Murder on the Sugarland Express

by Angie Fox

  At the next table, Barbara scooted her chair closer to her husband, Bruce. “I didn’t even know there were bears in these mountains.”

  I doubted my almost mother-in-law knew, either.

  “I need to complete a quick safety check,” Virginia said, as if they’d never questioned her. “Breakfast will be served shortly. Please enjoy. I’ll report back here when I’m finished. In the meantime, the waiters and porters will bring you anything you need.” Her bony fingers found my elbow. “Thank you.” She smiled sweetly before giving me a firm nudge toward the rear of the car.

  Because she had this under control.

  “A bear?” I hissed once the door closed behind us.

  Dawn peeked through the distant mountains.

  “What other wandering animal can stop a train?” she snapped, hurrying down the hallway of the first passenger car, and into the second. “Or do you think there’s a dairy farm in these hills?” She drove her key card down into the door to compartment 7. “Now wait here,” she said, leaving me outside. Alone.

  Lovely. I wondered if they’d hear me scream in the dining room should the killer attack.

  I leaned back against a window and kept my eyes peeled for knife-wielding maniacs, or even pleasant historic train enthusiasts turned murderers.

  There were too many suspects and not enough evidence.

  I mean, how bad had it gotten that I was partnering up with Virginia Wydell? Most days, she’d just as soon throw me under a train than help me solve a mystery on one. I looked over my shoulder at the rapidly approaching dawn. At least she cared about the Sugarland Express and her two sons. Beau was going to be out there soon. I hoped he knew what he was doing.

  Scant minutes after she’d disappeared into her room, Virginia emerged wearing fresh lipstick, a pair of fitted trousers, and a sleeveless cashmere sweater. She’d twisted her blond hair into a sleek knot at the back of her neck and completed the ensemble with a string of pearls. She could have been on her way to a Rotary meeting.

  “You look good,” I said reflexively, suddenly conscious of my wrinkled sundress and day-old hairdo.

  “It’s not hard,” she said pointedly. She closed the door behind her, eyeing me from head to toe. “You just need to take a little time.”

  And now I wanted to throw her under the train.

  “Speaking of time,” I said, unable to keep the ice out of my voice, “it seems to me we have a killer to catch right now.”

  “We do,” she said, drawing a plastic key card out of her pocket and giving it a dainty wave. “I have my master key, so let’s get started. After all, Mary Jo is in the dining car.”

  “That would be breaking and entering,” I said, feeling for a moment like I was talking to Frankie. “You heard what Ellis said. This has to be legal.”

  “Oh, it’s quite legal when you own the train,” she assured me, moving swiftly up to the first passenger car and to the door to the Abels’ compartment. “There’s fine print on the ticket that specifically allows me to enter.” She slipped the key into the lock. “Besides, I’m in charge of housekeeping. We’ll straighten up a bit while we’re in there.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” I said, looking quickly to make sure we were still the only ones in the hallway. “The Abels will know if we start moving things around.”

  “Leave it to me,” she said, entering like she owned the place, which I supposed she did.

  Darn it.

  I followed her into the plush suite.

  Virginia busied herself adjusting a ceramic lamp on the carved wood table next to the couch. “See? I just straightened,” she said, her tone innocent, fire in her eyes. “Perfectly in line. Now let’s go see if any of Mary Jo’s shoes are crooked.”

  “This is so wrong,” I said, making a quick dash to the closet attached to the vanity while Virginia threw open the curtains to the small bedroom at the back.

  Mary Jo had placed her shoes at the bottom of the closet—three pairs of flats and a pair of slippers. “Well, she wouldn’t have put those shoes with the other ones,” I reasoned. Even if she’d cleaned them, she might not want to look at them. I checked the top shelf of her closet before going for her stored luggage on the racks next to the vanity.

  “We’re lucky the windows don’t open,” Virginia said, ducking beneath a reading lamp attached to the wall, inspecting the compact wooden dresser beneath. It was the only freestanding piece of furniture in the luxurious, yet efficient space.

