Home>>read Murder on the Orient Espresso free online

Murder on the Orient Espresso(24)

By:Sandra Balzo


Missy gulped. ‘I … we did. Can I make you a nametag?’

‘No need,’ Audra said. ‘I won’t be mixing much, and the only people I care to know of my presence have already been informed.’

‘All right.’ Missy drew herself up. ‘Zoe? Would this be a good time to talk about the program?’

‘Program?’ Zoe, on Potter’s right, looked a bit adrift.

For his part, I wondered how Potter felt about being sandwiched between his ‘rock’ and a potential new ‘hard place.’

‘Yes.’ Missy seemed undeterred by her boss’s marked lack of enthusiasm. ‘I know you’ll want to welcome everyone. You can use that intercom.’

She pointed toward the vestibule at the front of our car. ‘After that, Markus – not as ‘MacQueen’ – will give a short talk on Agatha Christie’s body of work and loads of lore. Once everybody’s absorbed that, Mr Pavlik – sorry, I mean, Jake – Zoe will give you a signal. That’s your cue to sneak into the first roomette on the left in the sleeping car at the back of the train. Oh, and assume the position of corpse.’

She giggled and I joined in to support the events woman, since you could cut the tension – or maybe bored disinterest was more accurate – with a blunter instrument than Missy’s cake knife.

My stomach chose that moment to growl and Rosemary Darlington helped out by dropping her head on my shoulder. As the beret fell off her head and into my lap, our female guest of honor let out a snore.

‘Oh, dear,’ Missy said. ‘It must be the Dramamine.’

‘With a booster shot of my espresso martini.’ I was craning my neck to confirm, indeed, that the illustrious author was drooling on my sundress.

‘Perhaps Rosemary should take a little nap,’ Missy suggested.

‘Perhaps Rosemary already is taking a little nap,’ Laurence Potter mimicked.

‘Now, now, Larry. Be nice,’ Audra Edmonds scolded her husband. Then, to Missy: ‘Is there anything we can do?’

‘Not really,’ Missy said. ‘If Maggy will just help me with Rosemary?’

‘Of course.’ I picked up Rosemary’s hat and slid out, careful not to let her topple face-first into the banquette seat.

Our female guest of honor roused. ‘Huh?’

‘Dramamine and vodka apparently don’t mix,’ I said to her. ‘Why don’t we go and let you sleep it off?’

‘Okey-dokey.’ The woman slid out and stood up, albeit swaying. As I clamped on her left arm, a gust of wind hit the side of the train, driving rain against the windows.

‘Storm’s here,’ I said, stating the obvious while trying to stabilize Rosemary.

‘Oh, dear.’ Missy had grabbed Rosemary’s right arm. ‘Laurence, if you could just lead everyone back to the sleeping car after Jake has been gone five minutes?’

‘Why would I do that?’

Missy blinked. ‘Well, because you’re Hercule Poirot. You don’t need to do much – just stroke your mustache as you solve the crime. I brought a fake one,’ she dropped what looked like a woolly caterpillar on the table, ‘but you don’t—’

‘Solve the crime?’ the critic repeated. ‘Who among us hasn’t read the novel, after all? We certainly don’t need to reenact it. Don’t you think that’s a little childish … is it Melissa?’

For the second time on the trip so far, Missy looked like she was going to cry.

I slid the mustache toward Pavlik. ‘It’s Missy, Larry. And if you’d prefer – and it’s all right with Missy, of course – I’m sure Sheriff Pavlik would be happy to play the part of Poirot. You might prefer the role of Ratchett.’

Potter’s eyes narrowed. ‘The victim? I think not. Besides, I’m happy to pay homage to Dame Christie. She stood the test of time without prostituting herself. Unlike some writers any of us could mention.’

I felt Rosemary Darlington stiffen. ‘And what do you mean by that?’ was what I thought she said, though it came out more ‘Mmmmoooomeeedat.’

‘I’m sure Laurence didn’t mean anything, Rosemary,’ Missy said quickly. ‘He—’

‘I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself,’ Potter overrode her. ‘Your new book, Rosemary, is not only pornography, but badly written, ineptly imagined pornography at that.’

‘Larry!’ This from his wife, of all people. I wondered how much of Potter’s outburst was to convince Audra that he was no longer interested in Rosemary Darlington.

‘I can’t help it, my dear,’ Potter said. ‘This woman has – or had – talent, and she’s gone and flushed it down the toilet.’