Loco Motive (17 page)

“Maybe you can solve this case by announcing you did it, and then you can arrest yourself.”

“Get serious. What do we know about Willie?”

“Hmm.” Renie fingered her chin. “He's dead?”

“Stop acting like a twit. I mean his life and times. Mike and Justin talked about Willie quite a bit—at least when they were younger.”

Renie shrugged. “So? I don't recall hearing them. Why would I?”

“Justin's been at our house for several holiday and birthday dinners,” Judith said. “He's candid and a good conversationalist. Sometimes he'd talk about his family, including his famous uncle.”

“Infamous,” Renie murmured. “I only remember some of the anecdotes about Willie's zany stunts or how he treated other people like dirt. Justin and his mother couldn't stand to be around him.”

Judith waited for Renie to continue. “Well?” she prodded. “Coz,” Renie said with an exasperated expression, “it's been ages since I heard any mention of Willie. Mike and Justin met twenty-odd years ago. They outgrew any hero worship long before they reached the legal drinking age.”

“Justin never worshipped Willie,” Judith said. “Oh, he saw some of his uncle's movies and TV shows, but being a nephew, he knew the real person, not the celebrity image. Mike was still a fan, though. Looking back, I realize that Justin's negative attitude only added to Mike's interest in Willie. He could enjoy the Willie he saw on the screen while feeling like an insider because he knew what the guy was like in real life.”

“That's understandable,” Renie conceded. “I know Justin's parents divorced when he was a baby, but what became of his dad?”

“Willie's brother?” Judith tried to recall what she knew about Justin's father. “He was younger than Willie. His first name was…oh, damn, I can't think of it at the moment. Justin never talks about him. I don't think they had any real relationship. The dominant male figure in his life was his maternal grandfather.”

“I met his mother once,” Renie said. “Germaine may be from Butte, but when it comes to fashion and looks, she's strictly Avenue Montaigne, Paris. I felt all homely and small and dumpy.”

Judith laughed. “I was there. I figured I'd gone wrong at birth.” The cousins turned as the Chans came to their door. “Ah,” Matt said. “You're laughing. I take it the trooper isn't going to arrest you?”

“Not yet,” Judith replied. “Do you know what that was all about?”

Laurie still seemed nervous. Matt looked pained. “Kind of,” he said. “Is it okay if we come inside and close the door?”

“Sure,” Judith said. “Do you want to sit down? We can stand for a bit. The train's not moving.”

“We heard we're stuck here for a while,” Matt said, refusing Judith's offer to sit in her chair. “Between the snow, the dead body, and Roy's disappearance, we're stuck until more cops, including the railroad detectives, show up.”

Renie groaned. “Great.” Having given up her seat to Laurie, she leaned against the wall by the door. “We'd better not miss the Chicago connection. It's a five-hour wait for the train that goes to the East Coast, but this debacle could eat up more time than that.”

Judith's concern, however, was more immediate. “Why,” she inquired of Laurie, “did Mr. Peterson ask you to come downstairs after Mr. Weevil died?”

Laurie flushed. “It was silly.” She glanced at Matt. “You tell her.”

He shook his head. “I don't think I should. It may not be ethical.” Laurie's dark eyes flashed. “Oh, for…! It wasn't the patient who said it. It was that Pepper woman.”

Matt held his ground. “Keep me out of this. I smell trouble.”

“Don't be such a stickler,” Laurie admonished. “If you won't say anything, I will. Somebody has to speak up because it sounds so preposterous.” She glanced at Judith. “You have no idea how it feels to repeat this in front of you.”

“I wondered if that might not be the case,” Judith said quietly.

“Go for it,” Renie urged. “Coz here has heard it all.”

Laurie folded her hands in her lap as if she were going to recite in school. “When I went to see if I could help Matt, Pepper—the woman I thought was his wife—was there and so was a man about my age named Wayne. Pepper was upset, but coherent. I never spoke to her—she and Wayne were huddled together. Pepper said something about ‘that old fool' and nodded at Willie, who was writhing in pain. His speech was garbled—something about ‘it shoulda been him. Talk about a fall…'” She looked at her husband. “Was the next word ‘guard'?”

Matt shrugged. “I didn't catch it. He'd mumbled before Laurie came downstairs. The only word I understood was ‘ring.' He repeated it several times.”

“Interesting,” Judith murmured. “So he was in considerable pain?”

Laurie deferred to her husband, but Matt hesitated. “He was agitated. It was tricky to take his vitals. I assume he was hurting, because his efforts to move were hampered by the casts on the fractured leg and arm. I was reluctant to give him a sedative. Pepper thought he'd taken some diazepam. I asked for a list of his meds, but she couldn't find them.”

