Death Deals a Hand

by Janet Dawson

  That was the reason for the open carpetbag on the floor beside the bed. Cora was packing, getting ready to leave the train at the first opportunity.

  Jill shifted on the bed as they talked, moving slightly to her right, closer to the purse and the carpetbag, both sitting open on the floor. She looked inside, wondering if there was anything inside she could use to distract Cora. The carpetbag contained neatly folded panties and a nightgown in the same sky-blue shade as the robe. There was a brassiere and a small cloth bag that might have contained makeup. And the harlequin glasses, which no doubt had clear lenses, intended just for disguise.

  Jill glanced inside the purse. Here was a possibility—the metal vanity case that Miss Grant had been using earlier that day. If it was like the one Jill’s mother had, it was heavy.

  “But you found him, sooner than I expected. How did you know he was dead?” Cora demanded.

  “You didn’t latch the drawing room door when you left. The porter saw it and went to investigate. Then he came and got me. Fontana was still alive when I got there.”

  “But he died, before he could tell you anything. That’s why you’re nosing around, trying to find out what happened.”

  “Especially after you planted the murder weapon in Doug Cleary’s bedroom. Someone saw you.”

  “How did they know it was me? Miss Margate’s as tall as I am.”

  Jill shrugged. “I’d already talked with her. Besides, you were the last to leave the observation lounge. I know that because someone saw her leaving. So that left you.”

  “Not for long,” Cora said. She untied the robe. She was wearing the brown dress she’d worn earlier in the day. She transferred the knife to her left hand and slipped the robe off her right shoulder and arm.

  Jill leaned over and reached into the handbag. She slipped her right hand through the handle of the vanity case. Then she stood in one swift movement, swinging it at Cora Grant’s head. The corner of the case hit Cora’s forehead, drawing blood.

  She screamed with rage. “You bitch!”

  Jill dodged and put her left hand up as Cora slashed at her with the knife. The blade nicked the palm of her hand, drawing blood. She ignored the pain. With the vanity case dangling from her right wrist, she unlocked and opened the bedroom door.

  Cora came after her. The two women tumbled out into the corridor and smacked hard against the window on the opposite site of the corridor. Jill swung the vanity case again, this time connecting with Cora’s hand.

  “I’ll kill you, bitch,” Cora snarled.

  Avis Margate opened the door of bedroom B. “What the hell’s going on out here?” she demanded, her eyes widening as she saw Cora holding the knife.

  Then Frank Nathan rounded the corner, followed by Doug, both of them talking at once.

  Jill kept her eye on Cora as she backed toward Avis and the others. All down the corridor, bedroom doors were opening. She saw Mr. Poindexter peer out of bedroom F, then Trudy Oliver at the door of bedroom E. Trudy backed out of sight. Then Jill saw Henry Oliver emerge, in his pajamas.

  “It’s her,” Jill warned. “She killed Fontana. Be careful, she has a knife.”

  Doug moved to Jill’s side, then dodged back as Cora jabbed at him. Behind Cora, the door to bedroom D opened and Geneva Warrick poked her head out. Then she disappeared. When she returned, she had something in her hands. It was the coffeepot that the porter had delivered to her room earlier in the evening.

  Mrs. Warrick raised the pot and brought it down hard on Cora Grant’s head.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It’s just a scratch. Thank goodness I’m right-handed.” Jill sat at a table in the lounge of the Silver Chalet, looking at the cut on her left hand. Doug, Sean and the conductor stood nearby, concerned expressions on their faces.

  Dr. Ranleigh examined the wound. “It’s more than just a scratch. Fortunately it isn’t very deep and you don’t need stitches. But we don’t want it to become infected. Have it looked at as soon as you get home.”

  The doctor cleaned the cut with a damp cloth, then swabbed it with alcohol. That stung a bit. She treated the wound with an antibiotic ointment and wrapped Jill’s hand with a gauze ­bandage.

  “I got worried when you didn’t come back to the dome-observation car after you looked in on Miss Brandon,” Doug said. “So I came looking for you. The porter in the Silver Rapids said you’d gone to talk with someone in the next sleeper, the Silver Maple. When I went back there, I ran into a woman with her daughter. They said you’d probably gone to talk with Miss Grant in the Silver Falls.”