  “The killer would be foolish to toss incriminating evidence from the train,” I said. “Besides, right now, the killer doesn’t realize anyone is looking.” The killer either wiped the print away or didn’t realize she’d left the evidence before blood seeped over it.” We only know about the print because of the ghost.”

  “Well, there’s nothing in here,” Virginia said after a few tense moments of hurried searching.

  “I’m coming up empty, too,” I said, completing one final check to ensure I’d left the Abels’ possessions the same way I’d found them. “I’m glad it’s not them,” I admitted, while Virginia turned off the light above the bed and closed the curtains to the room, fluffing and adjusting them just so.

  “Really?” she asked, stepping back from her work. “You do realize that means we’re probably sending my son into the room with a killer.”

  She was right. Ellis would be the one to confront Eileen Powers.

  “At least he knows who he might be up against,” I said. I also trusted him to do the right thing. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  * * *

  We stood in the hall, as innocent as could be. Virginia even treated me to a small smile. I had to admit I was a little surprised when we slipped out into the hallway without getting caught. It didn’t seem right, what we’d just done. There should be consequences for lying, for keeping the Abels in the dining car while we inspected their belongings. And yet…

  My almost mother-in-law had just stowed the key card in her pocket when the door slid open at the back of the car and Eileen Powers stepped inside.

  “Hello, dear,” Virginia greeted her as if they were old friends. It would have been stunning to watch if I hadn’t been so horrified. She strolled toward our suspect with artfully placed concern. “I’m sure you felt the train stop.”

  Eileen met her halfway. “What’s wrong this time?” she asked, cutting to the chase.

  Virginia smiled, as if that kind of questioning didn’t make her seethe inside. “You know, I’m just about to address the passengers and give all the details.”

  I had to give her credit. She said it in a way that would tempt the reporter, and it worked. Eileen’s expression went from sour to curious.

  “Care to give me a preview?” the redhead asked.

  “Go have a seat, and I’ll be right in,” Virginia assured her.

  The reporter shot me a curious glance, and I gave her a bright smile. “I’m just going to help Virginia carry something,” I said.

  It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Maybe she’d let me hold the key card before we broke into compartment 8.

  “All right,” Eileen said noncommittally. She headed for the dining car.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, I turned to Virginia. “This is such a bad idea.”

  “Someday, you’ll learn to be practical,” she said, tucking the tag into the back of my sundress. “Now let’s get down to business.”

  The back of the train was on a definite downward slant. It seemed the final cars hadn’t fully cleared the hill before the conductor hit the brakes. I tried to ignore it and focus on our mission.

  We entered Eileen Powers’s room the same way we had the Abels’. I took the closet again. Virginia took the reporter’s single suitcase down off the rack. As if we had a system.

  “At least this room is tiny,” she mused.

  It was a little bigger than the one I shared with Ellis.

  Eileen didn’t keep her shoes on the floor of the closet, though. She’d sprea
d them out to the side of the vanity area. I checked the top shelf anyway.

  “What I don’t get is why she’d wear heels to commit a murder,” I said, finding only folded clothes on the shelf.

  “Maybe she wasn’t planning to kill,” Virginia said, dropping to her hands and knees to check under the stacks of paper beneath the window table. “This woman needs a couple of file boxes.”

  “Nothing in this part of the room,” I said, trying to think of where else she could have stashed them. I looked in the shower.

  “I’m coming up blank, too,” Virginia said, sitting back on her heels.

  “I don’t get it.” It would be crazy for a killer to hide such a personal piece of evidence outside an area they could control. It had to be hidden in the culprit’s room. Virginia said herself the windows on the train didn’t open.

  Unless the killer had indeed tossed the shoe off the end of the caboose. Still, even then they risked exposure. As soon as we contacted the authorities in Gatlinburg, they would be scouring the tracks for it.