“Conveniently misplaced?” Judith suggested.

Matt grimaced. “I don't know. She finally did show them to me, but that was a few minutes later and poor Willie was literally at death's door. I tried to revive him, but…” He shook his head.

“That's when doctors feel helpless.”

“Hey,” Renie said, “if patients get sick, there's a good chance some will die. You can't beat yourself up over that. In this case, you didn't know the guy.”

“I felt like I did,” Matt said. “He was one of my heroes.”

“Even heroes die,” Renie said.

“I know. That's why watching Willie hit me so hard. I remember the younger Willie, all buff and bravado. This was like seeing a stranger.”

“A shell of a man,” Judith murmured. “How did Pepper react?”

“She cried,” Laurie said. “That Fielding guy seemed upset, too, though he tried to comfort her.”

“This all sounds very natural,” Judith said, puzzled. She turned to Laurie. “Why were you asked to come down after Willie died?”

Laurie looked at her husband. “There was some confusion. The conductor or maybe the attendant—Jax?” She saw her husband's helpless shrug and continued. “Anyway, one of them thought I was a nurse because Matt had mentioned I worked with him. Whoever it was didn't realize I managed the business side of his practice.”

Matt put an arm around Laurie. “Mrs. Johnston—the woman in the bedroom at the end of our sleeper—is a nurse. She'd offered to help, though there wasn't much she—or I—could do.” He grimaced. “I'm no prude, but I could smell liquor on her breath and all I could think of was if Willie died and I'd had an inebriated nurse assisting me, a malpractice suit could be in my future.”

Laurie nodded. “It's a good thing I'm not a nurse. I smelled like vodka.”

“So you stayed on,” Judith said.

“I was about to leave,” Laurie responded bleakly, “but I felt awkward, just walking away. Pepper was pulling herself together. Then she got angry, yelling at Wayne. She told him they should never have left Montana, that somebody-or-other shouldn't or wouldn't see Willie, and the trip was a mistake. Wayne insisted it wasn't his idea, it was Willie's. Pepper started crying again and blamed…” Laurie paused, looking apologetic. “She mentioned someone's mother.”

“Somebody named Mike?” Judith said helpfully.

Looking relieved, Laurie nodded. “His name meant nothing until Pepper started talking about the B&B where Willie had his accident. She said Mike and Willie's nephew were close friends. It was a conspiracy between Mike's mother, who owned the B&B, and Willie's relatives to benefit monetarily from Willie's death. What was most upsetting to Pepper was that—I quote—‘the
Flynn woman' had the nerve to travel on the same train to make sure Willie didn't survive.”

Renie grinned at Judith. “‘The Flynn woman.' I like that. It makes you sound glamorous and notorious, like the Dragon Lady.”

“Knock it off,” Judith warned. “So I engineered the plot to kill Willie?”

Laurie lowered her gaze. “That's what she said.”

“It's ridiculous,” Judith declared. “Okay—what happened next?”

“Nothing,” Laurie replied. “Mr. Peterson and Jax left to give Pepper and Mr. Fielding some privacy. I felt useless, so I came upstairs.” She looked at Matt. “You tell the rest of it.”

“I tried to calm Pepper,” Matt said. “Fielding had given up. I asked her if she needed a sedative. She said no and calmed down almost immediately.” He gave Judith a bleak look. “I thought it might help to ask some low-key questions about Willie's accident. Her response was a little disjointed, but she claimed that Mrs. Flynn had coaxed Willie into doing one of his stunts. It would be good for the B&B's publicity to show him staying at her inn.”

“Oh, good grief!” Judith said softly. “That's absurd! The last thing any innkeeper would want or even permit is to endanger a guest.”

“Yes,” Renie agreed with a straight face. “It'd be unthinkable for a mishap to occur at or even near my cousin's establishment.”

Judith refused to look at Renie for fear of succumbing to an urge that would qualify as a very serious mishap. “An understatement,” she said calmly. “Mrs. Jones is such a source of comfort.”

“You're lucky,” Matt said, and made a helpless gesture. “That's all we can tell you. Mr. Peterson returned to tell us that the authorities had been summoned.”

“Authorities?” Judith echoed. “Such as train officials and police?”

“I don't know,” Matt admitted.

There was nothing more Judith could say. The accusations
were bizarre. Matt shifted his stance. Laurie looked embarrassed. Renie wore an expression that Judith recognized as
Okay, coz, what now?

