Murder on the Orient Espresso (27 page)

M
aybe Theodore B. Hertel, Jr was right. Maybe, in the end, everything
is
fiction.

Because this sure felt like make-believe.

The sun was shining brightly, the alligators and snakes off on frolicks of their own. I was wearing a flowered sundress and kitten-heel sandals, albeit a little worse for wear. Missy, the leading lady, was in a silver evening gown and spike heels. The revolver that completed her ensemble could have been a prop.

I cleared my throat, trying to choose my words carefully. If I played it straight – treated Missy like a co-investigator rather than the killer I feared she was – maybe she'd let her guard down. ‘So Potter wasn't on the train when you and I went to check on Rosemary. Can you be sure of that?'

‘Yes, but it's a long story,' Missy said, waggling the gun toward the door of the train. ‘Would you mind if I sat down? These heels are killing me.'

I felt myself relax a bit, thinking my half-baked plan might be working. Or maybe, even, that I was wrong in my suspicions. ‘Be my guest.'

Missy, casual as could be, handed me her gun, grabbed the rail and pulled herself up, settling on the floor of the doorway through which Boyce had carried Laurence Potter's body.

‘I hate to get this dress dirty,' Potter's lover said, tugging it down, ‘but I'll have it thoroughly cleaned before I donate it back to the Salvation Army.'

‘Good idea.' I was looking at the gun in my hand, trying to put together what the hell was going on.

‘So, shall I continue?' Missy was swinging her legs like a first-grader on a jungle gym.

‘Please.'

‘As you know, I took Rosemary to the sleeping car and settled her in. As I started back, do you know what I saw?'

‘No.'

‘The piece of cake you stepped on, along with my staghorn knife. Both on the floor. Can you believe that?'

‘No.' I figured the shorter my responses, the less likely I'd screw up.

‘I was so angry somebody had not only
cut
a piece of cake without asking, but then dropped it right there and didn't even bother to pick it up. How would that look when Sheriff Pav— I mean, Jake, was pretending to be Ratchett?' Missy looked like she was going to cry again. ‘And that's not even counting that the knife was supposed to be the murder weapon!'

‘Inexcusable.'

‘Exactly what I thought. I picked up the knife so nobody would step on it and opened the door to check on the room. Imagine my surprise to find Laurence there. Not only had he filched the cake – unsuccessfully, I might add – but he was smoking.'

‘Smoking?'

‘Yes, and we all know that's not allowed on the train. We could even be fined for it.'

‘Gosh.' Even if I had wanted to say something stronger I wasn't sure what it would be.

‘The window was open and the air conditioning was woofing right out into the Everglades. Cake in the hallway, and Laurence just sitting there. Do you know why?'

‘Uh, no.'

‘He said he was having a smoke.'

‘And … he wasn't?'

Missy looked at me like I was the one who was nuts. ‘Of course he was. I just told you that.'

‘Right, sorry. So what happened next?'

‘I asked about his wife showing up. I wasn't mad, Maggy. I just thought it was a good opportunity for us to confront her together.'

‘About …?'

Another Maggy-you-stupid-idiot look. ‘About
us
, of course.'

‘Do you mean he was leaving his wife?' At least this time I didn't add, ‘That's what they all say.' Just my luck, I'd been married to the only cheater who'd actually meant it.

‘As it turns out, no. But apparently Laurence was nothing but a hypocrite anyway. Writing scathing reviews of our book when you say he intended to publish one just like it. Assuring me he was leaving Audra when he clearly had no intention of doing so. Laurence said,' Missy elongated her neck like a chicken in an imitation of Potter, ‘“your ardent desires aside, Melissa, I have no desire to make an honest woman of you.”'

Melissa
. I'd corrected Potter when he'd called her that, but it hadn't been a mistake – probably more a signal between them. Potter had made his young mistress feel special. Maybe he was the only one who ever had, despite the fact that she tried so very hard. ‘I'm sorry, Missy.'

‘Oh, Laurence didn't stop there.' Missy's feet were still dangling and she was kicking her heels against the train's side as she talked. ‘He told me I was pathetic and should just grow up. That he thought “Murder on the Orient Espresso” was a juvenile idea, and he wouldn't be part of it.'