  “If I were the killer, what would I do?” Virginia mused.

  “I’d lie better,” Eileen said, sliding open the door to her compartment, trapping us inside.

  Virginia stood quickly. I remained in front of the vanity. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  “Two people trying to pin a crime on me?” Eileen asked, in no hurry to get out of our way. She reached into her bag. I braced myself, expecting her to pull out a weapon, my eyes settling on a can of aerosol hairspray as she pulled a stick of gum from her purse.

  I relaxed—barely—as she opened it and began to chew.

  “Tell me why you suspect the Abels,” she said, giving no hint of what she was thinking.

  I exchanged a glance with Virginia.

  “I don’t recall saying that,” I told her.

  For all I knew, Eileen could be the killer. She looked as if she could fit the shoeprint found in the blood, and she’d been absent from the dining room during the time of the murder.

  Then again, I hadn’t ruled out anyone on the train. And Eileen hadn’t attacked us yet. That was certainly a point in her favor.

  And there was the fact that she was a reporter. I had a feeling she was here to dig up the truth rather than put someone in the ground.

  “Fine. I’ll level with you,” I said, going with my gut.

  Virginia pursed her lips, but didn’t argue. “Join us on the couch,” she offered, her tone cool.

  “I’d rather stand where I can see you both,” Eileen countered. “You can’t be too careful on this train.”

  “Good point,” I said.

  Then I told her everything—about the body, about the ghosts, about the bloody footprint we’d found. She stared at me like I’d lost my marbles when we got to the part with the spooks, but she listened, and she didn’t interrupt once.

  When I finished my story, I heard a click echo from her pocket.

  “What’s that?” I stiffened.

  She removed her hand and displayed a mini voice recorder.

  “Verity never said this was on the record,” Virginia snapped, taking a step forward.

  Eileen held up her hands. “Stay where you are. I’m within my rights.”

  She’d tricked me. And now she was going to make me look like a fool. “Did you ever intend to share information with us?” I demanded. “I want the truth about what you’re here to investigate and what you learned from Stephanie the night she died.”

  “Oh, we’ll have that discussion,” the reporter said, lowering her hands. “This,” she said, slipping the recorder into her pocket, “I’d intended to use as insurance, but frankly, you sound like a loon.”

  “Get to the point,” I told her.

  “You want the truth?” she asked. “Here it is. I’m working on a story that’s very big and that will be going down very soon. Stephanie was my informant. She’s dead now, and I think the people I’m investigating were behind it.”

  “The Abels,” Virginia said flatly.

  She didn’t deny it. “I think I know what happened, and your bloody footprint seals the deal. Let me check out my last good lead,” she urged. “If it works out, I can point you to your evidence.”

  Or she could just as easily destroy it if she were so inclined.

  She pressed her lips together. “Trust me on this one,” she urged.

  “I don’t see where we have a choice,” I told her. We were at a dead end with the bloody shoe, at least for now.

  “If I’m right, we’ll have our answer in an hour or less,” Eileen promised.

  “Come find me as soon as you do,” Virginia ordered, taking a risk and approaching Eileen at the door, displaying her empty hands as she did.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  She glanced back at me. “I have to see to a room full of passengers.”

  Right.

  Eileen backed out of the room ahead of us. “I’ll find you,” she said to me. “In the meantime—” the reporter fished in her pocket and withdrew a tube of lipstick “—here.” She handed it to me. “You need this.”

  “O-kay…” I said, not sure why she’d given it to me. I opened it and saw a used tube in a terrible orange-pink color. “Thanks.”

  The reporter gave a slight nod and headed in the direction of the dining room.

  “I’ll see you in there,” I said to Virginia once we were both out in the hall. I hated to separate, but Ellis’s mom would be safe with the crowd in the dining room. And I had to find Frankie. I needed him to act like a ghostly investigator one more time and tail Eileen to wherever she was headed.