Judith was thinking the same thing. Finally she spoke. “There's a method to this madness. I have to ask,” she went on, addressing Matt, “if there was anything suspicious about Willie's death. I assume there'll be an autopsy.”

Matt nodded. “Probably.”

“Pepper knows that,” Judith said softly. “Do you know her real name?”

“No,” Matt replied. “I heard someone call her Ms. Gundy.”

“I did, too,” Judith murmured, trying to remember how Willie had signed in at Hillside Manor. His handwriting was cramped, but it matched his credit card signature. “I think he wrote ‘Willie Weevil and Pepper' in the guest register. I thought she was his wife or girlfriend. Adding her name as an afterthought didn't seem so odd. I figured it was ego. It's happened before with a couple of allegedly famous guests.”

Renie looked surprised. “It has?”

Judith shrugged. “I'd never heard of them. One was an aging rock star, still full of himself.” She turned back to Matt. “Whoever she is, she'll have to sign the death certificate, right?”

“I assume so,” Matt replied.

“What,” Judith inquired, “are you stating as cause of death?” Matt looked uneasy.

“I'm not sure.”

Judith stared at him. “You mean it could be foul play?”

His whole body stiffened. “Yes.”

“Gosh,” Renie said drily, “what a shock.”

W
hy,” Judith asked, “do you think Willie's death is suspicious?”

Looking lost in thought, Matt stared at the window, where the snow was still falling. “I'm not sure,” he finally said. “Maybe it was Pepper's allegations. Or that a broken leg and a broken arm aren't usually fatal. There had to be complications, but without Willie's medical history, I'm helpless. The autopsy should show what killed him.”

Judith nodded slightly. “He did jump from my B&B. Twice.” Laurie looked flabbergasted. “So part of Pepper's claim is true?”

“Yes. That's what makes the situation awkward. My son, Mike, and Willie's nephew, Justin, have been good friends since they were kids. Willie had made himself persona non grata at our city's major hotels. Justin asked if his uncle could stay for a few days. I couldn't refuse. Mike had been a Willie fan, and he wanted his two little boys to meet him. That never happened because Willie got hurt in his second jump, the one off our roof. There was no way to stop him. I tried to dissuade him from the first jump, but luckily, he made a safe landing. The second time, my husband and I both warned him not to jump. He wouldn't listen. The other
man you saw with Willie and Pepper was Wayne Fielding, who was urging him on and taking pictures. He's Willie's publicity guy.”

Laurie seemed to have regained her aplomb. “Where was Pepper?”

“She was in the house when he made both jumps. I didn't see her after the accident until I went inside.”

Laurie glanced at her husband. “Owning a B&B must be fun. I mean, when you don't have guests like Willie.”

Judith smiled. “It is. I'm a people person. I've met so many interesting types from all over the world. Watching them interact during the social hour is enjoyable. Educational, too. I often hate to see them leave.”

“Especially in a body bag,” Renie said under her breath. Apparently, the Chans didn't catch the remark. “Of course,” Judith went on rapidly, “we get a lot of return visitors.”

“Returned from the dead,” Renie murmured.

Laurie frowned. “What did you say?” she asked, staring at Renie.

Judith responded before her cousin could open her mouth. “They return for the bed. Guests often praise our mattresses. They're top of the line,” she went on, talking faster to prevent Renie from making any more caustic remarks. “It's a bed-and-breakfast. I serve heartier breakfasts than most B&Bs offer. And there's nothing like a good night's sleep to make for a perfect day.”

Laurie stood up. “Sleep sounds good. Come on, Matt. I need a nap.” She waved halfheartedly. “See you later.”

“What suddenly turned Laurie off?” Renie said after the Chans had departed. “Or turned her on? Maybe Dr. Chan's first name isn't Matthew, but Mattress.”

Judith shook her head. “Maybe she
is
worn out. ‘Delicate' could describe more than her looks.”

“Maybe.” Renie turned toward the open door. “Shall I close that?”

“Oh—no,” Judith said. “Don't bother.”

“You think you'll miss something?”

The comment irked Judith. “Miss what? It's quiet out there—” She was interrupted by loud voices just out of sight in the corridor. The cousins leaned sideways to listen.

“Don't remind me,” a woman's strident voice said. “I'm not stupid.”

“No,” a man responded angrily, “but you can be damned careless. After all we've been through, do you want to ruin—” He stopped abruptly. The corridor was eerily quiet.

The cousins straightened up, opening their books as the Cowboy Hats walked quickly past the open door.

