by Agatha Frost
Julia peered more closely at the scene surrounding her. Though the carriage had felt spacious upon first boarding, it now gave the impression of a tin can. Looking at Melanie, Alexander, and the singer whose name she’d yet to learn, her mind put together a quick list of curiosities.
“Find out where Alexander was when the lights went out,” she said to Barker in a low voice. “If he was by the trolley, perhaps he heard something that could give away who took the knife.”
Barker nodded and strode across the carriage to Alexander, now sitting on a barstool and cradling a glass of something dark poured over ice. He sipped it sharply as Barker sat next to him; they spun away to face the wall.
“My name is Julia,” she said as she awkwardly shuffled into the seat opposite the singer. “Were you close to Jonathan?”
“Rita,” she replied, her voice soft and sultry, gaze still forced into the dark. “And yes. We were close.” She glanced over her shoulder at Melanie, still sobbing at the bar. “We were passionate lovers. He was going to leave his wife for me. We were going to run away and start a new life together.”
“Oh.” Julia gulped, taken aback by the woman’s immediate honesty. “Then I, uh, suppose I’m sorry for your loss. Did Melanie know about this?”
“He told her,” – Rita glared over her shoulder again – “when he handed her divorce papers two days ago.”
Before Julia could react, Sandra planted herself in the chair next to them, clutching some paper. She slapped it down on the table and pushed it towards Julia.
“I think I found a clue,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Looks to be a life insurance policy taken out by Jonathan last week. What do you make of it?”
Julia scanned the document, though her knowledge of lawyer-speak was limited. Thankfully, the document was so plainly written, it was remarkably simple to work out that in the event of Jonathan’s death, two million pounds would be payable to his wife, Melanie.
“Where did you find this?” Julia asked.
“In that cupboard where he put your coat,” she said, nodding to the concealed closet. “It was sitting on a shelf on its own.”
“Strange,” Julia mused, looking past the two women to Melanie. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Julia slid out, but before she could return to Melanie, Barker intercepted her.
“Claims he doesn’t know anything,” he said in a low voice. “Seems to be sweet on the singer, Rita, though. Sounds like they used to have a thing.”
“And Rita just told me Jonathan was her ‘passionate lover’ but didn’t mention Alexander at all.” Pausing, she squeezed her eyes shut and scratched at the side of her head. “This doesn’t feel right. Where are the police? Why are we still not moving?”
Without waiting for Barker to answer, Julia checked the closet where Sandra had found the life insurance policy. To her complete surprise, she found shelves labelled for Jonathan, Melanie, Rita, and Alexander.
Something fishy was going on.
Compelled by her intuition, Julia went through the door and marched straight into the next carriage. It was identically decorated but empty. She pushed on the concealed panel, and the door opened, revealing more shelves with the same names, and yet another life insurance policy. The following carriage was the same, and in the next, she found the driver with his feet up, reading a book. Through the front window was the first hint of light she’d seen since entering the tunnel.
No sign of a car blocking the tracks.
The penny dropped.
Julia knew exactly what was going on.
Not wanting to waste another second being a fool, she rushed back to her original carriage. Melanie and Rita were standing off, both with their hands planted on their hips.
“He loved me,” Rita insisted. “He called me his one true love.”
“You were nothing more than a passing fancy,” Melanie replied with a laugh. “He was never going to leave me for you, little girl. I’ve known about your affair for months. He certainly never delivered divorce papers! If he hadn’t been murdered, we’d have given it another go.”
“That’s not quite true,” Julia called out, clearing her throat as she stepped forward and rested her palms against her aching lower back. “In fact, none of this is. It should have been obvious, but the shock of everything took me too aback to realise what was happening.” She paused as all eyes in the room fixed on her. “The train stopped in the tunnel, and the lights cut out. Convenient, yes. And the server’s trolley with the fatal knife just happened to be in here at the very moment it was needed. Melanie suggested it was a coincidence, and that someone took advantage of the blackout. Much as I think you all want me to believe that, I’ve just been up to the front.”