  “I wish you’d come to get me first,” Uncle Sean said. “You could have been seriously hurt. Your mother would never let me hear the end of it.”

  “I did go talk with Miss Grant,” Jill said, looking at the bandage on her hand. “She admitted killing Mr. Fontana. She said he’d left her holding the bag for that rationing coupon business in Chicago. She went to prison for it. She’s been planning revenge ever since.”

  “So you’ve solved another murder,” the conductor said. “This is getting to be a habit, Miss McLeod.”

  “Not one I’d intended.” Jill smiled ruefully. “I let my curiosity overrule my common sense.”

  Sean smiled. “I’ve been known to be single-minded in the pursuit of a lead.” He looked at the conductor. “What did you do with Miss Grant?”

  “As soon as she regained consciousness,” Mr. Dutton said, “we locked her in the baggage car. With the baggage man and the brakeman for company. They’ll keep an eye on her for the time being.”

  He looked out the window. The California Zephyr had reached the area where the freight train had derailed. Lights outside illuminated the scene, giving the salt flats an otherworldly look. Several freight cars had tumbled down an embankment, falling on their sides, and the track crew was working to set them upright. The CZ was stopped on a siding, awaiting permission to continue its journey.

  “Once we’re past this mess, it won’t take us long to get to Wendover. Then we can turn Miss Grant over to the authorities. I’ll be glad to see the back of her, and an end to this situation.” The conductor pulled his pocket watch from his vest and looked at it, frowning. “This has put us way behind schedule. I hope we can make up some time once we get rolling.”

  ———

  Two deputies from the Tooele County Sheriff’s Office were waiting at the station in Wendover when the California Zephyr made its unscheduled stop. They boarded the Silver Crescent and examined Victor Fontana’s body and the crime scene. Then the body was removed from the drawing room in the Silver Crescent and loaded into a waiting ambulance.

  Cora Grant was taken into custody, escorted from the baggage car by two deputies. The conductor gave the deputies the gun that Cora had used to kill Fontana and subsequently hidden in Doug’s bedroom, as well as the knife she’d wielded against Jill. He’d also turned over the roll of film shot by Rachel.

  After the deputies talked with the conductor, they interviewed Jill and the others. The Wendover stop stretched longer, putting the CZ even farther behind schedule. Mr. Dutton went to the station, where he telegraphed ahead to Elko and Winnemucca, advising those stations of the reasons for the delay.

  Art Geddes also left the train at Wendover. His voice was tired and subdued as he spoke to Jill on the platform, taking his suitcase as the porter handed it down. “I gotta send some wires back to Chicago. Vic might not have been the straightest arrow in the bunch, but he had a wife and three kids. Somebody’s gotta tell them. I guess it’s gonna be me.” He sighed as he tipped the porter. Then he turned and trudged wearily toward the station.

  The California Zephyr finally rolled out of Wendover, crossing the state line from Utah into Nevada. The engineer hoped to make up some time during its early morning journey across the Silver State, but it looked as though the train would be late getting to its next scheduled stops. It would take the CZ more than an hour to reach Elko. This was a crew change stop, where the train would take on
a new engineer and fireman. From Elko, it was two hours to Winnemucca, where the train crew would change, with Mr. Dutton and Mr. Mooney turning the Silver Lady over to a new conductor and brakeman.

  Jill went to her compartment. She knew she should work on her trip report, but fatigue had set in long ago and she couldn’t face it. She went to bed instead. She’d asked Uncle Sean to wake her before the train got to Winnemucca. She wanted to say good-bye to him, and say hello to her cousin Teresa.

  Jill had been sleeping for about three hours when Sean tapped on her door and awakened her. She got up, feeling somewhat rested, and quickly dressed.

  It was a quarter after five in the morning when the California Zephyr slowed, approaching the outskirts of Winnemucca, ­Nevada. The train was more than an hour late, though the CZ had, as Mr. Dutton hoped, made up some time as it sped through the Nevada desert.

  When she went to the vestibule of the Silver Quail, Uncle Sean and Joe Backus, the porter, were there. As the train drew closer to the lights of the town, Doug joined them.