“Heading for the bar?” Judith said after a long pause.

“Or the dining car. It's going on six.” Renie looked out the window. “Still snowing, still sitting. When do we move on?”

“Don't ask me,” Judith said. “I see only occasional headlights on the main street. They don't seem to have rush hour in Scuttle. If Malta's the county seat and has a hospital, maybe Willie's body has been taken there for the autopsy.”

Renie scowled at her cousin. “You mean we have to sit here until they find out why he died? That's crazy.”

“You know we won't.” Judith stood up. “Let's go to the dome car for a preprandial cocktail. I can walk normally when the train isn't moving, though you're right about the sea-leg sensation.”

Renie, who realized she'd opened her book upside down, closed the volume. “You'll get over it.” She set the book aside and regarded her cousin with a puckish expression. “What comes first on your wish list? Seeing if the Cowboy Hats are in the dome car? Being able to see both sides of the tracks? Or just a stiff shot of Scotch?”

Judith was already on her feet. “All of the above.”

“At least you're honest,” Renie said, slipping off her chair.

Passing along the corridor, Judith noticed that the doors were closed to the Downeys' and the Chans' roomettes. In the next
sleeper a couple of teenagers were by the open space near the door, moving silently to the beat coming from their iPods. The dining car was almost full. Judith scanned the passengers, recognizing only the foreign men who'd sat at their table the previous evening. Despite the delay, everyone seemed in an affable mood.

The dome car was jammed. Apparently the cousins' fellow travelers had the same reaction as Judith and Renie. If the scenery wasn't changing, they'd alter their view by moving to a different part of the train. Judging from the noise level, being near the bar was an added attraction. Several passengers had gone from pleasant to raucous.

“Everybody's bored,” Renie said, craning her neck to see if she could spot an empty seat. “I hope they don't run out of booze. Wait here while I see if there's any liquor left. If somebody gets up, sit. I can lean.”

Before Judith could protest, Renie moved quickly to the stairwell that led to the club car. Judith strolled down the aisle, searching for a man, woman, or child who might be about to leave. Just past the stairway she saw a plump middle-aged woman with upswept peroxide blond hair trying to shush an equally plump, middle-aged bald man as he belted out an off-key rendition of “City of New Orleans”: “‘Good mornin', America…How are ya? Doncha know I'm your native son…” He hiccuped and began to cough.

“That's it, Rowley,” the woman hollered, standing up and tugging at one of his rolled-up shirtsleeves. “It's not morning, it's supper time, and we're going to eat that nice fried chicken I packed. Move it!”

Rowley coughed again, but didn't get up. “G'way, Irma,” he muttered. “I'm almost to the best part.” He began to sing again. “‘I'm the train they call the City of—'”

Irma picked up her knitting bag and smacked it against Rowley's bald head. “Get up, you old fart!”

Rowley stopped singing, but was unfazed. Some of the nearby
passengers, however, looked faintly alarmed. Irma wound up for another whack at Rowley, but before she could follow through, Judith tapped her shoulder. “Can I help?”

Irma glared at Judith. “If you're a lawyer, you can get me a divorce.”

Judith smiled. “I can't do that, but maybe I can get your husband to give up his seat. I may not look it, but I'm handicapped and my…nurse is bringing me something to drink.”

“It better not be what this bozo's tossing down,” Irma said, shrewd blue eyes scrutinizing Judith. “You're really a cripple?”

“I've had a hip replacement,” Judith said quietly.

Rowley attempted a leer. “Want to show me your scar?”

“Don't talk like that,” Irma barked. “Shut up and get up!” With her bright golden hair curled up into little peaks atop her head, she reminded Judith of a cockatoo. “My sis got one of them artificial things a while back. She's doing all right, but she didn't walk so good in the first place with those bowlegs of hers. Couldn't catch a pig in an alley.”

“Never wanted to see
her
scar,” Rowley mumbled, his head having sunk onto his chest. “Homelier than a gopher, whiskers and all.”

“Never you mind about my sis!” Irma yelled. “Move your butt!”

“Huh?” He squeezed his eyes together and wiggled his nose several times. “A gimp?” Rowley said, focusing on Judith. “She looks pretty good to me.” His lopsided grin revealed a couple of missing teeth.

“Just get up,” Irma ordered. “C'mon, Rowley. You need to walk. You want them blood clots coming back?” Slinging her patent leather purse over one shoulder and a knitting bag over the other, she reached out to help pull her husband from the chair.

Rowley heaved a big sigh before grasping Irma's hands. “I already walked today,” he muttered. “All the way to that creek. They got some peculiar notions about fishing around here. One of them fellas couldn't stand up on his own two feet, let alone cast a line.”

