Death Takes a Holiday (9 page)

“Huh?” Meredith asked, a frown forming between her eyes. “Oh, those. I found them in the hallway
in front of my room.” She turned, opened the refrigerator and brought out a bottle of mustard. She squirted it into one of the crystal dishes before bending down and opening the cabinet doors. “Where’s the vinegar?”

Making a mental note to grab the mustard dish and throw it out as soon as Meredith’s back was turned,
Grace examined the bridge between the lenses. Using her fingernail, she scratched a dried red flake off the gold. “I think it has blood on it.” Although after a quick examination of the trash can, she decided it could be dried ketchup.

“Eww. Gross.” Done mishandling the condiments, Meredith turned and grabbed the glasses f
rom Grace’s hands and threw it into the trash. “Don’t touch it. You think they could have cleaned the train before taking passengers. With the prices they charge—”

“Yeah, but you’re not paying anything.”

“Even more reason to make sure everything is tip-top shape. I can’t stand shoddy work. If your job is to clean then you should do it well and with a smile,” she said with a scowl and not a hint of self-awareness.

Amused,
Grace nodded with as much solemnity as possible. “Absolutely true.” She looked at the trash can and then back at the dining car. Pulling out the passenger list Meredith had given her, she looked for Doctor Foster’s name. According to the list, he was in room four. “Do you know Doctor Foster?”

“
Nope. Never heard of him.”

“
He has curly brown hair and brown eyes?” Grace left out the adjective wild when referring to Foster’s eyes. “He’s about five foot five and was wearing a red coat and gold-rimmed glasses last time I saw him.”

“
Haven’t seen him.” Meredith took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, clearly preparing for battle. She ran a shaky hand over her hair, dislodging several strands in the process. “It’s dinner time. Don’t panic.”

“It’s all right. I’ve served people before.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Meredith took another deep breath and let it out slowly. She glanced at her watch. “I guess it’s time to go.” She patted her pocket. Her normally unhappy features twisted into a grimace of horror. “Oh no, where is it?” She glanced around the island in a complete panic before making a lunge for a piece of paper lying on the floor. “Okay. Okay,” she muttered softly to herself, “make sure they have water, refill cups, take their order, push the trout alman . . . alman—”

“Almandine.”

Opening the door to the dining area, Meredith’s face twisted into a scowl.

Grace mentally prepared for another complaint
, but was surprised when Meredith instead crumpled her instructions in her hand. “I just don’t understand why they are here?”

Grace looked back at the diners. “I think they’re waiting to be fed.” She glanced back at Meredith’s face. Meredith’s frown had turned into a hateful sneer. “Why do I get the feeling you know one or two people on this train, Meredith?”

Meredith tilted her chin up. “I’m sorry, but I don’t like to talk about unhappy subjects.”

“Right. Just out of curiosity, what color lipstick do you usually wear?”

Meredith made a face. Grace recognized that look. She mentally prepared herself for another rant.

“Do you know what kind of chemicals they put in lipstick?”
Without waiting for an answer, Meredith walked over to the stove and hung her head over the saucepan. “What’s this?”

“I think it’s the sauce that goes over the trout.”

Meredith took a spoon and dipped into a pot simmering on the stove. She brought it to her mouth and frowned. She reached for the salt shaker and shook the salt over the pot. Once. Twice and then three or four more times.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Grace asked doubtfully as Meredith added a few more liberal sprinkles of salt. Oscar Frazier, the Excursion’s five star, obsessive compulsive, control freak chef had made it very clear to them less than an hour ago that their
assistance in the kitchen was to be very limited. Grace was thrilled. Surprisingly, Meredith had been less so. But Grace had a sneaky suspicion that she would have been just as put out if Oscar had wanted their help.

“This is absolutely awful. How can he serve this to people,” Meredith said,
still sprinkling salt into the sauce. “And he calls himself a chef.”

The so-called chef in question suddenly appeared at the door. His platinum white hair stood out against the wood paneling in the small galley. His face turned a deep purple when he caught sight of Meredith.

“What are you doing?” Oscar pushed his way past Grace. He stared at the salt shaker with a mixture of horror and disbelief. He grabbed it out of her hand and slammed it down on the counter.