  “I thought I’d see Dad off. And I haven’t seen Teresa in quite a while. The last time was when she and Fred were living in Leadville. I was skiing up in Aspen, so I went to visit them. They only had two kids then. Now they have four.”

  “The youngest one sure looks like your mother,” Sean said.

  Doug nodded. “Yes, she does. Thanks for showing me the picture.” He hesitated, looking at his father. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  Sean chuckled. “Of course I do. The first time I laid eyes on your mother, I knew she was the one. Does this have something to do with that young lady from Jackson, Mississippi?”

  “It might,” Doug said.

  “Have you said anything to her?” Doug shook his head, and his father laughed again. “Better get a move on. Only a few hours till you get to Portola.”

  Teresa and Fred were on the platform as the train pulled into the station. Sean and Doug got off. When Teresa saw Doug, she whooped and threw her arms around him. “Well, if it isn’t my big brother, the traveling ski bum! No ski slopes in Winnemucca, so what are you doing here?”

  Jill got off the train as well. She had time to say hello to Teresa, since this was a crew change stop. Down the platform, in the direction of the locomotives, she saw Mr. Dutton and Mr. Mooney conferring with the new conductor and brakeman. Several passengers were leaving the train here in Winnemucca, including Milly Demarest and her three children. Jill walked quickly toward the Silver Maple, intercepting them.

  “Thanks for your help, Lois,” she told the girl. “We did catch the person responsible for the murder.”

  The teenager rolled her eyes and leaned closer. “Was it that Miss Grant? I overheard a couple of the porters talking about it.”

  “They said you got hurt.” Mrs. Demarest looked at Jill’s bandaged hand. “I hope it’s not too bad.”

  Jill smiled. “Yes, it was Miss Grant. And this is just a scratch.”

  Robby tugged at his mother’s sleeve. “C’mon, Mom. There’s Aunt Darlene. I hope we go get breakfast right away. I’m hungry.”

  “You’re always hungry,” Patty said, hoisting a suitcase.

  A rangy woman approached, wearing faded dungarees, her hands stuck in the pockets of an old brown car coat. She had a red woolen scarf wound around her neck. She greeted the Demarests with hugs and took the suitcase from Patty. “So you’re finally here. How come the train’s so late?”

  Milly Demarest ran a hand through her frizzy hair. “Oh, my word, Sis, you’re not going to believe it.”

  Jill retraced her steps back down the platform, chatting for a moment with her cousin Teresa. Then the new conductor called, “All aboard!”

  Doug kissed his sister on the cheek, then turned to his father. “Keep well.”

  “Thanks, son. It’s been good to see you.” Sean hesitated, and then he stuck out his hand. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  Doug shook his father’s hand. “I won’t.”

  Jill and Doug climbed back into the vestibule. The California Zephyr moved out of the Winnemucca station, heading across the northwestern Nevada desert.

  “What time does the dining car start serving breakfast?” Doug asked. “I’m not that hungry right now, but I could drink a gallon of coffee.”

  Jill looked at her watch. “At six, about forty minutes from now. But I think if we throw ourselves on the mercy of the dining car crew we might be able to get some coffee.”

  Doug laughed. “Lead the way.”

  They walked forward into the dining car, where the tables were already set for breakfast service. All six of the waiters were gathered at two of the tables, finishing their own breakfast. Mr. Gaylord stood up as Jill and Doug approached. “You’re up early this morning, Miss McLeod. We heard it’s been quite a night.”

  “It has,” Jill said. “And we’re desperate for coffee.”

  Mr. Gaylord laughed. “So was the new conductor. He was in here a minute ago. Took a pot back to his office. Have a seat. I’ll bring you a fresh pot right now.”

  Jill and Doug sat down at a nearby table for four, taking the window seats. Mr. Gaylord returned a moment later with the coffeepot and poured each of them a cupful. He left the pot with them.

  “Thank you.” Doug raised the cup to his lips and took a swallow. “Hot black coffee. Nectar of the gods.”

  Jill stirred cream into her coffee and took a sip. They sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the waiters as they cleared the tables where they’d eaten breakfast and set them up for passengers. The chefs in the kitchen were talking as they banged pots and pans. At the steward’s counter, Mr. Taylor was humming to himself.