“A damned-fool stunt on your part,” Irma said as Rowley grunted a couple of times before he finally stood up. “That was hours ago. You're lucky the train didn't leave you stranded.”

“Pshaw!” Rowley sputtered, narrowly missing Judith with a spray of saliva. “We wasn't going anywhere with all that mess on the tracks.” He leaned on Irma, but didn't move. “We ain't going anywhere now,” he said, peering out the window. “Where the heck are we?”

“We're still in this one-horse town, waiting for that engine.” Rowley frowned. “What Injun? Is this where Custer had his last stand?”

Irma shook her head and turned to Judith, who was making sure Rowley wasn't leaving any undesirable evidence of his occupancy on the seat. “Thanks, hon,” Irma said. “Pay no mind to him. He's been seeing things even before he started swigging down that damnable liquor.” She punched her husband's upper arm. “Let's go. Walk!”

As the couple moved awkwardly toward the coach car, Judith sat down and placed her handbag on Irma's vacant chair. Only a couple of minutes passed before Renie appeared with their drinks.

“You did it,” she said with a big grin. “Nice work, coz. Did you have to arm-wrestle somebody for these chairs?”

“I didn't, but the wife of the husband who was blotto practically had to put him in a headlock to get him back to their coach seats.” Judith accepted the already poured Scotch from Renie and laughed softly. “Irma—the wife—had made fried chicken to eat on board. What does that remind you of?”

Renie laughed. “Our family picnics with Grandma and Grandpa Grover. We never went anywhere without our own food because we couldn't afford restaurants. Grandpa insisted on eating in cemeteries because he hated hot weather and wanted to sit on the cold tombstones. There was always running water nearby and big shade trees.”

Judith nodded. “He insisted graveyards were much quieter
than picnic areas. It was easier for Grandma to set everything on the flat stone markers. We always had fried chicken, unless we were on the road long enough to eat two meals. Then it was sandwiches and whatever fruit Grandma and Grandpa had in season from their trees in the backyard.” She paused, thinking of how much fun the family had managed to have, even on the cheap. “The only surviving tree in the backyard is the cherry. After our grandparents and my father died, Mother couldn't take care of the others on her own.”

“I know.” Renie's smile was bittersweet. “Apple, pear, peach, apricot, plum—and cherry. There was an exotic one, too. What was it?”

“Figs,” Judith replied promptly. “Don't you remember how Mr. Tweedy would steal them when he lived on the other side of the back fence? Grandpa almost killed him.”

“Mr. Tweedy could run faster,” Renie said after taking a sip of Canadian whiskey.

“So? Aren't you going to ask the inevitable?”

“That walk down memory lane distracted me.” Judith cocked her head at Renie.

“Well?”

“Not much to report. The Cowboy Hats were there. So were those two young women we saw in the dining car. They came down just as I was coming back up. I don't think they recognized me.”

“That's it?”

“What did you expect?” Renie retorted. “A police lineup?” Judith shook her head.

“Hardly. But I figured the state trooper would ask me more questions. I wonder what happened after he talked to his superiors.”

“Maybe he tried to find you, but we weren't in our room. Gosh, he might show up here and arrest you in front of all these respectable people.”

“Not funny.” Judith noticed that the snow was letting up. “We can finally see something outside.”

“Such as?” Renie asked, looking outside. “There's nothing to see.”

Judith pointed at the tavern. “A couple just came out.”

“Wow. Shall I take notes?”

Judith ignored the remark. “The woman is going in one direction and the man in the other. What's the shortest way around the train?”

“Is this a math puzzle? You know I never got beyond long division. In fact, I never
got
long division.”

“To cross the tracks,” Judith said, exasperated.

Renie assumed a thoughtful look. “I like riddles. Why did the drunkards cross the tracks?”

“Would you please stop—”

Renie held up a hand. “Wait. I've got it. To get to the other side.” She feigned a triumphant expression, but sobered quickly.

“I see your point. As I recall, we're toward the front of the train. Two engines, but the damaged one probably has been detached. Then maybe some kind of support car, baggage car, crew car, two sleepers, dining car, dome car, maybe three or four coach cars, and one at the end that's used as a view and snack car for coach passengers. The residents of Scuttle would probably have to walk at least a city block to get across the tracks. Dare I ask why you want to know?”

“Can we can get off the train instead of sitting here like lumps?” Renie looked taken aback. “With snow on the ground? Maybe ice? Why would you do that?”