“We’re helping prep for dinner service,” Meredith said reaching for the garlic.

Oscar protectively threw himself in front of the saucepan. “No, what you are doing is ruining the food.”

“Ruining?” Meredith asked with her hands on her hips.

Oscar dipped a spoon into the pan. Disgust plastered on his face, he hesitantly brought the spoon to his lips. He immediately spat out the offending sauce into the sink. “I don’t believe this,” he said, picking up the pan and tossing it into the sink. “Both of you get out.”

Meredith’s eyes grew wider. “I beg your pardon.”

“Look you two I don’t want any argument. This is my area back here. You two just serve. Get the orders right, make sure your writing is legible and stay out of my way.”

“Henry told me that we’re supposed to help you get everything set up,” Meredith said.

“Henry does not run this kitchen. I do and I have everything set up back here just the way I want it. The last thing I need is amateur chefs who think they know everything messing up my dishes. You do your job and I’ll do mine.”

Meredith turned and stalked out of the room. “Completely ungrateful. He should be ashamed.” She looked o
ver her shoulder and shouted “ashamed” once more for good measure.

CHAPTER Seven

Sara
Turner laid
her hand on Steve’s arm and smiled coyly. “Now, are you sure we don’t know each other because you look so familiar. I just feel like we’ve known each other for years.”

Steve’s face flushed
with excitement. He leaned forward eagerly. “I know! It’s amazing how we just clicked,” he said, clumsily snapping his fingers, “like that.”

Sara
giggled. “Perhaps we met in a past life.”

Kyle, feeling more and more like a third wheel
, watched the woman commanding all of Steve’s attention. Kyle understood his interest. Sara was very charming. She was also very pretty, a little bit too manufactured for Kyle’s tastes, but nevertheless, very attractive. She had a slightly round face, capped by wavy, flaxen, blonde hair. Her midnight blue eyes were sparkling, and despite seemingly focused on Steve, Kyle noticed that they were constantly shifting to take in the rest of the dining car. Kyle wondered if she was looking for someone or was just naturally nervous.

“Didn’t you say you’re from Denver, Sara?” Kyle asked. “Steve used to work in Denver, maybe you two crossed paths at some point.”

“Perhaps,” she said with a bubbly high-pitched voice.

Still grinning like a
schoolboy, Steve shook his head. “Oh no, I definitely would have remembered someone like you.”

Undaunted, Kyle pressed on. “Where do you work?”

“Work? I don’t work.” Sara tilted her head to the side and winked at Steve. “I play.”

Steve laughed a bit too loudly, Kyle thought, leaning away from the other man.

“No,” she said suddenly serious. “I think it’s important to have fun at work. I mean, if you can’t love what you do then you’ve chosen the wrong career.”

Kyle
nodded. While he didn’t disagree with her philosophy, he had noticed that she neatly dodged his question yet again. In fact, she’d been ducking and weaving around Kyle’s questions since he met her earlier in the day. It was clear to Kyle that Sara Turner was determined to keep her private life, private.

Steve,
on the other hand, was a different story. With very little prodding, and despite Kyle’s efforts to change the subject, Sara was able to pry out, not only Steve’s likes and dislikes, but his every move over the past year. She had enough to go on to write a tell-all biography on one Steve Mattingly. Albeit a very delusional version, Kyle thought.

At least when he was going around pretending to be the greatest detective who ever lived at Grace’s class reunion, he knew he was lying. Steve seemed completely convinced of his own superiority despite any hard evidence.

Sara turned back to Steve. “I just bet you love what you do. I bet you’re good at it, too.”

There it was again. That little prickle of doubt. It wasn’t what she was saying. It wasn’t even the way she was saying it, but Kyle got the feeling she was playing with them. That she knew far more than she was letting on about Steve Mattingly.

Kyle glanced over at Grace
standing behind the bar. As soon as he caught her eye, he lifted up his glass. Nodding, she picked up a pitcher of water, and moved to his table with a worried look in her eyes.

He smiled reassuringly while shifting his eyes to Sara and back to Grace.

Grace nodded imperceptibly as she refilled his glass before turning to Sara. “Oh, that’s such a pretty color of lipstick.”

