by Angie Fox
“Please,” he called, “stop.” I could hear him crunching over the rocks after me. “I need to talk to you.”
I turned. He’d followed me several steps, and we stood awkwardly between the hill and the lead passenger car.
“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly, “for everything.” He made a weak gesture with his hand. “In case I don’t make it.”
I took a few steps toward him before I realized what I was doing and halted. “You’re going to be fine,” I assured him. “You can do this.”
He shook his head sharply. “I don’t need reassurance. I need—” He paused, frustrated, muttering a curse. “I used to be able to talk to you.”
Those days were over. A lot of things were over.
“I don’t know what to say to you, Beau,” I admitted.
He pressed his lips together. “I know,” he said, resigned. “That’s my fault.”
“I really should go,” I told him, backing up.
“Listen.” He closed the distance between us. “I was a dick. It was wrong to try to ruin your trip with Ellis.”
I froze. “You were,” I agreed.
I wasn’t sure what it cost him to admit that to me, but he certainly had my attention.
“I was an ass to you after you called off the wedding,” he said quickly. “Hell, I was an ass to you as soon as you told me we were over.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I just didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t know how to face you and make it up to you and make it so you wouldn’t hate me every time you looked at me.”
He faced me then, and the raw pain I saw took my breath away.
“I don’t hate you, Beau.”
I’d never let him have that kind of power over me.
“But you don’t want me back.” He said it like an accusation.
“No,” I said simply.
He blinked hard a couple of times. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to stand here and watch you date my brother.” He cursed again. “My own brother, Verity!” he pleaded. “If it wasn’t you, I’d think you were doing it on purpose—driving the knife deep. But you’re not like that. You honest to God like the guy. Hell, knowing you, you might even love him.” His breath caught on a huff. “I have to stand here and watch him have what I lost, and it’s killing me. Do you get that? I get physically sick every time I see you with him.”
“I don’t know how to fix that,” I said, holding my ground. “None of what happened with us was my fault, but you made me pay the price.”
The fight drained out of him. “I know I did,” he said gently. He pulled away, running a hand through his messy hair. “I think I just wanted you to suffer like I am. I screwed up, Verity. I know I did. It’s my problem, not yours.”
That was where he was wrong. “It is mine too, because we have to learn to be around each other.”
I couldn’t dismiss Beau or his mother or anything about my past if I wanted to have a real future with Ellis.
Beau stood quietly for a moment. “What you have with my brother is getting serious, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I said, ignoring his flinch. “I really care about Ellis.”
His head hung low. “I didn’t even know Stephanie that well. I just wanted you to see me with a hot blonde on my arm.”
I’d suspected as much. “It’s okay.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Now she’s dead.”
“It’s not your fault.”
His eyes met mine. “It is. I brought her on this train. I left her alone to go drink and wallow because I couldn’t have you.”
“Beau—” I began.
“Don’t try to make it better,” he warned.
“I’m not going to let you feel guilty about something you couldn’t control,” I told him. “Stephanie made her own decisions. Based on what we’ve learned, I think she might have been involved with some pretty bad people.”
He stood shocked for a moment and then barked out a laugh. “Of course. My life has been one big screwup since I lost you.”
Actually, what he’d done right before he’d lost me had been pretty messed up as well. “You’ll find someone else,” I told him. “You will.” After that, with any luck, he’d forget all about me. “Just…learn your lesson and try not to screw up next time.”
“I’m trying to be a better person.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I should apologize to your sister.”
“You should,” I agreed.
He looked up the tracks, toward town, then back to me. “I’m going to do better, I promise. Starting now.”
I reached out and took his hand. “We’re counting on it.”
He slipped away, and I watched him go up the side of the tracks toward the bend around the hill. He’d get his supplies up front and then he’d be gone.
Beau needed a purpose, a direction bigger than vintage train tracks through the wilderness. But I supposed it was a start.
A voice sounded near my ear. “You gonna stand there all day staring at the horizon?” Frankie asked.
“You have something better for me to do?” I countered.
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” he said, every bit the cocky gangster. “Molly found those bloody high heels.”
Frankie grinned and zipped straight into the passenger car to my left. I, however, had to do a bit more work to get back onto the train. It turned out you needed a stepstool to reach the side doors on the train when there was no platform involved.
I ran back to the caboose and trekked it from there, out of breath by the time I slid open the door to the last passenger car.
Frankie stood in the hall with a smug grin. Molly hovered at his side, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Where are the shoes?” I hissed as soon as I reached the two ghosts. The bloody evidence sure wasn’t out here in the hall.
“You have to understand, I searched everywhere,” Molly said earnestly, leading me up through the train car.
“Let’s go in here,” Frankie said, stopping in front of my compartment of all places.
“Why?” I asked, drawing my key from my dress, wasting no time unlocking it. I glanced up and down the hall. We were alone, but I supposed we could be overheard in the hall.
Molly had already passed through the wall next to me and stood in front of my vanity.