“What did you find?” asked Sandra, clearly on the edge of her seat. “Another clue?”
“There’s no car on the tracks.” Julia lifted the paper off the table. “And there’s one of these in every empty carriage, waiting to be found like a piece of planted evidence. This is all fake, isn’t it?”
Melanie and Rita glanced at each other, wild-eyed, while Barker and Alexander let out stifled, breathy laughs.
“Julia…” Barker urged, striding up to her. “That’s not true, this is—”
“You’re in on it,” she accused, holding up a finger to let them know she wasn’t finished. “First, the Barker Brown I know wouldn’t have encouraged me to investigate a murder no matter where we were. You also confirmed the death, moved the body, and called the police.”
Squeezing past the frozen figures in the carriage, she crossed to the other side and pulled open the door. Jonathan was still there, face down, the brown handle jutting upwards.
“Like you said,” she called to Barker, “you’re a private investigator, and you spent years in the police. You of all people know better than to move a body at a crime scene before the police have seen it. I imagine it would be hard to hold your breath for that long, but out here…”
Julia gave Jonathan a shove with her foot. He moved, but only as a reaction to rolling back into place.
“My poor husband!” Melanie cried. “How dare you!”
Still not satisfied, Julia crouched onto her knees, and with a finger under the man’s nose, she tickled his armpit with her other hand. Though his ‘dead’ facial muscles strained, his lips couldn’t resist turning up, and hot breath hit Julia’s finger in sputtered bursts.
“My husband!” Melanie cried from within the carriage. “He faked his own death!”
The silence dragged out, so Julia tickled harder. This time, the ‘corpse’ let out actual laughter.
“Might be time to give it up,” Jonathan said as he pushed himself off the floor, raising from the dead. “She’s determined to derail this.”
“Derail?”
“Didn’t you know?” Sandra laughed, shaking her head. “I just assumed you knew.”
“Knew what?”
Everyone in the carriage exchanged looks like they couldn’t believe how Julia was acting.
“This is a murder mystery train,” Bob replied, joining his wife in laughing. “Oh, Julia, I think you’ve just broken all suspension of disbelief.”
Hands planted on her hips, Julia glared at Barker with a firmly arched brow.
“Surprise?” he offered sheepishly.
“What do we do now?” Rita asked, her sultry tone gone.
“This has never happened before.” Melanie, arms folded tight across her chest, glared at Julia. “I guess we continue on our journey?”
“But we still don’t know who did it,” Sandra insisted. “Who killed Jonathan? We come every year, and we can’t go home without knowing this year’s solution.”
“Julia?” Jonathan said as he pulled a harness from underneath his shirt; the knife handle was attached to it. “Since you’ve taken over, why not tell us how I was murdered?”
Julia focused on all the clues they’d discovered.
“If I had to guess, I’d say Melanie killed h
im,” she said. “She was right there at the bar, scorned and on the brink of divorce. She also stood to inherit a fortune in life insurance.”
“You found the policy this quickly?” Jonathan asked, clearly shocked. “Usually takes them ages, and that’s if they ever find it at all.”
“I think they saw the panel when you put her coat in,” Melanie said, exhaling as she looked around at the mess. “Well, I might as well tell the driver we’re good to get moving again since the game is over so soon.”
“So, I was right?”
“Partially,” Jonathan said as he tossed the harness onto the table, his casualness exposing his earlier formality as part of ‘the game’. “How did Melanie get the knife?”
“It was in here,” she said, pulling back the curtain on the trolley. “If Rita and Alexander were once an item but Rita was now genuinely smitten with Jonathan, based on the clues in front of me, I’m going to guess … Alexander was in on it too. Fuelled by the thought of getting his rival for Rita’s love out of the picture and, perhaps, spurred on by a cash incentive from Melanie’s insurance pay-out, they planned this whole thing and he tossed her the knife from the trolley.”