Kyle
grinned. Nice and straight to the heart of the matter.

Sara turned her attention away from Steve and smiled up at Grace. “Thank you.”

“I wish I could wear that color,” Grace said wistfully as she filled Sara’s glass with water. “I look horrible in plum.”

She’s such a bad liar, Kyle thought, affectionately.

“Oh, it’s not a plum,” Sara said quickly and with some confusion. “It’s red. Rapture Red, I think it’s called.”

“Oh really, do you mind if I see it?”

Sara’s eyebrows rose at Grace’s unexpected request. “Um, sure,” she said, opening her purse and fishing through the contents.

Feeling Steve’s elbow pressing against his ribs, Kyle turned toward the other man. Steve hid part of his face and mouthed
, “can you believe this” at him. Kyle gave him an annoyed glance before turning back in time to watch Sara hand Grace a gold lipstick case.

Kyle watched with interest as Grace
opened the lipstick.

Virtually new and definitely hadn’t been used for writing any messages on mirrors, he thought, slightly disappointed. Although it occurred to Kyle that Sara could have more tubes of lipstick in her compartment.

“Excuse me.” Meredith tapped Grace on the shoulder. “This is my section. I’m sure Robert Kirby,” she said, using her chin to point at the man sitting near the bar, “would like to eat at some point—as soon as you’re done exchanging makeup tips, of course.”

Capping the lipstick and muttering something nonsensical about how pretty the color looked, Grace quickly moved over to the other table.

“All right, which one of you wants the fish?” Meredith asked with a scowl.

*

Grace set the cup of coffee down in front of Robert. He didn’t seem to notice. He jabbed a finger at Parker who was seated in front of him. “Look, I don’t want any problems tonight.”

“What can I do?” Parker asked with a whine. “You know Felicity. Once she gets these ideas in her head, you can’t stop
her.” Slightly embarrassed, Parker glanced up at Grace and murmured a polite “thank you” as she placed another cup in front of him.

Reluctantly, Grace stepped away from the table and walked toward
the dining car bar. She was still close enough to hear Robert say, “I don’t care what you have to do. Lock her in her room, tie her up, whatever—just make sure she doesn’t cause a scene. I don’t want Tracy upset tonight. If anything happens, it’s all over for you, buddy. You can kiss the gravy train good-bye.” He looked up suddenly as his wife and brother entered the dining car together. “Here comes Tracy. You’d better go.”

Picking up his coffee cup, Parker
pushed back his chair and stood up.

Robert grabbed his arm. “I mean it Parker, don’t screw this up.”

Parker jerked his arm away, spilling the coffee all over his hand. He wiped the liquid on his trousers before walking to the other end of the car and sitting down at the table behind Kyle and Steve.

Grace poured hot water into a cup and picked up a small basket of special teas. She walked over to Asa Wellington’s table and set the cup and basket in front of him.

“Thank you.” Grace watched as he made lazy circles on the dinner table cloth with his carefully manicured fingers. “Three creams. No sugar, please,” he said. Grace detected a slight British accent in the way he pronounced certain words.

She was about to rattle off the night’s special when she
noticed something white and furry disappearing between the man’s feet. Her gaze flew back up to his face.

No reaction.
He continued to stare at the menu in his hand.

Maybe she imagined it. Abry couldn’t be on the train. It had to be her imagination. She looked back down at his feet.

Nothing.

She backed up a little and tilted her head to the side.

“I’ll just have the soup,” he said laying the menu to the side of the table.

Grace nodded politely while bending down to look under the table. Thankfully, there was nothing there. She turned her head to the side.

No rabbit. Just a pair of patent leather shoes.

She rose to find
Henry staring at her with a worried expression on his face. “Is there something wrong, Grace?”

Grace
chuckled. “No. For a second there, I thought I saw a white rabbit race under the table.”

“A white rabbit?” He gave her the same look
he had given her earlier when she told him about the message on the mirror.

“The
proverbial Alice in Wonderland,” Wellington intoned in a scholarly voice. “In many traditions, the white rabbit symbolizes femininity and everyone of course knows about them as a good-luck symbol.”

