Murder on the Orient Espresso (13 page)

‘You still are,' Missy said staunchly.

‘What do you mean by “brand”?' I asked.

‘As with products – or authors – that are “brand names,” in and of themselves,' Missy said. ‘Like maybe James Patterson or Janet Evanovich. The public has a nearly insatiable appetite for anything they write. It's hard for the author to keep up with the demand.'

‘Sounds like a good problem to have,' I said.

‘I suppose it is – or would be,' Rosemary said. ‘Not that I would know. Back in my day, ebooks hadn't mainstreamed, so just the publishing and printing processes made it necessary—'

‘In your day?' Missy scolded. ‘Your last novel was only five years ago.'

‘Might as well be five decades, given the pace at which publishing is changing.' The ‘legendary lady of romantic suspense' sounded tired.

‘I understand
Breaking and Entering
is doing very well,' I said, although I had no idea whether that was true or not. The book was certainly being talked about.

‘That's right,' Missy said, with an approving glance toward me. ‘Before you know it, Rosemary Darlington will top the
New York Times
bestseller list again.'

Rosemary smiled. ‘Thank you. At the very least, I'm hoping it gives me a running start at it.'

Missy looked pleased that she'd been able to raise the woman's spirits.

Me, I just wanted more dirt. ‘So you decided to end it with Potter? The collaboration, I mean.' I'd taken Rosemary at her word about the affair. Or lack of one.

‘Yes, and none too soon. My work needs to be more … organic? It morphs as I go on and that gives me great pleasure – it's what keeps me writing. Things fall into place and every day brings a new “aha!” moment. Larry, on the other hand, is the ultimate planner. Or maybe a better word would be controller. Pages and pages of outline. It felt like an unavoidable school assignment and nothing I did seemed to please the teacher. By the time he approved the outline, I hated the book. Worse, I hated writing, period.'

‘How long did you work that way with him?' I was thinking the story might explain why there had been such a gap between books by Rosemary Darlington.

‘Nearly a year.' She shivered and put a hand up to the air-conditioning unit by her head. ‘Happily, that's all in the past.'

‘Absolutely,' Missy said. ‘Water under the bridge.'

Another quaint expression, but I was examining what looked like an airplane tray table ‘in the upright and locked position' on the wall inside the compartment next to the bunk. ‘Hey,' I said. ‘This flips down into a sink.'

Missy pointed. ‘And below that is a toilet.'

‘Huh.' I lifted the lid to see the blue water. ‘So, each roomette has its own toilet and sink?'

‘Apparently so, though I'm sure I saw …' She stepped into the corridor. ‘Oh, yes – there are more facilities off the corridor, just like I thought.'

I followed her out. ‘Seems like the sleeping car has cornered the market on restrooms. They couldn't have spared one or two more for the rest of the train?'

‘Good point,' Missy said. ‘We'll have to remind people they can use the lavatories back here. After the crime is solved, of course.'

‘And by Potter, let's hope.' I slid open one of the ‘lavatory' doors she'd indicated. ‘There's no toilet in here, just a shower, sink and dressing area.'

Missy pulled open the matching door on the other side of the corridor and looked inside. ‘This one, too. I guess that makes sense, given what you said about each room having its own toilet facilities. The only thing the sleeping car passengers would need is a shower and somewhere to dress before venturing out into the corridor again.'

Scattered applause came from the group down the hall, and they started to troop away from us and toward the dining car. ‘Is it time to cut the cake?' I asked.

‘Did someone say cake?' came from the roomette. Rosemary had slipped back under the blanket. ‘Can you bring me a piece?'

‘Certainly,' Missy said. ‘Back in a flash.'

‘Let's hope there's something left of it when we get there,' I said to Missy.

‘We still don't have a knife,' she said as we approached the room Pavlik had used for his portrayal of the victim, Ratchett.

‘True, but the sheriff does have his “classic” Swiss Army knife.'

‘Oh, dear,' Missy said. ‘We should have cleaned that up.'

The crowd had finished the job I'd inadvertently started, stomping the cake in the hallway to an unrecognizable blue and white mish-mash.

‘Now it'll be tracked all over the train,' the event planner lamented.

I guiltily rubbed the edge of my own shoe against the carpet.

