cell signal?” I found that hard to believe.

  “I didn’t say I was successful,” she snapped. “When I returned, my papers were scattered, which is pretty unlikely when the windows don’t open to let the breeze in.” She paced. “I complained,” she said, as if she were working it out in her head, “and the porter blamed it on ghosts. I blamed it on bad door locks.” She stopped. “But now I’m thinking I’ve been had by the owner’s girlfriend.”

  “Over a travel piece?” There had to be more to it than that.

  “It’s not like I can promise a glowing report.” She said. “I was going to say the same thing to my editor if I’d been able to reach her.” She shook her head. “The Wydells are a scary bunch. My editor likes upbeat articles about new attractions like this, but frankly, I’ve seen a lot of problems, even before the disaster at dinner last night.”

  With Virginia Wydell in charge? “What kinds of problems are you talking about?” It must have been part of the project Beau handled.

  She leveled her gaze with mine. “You’ll have to read the article.”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  She turned to answer, and I realized I was sitting near the stack of files on the table. It wasn’t like I could read any of them in front of her, but I did manage to lift the cover of the one on top.

  It was an investigative piece titled “Addicts, Inc.” about the heroin epidemic in Southern suburbia. And it was penned by investigative journalist Eileen Powers.

  Chapter 14

  Ellis stood at the door to Eileen’s room. “Can I speak with you?” he asked, all business.

  He was going to question her.

  “I was just leaving,” I said, scooting past her out the door, as dignified as I could be for a woman in a bathrobe.

  As I passed by compartment 9, I wondered if they’d removed the body.

  Probably not. It took longer than an hour to process a scene, and Ellis had been handling it by himself. At least with this new turn of events, Virginia and her staff would be trying even harder to reach the outside world. Sabotage was one thing. Murder was another. We needed to stop this train and catch the killer, by any means necessary.

  I gave a final glance down the empty hall before entering compartment 10.

  Shivering, I ditched the robe and turned on a hot shower.

  What if that had been me in compartment 9?

  Would I have been a target by virtue of being there?

  Or perhaps it was a coincidence that Stephanie happened to be in that particular place when her killer struck.

  I stepped into the shower, grateful for the comfort of the warm spray. I tried to keep my mind clear and simply enjoy the moment. Yet no amount of hot water or soap could keep the gravity of the situation from settling over me.

  If the tragedy next door did have something to do with the murder on the original train, then I might have been able to prevent it. If I hadn’t been so determined to take a break from it all.

  I wet my hair, letting the water wash over my head and back.

  Melody had said I couldn’t save everybody, and she had a point. But shouldn’t I at least try?

  When Frankie first exploded into my life, I’d thought of it as a curse. I still did, at least twice a week, and even more often when he was running his horse-racing operation out of the backyard, or when the Chicago mob had shown up at my door. Not to mention the time he’d gotten the idea to break into the bank downtown and hide the money under my porch.

  But despite the drawbacks of my resident ghost, I’d been given an opportunity to make life better for a lot of people, both living and dead.

  Who would I be if I didn’t seize that?

  I grabbed for the bottle of my favorite peaches and cream shampoo. Eileen was lying about her story. I wanted to know why. Maybe Ellis would be able to sniff it out. I wondered if she was here investigating her heroin epidemic story, or if that project was complete and she had another scoop in mind.

  In any case, I should warn Virginia. No matter what the journalist was here to uncover, it couldn’t be good.

  I winced, and not because I got soap in my eye.

  Virginia would likely shoot the messenger.

  Ah, well, I couldn’t let that stop me. It never had before.

  Perhaps we could even work with her. Ellis would certainly want to try.

  I stuck my head under the spray and let the water hit it hard. Even after his mother’s backhanded compliments and outright refusal to accept him for who he was, Ellis hadn’t given up on her or his family. He still craved her affection. It would be wonderful if she could eventually open up and give him that. And while I didn’t think she and I could ever be friends, I would like to be able to be in the same room with Virginia without being a target. I didn’t think I could take too many dinners like the one last night.

