Loco Motive (31 page)

“‘Wilbur Weevil, worsening condition after hospital discharge, expired at three forty-seven p.m., MST. Cause of death possibly related to myocardial infarction.'”

“Mmm,” Renie murmured, absorbed in her book.

“The only other entry is for Li Y. Kloppenburg. Matt notes shortness of breath, light-headedness, possible history of heart problems, and then ‘stress' followed by a question mark. That's it. Nothing about sending her to the hospital. What does that mean?”

Renie closed her book. “Didn't Matt imply it wasn't necessary? Kloppy must've called the ambulance. Maybe Matt couldn't spell ‘hypochondria.'”

Judith tried to remember all of the seemingly innocuous remarks related to the multiple tragedies. “I'm checking the Internet,” she said.

“I'm checking into bed,” Renie said, getting up and starting to undress. “Take one of my sheets.”

“Thanks. Don't forget to move your watch one hour ahead.”

“Ahead? Oh. Sure.”

Judith changed her watch before starting the search for WWF, the insurance policy's beneficiary. The browser's first page showed only sites for the World Wildlife Fund and the second one was devoted to the World Wrestling Federation, now World Wrestling Entertainment. “WWE SmackDown!” she murmured, rubbing her eyes. “Emily's favorite video game.”
I'm tired, maybe exhausted. I can't focus. I should get some sleep.
The discarded bedding included the blanket, but it was probably soiled, too. Judith
decided to get rid of the whole set and take a blanket from Kloppy's room. For all she cared, Al Capone could've slept under it.

She opened the door, realizing that Purvis hadn't secured the room as a crime scene. The Amtrak police had diverted him—or else he hadn't bought her theory. She dumped the bedding on the floor before summoning up the dregs of her energy to open the lower berth.

But neither berth budged. Judith considered her options. Maddie and Tiff's roomette was empty, but that meant going downstairs. The
Z
s' room was vacant in the other sleeper. She'd take her time. Back in the corridor she saw a night-light glowing in her room. Renie must be in bed. Judith kept walking.

The train's movement was steady. The door to B5 was unlocked. She slipped inside, relying on the corridor's dim light to strip the lower bunk. Luckily, she was the only person who'd used the bedding. The
Z
s were long gone.

Or so Judith thought until she saw the threatening faces of Dick and Jane Z looming in the doorway.

W
hat the hell are you doing?” Dick Z demanded.

“Borrowing a blanket and two sheets,” Judith said, after recovering her breath. “I thought you got off with that old couple in Scuttle.”

“We did,” Jane replied. “We reboarded later.”

Judith refrained from asking more questions. “I'll leave the bedding.”

The
Z
s moved closer, forcing her to backtrack. “Do that,” Dick said.

“Sure.” Feeling hemmed in, Judith awkwardly dumped the bedclothes on the lower bunk. “I heard Mr. and Mrs. Gundy were spending the night at the motel in Scuttle. Are you the relative who's picking them up in the morning?”

Jane flipped on a night-light. “We're not related to the Gundys.”

“I know,” Judith said, aware that Dick still barred any attempt at flight. It was now or never, she thought, even if what she was about to say could cause her bodily harm—or worse. “You're related to the Weevils, not the Gundys.”

Dick laughed, revealing the telltale gap between his front teeth. “Want to put that in writing?”

His response startled Judith. Despite her fears, she couldn't stifle her curiosity. “I know your phony last name means ‘weevil.'”

Dick glanced at Jane. “She's smarter than I thought.” He grew somber as he stared at Judith. “How did you figure that out?”

“Coincidence,” Judith admitted. “It was in my cousin's crossword puzzle. You don't look much like Willie, but you have the same gap between your teeth. I only got the connection a little while ago.”

Dick seemed skeptical. “Why do you care?”

Judith wasn't sure how to answer. “It dates back to your stay at my B&B. You didn't fit the profile of my average guests. And then you suddenly showed up on the train. It seemed odd.”

“I don't believe it,” Jane said angrily. “You're in league with the rest of them. They'll go to any lengths to hurt Dick.”

“‘They'?” Judith repeated. “Who do you mean?”

“When you opened your cash box at the B&B,” Dick said, “we saw your IOU note from Willie's nephew. The whole family's against me. I don't know how you got involved. You should've minded your own business.”

For a moment, Judith had no idea what Dick was talking about. “Oh, good grief!” she exclaimed. “That was a…a sort of joke! Justin's going to make a holiday dinner for us. Call him. I realize you two aren't close, but he says you've kept in touch over the years.”

Dick's expression was bitter. “That's a lie. Justin wouldn't recognize me if I showed up on his doorstep. He doesn't know I exist. But at least he and his mother know someone's figured out that Willie died five years ago. That should put a scare into all of them.”

Judith wondered if Dick Weevil was unhinged, but Jane echoed her husband's sentiments. “He's like all the Weevils, refusing to acknowledge Dick.”

