Railroaded 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  That was when the guy gave him a shove and shouted, “You getting it on with my wife, buddy?”

  “I don’t know what the heck you’re talking about. Let alone who your wife is.”

  At that moment my mother appeared at my side. “Fuchsia-toned berry blond over caramel. There’s a new color, too. Called bronde. Sort of brownish-blond. What’s going on? Everyone made a dash for the workroom while I was in the ladies’ room.”

  “I’m not sure. The guy in the NAU sweatshirt thinks Big Scuttie’s hooking up with his wife.”

  “Who’s the wife?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. They didn’t hand out a Playbill.”

  “Do you think it could be one of the Choo-Choo Chicks at tonight’s meeting?”

  I shrugged. “Like I said, I have no idea.”

  “What’s going on, Harriet? I had to elbow my way over here.” It was Myrna, with Louise in close proximity.

  I looked around, and the only one I didn’t see was Herb. I imagined he was in his glory, stuffing himself at the refreshment table or continuing to flirt with the second woman he met tonight.

  “Something about one of their wives cheating with the other guy. Isn’t that right, Phee?”

  “I’m not exactly—”

  A loud crash, and whatever it was I planned to say never materialized. The NAU sweatshirt guy knocked over BS’s chair, and the two of them were inches away from fisticuffs. I reached into my pocket for the phone when a bunch of men tried to pull them apart. That only made things worse.

  Positive the situation was going to escalate, I pushed 9, followed by the first 1.

  That was when Olga Loomis cut through the crowd like a knife into soft butter. “You will stop this instant!” Then, if that wasn’t enough, she stomped her foot on the floor and placed herself between the two men.

  I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

  The once-chaotic scene appeared more like a tableau, with everyone holding perfectly still. At least for three or four seconds.

  “Now then,” Olga said, “what is it you two hooligans are fighting over? And before either of you opens his mouth, we will begin with having our unidentified visitor introduce himself.”

  The man who resembled a Mack truck cleared his throat, and the moment he gave his name, I gasped.

  “Do you know him?” my mother whispered. “I didn’t hear his name. Don’t tell me you know him.”

  The accuser pulled out a cell phone and shoved the screen in BS’s face. I wasted no time edging behind them to get a good look at the screen.

  “Now do you recognize her?” he asked Big Scuttie.

  “Nope. But that’s Roxanne Maines standing behind you in the photo. I recognize her. Recent widow of the late Wilbur Maines, who was the president of our Model Railroad Club.”

  “Can’t say that I knew him personally, only by reputation. And not a good one either. Geez, I shouldn’t be speaking ill of the dead,” the accuser said.

  I ushered my mother closer. “If I’m not mistaken, he already did.”

  “Shh. I want to hear more.”

  Unfortunately, the only thing my mother and the rest of us got to hear was Olga chastising the men for “engaging in business that had nothing to do with the Model Railroad Club.”

  Seconds later, Big Scuttie’s accuser left the building and Montrose made an announcement about the next general meeting.

  “I never found out the man’s name,” my mother said. “Everybody was too busy talking. I couldn’t hear.”

  I groaned. I’d seen the photo on the cell phone and I couldn’t ignore it. “Barry Kane. The man’s name is Barry Kane. Are you satisfied?”

  My mother, Myrna, and Louise exchanged looks and shook their heads in unison.

  “Who’s that?” my mother asked.

  “That, or I should say he, happens to be Candace Kane’s husband.”

  “The nail polish Candace Kane?” my mother continued. “That Candace Kane?”

  “How many Candace Kanes do you know?”

  Louise crossed her arms over her chest and let out a breath. “Well, we don’t know. What are you keeping from us, Harriet?”

  “I’m not keeping anything. Cecilia stopped by Phee’s office to show her some tap shoes she bought from the store around the corner and told Phee that Candace Kane, who happens to be in the Rhythm Tappers, will be taking over Roxanne’s solo dances.”

  “Goodness,” Louise went on. “That must be the scuttlebutt I overheard. This Candace Kane could have killed Wilbur and set up Roxanne to take the blame. I’ve seen movies where the rising starlet does that.”

