Murder on the Orient Espresso(14)

‘Kimono?’

‘In Murder on the Orient Express. Zoe’s wrap dress has a dragon design on the back, see? It’s a more modern’ – and sluttier – ‘version of the red kimono Christie gave to one of her characters.’ I looked at Pavlik. ‘You have seen the movie, right?’

‘No, but I read the book, which will probably endear me to more people at a writers’ conference.’

‘Movies are written, too,’ I pointed out. ‘And I have to believe that every aspiring writer here would also love a movie deal – oh, this must be our train.’

Not much of a stretch, since there was but one. Missy, having delivered her charge safely to the station, was squatting down in her furs and evening dress, teetering precariously on her high heels as she tried to tape a banner to one of the cars.

‘You go on,’ I said to Pavlik. ‘I might as well earn my keep by seeing if Missy needs help.’

‘I’ll save you a seat this time.’ Pavlik gave me a quick kiss on the lips.

‘I’d like that.’ I felt rewarded for not making a big deal – or any deal at all, in fact – about Zoe and the seating arrangement on the bus.

As Pavlik continued on to the rest of the group milling around on the platform, I skirted the crowd, noticing Danny the supposed sycophant talking again with the sports-jacketed former actor from the bus. The two were standing on the fringe of the herd, the plaid of the older man’s jacket even gaudier in the lights of the station. He seemed to be pointing out people of interest – or more likely, of note – to the newcomer.

‘Oh, dear!’

I reached Missy just in time to catch a corner she had just secured – or tried, with duct tape, to secure – before it peeled away and brushed the railbed. ‘Can I give you a hand?’

‘Oh, thank you,’ Missy said gratefully. ‘I’d planned to have this all done before your bus arrived, but the traffic on my “shortcut” was heavier than I expected.’

‘It was good of you to drive Rosemary Darlington,’ I said, smoothing the banner. ‘Given what I’ve seen, the farther apart you keep her and Laurence Potter, the better.’

Though admittedly not nearly as much fun for onlookers like me, who always appreciated being witness to a train wreck.

Not that I wanted to jinx the poor young woman’s project.

‘I didn’t mind driving.’ Missy swept her hat off and swiped her forehead with the back of the same hand. Wearing a fur coat in eighty degrees Fahrenheit must have been taking its toll, even on a Floridian. ‘Rosemary suffers from motion sickness and buses are the worst. I hope she’ll be all right on our trip tonight.’

‘Eric – that’s my son – gets car sick, but he’s fine on trains as long as he’s facing forward.’ Which made me recall that passenger cars often had half the seats facing rearward.

‘I suggested that to Rosemary,’ Missy said, replacing her hat. ‘Facing forward and, as you say, as far away from Laurence Potter as possible.’

The last was said under her breath and she glanced over at me, just seeming to realize it’d been said aloud. ‘They …’ Missy hesitated, ‘… have a history.’

Hmm. An affair gone wrong would certainly explain the venom with which Potter had criticized Darlington’s literary side-trip to the erotic. Maybe I’d read the book just to see if one of the characters was a tall, bald man. ‘So Larry Potter and Rosemary Darlington had a personal relationship?’

But Missy had colored up. And, apparently, decided to clam up as well. ‘Conference rumors, I’m sure. Please don’t say you heard anything from me, Maggy.’

‘Of course not.’ I was thinking about my dentist husband and the years of conferences he and his hygienist had attended so the office could ‘stay current.’ Undoubtedly there’d been ‘rumors’ in the dental community back then. I only wish somebody had bothered to share them with me. ‘What happens in Fort Lauderdale, stays in Fort Lauderdale, right?’ I said, echoing my earlier words to Pavlik in the hotel lobby.

Missy’s eyes went wide. ‘What do you mean?’

My turn to blush. I had no business inflicting my hard-earned cynicism on the next generation. Besides, if Laurence Potter – or anybody else – was playing musical beds, it was none of my business. I changed the subject. ‘Are you a writer yourself, Missy?’

‘No, not really. More a researcher.’

‘That must be interesting. For authors?’

Missy moved the scissors aside with her toe and bent down to pick up the roll of duct tape while still holding up her end of the banner. ‘Almost exclusively now. At first, I didn’t get paid or anything, I just helped authors whose work I enjoyed.’