“Whoa!” Judith held up a hand. “Maybe I do understand.”

The couple stared at Judith. “What?” Jane demanded.

“Don't play us,” Dick warned.

“I won't,” Judith insisted. “You're not Ricky Weevil.”

“Rick the Prick?” He sneered.

“Hell, no.”

Judith nodded. “So who are you? Another son of Willie's?”

Both
Z
s had stepped back a couple of paces. “Yes,” Jane said, still embittered. “But Willie never got around to marrying Dick's mother.”

“I see.” Judith thought for a moment. “Who's your mother?”

Dick's resentful expression didn't change. “An actress. Nobody you'd know. She played small parts in a couple of Willie's movies. Her name is Donna Evans. She's an alcoholic who lives with her third husband in Arizona.”

Judith's fears were diminished by sympathy. She wasn't sure what to say. “I guess you didn't mourn your father's death.”

Dick looked puzzled. “Why should I? I never met the man. I've spent most of my life in Southern California.”

Trying to figure out where this new piece fit into the puzzle and unsure of the
Z
s' intentions toward her, Judith stalled for time. “Working in movies?”

Dick made a face. “God, no. I'm an urban planner in San Diego. Jane's a freelance writer.”

The
Z
s seemed like solid citizens, but so had other people Judith had come across who were ruthless killers. “Do you go by Weevil?”

“No,” Dick said. “But my father's name is on my birth certificate. My mother always used Weevil as my last name, but when I got older I rebelled and went by her maiden name of Evans. Jane uses it, too.”

“Why,” Judith asked, “didn't you register as Evans at my B&B?”

“We're on a quest,” Jane replied. “I came across Zyzzyva when I was searching Internet submission sites. It's the name of a West Coast writers and artists journal. It's the last word in unabridged dictionaries. On a whim, we decided to use it because…” She
bit her lip. “We're hell-bent on Dick's family recognizing him as Willie's son.”

Judith nodded. “Is that why you took the Gundys off the train?”

“Yes,” Dick said. “We wanted them to authorize a DNA test.”

Judith hesitated. “You mean…on the deceased?”

“Of course,” Jane said. “When we sneaked out the back door of the B&B that night after everybody else had gone to bed, we had to use a flashlight. We stayed close to that big hedge and something shiny caught Dick's eye. It was a camera under a shrub in your yard. We wondered if the publicist left it behind after the accident, so we looked at the first two photos. Sure enough, there was the so-called Willie about to jump out the window. Dick was certain he was an impostor. We didn't take the time to look at the rest of the pictures then, but after we'd driven off, we went through the rest. That's when we realized the Weevil duo had checked out early because phony Willie had gotten badly hurt. Then we couldn't figure out why the publicist was in some of the shots, so we thought maybe you'd taken them. When we got on the train, we saw your name on a suitcase downstairs and remembered noticing something in your cash box that looked like travel information. The coincidence seemed incredible, but Dick decided to put the camera in your luggage and blame you if any of the Weevil gang insisted on a search.”

“I wasn't thinking straight,” Dick admitted. “I called the Wolf Point funeral home. There'd been no viewing of Chet Gundy's body after he died five years ago, and he'd been cremated. But we need a DNA test showing that the man who died on the train wasn't my father, Willie Weevil.” He suddenly tensed. “We've stopped. Are we in Williston?”

“Maybe,” Judith allowed, trying in vain to see her watch in the dim light. “Or it could be another delay for a freight train.”

Jane leaned against the wall. “These last few days have been hell.”

Judith agreed. “Did you come to my B&B to see Willie?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “We didn't know he'd checked out until after we arrived. We finally learned which hospital he was in, but visitors weren't allowed. Sunday afternoon we heard he'd been discharged and was on this train, so we caught a flight to catch up with the Empire Builder around midnight.”

A brief silence was broken by Judith. “I'm truly sorry for you both. I'll be on my way.”

“Okay,” Dick said wearily, “I'll talk to the conductor in the morning. He might tell us who could authorize a sample from the body.”

Jane put a hand on her husband's arm. “After all these years, what difference—” She gasped as Trooper Purvis loomed in the doorway.

“Richard Lewis Evans,” Purvis said solemnly, “you're a person of interest in the murder of Roy Kingsley. Please come with me.”

Dick looked stunned. “Who's Roy Kingsley?”

Purvis didn't try to hide his impatience. “Don't act dumb. Cooperate or I'll have to cuff you.”

“Wait!” Jane cried. “Are you talking about the attendant who disappeared? We never saw him. Our sleeper attendant is a woman named Jax.”

“Nice try,” Purvis said drily, never taking his eyes off Dick.

“Let's go.”

Dick seemed to have lost his nerve. With a heavy step, he moved toward the trooper. Jane, however, was seething. “This is crap! I'm coming, too,” she said, grabbing Dick's arm.

