Death Deals a Hand

by Janet Dawson

  Jill followed the Carsons to their accommodations. After setting down their cases, the porter departed. “It’s lovely to see you again,” she said.

  “Nice to see you, too.” Mr. Carson set his cane in the corner and helped his wife remove her jacket. He had a leather camera case slung around his neck. He took it off and set it on a nearby seat. Then he removed his topcoat and hung it up. “Every time we come through Glenwood Springs on the train, we see the hot springs and the Hotel Colorado, and they look so inviting, and we say, we really need to come for a visit.”

  “So we did,” Mrs. Carson added. “And we had a lovely time.”

  “Did you do any fishing, Mr. Carson?” Jill asked. The train was now passing over the Roaring Fork River, which emptied into the Colorado River. Farther upstream were the Fryingpan and the Crystal Rivers, both tributaries of the Roaring Fork. Jill had heard that the rivers provided good fishing.

  “Yes, I did. Very good fishing,” he said. “I caught several trout.”

  “And they get bigger every time he tells the story,” Audrey Carson added, with a teasing smile. “They were quite tasty, I must say. The chef at the hotel prepared them for us.”

  “And you stayed at the Hotel Colorado?” Jill asked.

  “Oh, yes, it was wonderful,” Mrs. Carson said.

  “It’s haunted,” Gail said. “Did you know that?”

  Jill nodded. “I have heard rumors to that effect. Do you suppose it’s Theodore Roosevelt? He used to stay at the hotel.”

  Gail shook her head. “No, it’s a girl. One of the maids told me that she saw the ghost and she says it’s a girl in old-fashioned clothes playing with a ball. She saw the girl in the hallway on the second floor when she was cleaning.”

  “I wish I’d seen the ghost,” Ricky added.

  Their father smiled. “I heard stories, too. One was about the elevator moving from floor to floor with no passengers inside. That could be explained away as an electrical malfunction, I suppose. But ghost stories are so much more fun. The bellman told me that sometimes the staff smells perfume in the dining room, and hears dishes being moved around.”

  “Stan, you are just as bad as the children are.” Audrey Carson shook her head, looking exasperated. “Ghost stories, for heaven’s sake. A lot of rubbish, if you ask me.”

  Jill smiled. “Well, there is a story about a ghost on one of the California Zephyr cars.”

  “Oh, tell us,” Gail said, as Ricky joined in. “Please, we want to hear the story.”

  “Now, Miss McLeod, don’t get them started,” Mrs. Carson said. “They’ll be pestering you the whole trip.”

  “Maybe I’ll tell you the story later,” Jill said. “I have some things to do now. I’ll let you get settled into your rooms.”

  The California Zephyr picked up speed as it moved out of Glenwood Canyon, the landscape opening up as the train traveled west along the Colorado River. Jill walked through the dining car, where the waiters were cleaning up after lunch service. The CZ was approaching the old coal mining town of New Castle. On the south side of the river was a scarred, rocky outcropping officially named Roderick Ridge, but the locals called it Burning Mountain.

  This was all that remained of the Vulcan Mine, which had a dark history. In 1896, a methane gas explosion in the coal mine killed forty-nine miners. Just two months after that, the mine caught on fire. Unable to extinguish the blaze in the coal seam, the owners abandoned the mine. Then another company took over the mine in 1910, hoping to unearth the rich coal reserves and seal off the vein that was still burning. Another explosion occurred in 1913, this time caused by coal dust, killing thirty-seven miners. After two more explosions and three more deaths, the coal seam fire continued to burn. People in town refused to go near the mine. The owners sealed the Vulcan Mine, signaling the end of the coal mining industry in the area.

  The fire still burned, forty years later, making its presence known on the surface of the land. It was visible because plants didn’t grow there, where the earth was too hot. During the winter, heat from the fire melted the snow and sometimes sent smoke and steam into the air. Today, in fact, as Jill looked out the window, she saw steam rising from the rocky scar on the mountain.

  New Castle disappeared from sight as the train sped by. The California Zephyr was due at the next stop, Grand Junction, in less than two hours. Jill walked past the steward’s counter and up the passageway alongside the kitchen, leaving the dining car and ­going through to the buffet-lounge car. She opened the door to her roomette and retrieved her reservation binder. Then she headed back through the sleeper cars to the dome-observation car.

