February Fever (13 page)

Twenty-Eight

Her back was to
me, but I was sure it was her. “Aimee!”

The little girl ran toward the other end of the car. She had to weave around people talking, playing cards, and standing in line for the snack counter. I thought I had her cornered, though, because most cars could only be crossed on the second level. However, when I reached the rear of the car, I discovered nothing but bathrooms and a luggage rack. I was digging through the luggage, sure I'd find her, when I noticed the blood on my hand.

I screamed and fell backward, hitting my head on the bathroom door.

The people nearest helped me up. A guy in his fifties asked if I was okay.

“Blood!” I pointed at my hand.

His eyes widened, then he leaned in. “You sure? It looks like paint.”

Unconvinced, I smelled it. Sure enough, it was a streak of
acrylic. Good grief. “Did you see a little girl run back here?”

The man glanced at his friend, a woman wearing a Sturgis t-shirt, also in her fifties. I recognized the look. It said
she's been sniffing some fumes.

“Honey,” the woman said, “there's no kids back here. See? It's a dead end. Just luggage and bathrooms. Did you lose your daughter?”

I pulled loose from them and yanked open all three of the bathroom doors. All three were empty. My stomach gurgled greasily. Had I hallucinated Aimee, twice? I mumbled my apologies and sidled away from the worried glances of strangers. When I reached the second floor viewing area, I found it just as I'd left it, with the instructor appearing bored and the students bent over their paintings.

I slid into my seat.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Mrs. Berns remarked. “The bad poops come back?”

I shook my head. “I thought I saw Aimee.”

She put down her brush. “Did you?”

“I don't think it's possible. No one else saw her. The only way in or out of that car is through the stairs, and there's no way she slipped past me.”

“Or me. Nobody has come up those stairs since you went down.” She harumphed. “All the weirdness of this trip is getting to me. We should head to bed early.”

I glanced out the windows. It was dark, but even so, I could tell that the flat lands of eastern Montana were giving way to the foothills of the Rockies, with the mountains beyond. Dramatic shapes rose in the near distance, making me feel both protected and miniscule. I guessed we were just about at our top advertised speed of 150 miles per hour now, trying to make up for lost time.

I wondered why there were no stars, but then I remembered the impending storm that had driven us out of Glendive. The wind was already screaming at the cracks of the train, possibly giving warning, and if I trained my eyes outside, I could see that a heavy snow was falling in the distance. I suppressed a shudder. Something felt very wrong, and it wasn't just my phantom Aimee sighting. I was about to take up Mrs. Berns on her suggestion to head back to the sleeper car with me when the door nearest us burst open.

Doghn Attenborough spilled through, his countenance grim. “It was murder,” he announced.

The already-quiet viewing car grew as still as a graveyard.

“What?” I asked.

He swiveled his attention to me, though he didn't lower his voice. “The woman found dead in the cabin adjacent to yours. She was poisoned.”

The silence was replaced by a hissing whisper as people shared shock with their friends. Overhead, heavy, disorienting snow began to pelt the skylights.

“And that's not all.” He held one hand in the air ominously.

I could tell this was theatrics, that he was used to playing for a camera, but I still felt myself leaning forward. The wind continued to scream, hurling the sudden snow and ice like bullets against the glass.

“The escaped prisoner didn't kill her. The poison she took was administered to her before he boarded. That means we have a killer on this train.”

A woman screamed. Some of the painters leapt to their feet, upsetting their water glasses full of paintbrushes. They rushed toward the doors—to what I didn't know. I stood on my chair and tried to raise my voice above the chaos.

“Everyone, listen! We don't know that! Stop! Don't spread this panic across the train!”

The people closest to me slowed. I found I had the attention of most everyone in the car and no idea what to say.

“You're sure it's poison?” I asked Doghn, keeping my voice loud so as to include all the passengers in the information.

Doghn nodded. “I had the coroner's report read to me over the phone.”

“Her husband could have murdered her.”

This was a chancy gambit. I didn't know if anyone would be reassured by that fact. What I did know was that nothing good would come of hundreds of panicked people trapped in a moving vehicle.

“And he could have gotten off in Glendive,” I continued. “Which means that we're all safe.”

