Murder on the Sugarland Express

by Angie Fox

  “Excuse me for having extra power and a girlfriend,” Frankie shot back.

  “You said you’d leave me alone,” I ground out.

  Frankie threw his arms out. “Yet you’re still talking.”

  “I don’t want to talk to ghosts. I don’t want to be on a train with Ellis’s crazy family. I didn’t want to find a murdered ghost or a vandalized communications system. But here we are.” I took a calming breath. Then another. We were in this for better or for worse. “Look,” I said. “De Clercq is expecting you to investigate.” This was bigger than Frankie. Bigger than my pride. “He admitted he’s stuck. He won’t let me help. He needs you. This dead girl needs you.”

  “Yeah? Well, there’s a different dead girl who needs me more,” he said, pointing a thumb toward the caboose, backing up, walking away from me and his responsibilities. He opened the back door of the car, then glided over the rickety walkway connecting us to the caboose. “You can’t save everybody, Verity.”

  “I can try,” I said, watching him disappear.

  Chapter 12

  I inserted my key and slid open the door to the compact luxury of my compartment—the velvet couch, the brocade curtains. The porter hadn’t turned down our bed yet, which I could certainly forgive considering the circumstances tonight.

  A single lamp burned on the table by the window.

  If De Clercq was right, if the resurrection of the Sugarland Express meant this unfortunate woman was doomed to relive her murder each time the train set out, then I had to do my part to end the cycle.

  I retrieved a wrap from the tiny, single shelf at the top of the closet and cast it over my shoulders. The silk chiffon was Melody’s favorite, but she’d let me borrow it anyway.

  My sister cared. She did what she could to help me and anyone else who needed it.

  Frankie, on the other hand… He might have had the detective’s ear, but he wouldn’t be the partner the old investigator needed.

  I would, provided the persnickety old ghost would allow it.

  I watched the shadows of the mountains rush past.

  No doubt the proud mobster was groveling to Molly, which was absolutely the right move. After that, he could join us or not. But I couldn’t let this go.

  The room lay silent save for the rattling of wheels on the tracks as the Sugarland Express hurtled forward into the dark unknown. I should really get back to Ellis and the Abels.

  But first, I tucked my wrap tight around my shoulders, planted a knee on the couch, and pressed an ear to the wall separating me from Beau and Stephanie.

  Silence.

  I waited, resting against the cool, polished wood. My eyes felt heavy and I let them drift closed for only a moment.

  “I think they went to sleep,” said a voice in my room, directly behind me.

  I spun around. “Ellis!”

  He stood in the doorway, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You’re starting to give me a complex about your ex.”

  “Ha,” I said, hoping he was joking as I slid bonelessly down onto the couch. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

  He stepped inside and secured our compartment. “If it makes you feel any better, I was out in the hall, listening at their door.”

  I stifled a laugh. “What are we doing?” I asked, feeling a touch—okay, a lot—foolish.

  This was my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend, and the whole thing was starting to feel a bit Jerry Springer.

  The couch sank as Ellis joined me and stretched an arm out over the back. “We’re getting to the bottom of these odd happenings on the train. My brother included.”

  I leaned my head against his arm. “So much for fun and relaxation.”

  He looked at me for a long moment. “The night is still young.”

  He leaned down and kissed me, then deepened the contact into something sweet and full of promise. I was just getting into it when he pulled back slightly. “So what happened with Frankie?”

  “You know how to kill the mood,” I teased, wrapping my arms around him, letting him fold me against his chest as I explained about Frankie’s latest great idea and the vintage mystery unfolding next door.

  “We can’t let that girl keep on hurting,” Ellis vowed.

  “I know,” I said, snuggling against his shirt. “We just need to solve a mystery where you can’t see any of the suspects or the clues, and the lead investigator won’t talk to me because I’m not a lying mobster pretending to be a cop.” And most likely because I had girl parts.