“Seriously?” Alexander tossed his arms into the air and rolled his eyes. “The script must have leaked online again. Unbelievable.”
“No,” Barker said, patting the server on the shoulder. “She’s just that good. It’s concerning, isn’t it?”
Hardly able to believe what had happened, Julia spent the rest of the journey feeling a mixture of embarrassment and relief. The sun was already setting by the time they left the tunnel, and after travelling a little farther, the countryside tracks looped in a big circle. Once they re-joined the line headed back towards Peridale, things settled. Without the murder, Julia could enjoy the journey once again. They ate mince pies and chatted with Sandra and Bob the entire way home. Without the roles to play, the actors were simply being themselves, like any other people working on a train. They fetched and carried drinks and food while Rita continued to sing, but a little of the magic had worn off.
As too good to be true as it was, Julia had a great day.
She had, after all, got to ride and dine on a vintage steam train, which was well-worth the embarrassment of ruining everyone’s game.
Hours after first boarding, Julia and Barker once again found themselves on the station’s tiny platform, this time watching as the train chugged into the tunnel, leaving behind a trail of smoke in the air behind it.
“I’m sorry for ruining it,” Julia said as they walked through the empty station towards the car park. “Why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t real?”
“I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh. “I know you’ve been bored lately, and I know how much you love solving a puzzle. I saw the advert for Christmas bookings online, and I couldn’t resist. All the thrill of solving a murder, but in a safe environment. I thought you’d eventually realise what was happening and play along, but it turns out you really are too good at solving puzzles.”
“Regardless,” she said, looping her arm through his, “I enjoyed the experience, warts and all.”
“They’ll be talking about that for years.”
“The crazy pregnant woman who tickled the dead.” Julia couldn’t help but laugh at herself. “C’mon. Let’s go home. I’ve thought up my punishment for your trickery.”
“Do I want to know?”
“You’re going up into the attic,” she said, opening the passenger door of Barker’s car. “We’re going to put up the Christmas decorations.”
Barker moaned but didn’t object.
On the drive through the village and back to their cottage, Julia almost couldn’t believe she had a husband who would go to such lengths to entertain her. As much as she wished she’d not taken charge of the situation quite so forcefully, she found herself glad to know her mind was still sharp after months of taking it easy.
And today, at least, she’d felt anything but bored.
To read the other four festive shorts, including one from Peridale’s very own Dot and Percy, check out The Agatha Frost Winter Anthology!
1
JULIA
I n the kitchen of her café on a quiet, chilly Sunday afternoon in late-November, café-owner Julia South-Brown piped fluffy, sweetened vanilla cream into another golden ball of choux pastry. When the cream pushed back against the spout of the piping bag to indicate the profiterole was full, she passed it to her nineteen-year-old daughter, Jessie.
Jessie once again messily dunked the profiterole into the melted chocolate and tossed it onto the silver serving tray with none of her usual precision.
“How is it, running the café alone?” Julia asked after handing over another cream-filled ball. “If you’re finding it too hard, I could—”
“Come back a month before your due date?” Jessie’s eyes darted down to Julia’s large pregnancy bump – now more like a pregnancy mountain – but her laugh sounded forced. “It’s going fine, Mum.” Restrained frown lines formed between her brows. “Why? Has someone complained?”
“Not at all,” Julia replied quickly. “Quite the opposite. I’ve been hearing nothing but praise. Evelyn called the cottage yesterday to compliment your scones, and Amy Clark chased me down in the street to tell me how lovely you’d made her lattes last week. People around here love you.” She paused before adding, “We’re all proud of you.”
The corners of Jessie’s lips struggled into a smile that didn’t stick. Yawning, she dropped the pastry ball onto the plate without looking. It teetered but didn’t fall.
“It’s just . . .” Julia let her voice trail off, choosing her words as carefully as she filled the final choux ball. “Is everything okay, Jessie? You don’t quite seem yourself today.”