  While he was at it, I’d have Molly search the rest of the train for those missing shoes. She could do it faster and better than any mortal, and while managing those two might drive me a bit crazy, I was pretty sure it wouldn’t violate any law.

  A smart killer would have indeed tossed the bloody shoes from the train, but it would have been hard without windows that opened. It would also be risky to lose possession of evidence like that. It would be safer to keep the shoes hidden until they could be disposed of properly.

  Besides, the killer didn’t know anyone had even seen the print. I was willing to bet she’d wiped it away.

  I made my way to the very back of the train and found my crack team of ghost investigators canoodling in the caboose. This time, the room looked like a small-time 1930s jailhouse. Newspapers plastered the walls, with brash headlines praising Lead Investigator Frankie Lawson, the country’s hottest new crime fighter.

  Molly perched on the desk, with Frankie nuzzling her hair.

  “Oh brother,” I said, stopping short in the doorway.

  Frankie’s back stiffened. “Don’t you knock?” he spat.

  Why start now? “I have a job for you,” I told him.

  Chapter 22

  The ghosts took the job without complaint. I didn’t know if it was because Frankie now saw himself as the next Columbo, or if he only wanted to impress Molly, but either way, I’d take it.

  And as I stood alone in Frankie’s ghostly jail, I noticed the caboose had stopped on even more of a downward slope than the passenger car before it. I made my way toward a plain metal door at the back, careful not to touch the many awards cluttering his detective’s desk.

  Did they even give awards for solving crimes? I certainly hadn’t received any.

  I pushed the door open and stepped onto a small squared-off platform that thankfully had a rail, because I could feel myself being drawn downward.

  We were definitely clinging to the hillside on an angle. Bare tracks dropped sharply toward the wide river below.

  Gray clouds hung low overhead. I could see the modern steel bridge we’d crossed, and at the switchback, a second set of tracks branching off toward the ruins of the trestle and the wreck that lay buried under the churning water.

  Enough of that. I climbed down the steps on the side of the platform and jumped the final two feet to the gray rocky rail b
ed.

  A raindrop touched my forehead, and before I could wipe it away, another pelted my arm.

  I walked sideways from the train, toward a towering hillside. Hardy trees clung to the crumbling shale. From this angle, I could see that most of the train had cleared the curve around the hill and had stopped on more level ground. Only the last few cars hadn’t made it.

  Yikes. Surely, the brakes could take the weight.

  I mean, it couldn’t be dangerous or the conductor would never have allowed it. Although he hadn’t exactly been given a choice. Either way, I’d be glad when help arrived.

  I walked farther up the tracks, toward a figure I saw sitting on a fallen rock near a scraggly bush. When I drew closer, I almost stopped and retreated.

  It was Beau.

  His shoulders slumped. His head hung low. His hair stood out at all angles in a way that would give Virginia heart palpitations. And at that moment, no matter what he’d done to me, I couldn’t find it in me to abandon him.

  I made my way over the rocks in kitten heels. I didn’t bother trying to spare them. They were ruined by that time anyway.

  “Town is that way,” I joked, pointing toward the front of the train.

  He stood quickly, as if I’d surprised him. “Yeah,” he said, embarrassed. He looked to the path ahead rather than back at me. “I told them I needed a minute.”

  Another raindrop touched down on my arm.

  “You don’t have to go,” I told him. Yes, Ellis had a lot on his plate, but he was probably the better choice.

  “I do,” Beau said, decisive as he turned to me. He let out a huff. “I should have stepped up a long time ago.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that. To agree would be rude, but I wasn’t going to lie to Beau and tell him it wasn’t time for him to stand on his own two feet.

  My hesitation turned into uncomfortable silence. “Is there a way back onto the train over here?” I asked, eager to make a quick escape, already retreating toward a break between the passenger cars.

  “Verity, wait,” he called after me.

  I’d really rather not. And in my first cowardly act of the day, I pretended not to hear.