A five-minute conversation, and the man had managed to undercut the woman in every area of her life. ‘What did you say?'

‘I didn't get the chance. Laurence just scooped up his cigarettes and matches, turned his back on me and stalked off.'

One of the shoes flew off with enough force that I flinched and nearly had to duck.

‘I couldn't believe it.' Missy was sobbing outright now. ‘He stomped right past that cake he'd dropped, with me following. I said he had no right to treat me like this.'

I held the gun ready.

‘Laurence wouldn't even turn around!' Missy looked past me, as if she were watching the scene unfold. ‘Just opened the door into that vestibule, intending to go right on into the passenger car. He was shoving his stupid cigarettes into his pocket and dropped his matches by the exit door. I called to him, but he didn't hear me. Maybe because of the noise of the train or maybe because he just didn't want to.'

The second shoe went flying, also barely missing me. ‘What did you do then?'

Missy seemed surprised at the question. ‘I picked the matchbook up, of course. But when I tried to hand it to Laurence, he knocked it right back out of my hand. Said the thing was empty and nothing but trash. That he had no further use for it.'

She braced a hand on each side of the doorway and leaned forward. ‘He wasn't just talking about those matches, you know, Maggy.'

‘No?'

‘No.' Her eyes were staring at something I couldn't see. ‘The cake knife was in my hand and when he made to leave again, I … I stopped him.'

‘With the knife?' I asked in a hoarse whisper.

Missy nodded up and down, up and down, like she was in a marching band and had to perfectly synchronize with its other members. ‘He fell against the door, bleeding. I had it on my hand already, but before it got all over I just … just slid the door open.' The last words were barely a whisper.

‘It' being her lover's blood. Missy took ‘tidy' to new heights.

I was trying to understand, or at least appear like I understood. ‘Listen, I know you didn't mean to—'

But before I could finish my sentence, Missy Hudson launched herself from the doorway where she was sitting, toppling us both into the shallow water of the Everglades.

I
held the revolver high, thinking Missy was going to fight me for it. Instead, though, she put her hands on my chest and shoved me under the eight inches or so of swamp water and kept right on going, as if we were playing a soggy game of reverse leapfrog.

Scrambling back up, I coughed and gave chase.

Missy was already slogging toward the berm/island on the other side. I followed, trying to keep the gun from getting wet.

I didn't call for help, which was probably dumb, but I was the one waving the firearm and chasing someone. Who would the citizens' militia behind me choose to shoot?

Missy had made it across to the other bank, the one with the mangroves growing on it. She'd taken about three feet into the sawgrass when she froze and said, ‘Don't move.'

‘Me?' I looked at the revolver in my hand. ‘I have the gun.
You
don't move.'

Over her shoulder she whispered, ‘It's a python.'

‘Good,' I said, much more calmly than I felt. ‘How about you and me retreat slowly back to the train and leave the monster alone.'

‘I don't think she'll let us.'

I crept up behind her and peered over a shoulder. A mottled nest of white eggs was not four feet in front of Missy's bare feet. The nest had a head. A pointy head.

‘Is this the kind that's pretty protective?' I asked, backing up. I was remembering the old joke about not having to outrun the bear, just the person with you.

‘
Really
protective,' Missy said, grabbing my arm so I couldn't move without startling the snake. ‘Don't leave me here.'

‘I won't.' I was feeling ashamed of myself. Murderer or not, Missy didn't deserve to end up as snake food, despite the fact she'd turned her lover into it. ‘Don't worry.'

‘I won't.' And with that, she gave a brutal yank on my arm, sending the gun flying and me staggering into the snake's nest.

T
he female python and I were eye-to-eye.

I tried to get back up, reminding myself that they didn't bite so much as squeeze you to death.

And then eat you.

The thing started to uncoil almost casually, like a cross-armed street punk, breaking away from his gang with a, ‘Wait here, dudes. This won't take me long.'

Only this reptilian thug intended not only to put the squeeze on me, but have me for dinner. And not in a Welcome Wagon kind of way.