“Fine,” Purvis said. “Keep it down. We're getting off the train.” Judith spoke up.

“Where are we?” she asked. “This can't be Williston.”

“Yes, it is,” Purvis replied. “We made up time.”

“Stay put, Jane,” Dick muttered. “This is a farce.”

“You're not going without me,” Jane declared, tightening her grip on Dick's arm.

“Let's get this over with.”

Judith was dumbfounded.
Maybe,
she thought,
I've been wrong
about more than Dick being Rick. Why would the
Z
s—or the Evanses—murder Roy?
Fighting fatigue, she left the roomette and headed for the stairs. By the time she got to the lower level, Purvis had gotten off with Dick and Jane. Judith could barely see them walking toward a patrol car parked a few yards away.

But that was all she could see in the almost pitch-black night. If this was Williston, there should be lights, buildings, crew and passenger bustle. Maybe the train was on the outskirts, waiting for a freight to pass. They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere…and there was plenty of that in Montana.

Montana. Williston wasn't in Montana, Judith suddenly remembered. It was in North Dakota. Trooper Purvis had no jurisdiction across the state line. She stood in the doorway, wondering what to do. Before she could make up her mind, Dick and Jane had been hustled into the parked vehicle. The stepstool wasn't on the ground, but in its usual spot by the sleeper's door. Purvis had gotten into the driver's seat and was driving off at a fast pace.

“Damn!” Judith swore out loud. “Damn, damn, damn!”

“Damn you,” said an irate voice from behind her. “I really thought you were a goner this time. It would have served you right.”

Judith moved away from the open door and turned to see Renie in all her wild tiger-striped fury. “I went to the
Z
s' roomette to—”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Renie stood with her fists on her peignoir.

“I figured that's what you'd do. But how did you get down here without ending up dead? I know you wouldn't have volunteered.”

“But I did,” Judith said. “Coz, we've got to act fast. Trooper Purvis just took off with Dick and Jane. Let's find Mr. Peterson.”

Renie started to object, but was stopped by the urgency in her cousin's voice. “Okay. You go first.”

Judith summoned up enough energy to keep from flagging. Adrenaline, she figured as they moved through both sleepers to
the crew car. Renie pounded on the door. She was about to knock again when Mr. Peterson appeared, looking surprised to see the cousins. “What is it?” he asked, stepping onto the space between the two cars and closing the door behind him.

“Purvis has driven off with the
Z
s,” Judith said. “You know—the couple in B5. He's taken Dick Z—I should say, Dick Evans, which is his real name—for questioning in connection with Roy's murder.”

Mr. Peterson looked flabbergasted. “That's very odd,” he said, blinking in the light—or perhaps at Renie's sleepwear. “Are you sure?”

Judith nodded. “I was there when it happened. Where are we?”

“Just outside of Williston,” the conductor replied. “There's a problem with the tracks by the station. Someone left a car parked on them.”

“Did you know Purvis was bringing in Mr. Evans?” she asked.

“Mr. Evans? Oh—the Z people. Why would they call themselves…”

“Please!” Judith interrupted. “They had their reasons. Can you find out from the state patrol what's going on?”

Mr. Peterson frowned. “I know you're some kind of amateur sleuth,” he said, as much to himself as to Judith, “but I don't want to interfere with the state's operation. Maybe I can check with our own police.”

“Do that,” Judith said.

“I'll have to go outside.” The conductor frowned again. “I'd rather not contact them from the crew car and wake up everyone.”

“We'll go, too,” Judith said, turning to Renie. “Can you fetch our coats?”

Renie rushed off in a flurry of tiger stripes. Mr. Peterson, who wasn't wearing his jacket, excused himself. Judith waited at the top of the stairs. Renie reappeared, handing over her cousin's jacket. “I'll go first.”

The conductor joined them, opening the door and putting
down the stepstool. “This trip isn't typical of Amtrak,” he said, helping Judith descend.

“I know,” she assured him. “We're no stranger to…mishaps.”

“We're hexed,” Renie blurted out. “Think nothing of it. Check out the little cloud of doom and death hanging over Mrs. Flynn's head.”

Mr. Peterson didn't seem to take in Renie's irony. “Very discouraging for you, Mrs. Flynn.” He moved away, apparently seeking privacy for his call.

To Judith's surprise, the weather seemed warmer than it had been in Wolf Point. There was no snow or ice underfoot. She surveyed what little she could see of their surroundings. The landscape seemed flat—and empty. “If,” she said, “we're just outside of Williston, I don't see any sign of habitation. And who'd be crazy enough to leave a parked car on the train tracks?”

“A drunk,” Renie said. “I saw it happen in Oakland. We were leaving the station and going slowly. An empty beater was parked across the tracks. There was a tavern about twenty yards away, and a crew member got off to make the idiot move his car. It wasn't the first stop on the jerk's night of beer-soaked revelry. He insisted the tracks were part of the parking lot.”