  In the Silver Crescent, she made her way past the bedrooms and the buffet to the lounge at the back of the car. All the chairs were full. Miss Grant was in a chair near the rounded back of the car. She was reading one of the Denver newspapers that had been brought aboard the train during the stop that morning. Nearby sat Henry and Trudy Oliver. Mrs. Oliver was crocheting, her hook moving rapidly through the soft pink yarn. Her husband drank coffee and gazed out at the mountains.

  “Good afternoon,” Jill said. “I’m making dinner reservations for tonight. We have seatings at six, seven, and eight.” Sometimes when the train was full, there was a nine o’clock seating, but that wasn’t the case this trip.

  Miss Grant turned a page in the newspaper. Then she looked up over the rims of her harlequin glasses, her face closed and unwelcoming. Jill wondered if it had something to do with the earlier encounter in the sleeper car, where Doug had insisted he’d seen Miss Grant before.

  “Seven o’clock,” she said, her voice chilly.

  The reservation cards were in Jill’s binder, different colors for different times. She filled out a white card for the seven o’clock seating, marking it with the notation “17/2.” This indicated the train number 17, for the westbound train. The number 2 indicated that this was the second day of the journey.

  Miss Grant took the card, with a quick “Thank you.” She opened her large handbag and tucked the card inside, then removed a metal vanity case, a rectangle, about three by five inches. Because the case had a handle, it could be used as an evening purse. The front of the case was decorated with rhinestones in a diamond pattern. Jill’s mother had a case that looked very much like this one, without the rhinestones. Miss Grant opened the case and Jill saw the built-in compartments for powder and lip rouge. There was also a tiny comb and a clip which could hold cigarettes or a few greenbacks. Miss Grant checked her face in the little mirror, and then snapped it shut and put it back in her purse.

  Jill turned to the Olivers. “We’ll take a six o’clock reservation,” Mrs. Oliver said. “Henry and I really don’t like to eat too late in the evening.” Her husband nodded in agreement. “That goes with being a farmer, and a farmer’s wife. We start and end our days early.”

  Jill pulled two red cards from her binder and filled them out, handing them to Mrs. Oliver. She moved to the next group, making reservations for the passengers in the lounge, handing out cards. As she worked, she noted the numbers and the times in her binder. This way she could keep track of the seatings and hold back space for the coach passengers.

  Once she’d finished in the lounge, she climbed the stairs to the Vista-Dome and began working her way through the passengers there. Toward the front of the dome, she saw the Demarest family, the four of them spread out on two seats. Ten-year-old Patty was talking with Gail and Ricky Carson, who sat in the seat directly in front of her. Older sister Lois was next to her, slouched down on her backbone, looking bored. Across from them, Robby was in the window seat, while his mother sat on the aisle.

  “I’m making dinner reservations,” Jill told Mrs. Demarest. “We have the Chef’s Early Dinner at five, which is for families traveling with children, and then we have seatings at six, seven, and eight.”

  “I could eat dinner at five,” Robby said.

  Mrs. Demarest made a face. “You could eat any time, all the time, son of mine.” She look
ed up at Jill. “Five o’clock is way too early for my taste. Six would be better. I want to get these kids to bed early, since we get into Winnemucca about four in the morning.”

  Jill nodded and filled out four red reservation cards. She moved through the Vista-Dome, making reservations, then went downstairs. There were several passengers seated in the dome-observation car’s buffet. Mr. Clark was behind the counter, pouring drinks.

  “Would you like to make dinner reservations for the dining car?” Jill asked Mrs. Baines and Miss Larkin, who were seated at the table nearest the entrance, playing another game of gin rummy. Mrs. Baines was shuffling the cards while Miss Larkin tallied up the score.

  “I’d rather eat later.” Mrs. Baines set down the cards, inviting Miss Larkin to cut them. “How about you?”

  Miss Larkin nodded. “Yes, I think eight. Tell me, Miss McLeod, will they have the Rocky Mountain trout on the menu?”

  “They usually do,” Jill said. “I will check with the dining car steward and let you know.”