  Dating was supposed to be the easy part.

  I dried my hair and dressed in my favorite white dress with blue hydrangeas. It had seen better days, but it had gotten me through some of my toughest mysteries as well. I’d need it today.

  The hall lay empty when I stepped outside, and as tempting as it was to check the caboose to see if Frankie was indeed investigating, I didn’t feel up to another run across the bridge of death. Not while wearing white kitten heels, at any rate.

  Instead, I ventured up to the dining car. It was still early, and I found only two tables occupied. The large and imposing Ron had just finished a plate of eggs at a table on the right-hand side, closest to the window. Dave and Mary Jo Abel sipped coffee at the farthest table on the left side, in the same spots they’d taken at dinner last night.

  I paused. While I’d like nothing more than to join the older couple—especially when I noticed Mary Jo was having cake again for breakfast—I focused instead on the broad-shouldered man I’d seen in the alley back in Kingstree. I didn’t know much about him other than the fact that Stephanie had tried to deny any sort of association.

  Before I could think on it too much, I slid into the seat opposite him. “Mind if I join you?” I asked, noticing a waiter approaching.

  He glanced up and did a double take. “Hi,” he said, a bit startled.

  He was bigger up close, rougher looking, which made it all the more surprising when I noticed he had a manicure.

  “Coffee for you, miss?” the waiter asked.

  “Sure,” I said. I preferred hot tea in the morning, but anything that planted me at this table was a bonus in my book. This man had seemed to know Stephanie well, at least well enough to threaten her. If I could get him on friendly terms, I might learn something. “We haven’t been properly introduced,” I said, unfolding my napkin and placing it in my lap. “My name is Verity Long. I’m from Sugarland.”

  “Ron,” he said, offering a hand over the table.

  His grip was firm and warm. So much so that I tried to ignore the way his close-cropped black hair and shadow of a beard lent an air of danger. He had the look of a predator. Under other circumstances, I’d have made my excuses and hightailed it the other way.

  “I’m glad you sat down,” he said, surprising me again.

  Perhaps this would go better than I’d anticipated. Stephanie might well have provoked him in that alley. She’d certainly gotten on my nerves a time or two.

  I gave him a bright smile. “Are you traveling with anyone?” I asked. I couldn’t place him with a particular group. Eileen was traveling on her own. The Abels were a couple, as were the hon
eymooners and the couple celebrating their golden anniversary.

  “I’m very single,” he said, his eyes lingering on my chest.

  Oh my. I’d wanted to start questioning him on a positive note, but never in a million years did I imagine he’d take it as a pickup.

  “I’m traveling with my boyfriend, Ellis,” I stated, wishing I could take my napkin and wear it as a lobster bib. That might keep his eyes where they belonged.

  He leaned an elbow on the table, way too confident, and I watched as his muscled arms bulged against his suit coat. “If you’re so into your boyfriend, then why are you sitting with me?”

  “I know you were friends with Stephanie,” I said, wishing again that I knew her last name. “I sat with her at dinner last night. She spoke of you quite fondly,” I added, wishing it were true.

  If I had to guess based on what I’d seen in that alley, I’d bet they had a romantic history. So he had to have been appealing to her at some point or other. She might even be the reason he was on this train.

  “Stephanie is a two-timing slut,” he said, as if it were fact.

  “Oh.” Well, there you had it.

  “I don’t want to talk about her anymore,” he said, reaching across the table for my hands. “Serves her right if she saw us together right now.”

  I placed my hands in my lap. “I’m not quite sure how to tell you this, but Stephanie died last night.”

  Whatever derisive comment he’d been about to say froze on his lips. “What?” he asked simply.

  I was surprised he hadn’t heard already. Then again, this wasn’t Sugarland.

  “She was killed in her compartment overnight. They’re not sure when,” I explained gently, resisting the urge to offer him a simple, comforting touch. I couldn’t possibly know how he’d take it. “I’m sorry to deliver such upsetting news.”

  He sat back, rubbing a hand over his face. He gazed into the distance for a moment, then back at me. “Are you messing with me?”