I managed to get to my feet and take a step, only to be tripped. While I was busy watching the head, the coils had snuck up on me from behind, launching me back nose first into the sawgrass.

Frozen in fear, I felt something thick glide over and then around my leg. The monster would envelope me like the banyan tree did its ‘host,' first strangling the life out and then enveloping me as if I'd never been there at all.

I pushed up on my elbows hoping to scrabble away, but the coils had continued to climb, reaching my waist. I wanted to scream, but couldn't seem to get my breath, whether from fear or the creature's evolving death hug.

Yanked back, I fell off my elbows, my face grinding into the ground. When I turned my head, the python's head slid into view. A split-tongue lashed out, nearly touching my nose. I tried to evade it, but the rows of backward-pointing teeth drew—

An explosion. And then nothing.

No sound. No light. Nor could I feel the painful, suffocating clamp of the python any longer.

Was this how it felt to die?

If so … hey, not so bad.

Sure, I could use a little music or maybe a pearly gate or two. But I'd settle for a simple dazzling light to move toward. It was awfully da—

‘Maggy?'

I opened my eyes.

Missy was standing straddled over the python. The creature's head had been blown apart.

Before I could open my mouth to thank her, the girl turned the gun in my direction. ‘I'm so sorry, Maggy.' She seemed dazed.

‘It's all right, Missy.' I was holding up both hands as best I could. ‘I know you didn't want to hurt anyone.'

But she was shaking her head, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. ‘That's just it. I think in a way I did. After—' She swiped at a string of snot hanging from her nose. ‘Afterwards I was glad Laurence was gone. Dropped into the Everglades to be dealt with by animals like him. It seemed … right.'

No muss, no fuss. I hoped I wasn't her next recycling project.

‘But you—' She gestured toward me with the gun. ‘You don't deserve to die.'

I didn't know what else to say but, ‘Thank you.'

‘You've been nothing but nice to me, Maggy. And I almost killed you. Or, at least, let the snake kill you.'

‘But you
didn't
,' I insisted, hoping it was a self-fulfilling prophesy.

‘Thing is, with you gone no one would ever need to know. They might not even find your body. It would be so … neat, so orderly. Life
should
be orderly.' The gun was shaking.

‘Hello?' Markus's voice called from the direction of the train. ‘Who's out there?'

Pushing myself up on my hands and knees, I lunged upward just as Melissa ‘Missy' Hudson put the muzzle of the gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

T
he shots brought people running from the train at a gallop, Markus in the lead. ‘Oh, my God. What happened?'

I was sitting next to Missy's body on the ground. She still held the gun in her hand, the back of her head horribly … just not there.

‘Missy killed herself and,' I hesitated, ‘Potter.'

‘Are you sure?' Zoe Scarlett had arrived, quickly followed by Prudence and Theodore B. Hertel, Jr. ‘I mean, you're the one who's alive and she's not.'

‘The girl still has the gun in her hand,' Markus pointed out before I could answer.

‘And why would Maggy kill Potter?' Prudence demanded. ‘She didn't even know him.'

‘Why would
Missy
kill him?'

A new voice. ‘Because she loved him and he was an asshole.' The crowd parted, revealing Audra Edmonds. ‘I don't know why I didn't do it myself, years ago.'

‘Well, will you look at that snake in the grass.' Engineer Hertel didn't seem to take any notice of Audra or even Missy or me. He was ogling the python. ‘This here's gotta be another of those rock pythons – look at how broad she is. And them eggs! They're about to pop and I hear tell they come out striking.'

I got up and took two steps back. ‘We need to get Missy out of here,' I said. ‘Markus, maybe you and,' I saw the literary agent coming toward us, ‘Carson can carry her back to the train?'

The germaphobe in his white suit looked down at Missy, covered in swamp water and snake remnants, the back of her skull gone, but he nodded. ‘Of course.'

The two men picked up the pathetic little rag doll, all dressed up with literally no place to go. I followed after them as they conveyed Missy across the shallow water to the train. As I went, I stopped to retrieve first one glittery shoe and then the other.