Doghn shook his head. “If he wanted to murder her, why board a train with his family?”

Our captive audience turned toward me like tennis fans at a match.

“That's a good question. How about this? What if the killer is not the husband but someone who boarded earlier and then got off at Fargo? They might be two states away by now.”

Doghn squinted at me. “I've gone through the passenger logs and had AmeriTrain cross reference them for me. No one got off at Fargo. This is a destination train. People are riding it for the long haul. The only missing people are the husband and child of the murdered woman, and as I said, neither are likely suspects because of the timing of the murder. No, we have a killer on this train.”

I decided that Mrs. Berns had been right to call this guy an asshole. He cared more about being the center of attention than he did the repercussions of playing this scene out in front of civilians. I had one last chance to wrest control.

Or I would have, if the train hadn't screeched to another abrupt stop at that exact moment, sending bodies colliding and incomplete paintings and plates of acrylic paint across the room. I was just able to grab Mrs. Berns's wrist before she was catapulted into the fray.

“What was that?” Ms. Wrenshall shrieked. “Why have we stopped?”

As if on cue, the lights flickered and then went out. A blood-chugging scream rang out from one of the cars, and then there was silence. Overhead, snow fell audibly, like dirt on a casket.

We were stuck.

Twenty-Nine

The silence lasted the
length of a heartbeat.

The lights flickered back on.

Chaos erupted.

Passengers streamed up from the lower level like ants leaving a flooded nest. Others shoved and crawled to reach the exits, fighting against people coming in from each end. Parents called for children, men for women, women for men. Little kids (and some not-so-little ones) cried. I pulled Mrs. Berns toward the window in the hopes of waiting out the pandemonium.

Doghn squeezed in next to us. I wanted to elbow him, but in fairness, this wasn't totally his fault. A stopped train and the momentary loss of power had as much to do with the panic as his ill-planned words. Still, I couldn't let him off scot-free.

“You didn't have to tell the whole car about the murder.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a candy bar, which he ate as he watched two people fight over a bottle of water. “You might be right.”

I caught a flash of blue, AmeriTrain's colors, toward the fore section of the car. I followed the color until Reed appeared in front of us.

“People as crazy as a soup sandwich,” he said. “You three okay?”

We all nodded.

“You know where Terry Downs is?”

“Haven't seen him,” I said. “He wasn't at dinner with us, and I didn't spot him when I went to Coach Car Eight to bring dessert to a friend afterward, either.” It occurred to me that I didn't know which car held Terry's assigned seat.

“Then I've still got some work to do.” Reed pointed at Doghn and me. “The conductor wants to see you two in his office, front of the train, other side of the dining car. He wants Mr. Downs, too, so tell the conductor I'll be back as soon as I locate him.”

“How're we supposed to get through all this?” Mrs. Berns pointed at the clot of passengers.

“
You're
not,” Reed said. “I'll bring you back to your car while I look for Mr. Downs. This train may seem like a straight line, but there's some ins and outs you learn if you work here long enough. You two will have to figure it out on your own,” he said, referring to Doghn and me. “I recommend you stick to the sides. It gets easier the farther forward on the train you go.”

Reed grabbed Mrs. Berns's hand and started threading the crowd. I clutched his uniform before he got too far away.

“Why're we stopped?”

“Too much snow ahead, gotta wait for the special snowplows. Trains like this one aren't much for going backward. We're snowed in until we hear otherwise.”

Thirty

Doghn turned out to
be a skilled crowd navigator. He knew just when to duck, spin, push, and step aside. He was a contradiction, that one, equal parts genius and buffoon. I'd have to keep an eye on him—an unsavory thought at best.

The dining car, Car 4, was the most challenging to navigate since that's where many of the people were striving to get to. Something about snowstorms and intermittent electricity brings out the food hoarder in all of us. The staff was doing a good job trying to calm the crowd and assure them that there'd be enough wares to last us until spring, but people still pushed and moaned like cattle. I was thankful most of the food was stored at a lower level, one that none of us knew how to access.