  She filled out two blue cards and handed one to each woman. Mrs. Baines began dealing the hand for their gin game. Jill moved on to other passengers, making more reservations. After leaving the buffet, she walked a short distance up the passageway to bedroom D, the drawing room occupied by Mr. Fontana. As she knocked on the door, she heard men’s voices, then a loud guffaw. The door opened and Mr. Geddes peered out at her, a frown on his long, sallow face. Behind him, Jill saw Victor Fontana, scowling. “Is that the colored boy?” Fontana called in his booming voice. “Get him in here, damn quick. I need a refill.”

  Then he saw Jill and smoothed away his scowl, pasting on a smile instead. “Well, it’s my favorite Zephyrette. Sorry for my bad language in front of a nice young lady like you. C’mon in, Miss McLeod. What can we do for you?”

  Jill stepped into the drawing room, pausing just inside the door. The air was full of smoke from cigarettes and the cigar Mr. Fontana held clamped in his hand. The drawing room was the largest berth on the train but today it was crowded with people and furniture. The two chairs that normally belonged in the room had been augmented by a third chair and a small square table. Mr. Fontana sprawled comfortably on the long bench seat that folded down to make the bed. He’d removed his jacket and loosened his tie. The glass in front of him was empty save for a few ice cubes.

  To Mr. Fontana’s right was Mr. Haverman, a thin, balding man in a gray suit who was traveling on the transcontinental sleeper. Geddes had vacated the chair on Fontana’s left, to answer Jill’s knock. The fourth chair, across the table from Fontana, was occupied by Doug. He was shuffling cards, the familiar red rider-back deck with its image of a winged Cupid on a bicycle. Each man had stacks of poker chips—white, red and blue—in front of him. It looked as though Doug had the largest pile.

  “I’m making dinner reservations for this evening,” Jill said. “Do you know what time you would like to eat?”

  Mr. Fontana waved his hand, cigar smoke painting gray streams in the air. “Dinner, huh? We’ll eat at seven. That okay with you, Art?” Mr. Geddes nodded. “What about you gents?” he asked, glancing at Doug and Mr. Haverman. “Gonna have dinner in the diner?”

  Doug looked up from the cards he was shuffling. “I’ll check with you later, Miss McLeod.”

  Mr. Haverman nodded as he puffed on a cigarette and set it in an ashtray. “Same here, thanks.”

  “Okay, then. Ante up and deal the cards,” Fontana snapped.

  Doug finished shuffling and passed the deck to Mr. Haverman on his left. The thin man cut the cards and Doug picked up the deck as each man tossed a white chip into the middle of the table.

  “The name of the game is seven-card stud.” Doug began to deal the hand, two cards down for each of the four men at the table. At the third round, he dealt the cards face up. “Eight of clubs for Mr. Haverman, jack of hearts for Mr. Fontana, deuce of clubs for Mr. Geddes, and the dealer gets spades, a trey. The jack bets, Mr. Fontana.”

  “It sure does. Bet five bucks.” Fontana tossed a white chip into the pot without glancing at his two hole cards. Geddes followed suit, as did Doug and Haverman.

  “Pot’s right,” Doug said, dealing the fourth round of cards, again face up. This time Mr. Haverman got the nine of diamonds, while Mr. Fontana picked up another heart, a ten. Mr. Geddes got a heart, too, the ace. “And the dealer gets another trey,” Doug said as he dealt himself the three of diamonds. “Pair of threes. I think that’s worth ten.” He tossed a red chip into the pot, then he glanced at his two hole cards.

  Jill filled out two white reservation cards for the seven o’clock seating. Doug dealt the fifth round, cards face up. “Seven of spades to Mr. Haverman, possible straight. King of hearts to Mr. Fontana. Three hearts showing, possible flush. Mr. Geddes gets the deuce of diamonds, so that’s a pair. And the dealer gets the queen of spades. Pair of threes is still high.”

  She handed the reservation cards to Mr. Geddes. She should go, but she wanted to see how this hand turned out. The players tossed chips into the middle of the table and Doug dealt the next round, the sixth, and the last card to be face up. “Ace of clubs to Mr. Haverman, no help for the straight. Six of spades to Mr. Fontana, no help for the flush. Deuce of hearts to Mr. Geddes. Queen of diamonds to the dealer. Three deuces bets, Mr. Geddes.”

