Murder on the Orient Espresso(49)

Fred got up and unsuccessfully tried to hike up his belted pants over his enormous paunch. ‘I’m in South Florida law enforcement. I should be in charge.’

Geez, just what were we being treated to, ‘Lord of the Flies: Their Boomer Years’?

Though in truth, I’d prefer that classic over the Donner Party experience in the Sierra Nevadas, given that this guy looked like he could give the python a run for its money at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

‘You’re a gate guard at a senior housing complex,’ Zoe said, cutting him off at the knees. The woman still had some fight in her. ‘When was the last time someone was stabbed to death there, huh?’

Uh-oh.

‘Stabbed to death?’ someone echoed, sounding more than a little horrified.

‘And,’ a firm, also female, voice from the back, ‘just where is my husband?’





TWENTY





I wouldn’t say the writers with us on the Orient Espresso were ghouls exactly, but they did seem loathe to let a forensic learning opportunity pass by unexploited. However impromptu and even if the corpse was, in a vertically integrated sense, one of their own.

‘I don’t see how it would hurt,’ Prudence was saying. ‘I mean, you said the man is already dead.’

‘And, outside a funeral home, I’ve never seen a dead body,’ Grace whined. ‘This may be my only chance.’

‘You said he was stabbed?’ Harvey – the man playing Hardman, the American detective disguised as a ‘flamboyant American’ in Christie’s book – was taking notes. ‘How many times?’

Obviously thinking about the number and variety of blade wounds in Christie’s original, he winked at me.

I’d been bombarded with nonstop questions since Pavlik had taken Potter’s wife away to break – or, thanks to Zoe – elaborate and maybe soften the news for Audra.

I wished the sheriff good luck on the last, especially since at least one paragraph of his explanation would have to include the expressions ‘cake knife’ and ‘exploding python.’

I was twisted around in my seat to face the crowd, one knee tucked under me and my patience wearing thin. ‘I told you. I can’t—’

‘So the cause of death is a stab wound or wounds, plural?’ from Danny, who seemed to be tapping notes into his iPhone.

‘The knife was stuck in his back,’ Missy piped up. She was still a little green around the gills, but determined to be helpful. ‘Though the python—’

‘Python?’ Prudence interrupted. ‘Nobody mentioned a python.’

‘There’s a snake on the train?’ Grace was glancing around like the thing was going to slither down the aisle.

‘No, no,’ Missy said, seeming to realize the firestorm she’d just sparked. ‘And I didn’t say it was the cause—’

‘There is no python – or snake of any type – on this train.’ Pavlik had entered from the dining car, shooting a dark look at the young woman. ‘You have my word on that.’

I knew the drill all too well, but Missy looked like the sheriff had slapped her. The bottom lip trembled and I knew she was seconds from another round of tears.

‘Oh, look,’ I said, holding up my cell phone to distract the group. ‘I have service!’

A dozen phones promptly reappeared and then disappeared as their owners realized I was mistaken. Or lying.

‘Sorry, phantom bar,’ I said, tucking my prop away. ‘Anyway, you’re welcome to ask the sheriff, but I can’t imagine that the authorities in any state would want us traipsing in and out of that sleeping car before they have a chance to examine it.’

A surge of muttering waved down by Big Fred, of all people. ‘Folks, the sheriff’s tootsie has it right. The crime scene must be preserved.’

‘It’s in all the books,’ someone else said. ‘And TV shows, too.’

A third piped up. ‘But we could go one by one. Or just send a representative to take a few photos we can share.’

OK, maybe they were ghouls.

‘It’d be like a press pool,’ Prudence said. ‘Back in the day—’

Pavlik held up his hands. ‘I appreciate your concern,’ I had to hand it to him, he managed to sound more commanding than sarcastic, ‘but I think your – and our – time here is better spent trying to figure out how Mr Potter spent his last hour or so on this train.’

I shot Pavlik a look of disbelief and, since he was standing in the aisle next to me, I tugged on his pants leg.

He held up his finger to the assemblage and leaned down. ‘What?’

‘You’re encouraging witnesses to discuss the things they saw?’ I whispered.