Car 3 was on the other side of the dining car, and it was a revelation. First of all, the only people in it were staff, so it was peaceful compared to the rest of the train. Second, it was a honeycomb of bunks: little tubes for people to sleep in and store a couple changes
of clothes, some personal items, and not much more. These bunks were stacked six high and twenty long, with a bathroom at each end of the car. They all had names on the front, almost like mailboxes, only the sci-fi human-body-storing kind. I made note of Reed's bunk at shoulder level and followed Doghn to Car 2, navigating around the staff who were making bets on how long until help came.

I wanted to listen to that conversation, but not as badly as I wanted to see what the conductor was after. If he asked for me, Doghn, and Terry, odds were good that he wanted us to investigate, but what exactly? And at what point should I tell him that I wasn't so much a licensed private investigator as much as I was a person who was always in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Car 2 was set up like Car 3, except there were half as many bunks to allow room for two offices. One was marked
Conductor
and the other seemed devoted to storage. Through the forward door, I could make out the engine that powered the train—or at least, was meant to power the train. I returned my attention to the conductor's office. The same burly man I'd met outside my door after Sofia Ramos's body was discovered spoke on a SAT phone, looking approximately fifty years older than he had when I'd last seen him.

He held up his hand to Doghn and me, signaling to give him a moment. We stood on the other side of the sliding door. More waiting. It was going to be the end of me.

“I think you're a wiener,” I said to Doghn, by way of conversation. Turns out stress makes me super honest.

Doghn's eyes glittered. “I think you're not licensed.”

“You can think what you want,” I countered, “but Chief Bob Harris was pretty free with the information back in Glendive, so if we're being called here to help in finding the killer who may or may not be loose on this train, I'm a valuable asset.” I was likely more
ass
than
et
in a professional investigation, but damned if I was going to be left out. I didn't want the glory; I wanted to find Aimee, and I craved absolutely every lick of information there was to be known about a killer roaming this train. This is where I was sleeping, after all.

The wind shrieked against the side of the train, rattling the metal, pushing hard enough to sway the behemoth. How long would we be able to stay here? Food wouldn't be an issue, since we had at least enough to last until Portland, and we could obtain water from the snow outside. What about heat and light, though? How long did snowstorms in the Rockies last? I was a Minnesota gal, born and raised, so I wasn't afraid of a blizzard. It was being trapped in a train with limited supplies and a killer that was giving me Donner Party–level willies. I had a vision of a group of us following the train tracks west through the storm in search of help.

When the conductor slid his door open, I let the question spill. “How long can we survive on this train without moving?”

He ran his hand over his face. The stubble on his unshaven cheeks rasped in response. “Ten days, easy.”

“And how long will this storm keep us here?”

“Hard to say. The system is squatting over us for the next two days. Corporate might send someone to clear the tracks before it passes. They might not. It's expensive and doesn't always work.”

Two days. Dang. That was a long time to be trapped with hundreds of unsettled strangers and one killer.

“Can you come in?” The conductor stepped aside. “I'd like to wait until the third PI arrives to get started. In the meanwhile, coffee or tea?”

He knew that Doghn, Terry, and I were PIs, or at least were headed to the PI convention. Of course he knew about Doghn, but for the first time, I wondered how he knew about Terry and me. I'd told Chief Harris. Had he said something to the conductor? I supposed it wasn't outside the realm of reason.

Doghn and I followed him into his office. It was large, by train standards, with the outside wall lined with locked cupboards, the front-facing wall strung with dials and wires and various flashing lights, a desk covered with maps and paper, and two chairs. Doghn and I each took one. I noted that the confined space smelled like a recently opened jar of man—a sort of sour, sweaty skin smell laced with old coffee and cheap cologne. There wasn't a window to open, so it wasn't the conductor's fault. Still, a bit of air freshener wouldn't have killed anyone.

Doghn took the proffered coffee while I thought back to the last time I'd slept. I was amazed to realize all that had happened in the
course of a single day. Sofia Ramos's body had been discovered
around five o'clock this morning—I made a mental note to find out who had discovered it—and the train had started moving again about twelve hours later. In that time, the escaped prisoner had been located and, according to Doghn, the coroner had had time to ascertain whether or not Sofia had been poisoned. That seemed like a quick turnaround time on toxicity tests, but I suppose a case like this moves to the front of the line as we were all potential victims, aka “sitting ducks,” if she actually had been murdered. The prisoner had also confessed in that period of time, we'd eaten dinner, Mrs. Berns had gotten part of a makeover, I'd painted a field of poppies, and I thought I'd spotted Aimee twice.