The door of the roomette had been left open and I stepped in. ‘Just let me see something.'

‘What's wrong? Did Jake forget to close the window?'

I noticed that using Pavlik's first name was no longer a problem for the girl.

‘No, it's closed.' And a good thing too, since the wind was pummeling rain against the glass. I went to where the sink was located in the other roomette and, sure enough, it seemed to be standard equipment. I let the thing down, then re-secured it in its original position.

Next I lifted the lid over the toilet.

A cigarette butt floated in the blue water.

‘I
don't get it,' Missy was saying as I slid the door closed. ‘How did you know that Laurence had been smoking in that room?'

‘Easy.' I was feeling smug. ‘The cake in the doorway, for one thing. He must have dropped it opening the door. And then there was the open window. Potter must have been worried about setting off any smoke detectors.'

‘Wow,' Missy said. ‘You really should write mysteries. How did you know Laurence wouldn't flush the toilet?'

‘He's a man. I'm surprised he didn't leave the seat up, too.'

In truth, the floating cigarette butt had been a lucky break. Not that I was going to admit it.

Missy screwed up her face. ‘But if Laurence was smoking in the roomette, he wouldn't have needed to open the exit door. So, what was the matchbook doing on the floor next to it?'

‘Beats me. But since the book was empty, we know Potter dropped it
after
he had his smoke,' I said as we passed the spot in question.

‘And on his way to rejoin the rest of the group in the dining car?'

‘Exactly.'

‘That's wonderful reasoning, Maggy,' Missy said, nearly walking between my heels like my sheepdog, Frank. ‘You're a genius.'

‘Not really,' I said modestly, stopping to look around in the passenger car. No sign of Potter, nor of Audra Edmonds and Danny, but Prudence and Grace were sitting in adjacent seats, talking to Markus. Fred, the table-dancing behemoth, was nearby, as was Harvey/Hardman in his checkered sports jacket. All five of them had hunks of cake in their hands and a trail of crumbs leading from the dining car and ending in their respective laps.

I couldn't tell if the commemorative cake had been cut with Pavlik's Swiss Army knife or just gnawed off.

‘Oh, dear,' said Missy. ‘I never did put the plates and forks out.'

Oh, dear, indeed. ‘I hope the cleaning team has a vacuum.' Or a sheepdog. My Frank would make quick work snuffling up the leavings. Hell, at this point
I
was nearly hungry enough to do it myself.

‘We lose our deposit if we don't return the train spic-and-span, so I'm afraid that little task falls to me,' Missy said unhappily.

I knew I should offer to help, but the truth was I was downright exhausted. It had been a very full day since we stepped onto our plane at Mitchell International in Milwaukee. ‘Shouldn't the train be pulling into the station soon?'

‘Yes, but I fear the rain has slowed us down. Haven't you noticed we're barely creeping along?'

Honestly, no. But now that she said it – and I'd become accustomed to the train motion – it did seem as though the critters in the Everglades could probably have outpaced us.

Missy stopped at the cake to rectify the plate situation, though I wasn't sure why she bothered. The crumbs that were left in the flat box required a thimble at most.

Resigning myself to a not unpleasant – if perhaps ill-advised – liquid diet, I continued on to what had been the first car on the train and now was the last: the club car. There I found Pavlik, Zoe and Audra standing at a high table with Carson. The agent stood a little apart, as if his need for personal space was greater than everyone else's and they were happy to cooperate.

At the adjacent bar, Boyce was serving coffee. I waved to him and sidled in next to Pavlik. ‘I see the murder has been solved and all is right with the world.'

‘It is now,' Pavlik said, sliding an arm around my waist. ‘Would you like something?'

I weighed my options, trying to be an adult. Though I truly wanted a drink, another martini or even a glass of wine might send me over the top.

‘I'll just grab a cup of coffee when Boyce has a moment. I heard the applause,' I said, turning to the others in the group. ‘Did things go well?'

‘Jacob was a marvelously villainous victim,' Zoe said. ‘And we're very grateful to Carson for stepping in as Poirot.'

I turned to Audra. ‘Wait. Your husband never showed up?'

Her eyebrows shot skyward. ‘We all assumed you'd found him and he declined to participate.'