  “Makes sense to me.” Ellis ran his fingertips through my hair, from temple to ear. “And, hey, I learned something interesting from the Abels.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I had to work to stay focused as he swept his fingers across that little soft spot behind my ear.

  His chest rose and fell with his breath. “They were seated at dinner with the travel journalist, and when the lights came back on, they couldn’t find her.”

  I lifted my head. “Beau didn’t see her, either.”

  “She told Dave she works for Southern Travel and Leisure Magazine, but he’s been a subscriber for years and couldn’t recall reading any of her articles. She dodged the question when he asked her to name a few.”

  “That’s strange.” Maybe the journalist wasn’t a journalist. I wasn’t sure what to think about that.

  Ellis gave a sharp nod. “I’m going to look her up once we have phone service again.”

  “I’ll also put Melody on it.” As soon as I could call.

  I’d already asked her to check out the history behind the 1929 wreck. Knowing Melody, she’d have answers soon. I reached into my pocket for my phone and saw that I still had no signal. I sure hoped we’d move into a service area soon, and that my sister wouldn’t worry if she kept getting my voicemail in the meantime.

  This train was feeling more and more like a time warp from which there was no escape.

  A faint tap echoed from the hall. “Turndown service?” a polite voice inquired.

  We stood and Ellis opened the door for the young, wiry porter who had carried our bags onto the train.

  “Thanks,” my boyfriend said as he and I both shifted to admit the porter. In compartments this small, three was a crowd.

  We watched as the young man lifted the top part of the couch, cushion and all, into an upper bunk. He pulled a mattress from the rectangular base of the couch and placed it on the upper bunk with quick efficiency. “My apologies. I was supposed to convert the cabins while you were at dinner tonight, but I didn’t get to all of them.”

  “We understand,” I assured him as he expertly unpacked sheets and pillows from the storage space and stowed them on the top bunk. “Were you helping wayward passengers?” Perhaps he’d seen something. “I know I wouldn’t have wanted to get lost in the dark.”

  He emptied the space inside the base of the couch, then lifted a lower bunk out of the very bottom and straightened the mattress on top. “Luckily, all the passengers were safe in the dining car, ma’am.”

  I shared a glance with my boyfriend.

  “I wasn’t there,” Ellis said, “not after the train stopped at least.”

  The porter didn’t appear surprised or even fazed. “As you say, sir.”

  “I wonder if anyone else ventured out,” I mused, keeping an eye on the porter.

  “Not a one, I’m sure,” he said, making up the beds.

  It was difficult to tell if he truly hadn’t seen anything, or if he simply wasn’t one to gossip with the passengers.

  “Anything else you might need?” the porter asked, turning to us when he’d finished.

  “I can’t think of anything,” I said, not unless I could get him to talk. Or perhaps he truly hadn’t seen anything.

  “Thanks.” Ellis pressed a tip into the man’s hand as he left.

  “We have to tip him?” I asked after the door closed.

  “I have no idea,” Ellis said, slightly embarrassed. “I figure better safe than sorry, and I’m sur
e he’s earned it tonight.”

  Good point.

  We stared at the pair of narrow bunks, one on top of the other.

  “Our original compartment had a nice, snuggly bed, didn’t it?” I asked.

  Ellis gave a half-chuckle, half-snort. “I’d sleep in that spider-infested caboose if it meant being with you.”

  “I won’t hold you to it,” I said. Frankie already had dibs. Ellis grinned as I grabbed for my jammies. “I’ll take the top bunk.”

  “So will I,” he said. And I decided it would be a very good evening after all.

  * * *

  Hours later, I woke with my head notched under Ellis’s chin and his large warm body spooning me from behind. I felt snug, comfortable, yet…

  My eyes fluttered against the faint glow of dawn. I couldn’t escape the niggling sensation that something was wrong.

  We’d neglected to close the curtains last night. I hadn’t been thinking of anything besides racing Ellis to the top bunk and then enjoying the cozy space. In fact, I had no incentive to think about anything else at all—except…

  My eyes opened wide.