  Jill looked out the window. It was another hour until sunrise, but here and there the early morning darkness was pierced by lights from ranches or vehicles on the roads.

  “Maybe we’ll make up some more time as we cross the desert. We won’t once we get into the mountains.” She took another sip of coffee. “You’re getting off the train in Portola. Why such a small town? What have you got up your sleeve? A couple of aces?”

  Doug laughed. “I don’t have to cheat at poker, cuz. I’m good. As to why Portola, I’m meeting a friend. His name is Eric. His father’s a Western Pacific engineer, so Eric grew up there, and he’s living in Portola, temporarily. He and I met when we were skiing a couple of years ago, up in Squaw Valley. We’ve got a business proposition to investigate, buying into a ski resort near Lake Tahoe.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” Jill said. “My ski bum cousin is settling down.”

  “I guess so. Strange prospect, after my heretofore nomadic existence. I’ve been to Sugar Bowl up by Donner Pass so I know there’s great skiing in the Lake Tahoe area. And casinos in Nevada, of course. So two of the things I like best in the world. Skiing and gambling. I’m hoping that —” He stopped. “Well, just hoping.”

  Jill smiled. Love at first sight, was it? Doug’s relationship with Miss Larch seemed to be moving fast into serious territory. “That Pamela Larch might be part of that future? As your father said, you’d better get a move on.”

  “It’s early to be knocking on her door. Though we talked a lot last night. We’ll see if anything comes of it.” He picked up the pot and topped off their coffees. “What about you? Teresa wrote me when your fiancé died in Korea. Then she said you’d taken this Zephyrette job. Are you going to ride the rails forever?”

  “I don’t know. Forever sounds like a very long time. I don’t know what I’ll be doing next month, let alone two or three years in the future. I enjoy being a Zephyrette, for now. It’s been good for me. I get to travel, meet people from all over the country, and other countries. And make new friends.” Jill smiled. “I have met someone. His name’s Mike. He was a passenger on the train last December, and now he’s in school at the university in Berkeley. I’ve been seeing a lot of him.”

  “Great. I’m glad for you. You’ve got to stop getting involved in murders, thoug
h. I understand this wasn’t your first effort at crime-solving.”

  “Well, I didn’t set out to be a detective. But it’s in the nature of my job to keep an eye on things while we’re on the train. That’s why I do walk-throughs every few hours. I’m supposed to observe and be ready to help the passengers. Then there’s my natural curiosity.”

  “Natural nosiness,” Doug added.

  “Stop teasing.” She smiled at him. “Who knows what will happen in the future. I wish you the best of luck with your ski resort. I’ll come up and visit you.”

  “The ski resort hasn’t happened yet, but if it’s everything my friend says it is, I think it could work. I’ll let you know. Maybe it is time I settled down and stayed in one place.”

  He raised his cup then he stopped, setting it down again. He looked past Jill, a grin edging its way across his face. Jill turned and saw Pamela Larch, her blond hair loose on her shoulders. She wore a silky blue dress with a scooped neckline. The gold chain she’d worn around her neck was not in evidence.

  “I went to your room in the Silver Falls, but you weren’t there. I do hope there’s some coffee left in that pot,” she said.

  Doug stood and pulled out the chair next to him. Jill poured a cup for Pamela.

  “I got up early to see my dad off in Winnemucca,” Doug said, sitting down again. “And say hi to my sister and her husband. They were there to meet him.”

  “I’m so glad you’re all right,” Pamela said to Jill, pointing at the bandage on her hand. “Doug woke me up and told me what happened, how you caught that woman who killed Mr. Fontana. I’m so glad it’s all over.”

  “Is it?” Doug asked. “All over?”

  Pamela smiled at him. Then she glanced at Jill. “Doug and I talked quite a bit last night. Just talking, although there might have been some kissing involved! I’ve thought about it and I’ve made a decision.” She reached for Doug’s hand.

  He grinned from ear to ear and squeezed her hand. Pamela turned to Jill. “Miss McLeod, would it be possible for me to get my checked bag from the baggage car? You see, I’m not going to San Francisco after all. I’ve decided to get off the train in Portola.”