‘It wouldn't be the first time.' Carson took a sip of what looked like bourbon in a small clear plastic cup. I wondered if he'd brought both himself. In a Baggie. ‘Your husband – and my client – is a very stubborn man.'

Another wrinkle. ‘You represent Larry Potter?'

‘And Audra.' Carson nodded to the woman next to him. ‘My very first husband-and-wife writing duo.'

Pavlik leaned down to whisper in my ear. ‘You didn't see any sign of Potter?'

‘Signs, yes.' I beckoned the sheriff away from the group. ‘I think he went back for a smoke. We found his matches on the floor near an exit and a cigarette butt in the toilet of the room where you were playing dead.'

Pavlik looked surprised. ‘Toilet? I didn't even see a bathroom.'

‘Not a full one, just a sink that flipped out from the wall and a toilet. You might have thought the cover was a shelf.'

‘Huh – some observer I am. I didn't smell cigarette smoke when I entered, but Potter would have opened the window to let it vent into the fresh air.'

‘Exactly. We assumed he'd snuck in there to bolster his nicotine level,' I was saying as Missy joined us from the next car. ‘Did you give up?' I asked her.

‘On what?' asked Pavlik.

She waved her hand. ‘Oh, nothing. Just all the cake crumbs.'

‘There's no housekeeping service,' I explained, ‘so Missy feels responsible for returning the train in the condition it was when we boarded. Meaning, mostly clean.'

‘Well that's absolutely ridiculous,' the sheriff said.

‘It is?' Missy was wide-eyed.

‘Of course. We can't let you do that alone. We'll be glad to help, won't we, Maggy?'

I nearly groaned, but the fact was that despite my worst intentions, I wouldn't have left the girl to clean the train alone.

If Pavlik and I were scrubbing and vacuuming, however, I was going to make damn sure Zoe Scarlett did, as well.

Which reminded me. ‘When Zoe announced the solving of the crime—'

‘What are you saying about me?' Apparently feeling left out, the woman in question had pivoted in place, effectively abandoning Audra and Carson for our party without having to take a step.

‘I was just saying that Missy and I assumed Potter had surfaced while we were at the back of the train.'

‘I'm afraid not,' Pavlik said. ‘Are you sure—'

A squeal of metal on metal, followed by a thud. I was thrown into Missy and the two of us slid down the wall. Zoe grabbed onto Pavlik, who struggled to keep his own balance as the train tilted precariously and shuddered to a halt.

The lights flickered, but managed to stay on. ‘Everybody OK?' Pavlik asked in his command voice, putting out a hand to help me up.

I, in turn, pulled up Missy. ‘Think so.'

‘Did we derail?' Missy was rubbing her butt, probably where she'd landed.

‘Is there any place to derail to?' I asked, thinking of Flagler's railroad trestle. ‘I mean, without being at least partially submerged?'

‘Is everyone all right?' Pavlik called out again.

Boyce was getting to his feet. ‘I'm fine, although I'm not as sure about the espresso machine.'

‘We've lost a few bottles from the bar,' Pete the bartender reported, ‘but I'm OK.'

Both Audra Edmonds and her agent appeared shaken but also unhurt. Carson was holding his hands out like a skater trying to keep from falling or, more likely in his case, touching anything.

‘I'll check on the others,' I said to Pavlik. I crossed the eerily quiet vestibule to stick my head into the dining car. ‘Any injuries in here?'

‘Just bounced around a bit,' Prudence said. She was braced in the aisle, pearls askew and her dress ripped at the hem, as if she'd stepped on it while trying to steady herself.

Markus and the rest of the group that had been chowing down in the passenger car were filing in behind her. Greta had a smudge of icing on her nose.

‘What happened?' a sleepy-looking Rosemary Darlington appeared and, behind her, Danny.

‘We're not sure,' I said. ‘But—'

The vestibule door opened behind me, admitting Pavlik. Now everybody started firing questions. Or comments.

‘Did something blow up? I thought I heard an explosion.'

‘Don't be silly. We must have run into something.'

‘Or, perhaps, might the engineer have had a heart attack, thereby rendering him unconscious and leaving us hopelessly stranded in the Everglades?'