Julia added the ‘today’ to disguise that she’d noticed a subtle change in Jessie’s behaviour over the past few weeks. She’d been waiting for the perfect moment to bring it up, but Jessie was increasingly difficult to pin down, especially now that they weren’t working side-by-side every day.
“It’s been a long week.”
“I could manage a few shifts if—”
“It’s not work,” Jessie interjected as she lit the gas ring under the pan of caramel Julia had prepared earlier. “Once the café door opens, I turn on the smile and play the game. The perfect mini-Julia.”
Julia blinked, taken aback by Jessie’s words. Her tongue had always been quick, but the flat tone and lack of twinkle in her daughter’s eyes were worrisome.
“I care more about your lack of smile when you’re not behind the counter.” Julia rested a hand on Jessie’s shoulder. “You can talk to me about anything. You know that.”
Jessie shrugged off Julia’s hand as she remelted the caramel. “Another time.”
“If it’s something I can help with—”
“It’s not.”
“But Jessie—”
“Mum.” Jessie turned, pan in hand and a misty dampness in her eyes. She tried to push forward a smile, but it curled as though tears were on the way. “Please, drop it. I—”
Knuckles rapped on the door that opened into the yard behind the shop. Before Julia could waddle over to answer it, Jessie abandoned the pan on the stainless steel island next to the profiteroles, sniffed hard, and ripped open the door.
“Freeeezing out there!” announced Lynn Sweet in her usual loud voice as she hobbled in, unbalanced by the weight of her large cleaning caddy. “Hope you don’t mind me coming through here. Didn’t see much point in walking around since I’ve come from downstairs.” As she dumped her caddy on the tiled floor, her gaze went straight for the profiteroles. “Oh, are these for the book club?”
Julia nodded for Lynn to try one, but her eyes remained on Jessie, who snatched her denim jacket off the hooks and plunged through the beaded curtain into the café.
“Absolutely top-notch,” Lynn said through a mouthful, already reaching for a second. She glanced around the kitchen. “Want me to hav
e a quick clean up in here? Barker paid me upfront for the hour, but he cleared me out when Stacey turned up to—”
The front door slammed, sending a cold shudder through the closed café.
“Oh, bother.” Lynn licked cream from her lips as she scratched at her spiked grey hair. “Have I interrupted something?”
Another bang came from the alley between the café and the post office, no doubt belonging to the red door leading up to Jessie’s tiny flat. Would she be pacing? Screaming into a pillow? Flicking through the TV to find something to distract her troubled mind?
Sighing, Julia resisted the urge to chase after her. Nothing good would come from pushing the matter in the heat of whatever moment was going on.
“You didn’t interrupt,” Julia lied, forcing a smile of her own.
“I’m always putting my foot in it.”
“Not at all.” Julia nudged the tray of profiteroles closer to Lynn. “Teenage hormones, or so I hope.”
Julia plucked one out and popped it against the roof of her mouth. She’d always struggled with profiteroles but even with their messy chocolate tops, these were as close to perfect as she’d ever managed.
“I was just like her at that age,” Lynn announced, leaning against the island as she helped herself to another pastry. “They used to call me mouthy. Always getting into trouble. Would start a fight over a sideways look.” She chuckled. “I bet a feisty girl like her was a handful growing up.”
“She’s had her moments,” Julia said, glancing through the beads into the café. “We’ve only known each other since she was sixteen. She was homeless when I took her in.”
“The poor mite.”
“Only feels like yesterday I caught her stealing cakes from my café.” The memory made her smile. “She’d share them with the other homeless people she knew. Her heart is in the right place, but she bottles up so much, and . . .” Julia hesitated, unsure why she was opening up so much to someone she barely knew. “Sorry, Lynn. I shouldn’t be unloading this on you.”
“People say I’m a good listener, and you can talk to me about anything.” Lynn sucked the chocolate coating from her forefinger and thumb. “We’re friends now, after all, not just members of the same book club.”