Frankie glided up next to her. “I got to say, kid, we don’t think it’s you.”
“Think what’s me?” He wasn’t making sense. “Don’t start your crazy detective mumbo jumbo,” I told him. “I don’t have time for that.”
“Open your luggage,” the gangster instructed. My suitcase sat on a small rack next to him. “Go on.”
“All right.” At this point, I was a little afraid of what I’d find. I clicked the double clasps on the tan leather case and lifted the lid. And there, on top of my extra nightgowns and unmentionables, lay the pair of bloody heels.
Chapter 23
I stared down at the silk heels in my suitcase. Size ten. White, except for the rusty bloodstains on the bottom.
This could mean only one thing: the killer was onto me.
Worse, she could get into my sleeping compartment. There was nowhere safe on this train for me to go, and suddenly, I felt very much alone.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” I said, slamming the suitcase lid down over the heels. “I need to be with people.”
“Excuse me,” Molly chafed. “I believe we count.”
“Get used to it,” Frankie told her. “She treats me like that all the time.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets, encountering Eileen’s nasty tube of lipstick. I tossed it onto my vanity and held up a hand, trying to control my racing thoughts. “You are people,” I assured them. How had this become my life? “But I need living, breathing souls around if this killer comes after me.” It wasn’t like Frankie or Molly would be able to help fight off a knife-wielding psychopath, or tell any flesh and blood person what had happened.
“You should hide in the crow’s nest,” Molly suggested. “It has a nice, big window and plenty of elbow room.”
I wasn’t going to hide. I needed to track down our killer and end this once and for all.
“You two”—I pointed at the ghosts—“stay here and guard those shoes. Molly, I need you to find me and let me know if anyone comes in here after them. Frankie, stick with any intruder and don’t let them out of your sight.”
“You see how she barks orders?” Frankie groused to his girl.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Molly countered. She smiled at me. “I like to see the ladies in charge.”
“Great,” I said automatically, kicking off my kitten heels and reaching for a pair of running shoes. “I’m counting on you two.”
I laced my Nikes in record time and headed out.
Hopefully Ellis was still in compartment 9, locating that bloody print. I knocked on the door hard. “Ellis,” I said.
Nobody answered.
“It’s me.” I knocked harder, my knuckles taking the brunt of my discomfort. I felt conspicuous out here by myself, like I was asking for trouble.
No response. He wasn’t in there.
Darn it.
I glanced up and down the hall. Rain pelted the windows.
The door to compartment 8 stood open a crack. Was Eileen trying to listen in on me?
Lovely.
I wondered if she’d been spying from the start.
She was certainly positioned well enough. When I’d first told her about Stephanie’s murder, Eileen admitted she’d heard the commotion in the hall. Yet she hadn’t come out to join us. She’d merely listened through the door.
It made me wonder whose side she was on.
Eileen also hadn’t reported back about the evidence I’d shared with her, not that I’d been around to hear it.
Well, she couldn’t hide from me now.
“Eileen,” I called, as if she hadn’t already heard me out here, “I’m back.” She’d claimed her fact-finding mission wouldn’t take much time at all. I sincerely hoped she’d found something. I wanted her to prove me wrong.
I slid open the door to compartment 8. “Eileen,” I called from the doorway.
The room appeared as it had before. Files cluttered the table by the window. More lay strewn underneath. Her bed hadn’t been made, and clothes littered the room. It didn’t seem as if there was anyone inside. Yet the door had been open.
I itched to make a more thorough investigation, but didn’t like going in alone. I’d be a sitting duck if a killer lurked inside.
I should get Ellis. I would if I knew where he was. I had no cell signal, no way to reach him. I couldn’t waste time knocking on all of the doors from here to the locomotive. Meanwhile, I’d tipped my hand to Eileen. I’d set the wheels in motion and needed to see it through.
Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to take one quick look around. An umbrella leaned against the front wall. I took it, wielding it like a weapon as I took another step into the room and then one more.
The room appeared empty. That was the good thing about compact train compartments. There were very few places to hide.
And then I saw the figure in the shower stall. No water ran. No towel was laid out.
I screwed up my courage and kept my voice even. “Come on in here, Ellis,” I said to my imaginary partner, hoping whoever was in there would at least think I wasn’t alone. “Or you can wait right by the door with your gun.”
The figure didn’t move.
“Eileen?” I asked, approaching slowly. “Are you okay?” I spared a quick glance to the empty hallway behind me. “Ellis and I are worried about you.”
Then I struck. In one fluid motion, I raised the umbrella, ripped open the door, and found Eileen Powers fully clothed and very dead in the shower, her throat slit.
Blood drenched her white blouse and khaki pants. Her knees were bent, her body wedged into the tiny space with no room to even crumple to the floor. She began to pitch forward, and I slammed the door.
Sweet Jesus.
With Eileen dead, that left Mary Jo as my last suspect.
But the only proof was in my own luggage.