Quite a day. No wonder I was exhausted.

Still, coffee was the last thing I needed. It would just give me the jitters and keep me up, and sleep was going to be a tenuous prospect as it was. I listened to Doghn and the conductor make small talk, mostly about Doghn's show, until Terry arrived.

“Sorry it took me so long,” he said. “Pandemonium back there. I'm afraid I left your porter behind to try to instill order.”

The conductor rubbed his face again. He leaned back, took an intercom mouthpiece off the wall, and clicked a button. “This is your conductor, James Christmas.”

What a great name! I liked the guy a whole lot more suddenly. Who doesn't like Christmas?

“I understand that this is a stressful situation. However, it doesn't have to be. This storm will blow over in twenty-four hours.” He eyeballed me and Doghn. We didn't contradict him. “We have food and water to last us for ten days, and fuel to last us for twice that. The next stop isn't far away. We're in good shape. Once the snow clears, we'll be on our way.

“As a good faith gesture, AmeriTrain has authorized me to supply free food and beverages for all passengers. Our porters will be going through each car and taking names. We'll turn the viewing car into a second dining car, and you'll all be assigned twice a day to come to one or the other for a meal. The only way I can make this work is with your cooperation, so please return to your seats so we can gather the necessary information. All train staff, report to my office.”

The lines on Christmas's face seemed to deepen as he made the announcement. I suspected he did not have permission from AmeriTrain to give away their food and beverages, but it was a wise move on his part.

“Well done,” Terry said. “That oughta calm everyone down for the time being.”

The first staff members started lining up outside the conductor's door. He issued a terse “be with you in five” and slid the door shut. Terry stood behind Doghn and I, and the conductor sat himself at his desk.

“Here's the beans. We're stuck. I don't know for how long. It's my understanding that all three of you know a woman was found dead on the train this morning. Her name was Sofia Ramos, and we now know she was poisoned. The police do not have a motive or a suspect in the case, and they believe the killer may be on this train. They are aware of our situation, but they are now unable to get to us because of the weather. I have been authorized to share information with you three. If you can solve the case, great. All I care about is that no one else dies on my train while we're stuck here. Does that work for you?”

We all nodded.

“So Sofia Ramos was most definitely murdered?”

The conductor squared on me. “Yes. Nerium.”

“What?”

I quietly echoed Terry's thought. Doghn interrupted. “Oleander,” he said. “It's a common shrub, poisonous when ingested, slow-acting.”

“Poison?” I thought back to the previous night. “I didn't hear much commotion next door. Wouldn't she have been throwing up if she'd been poisoned?”

“Depends,” Doghn said. “Oleander can mimic a heart attack,
though the dose has to be specific to the body weight of the person who ingests it. It takes sixteen to twenty-four hours after ingestion to begin working.”

“That means that whoever gave it to Sofia was an expert,” I said. “According to what you said over dinner, they gave it to her before Fargo and at such a precise dose that she'd die in the night without drawing attention to herself.”

“Her husband?” Terry asked.

I turned on him. He looked rested and well-fed. “Maybe. That's always the first suspect. But Doghn made a good point: why wait until she was on the train to kill her?”

Terry shrugged. “So people would ask that question?”

Doghn spoke next. “What do we know about Ms. Ramos and her family?”

“Very little.” James Christmas shuffled through the paper on his desk and came up with a sheet of paper. “She was a housekeeper in New York and was traveling to Portland. We haven't been able to find anything on the man and child who shared a room with her, though we are assuming they were her husband and child as they all have the same last names—Emilio Ramos and Aimee Ramos.”

“Illegal immigrants?” Doghn asked.

“Possibly.” Christmas set the paper back down. “That would
explain why they ran when she died, but it also makes it more
likely that Emilio is not the killer.”

I shook my head. “Then who? And why?”

“That's what the three of you need to find out.”