  The desolate landscape raced by outside the window. Bare dirt gave way to scrubby grass clustered against a sheer rock face. It was as if someone had cut a slice out of the mountains and then wedged us into it. It was downright claustrophobic. Even Ellis’s arm, thrust casually over me with his heavy weight behind me, made me want to stand up and get some space.

  I eased out from under him. He took a sharp breath, then settled in and resumed his heavy breathing as I reached for my robe.

  Ellis slept hard. So why was I so restless?

  Maybe I just missed the familiar weight of Lucy the skunk curled up by my feet. She was always so warm. I hoped she wasn’t also having trouble sleeping in an unfamiliar place.

  A quick check of the hall and I’d be fine. I pulled the robe over my shoulders and tied it tight.

  With a glance back at Ellis, I slipped from the compartment.

  The view from the hallway window was the same as the one from my comfortable bed. Perhaps I was being silly to worry. I looked down at myself. It wasn’t like I could go exploring a fancy train in my robe.

  I turned toward my room and my bed when the front door of the car slammed open and Beau staggered through. He wore the same pale blue shirt and navy suit pants as he had last night, but he’d lost his jacket somewhere along the way. His collar lay open with his tie askew, and he looked like hell.

  His gaze traveled over me with disturbing familiarity, and he managed a cocky smirk. “I remember that robe.”

  “Don’t,” I told him. Yes, I’d worn it around him, but I’d had it since college. He didn’t own that experience. He drew closer and I wrinkled my nose. He smelled like the inside of a whiskey barrel. “Long night?” I asked, changing the subject.

  He gave a small shrug. “I’m coming back from breakfast.”

  “Right,” I said. I was usually good at sussing out the truth, but it didn’t take a detective to figure out that Beau had most likely snuck off to the bar long after Ellis and I went to bed. I hoped he’d at least fallen asleep after his binge instead of drinking on into breakfast, but it wasn’t my problem anymore.

  “See you later,” I said as he slid open his door.

  There was no avoiding him on this train.

  “Jesus!” he choked out, steadying himself on the doorjamb, slack jawed as he gaped at what he saw in his compartment.

  I shouldn’t look.

  Yes, I should. It was the right thing to do, to offer my support, to steady Ellis’s brother.

  So I drew up next to him and saw his girlfriend, Stephanie, dead on the floor. She lay facedown on the floor in the exact same spot as the dead woman from 1929. Her arms lay askew, her legs tangled where she fell.

  She’d been stabbed in the back in almost the same spot as the ghost, the bloody knife stark against her white silk nightie, the dark blood seeping out onto the rich gold carpet.

  Chapter 13

  I reached for my phone and realized I didn’t have it. So I turned to Beau.

  “Call the police.”

  He brushed past me and banged on the door to my compartment. “Ellis!”

  My boyfriend flung the door open, half-asleep. “Will you pipe down?” he groused at his brother. Then he saw me. “What are you two doing?”

  “There’s been a murder,” I told him. “Stephanie,” I added, gesturing helplessly toward the open door of compartment 9.

  “I don’t believe it.” Ellis swore under his breath. “Tell me you didn’t touch anything.” He reached back to grab a T-shirt, grappling it on even as he charged into the hallway.

  “You know I wouldn’t tamper with a scene,” I said, indignant and a little hurt. I never interfered with investigations.

  “I was talking to my brother,” he said, stopping at the open door.

  “I-I left the room at around midnight or one,” Beau said, retreating from the scene, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “And?” Ellis pressed.

  “She was fine then!” Beau sputtered.

  Ellis showed no reaction. “Have you been back since?”

  “No,” Beau promised. “I swear.”

  “Find a porter, a waiter, anyone who works on the train,” Ellis instructed. “Tell them to try to alert the local authorities.” He shook his head. “Let’s hope somebody can get a cell signal.”