My mind swam. Eileen had been investigating the Abel family business. She must have known something about Mary Jo, something incriminating. The reporter’s files lay in a heap by the table, and once this room became the site of a murder investigation, I had no hope of seeing any of it.
“I’m sorry, Eileen,” I whispered, easing away from the shower door, hoping it remained closed.
It did. For now, at least.
“I’m sorry I had you asking questions for me.” If I’d known what to ask, whom to confront, that might have been me dead in the shower.
“I’m sorry I got you involved.” I retrieved her notes from the table and from the floor. Then again, it was possible she’d been involved from the start.
Rain pelted against the windows as I rifled through the dead woman’s notes on the Abels and their business. I found an employee listing, background checks, a folder with truck schedules and shipping routes. It didn’t make sense, not without any idea of what lead Eileen had been chasing.
I lifted my head, desperate for inspiration, and saw a figure reflected in the window glass. I turned—too late—as someone grabbed me.
A hand covered my mouth and my scream.
Chapter 24
I woke up on my knees, fuzzy headed, with a spider crawling over my cheek.
“Mother Mary!” I reached to wipe it off and realized my hands had been zip tied to the rail of a rusty ladder that led up to the crow’s nest in the caboose.
Rain fell heavily outside the tiny windows, the dampness seeping into the metal car.
I dislodged the spider with a swipe of my shoulder and turned to see the skinny porter standing behind me.
“You—” I gasped.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Nobody ever suspects the help.”
I didn’t understand how he could be working for Mary Jo. Had she bribed him?
Somehow, I didn’t think he’d answer that question, so I went for an easier one. “How did I get here?”
It couldn’t have been easy. Someone had to have seen.
His cold grin shook me to the core. “I packed you in my big roller bag,” he said, confident. Proud. “Nobody suspected a thing.”
I tried to stand, but with my legs shaky and my hands bound low, I slumped back to my knees. “Ellis will find me,” I warned. “Whatever you have planned for me, it won’t work. Ellis is looking for me right now.”
“Your Ellis is busy investigating Eileen’s cause of death,” he said simply. “I made sure of it.”
The door at the back of the train flung open. Dave Abel stood on the threshold. “Stop.” He ordered. He slammed the door behind him. “You can’t do this.”
The skinny porter turned to him. “She knows about the blood on Mom’s shoe,” he said. “I don’t know how. I wiped the print. The police didn’t find it, but she saw it. Eileen Powers knew, too.”
Dave went pale. “What did you do to the reporter, Jordan?”
“I shut her up,” he snapped.
Sweet Jesus. “Let me go,” I ordered, doing my best to remain calm. “You said it yourself. I can’t prove a thing about your mom’s shoe.” Which meant this Jordan guy was Dave’s son, which meant he’d listen to his dad. I hoped. I focused my attention on Dave. “You know I was only on this train for a nice vacation. I don’t want to get mixed up in any of this.”
Dave adjusted his glasses. “I realize that, dear,” he said, sounding like the guy I’d seen in countless Abel Windows and Doors commercials. A fire burned in the potbelly stove next to him. The door hung open, the firelight playing against his features. “I don’t think you mean this family any harm.”
But he didn’t move to let me go. He knew as well as I did tha
t I’d go to the police.
“She’s the last one, I promise,” Jordan vowed, slipping a knife from under a large rolling duffel bag next to the wall. That must have been the luggage he’d used to transport me. It would have been heck to get me over the rickety walkway.
Yet he’d been determined enough to manage.
“I burned the reporter’s notes,” he said, cocking a head toward the old stove by the back door. “With this blonde taken care of, the police are out of leads.”
“Then you don’t know Ellis,” I countered. He’d fight for me. He’d avenge me. Although I really, really didn’t want to be stabbed to death in a caboose.
Jordan strolled toward me, the blade of the knife long and deadly in his hand. I clenched my fists, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe.
“Christ almighty.” Dave cringed. He turned toward the stove. “I’m not going to watch.”
But he was going to let him do it.
I struggled against my zip ties. They sliced into my wrists.
“This had better be the end, Jordan,” Dave said, like a stern father.
My assailant adjusted his grip on the knife, agitated. “It never would have started if you hadn’t cut me out of the business.”
“I had no choice. You were putting us all at risk,” Dave insisted. “You don’t know when to quit. Like now. Where do you get off showing up on my vacation to threaten me?”
Jordan spun to face his father. “If you would have said yes, I’d have been out of there by dinnertime on the first night. I’d have warned the conductor about the rocks, not made such a show out of it. I do have some decency.”
“You killed Stephanie,” Dave said flatly.
“How was I supposed to know Ron’s ex would be on board? She recognized me and started asking questions. She’d have blown my cover for sure.” He glared at his dad. “You’re the one who made me stay here to convince you. It’s your fault she’s dead.”
With Jordan’s attention diverted, I doubled my efforts, ignoring the way the plastic bit into my skin, and the blood that began trickling down my arm.
“I was as surprised as you were to see Stephanie,” Dave scolded. “Poor Ron was blindsided.”