Grace nodded politely
. She opened her mouth to ask if there was anything else he needed but quickly snapped it shut when he continued in the same scholarly voice. “White rabbits can also symbolize scattered thought and foolishness, but intelligence, as well.”

“
Right,” she said with a smile. “Well, my mistake—”

“
Of course, you’re familiar with the saying Mad as a March Hare,” Wellington said with a wave of his hand. “If you saw a rabbit then you saw a rabbit. Now the question is . . . does it exist? Or is it in your mind? But even if it is in your mind then we have to assume that it does exist.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess it does
,” she said politely. “Well, I’ll have your soup out to you soon.” She turned to follow Henry behind the bar. “Hey, Henry, just out of curiosity, mind you . . . Are people allowed to bring pets on board?”

“Service pets, yes. Family pets, no. Too much of a
hassle.”

“What would happen if someone brought a pet
?”

“Oh, we would just assess a pet fee.”

Well, that doesn’t sound too bad, she thought in relief.

“Half the cost of a ticket.”

“Half the cost?” she sputtered.

“It covers potential damages and act
s as a deterrent.” Henry looked at her curiously. “Has someone sneaked—”

“No!” she said
quickly and then a little more calmly, added, “No, not at all. I was just curious.” She looked past Henry’s shoulder. Kyle was just entering the dining car and walking back to his table. “Would you excuse me a moment?”

She slid past Henry and grabbed Kyle by the bicep
before he could sit down. She quickly led him to the back of the car. “Where’s Abry?” she whispered into his ear.

“At Beth’s.”

“You didn’t bring him?”

“No, of course not. Why?”

“Because I think I just saw him.”

Kyle
frowned. “Don’t be silly. He wouldn’t have any fun on a train. Besides he gets cold.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ve been thinking of buying him a sweater.”

“I meant, are you sure he’s with Beth?”

“Yes, she promised me she would pick him up after work and take him home with her. He’s probably happily playing with her kids right now.”

Grace breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. For a few seconds there . . .
.”

Kyle ran his hand down her back.
“Would you stop worrying? Everything is fine.”

*

“Did you see that?” Steve hissed into Kyle’s ear as Kyle sat down next to him.

Kyle looked around. Except for Sara’s retreating form
, he didn’t see anything that would warrant Steve’s attention. “What?”

“Grace and the lipstick,” he said, drawing out the last word.

“
It was rather strange, wasn’t it?” Kyle asked amused and curious as to how Steve would misinterpret Grace’s actions.

“Yeah, she knows
I’m interested in Sara, so now she’s trying to figure out what kind of lipstick Sara’s wearing. Can you believe it?”

“Amazing!”

“She thinks she can just copy Sara’s makeup and then I’ll fall in love with her. Like I’m so shallow that I wouldn’t notice the difference between them. Like I’m only concerned with looks. If it weren’t so sad, I’d be insulted.”

“Steve, have you forgotten about the threat on the mirror
? It was written in lipstick.”

Steve’s expression suddenly changed from pitying to comprehension. “The lipstick, of course. I should have thought of that.”

“Right,” Kyle said with a smile.

“She’s trying to put the blame
on Sara, ‘cause she knows I like her.”

Kyle’s smile faltered. “No.”

Steve patted Kyle’s arm. “Good catch. I wouldn’t have thought of that. You’re absolutely right.”

“No. Steve
—”

Steve stood up.
“That’s it. I’ve got to talk to her now before Sara gets back.”

Kyle clutched at the other man’s arm. He drew Steve back down. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Steve.”

“No. Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

“Yeah, surprisingly enough, I’m not too worried about that.” Kyle had no doubt Grace could handle herself. “Look, I think you need to take Grace’s warning seriously.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Are you sure you don’t know Sara, because she seems to know you.”

Steve drew his eyebrows together as he thought. “Well . . . we’re both from Denver.”

“Exactly.”

“She probably saw one of my ads. I had this big billboard at one time. I was in the local paper a few times for a couple of my cases.” He looked up. Picking up his coffee cup, he motioned for Meredith who was standing at the bar talking to Grace. Meredith scowled back at him. She stood there for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and grabbing the pot of coffee and walking towards them. “I bet that’s how she knows me.”