  “I’m on it,” I said, leaving Beau slumped against a window and Ellis guarding the scene.

  My legs shook at the knees and my breath hitched as I half-walked, half-ran up through the next passenger compartment, fighting the sway of the train. I made it through the lounge and dining room and up to the galley, where the skinny porter whispered frantically to the chef inside.

  Wow. He was still on duty.

  “I’m afraid breakfast doesn’t begin until eight,” the porter said, “and there is a dress code,” he added, taking in my robe and lack of slippers.

  “There’s been a murder,” I said, breathless, “a girl stabbed in compartment 9.”

  The chef’s eyes grew wide. “Stabbed?”

  The porter’s jaw slackened. “Are you positive?”

  “Pretty sure,” I told him. This wasn’t my first time reporting a murder, or even my second. “I need you to contact the local police, or find someone on the train who can.”

  The young porter nodded harshly. “Yes, yes.” He appeared flustered, as if unable to muster his next move. I realized I’d given him a near-impossible task unless we’d somehow moved into a better service area in the last two minutes.

  “Talk to the conductor,” I suggested. He knew this train better than any of us. He might have a solution. “After you’ve done that, report back to Officer Ellis Wydell in compartment 9.”

  “Officer?” he asked, surprised.

  “We got lucky,” I said. “My boyfriend is a police officer in Sugarland, Tennessee. He’s secured the scene,” I added, infinitely grateful that Ellis was doing what needed to be done.

  When I made it back, I found Ellis pacing outside the door, about ready to toss his cell phone. “I can’t get a line out. Did you have any luck?”

  “They’re working on it,” I promised him.

  “Good.” His jaw was rigid, his body tense. “Beau is locating my mother and her high-end camera. I need to take some preliminary crime scene photos.”

  “I’m glad you can.” There was no telling when or even where the local police would be boarding. “I have to tell you something,” I said, drawing closer. “The scene looks almost exactly like the ghostly murder, down to the location of the stab wound.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. But he knew better than anyone that I was telling the truth. “Why?” he asked me. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

  “None,” I confessed.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, w
ell, we’re on it.”

  There was no one else I’d rather have on my side. “I’m going to go poke around,” I told him, “unless you need me here.”

  “No,” he said. “Go.”

  “Good.” I leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I think I know just where to start.”

  * * *

  I headed toward the back of the car and ended up on the wrong side of the rickety plank to the caboose. I’d been right. It looked worse with the train moving full-speed ahead.

  Leave it to Virginia to get the history right, but then fail to fully restore the one car the passengers would never enter, the one she’d no doubt attached for historical accuracy only. Or maybe updating the caboose had been Beau’s job.

  I looked down at the ground racing past and at my lack of shoes. Well, that was one positive. As a Southern girl, I’d walked logs and climbed trees in my bare feet. Over time I’d developed quite a grip.

  The train jerked and I resisted the temptation to panic. I had a three-foot run, maybe four. The low handrail—no higher than my thighs—wasn’t exactly built to inspire confidence.

  Heck with it. I wasn’t going to solve this murder by standing on the back platform. I ignored the harsh wind and the nightgown tangling around my legs, and made a mad dash for the caboose.

  The train shifted. I stumbled, but I kept going until I slapped up against the worn metal door and pushed my way inside.

  Of course Frankie hadn’t turned my power off last night. He’d been too busy arguing with me about it. So I barely saw the spiders, dust, and dirt Ellis had described as being a permanent part of the old caboose. Instead, I walked in on Molly resting on a plush red velvet couch twice the size of the one in my compartment, with Frankie painting her toenails.

  To be honest, I might have preferred a hairy old spider.

  The gangster stood and tossed the bottle over his shoulder. “Don’t you knock?”

  “Evidently not,” I told him. Although I supposed I should. “Anyway, this is an emergency.” I explained about Stephanie’s murder, earning a gasp from Molly and a sigh from Frankie.