  I gave Louise a pat on the arm and looked around to make sure we weren’t close enough to anyone to be overheard. “Um, yeah. We kind of thought of that, too, but it’s a very, very sketchy theory. Too much Hollywood and not enough solid motive. Look, we can’t stand here gabbing. We either need to get back to the outer room and mingle or call it a night.”

  My mother looked around the workroom, then headed to the outer room. “Seems to me we’re not going to find out much more than we already know at this point, so we might as well leave. The Homey Hut’s still open, if anyone wants to stop for pie.”

  I widened my eyes and gave my mother a look. “Stop for pie? We all but cleaned out their refreshment table. I’m thinking Herb’s still at it because he isn’t in here.”

  Sure enough, there was no sign of Herb in the outer room.

  “Maybe he’s using the restroom,” my mother said. “It wouldn’t be like him to up and leave without saying anything to one of us.”

  Myrna adjusted her tortoiseshell glasses, stood on tippy-toes, and looked around. “If he was with a woman, he might leave. Not like he has to get permission from us.”

  “It’s common courtesy, that’s all,” my mother replied.

  Louise gave her a nod. “Maybe he’s in the parking lot. He could be having a conversation with a woman in the parking lot. More private than in here. I’ll go look. Meanwhile, one of us should probably thank Montrose or Big Scuttie for their hospitality.”

  “I’ll do the honors,” I said. “Besides, I want to sneak over to the entrance and snap a photo of the sign-in sheet for Nate and Marshall. I did the same thing on Tuesday when Grace Svoboda wasn’t looking. And yes, I’m sure the deputies gave them the complete club list, but there could be other visitors here tonight who aren’t club members.”

  Louise left the club room, presumably to locate Herb in the parking lot. Meanwhile, Myrna continued to fiddle around with those tortoiseshell glasses of hers. “I swear, Phee, you missed your calling. You should become a detective.”

  “It’s not about the pie.” My mother ignored Myrna’s comment. “We need to reconnoiter.”

  I shuddered. “‘Reconnoiter’ as in a military operation?” God help us.

  “No, like in chew and digest everything we found out up until and including tonight.”

  “Oh, as in pile it on with more rumors and innuendos?”

  “Those rumors and innuendos usually have a solid foundation, Phee. So, Homey Hut or what?”

  “Fine. But only for a quick cup of coffee. Oh, here comes Big Scuttie. I need to thank him.”

  For a man who’d almost had a physical altercation with someone twice his size, Big Scuttie seemed as nonchalant as anyone.

  “Thanks for letting us visit your club tonight,” I said. “It was very, um, enlightening.”

  “Anytime. You know, your mother and her friends don’t have to latch on to a particular scale when they join. The club operates both G and H/O, but I’m sure they already knew that. Maybe you can convince them to join. We’re really quite a nice club, even if someone did knock off our president.”

  “Um, I know you mentioned something about Wilbur favoring the G-scale expansion. Is that how you and Mr. Lamont wound up with restraining orders?”

  “Whoa! How’d you find out about that? Wait a minute. . . wait a minute. Don’t tell me—Evelyn Watross. I swear, that woman is
in to everything. Look, it’s no secret. Montrose and I were against Wilbur’s favoritism and made no bones about it. So, he used his authority and booted us out of the club. Montrose threatened to get even, and that’s when old Wilbur filed those restraining orders. A week or so later, the board found his action to be illegal and we were reinstated into the club.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m pretty sure Montrose and I are going to wind up as persons of interest in Wilbur’s death on account of those restraining orders, but honestly, murder isn’t up our alley. If you ask me, I’d be looking at his wife. Or whoever his beneficiaries were. Wilbur had a regular money stash in those storage units of his. Do you have any idea what some of those antique trains are worth? Not to mention everything else the guy hoarded.”

  Again with those storage units . . . Guess the G-scale people weren’t the only ones who knew about them.

  “I, er, well . . . no, not really. Anyway, I should get going. Thanks again, Mr. Scutt. It was a most interesting evening.”

