Murder on the Orient Espresso(22)

The way the tables and banquettes were set up – in that ‘C’ shape with the open ends facing the aisle – Pavlik was sitting dead center and therefore sideways to the motion of the train, with Zoe and Potter facing forward on one side of the semicircle and Rosemary and myself facing backward.

‘This?’ I said, gesturing toward my glass. ‘An espresso martini.’ Then, lowering my voice, ‘Do you think if you sit on the other side, the motion of the train will be easier to tolerate?’ I nodded toward the patch of unoccupied bench next to Potter.

‘Thank you,’ Rosemary said, matching my tone. ‘But I’d rather projectile vomit.’

I laughed and took a sip of my drink.

Just then Missy came by. ‘Oh, our signature cocktail! I love how you’re embracing the theme, Maggy.’

If all it took to ‘embrace the theme’ was to imbibe caffeine and alcohol, I was her poster girl. I flicked my tongue to lick cream off my upper lip.

‘Speaking of Murder on the Orient Express – or Espresso, I should say,’ Missy continued, virtually chirping like a bluebird and tentatively settling on the very edge of the bench to Potter’s left, ‘can we talk about our program?’

‘Excuse me, my dear,’ Laurence Potter interrupted, ‘but would you mind standing? I find my left knee aches if I can’t extend it.’

Looking mortified, Missy jumped up and tugged at her evening dress. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I just—’

‘No harm done, I’m sure.’ Potter flexed his legs and extended them into the aisle, the multicolored toes of his wing-tip shoes ducking under the white cloth of the table across from us.

‘Somebody’s going to trip over Gumby’s legs and sue,’ I murmured automatically. One of the reasons I’d been happy to leave my role as events manager behind and open a coffeehouse was to escape the stress of being responsible for the safety and well-being of people who couldn’t be trusted to behave responsibly.

Rosemary giggled. ‘Gumby. Good one.’ She had my martini in her hands.

I thought about reclaiming the drink but figured our female guest of honor needed it more than I did.

‘Pardon me?’ As if the vodka gods had heard me, Boyce, our onboard barista, was in the doorway behind me. But before I could order an espresso martini to replace the one Rosemary had commandeered, he said, ‘Missy? There’s someone who needs to speak with you.’

Missy, who’d been awkwardly standing in the aisle downstream of Potter’s long, ungainly legs, looked grateful for the interruption. ‘Of course.’

She stepped over Potter’s wheels and kept right on going, Boyce on her silvery heels.

As the vestibule door to the club car slid closed, I caught a glimpse of Potter’s ‘sycophant,’ Danny/Col. Arbuthnot, talking to a blonde woman I’d not seen earlier.

‘Damnation,’ Potter said, both hands reaching into his jacket, one pulling out a pack of cigarettes and the other a striking black and silver book of matches.

‘No smoking,’ I snapped as Potter knocked a coffin nail out of the pack. If I wasn’t going to get my drink, he sure as hell wasn’t going to enjoy his vice at our second-hand expense.

‘What?’

‘I said, no smoking is allowed inside the train cars.’ Technically, I didn’t know if that was true. But if not, it should be.

‘Fine.’ Laurence Potter dropped the loose cigarette and its pack back into his pocket, leaving the matchbook on the table’s surface. ‘I can’t smoke and there’s nothing to eat but that ridiculous cake. And even that, only after,’ – air quotes – ‘“the crime is solved.” What, pray tell, am I supposed to do until then?’

‘Chat with attendees and be pleasant?’ This from Rosemary Darlington. ‘Seems the least you can do, given we are both being paid a fee for being here.’

Potter turned on her. ‘And exactly who would you have me “chat” with? You?’

‘Heavens, no. But perhaps that hero-worshipping mop-haired boy you seem to be avoiding.’

‘Ridiculous,’ Potter said. ‘And I’ll thank you to mind your own business, Rosemary.’ He turned away from us.

If they had been lovers, they’d certainly perfected the ‘quarrel’ part.

‘You seem to have struck a nerve with him,’ I whispered to Darlington, who had simply smiled and gone back to her – or my – drink.

‘I did, didn’t I?’ Rosemary was obviously pleased with herself. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure what Larry has against the kid, but I’m happy to needle him, regardless.’