  Across the table, Fontana scowled as he consulted his hole cards. Next to him, Geddes, with three of a kind showing on the table, squinted at his own hole cards. Then he picked up a blue chip. “Bet is twenty bucks.” He tossed the chip into the pile. The others called the bet.

  “Last card down,” Doug said. He quickly dealt the seventh round of cards and set the deck on the table. With his right hand he picked up a corner of the card, then placed it down again. He looked up. “Your bet, Mr. Geddes.”

  The cadaverous-looking man at his right frowned. “Another twenty.” He added a blue chip to the pile in the middle of the table.

  “Your twenty,” Doug said, “and another twenty.” Doug put two blue chips in the pile.

  “Forty to me,” Mr. Haverman said. “Too rich for my blood. Fold.” He placed his cards face down on the table and reached for his cigarette.

  Victor Fontana grinned, his cigar clamped between his teeth. He counted out four blue chips. “Your forty, and another forty.”

  Goodness, Jill thought. Mr. Fontana must have gotten his flush after all. Mr. Geddes didn’t look very confident in his three deuces. He slapped his cards face down on the table and said, “Fold.”

  Doug had two pair, threes and queens, showing on the table but he must have more in his hand. He called Mr. Fontana’s bet and raised it another forty. Mr. Fontana glowered at him as he threw more chips into the pot, calling and raising Doug’s bet. Then Doug called Mr. Fontana. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Mr. Fontana turned over his hole cards, revealing a total of five hearts. “Flush, jack high.” He grinned, confident that he’d won the hand.

  Doug smiled and turned over his cards, revealing a third queen. “Full house, queens over threes.” He raked in his winnings. Jill did a quick calculation of the stacks of chips in front of Doug and guessed that he’d won several hundred dollars.

  And Mr. Fontana wasn’t happy about it. He scowled again, eyes flashing with anger, then he quickly masked it. “Well, you’re having a good run today, Cleary.” He looked up at Jill. “You like to play poker, Miss McLeod?”

  “I do, but strictly nickel-dime-quarter. I think a dollar would be a big bet for me.” She smiled. “I’ve stayed long enough. I need to get busy with these dinner reservations.”

  She turned to leave as Mr. Haverman, who’d been shuffling the cards, said, “All right, let’s play five-card draw. Maybe my luck will change. Everyone ante up.”

  “Wait a minute, Miss McLeod,” Mr. Fontana said. “I almost forgot. Would you mail this for me at the next station?” He reached for his jacket, discarded on the seat next to him. He removed an envelope from the inner pocket and held
it out to her. “Do you have stamps?”

  “I do.” Jill stepped back into the drawing room. Haverman had finished dealing the cards. Jill reached over the poker table, taking the envelope from Mr. Fontana. “I’ll mail this as soon as we get to Grand Junction.”

  “Thanks a lot.” He picked up his cards, then waved his hand. “Hey, Art, get that colored boy. I need another drink.”

  Mr. Geddes followed Jill out of the drawing room to the passageway. He spotted Lonnie Clark at the entrance to the buffet and waved to him. “Hey, Porter. Need more drinks in here.”

  Mr. Clark walked quickly to the doorway of the drawing room and looked inside. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

  “Get me another Scotch, boy,” Mr. Fontana called from the drawing room. “And be snappy about it.”

  Jill looked at the envelope. It had been addressed in large slanting letters, to Mr. Charles Holt in San Francisco. She tucked the envelope into the top of her reservation binder. Then she tapped on the door to bedroom C, Miss Larch’s berth. The door opened. Miss Larch stood just inside, holding her tan leather train case. She’d removed the plastic insert that held her makeup and was rummaging around in the case. Then the train lurched. The case slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor, landing on its side with a thunk. The contents tumbled across the floor. A small silk jewelry bag wound up at Jill’s feet, along with a lacy brassiere and several pairs of silk panties. A bottle of L’Air du Temps perfume rolled into the passageway outside the bedroom. Jill bent down to gather up the undergarments. Then she stopped when she saw what lay in the bottom of the train case.

  “What’s this?” Miss Grant was walking along the corridor, coming from the lounge at the back of the car. She paused and looked through the open door, a twist of her mouth passing for a smile. “My goodness, is that thing real?”