  “You bet.”

  By the time my conversation with Big Scuttie had ended, my mother and her friends had already left the building. I figured they were waiting for me out front in the parking lot. What I didn’t figure was that we’d have two more suspects cropping up before the night was over.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Hurry up, Phee!” My mother was standing next to my car with Myrna and Louise. “Herb’s going to meet us at the Homey Hut. He’s been out here talking to some woman. She just left. Anyway, Herb tried to talk us into going to Curley’s Sports Grill, aka Curley’s Bar, and even offered to buy the first round, but Myrna nearly clobbered him, so he agreed to have coffee instead.”

  “That’s right,” Myrna added. “Don’t need to sully my reputation.”

  “Okay, fine, whatever . . . my mom and I will meet you over there.”

  Ten minutes later the five of us were seated at one of the larger round tables. New blue-and-white tablecloths had replaced the old ones. Other than that, the cutesy décor hadn’t changed since the last time I was there.

  “Good!” Herb said. “Lots of real sugar packets. I never know what chemical crap is in the blue, pink, or yellow ones.”

  “That’s why I use a substance called mannitol,” Louise said. “It’s a natural derivative and helps with balance. In fact—”

  My mother propped her elbow on the table, made a fist, and rested her head on it. “Enough with the sugar substitutes. We came here to go over whatever information we were able to find out from the meeting. And goodness, Herb, could you possibly have flirted a bit more?”

  “That wasn’t flirting. Although the thought did cross my mind. I was covertly gathering intel.”

  “So, what did you find out?” she asked.

  At that moment the waitress arrived for our orders. That took another two or three minutes as the women bantered back and forth regarding pie fillings. I opted for coffee only, along with Herb, who planned to head to Curley’s as soon as we were done here.

  “Pie doesn’t go well with chicken wings and that’s what I’m getting at Curley’s,” he announced once the waitress left.

  “So,” my mother continued. “What did you learn?”

  Herb leaned back in his large captain’s chair and stretched his arms. “More than one of those Choo-Choo Chicks had a motive for murder. Wilbur made promises to at least two of them, according to Estelle. That’s the lady I conversed with.”

  “Did you get their names?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday. Of course I got their names. I couldn’t very well stop to write them down while I was talking to Estelle, but I’ll do it right here. Someone hand me one of those small napkins. Mine got wet from the water glass.”

  I reached across the table and handed Herb a napkin. He studied it for a minute and then took a pen from his pocket. “Let’s see . . . Oh hell. I’m not sure I remember their last names.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” my mother said. “Phee took a photo of the sign-in sheet. Plus, she can get her hands on the club list.”

  Herb scrawled on the paper and handed it to my mother. “Here you go – Tracee and Grace.”

  I gasped. “Not Grace Svoboda. Good grief.”

  Herb shook his head. “Nope. That wasn’t one of the last names. I’m sure. Hmm, give me a second . . . Oh yeah. Kimbur and Pearl. Or was it Kimpur and Burl?”

  “Forget it.” I tried not to raise my voice. “That’s a big help. Really, it is.”

  The rest of the time at the Homey Hut was spent discussing jilted women and the best tactics for revenge. Herb left while the women were on their second cups of coffee.

  “Let me know what you find out.” He pushed himself away from the table. “If one of those Choo-Choo Chicks turns out to be the killer, I’m taking the credit for solving the murder.”

  Not if Bowman and Ranston have any say in the matter. They get credit for everything, no matter what.

  True, Nate and Marshall had the list of Model Railroad Club members, but with Herb’s newfound gossip—for lack of a better term—they might be able to use it to their advantage as far as the questioning went.

  When I got home later that night, Marshall was absolutely exhausted. “I picked up a chicken salad sandwich for you at Quick Stop in case you were hungry after that meeting. I thought about baking brownies or something, but I’m totally wiped out,” he told me.

  “The interviews?” I walked over to where he was sitting and kissed him on the forehead.

