Murder on the Orient Espresso(30)

The big man ignored him. With the train’s swaying movement he looked like an overweight, overdressed mob surfer trying to position his feet for one last Big Kahuna of a wave. Worse, he was a decade off in his costume. The high-waisted trousers and long coats with wide lapels and padded shoulders were popular in the forties, not the thirties.

‘Off the table, Fred!’ Zoe bellowed.

‘Fred’ got off. Pavlik shrugged and returned to our table.

‘Zoe, we think you should cut the cake,’ Prudence suggested. ‘Sop up some of the alcohol.’

‘Too late,’ Missy said mournfully.

‘Too late to sop up the alcohol or too late to cut the cake?’ One more Orient Espresso martini on an empty stomach and I’d be up on a table. Or under it.

‘Maybe both.’ Missy was agitatedly tip-tapping her foot. ‘But what I mean is that someone took a big hunk out of our cake and made off with the knife. Can you believe that? What are we going to use to cut the rest of it?’

I looked down at my swizzle stick, hungry enough to give it a good-faith try.

‘I’m sure we can come up with something,’ Pavlik said. ‘If all else fails, I have my trusty Swiss Army knife.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out yet another knife in addition to the ones that apparently awaited us in the Flagler Suite.

‘But the original cake knife was also meant to be the murder weapon. We need it for the “reveal.”’ Missy was near inconsolable. ‘Somebody has ruined everything!’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, don’t be such a child,’ Zoe snapped, adjusting her dress. ‘It’s not the end of the world.’

By this point I desperately wanted to do something to assist poor Missy, and if it got me closer to food then all the better. ‘Show me the cake, Missy. Maybe the knife just fell off the table after someone messed with it. If not, we’ll come up with a substitute.’

‘Good idea.’ Zoe seemed to be glad to be rid of her overly emotional assistant. And, perhaps, me. ‘In the meantime, we can’t wait any longer to solve our little crime. I was going to have you go back to the sleeping car, Jacob, but without Larry I wonder—’

I wanted to hear more about Zoe Scarlett’s plans for Pavlik, but Missy had my arm and was pulling me toward the cake at the far end of the car.





TWELVE





‘Hmm,’ I said, looking at the hacked-up corpse that had been part of the cake. ‘Somebody amputated the left foot.’ Including the big toe, where I’d swiped the bit of frosting earlier, resulting at least in my tracks being covered there.

Missy looked forlorn. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’

‘He or she might have taken the knife blade to carry the piece of cake on,’ I glanced around. ‘I don’t see any plates.’

‘I didn’t put them out yet. So no one would get ideas of cutting it early, for all the good that did.’

‘The best-laid plans,’ I commiserated. ‘By the way, I loved that knife – what a loss. My grandmother left me a carving set that contained one just like it.’

I was thinking about the gift, which I only brought out for special occasions like Christmas and Thanksgiving. The hinged brown box contained two large knives and a serving fork. One, with an eight-inch blade, was a twin of the missing knife.

‘That’s so nice,’ Missy said. ‘I got this one on eBay for fourteen ninety-five.’

$14.95. Apparently, I wouldn’t be retiring on the proceeds from the sale of my family heirloom. But then if it were a collectible, Missy would hardly have put it in the cake. Unless … ‘Maybe somebody did think it was valuable and stole it. I believe the handle is staghorn and—’

‘Your attention, please.’ Zoe Scarlett’s voice came over the speakers.

The sudden lurch of the train coupled with a metallic grinding made me grab for a pole. Apparently the new tracks were adding a few more kinks for the return voyage.

‘Hercule Poirot requests that all guests assemble,’ Zoe continued, ‘in the forward dining car. It seems there’s been a murder.’

At the words, most of the costumed guests started to head in from the next car.

A clap of thunder was followed almost immediately by a searing flash of lightning outside the window. Although we’d been traveling through the blackness for more than an hour and a half, this was my first glimpse behind that curtain of darkness.

‘My God,’ I said, leaning down to peer out the window. ‘There’s nothing out there except low brush and the occasional clump of trees.’

‘And sawgrass, as far as the eye can see. The Everglades is a “slow-moving river of grass,”’ Missy quoted, seeming to relax a little. ‘Over three million acres originally. It really is striking when you fly into Fort Lauderdale at night. You’d swear you’re soaring above the clouds or over the ocean because you can’t see anything and then, suddenly, the lights of South Florida pop up beneath you.’