  “Not so much the interviews, although we’re making a dent in the list, but that simple missing-necklace case I picked up a week or so ago seems to have mushroomed into something much larger. Turns out it was a one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry with an encrypted message on it. The client wouldn’t tell me that at first, but finally revealed the truth. If that necklace falls into the wrong hands, it could jeopardize national security.”

  “National security? Like one of those espionage novels?”

  “Hard to believe, huh? Anyway, I caught a decent lead on it, but it’s involved. Nate’s helping me out with this one. It means we’ll be driving to Tucson tomorrow, and we might wind up staying the night. Hope you’re not too upset with the last-minute plans.”

  “No, of course not. That’s your job. But please tell me you and Nate aren’t putting yourselves into a really dangerous situation.”

  “I know this may sound like something straight out of the Cold War, but honestly, it’s just detective work at this point.”

  “Promise me you’ll send for the big guns if it turns out to be something much worse.”

  Marshall smiled. “I’ll call for the militia. And Homeland Security. Oh, and to be doubly safe, I’ll call your mother and borrow Streetman. He still snaps at people, doesn’t he?”

  “Very funny. And only when he’s stressed.”

  “Oh my gosh, I’ve been so centered on my own schedule, I didn’t even ask you how it went tonight at the Railroad Club meeting. And, by the way, I plan to keep my promise about taking you out for dinner at one of those P83 restaurants off of Bell Road.”

  “I’m holding you to it. Well, here’s the condensed version: boring business meeting, good refreshments, a verbal altercation with the second holder of Wilbur’s restraining order, and two names of women who might have been jilted by our man of the hour.”

  “Whoa! Why don’t you get comfortable, eat your sandwich, and give me the details? My head’s spinning and I wasn’t the one who had to sit through the meeting.”

  “Or the Homey Hut. That’s a whole other story.”

  Forty minutes later, with only crumbs remaining from my sandwich, Marshall had the unabridged version of the night’s events.

  “It doesn’t seem as if there was enough animosity about those restraining orders to result in murder, but Montrose and Walker aren’t off the hook. Especially where Bowman and Ranston are concerned. As for those Choo-Choo women, Nate and I will have to revisit our intervie
ws with them.”

  “So you met Tracee and Grace?”

  “Nate must have. I don’t recognize the names offhand. Gee, I wonder where this Barry Kane character got his information about the wife getting it on with Walker. Oh, and I’m calling Walker by his given name because I just can’t bring myself to refer to someone as ‘BS.’ ”

  “Who knows where this stuff comes from? The gossip seems to be never-ending, but Cecilia did say Barry’s wife was, um, well, ‘over-the-top’ in looks and behavior. Of course, that was gossip, too. Yeesh.”

  “It’ll all get sorted out, hon. It just takes time and persistence.”

  “And patience when you’re dealing with possible affairs, accusations, and lip-locking.”

  “Yep, but for the next two days I’ll be more Daniel Silva than Dashiell Hammett.”

  “Just be careful.”

  The next day was as mundane and uneventful as could get. At least until four. That was when the lunacy began. And naturally it involved a phone call from my mother, with Augusta heralding it along.

  “Phee,” she announced from her desk, “your mother’s on the phone. I’m transferring the call. I know you can hear me. Your door is open.”

  Wonderful. Not only can I hear her, but half the population in the greater Milwaukee area can.

  If I thought Augusta was loud, it was nothing compared to my mother. “How soon can you get off work and drive to the R. H. Johnson Social Hall?”

  “What? Why? And I’m working until five.”

  “Cecilia just called from the Rhythm Tappers’ practice session. There’s a situation.”

  “What situation? What’s going on?”

  “Candace Kane injured her ankle. Tripped over something. Not a break, but a bad sprain. She’s at the urgent care center on Meeker Boulevard.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Mom, but it’s not a situation. People sprain their ankles all the time. I’m sure it will heal.”

  “You don’t understand. The Tappers want Cecilia to take over for Candace, and Cecilia hasn’t stopped hyperventilating.”

  “Let me get this straight. They want Cecilia. Cecilia Flanagan. The woman who hasn’t performed a tap dance since the fourth grade? Is that what you said?”