Murder on the Orient Espresso(79)

‘I couldn’t believe it.’ Missy was sobbing outright now. ‘He stomped right past that cake he’d dropped, with me following. I said he had no right to treat me like this.’

I held the gun ready.

‘Laurence wouldn’t even turn around!’ Missy looked past me, as if she were watching the scene unfold. ‘Just opened the door into that vestibule, intending to go right on into the passenger car. He was shoving his stupid cigarettes into his pocket and dropped his matches by the exit door. I called to him, but he didn’t hear me. Maybe because of the noise of the train or maybe because he just didn’t want to.’

The second shoe went flying, also barely missing me. ‘What did you do then?’

Missy seemed surprised at the question. ‘I picked the matchbook up, of course. But when I tried to hand it to Laurence, he knocked it right back out of my hand. Said the thing was empty and nothing but trash. That he had no further use for it.’

She braced a hand on each side of the doorway and leaned forward. ‘He wasn’t just talking about those matches, you know, Maggy.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ Her eyes were staring at something I couldn’t see. ‘The cake knife was in my hand and when he made to leave again, I … I stopped him.’

‘With the knife?’ I asked in a hoarse whisper.

Missy nodded up and down, up and down, like she was in a marching band and had to perfectly synchronize with its other members. ‘He fell against the door, bleeding. I had it on my hand already, but before it got all over I just … just slid the door open.’ The last words were barely a whisper.

‘It’ being her lover’s blood. Missy took ‘tidy’ to new heights.

I was trying to understand, or at least appear like I understood. ‘Listen, I know you didn’t mean to—’

But before I could finish my sentence, Missy Hudson launched herself from the doorway where she was sitting, toppling us both into the shallow water of the Everglades.





THIRTY-FOUR





I held the revolver high, thinking Missy was going to fight me for it. Instead, though, she put her hands on my chest and shoved me under the eight inches or so of swamp water and kept right on going, as if we were playing a soggy game of reverse leapfrog.

Scrambling back up, I coughed and gave chase.

Missy was already slogging toward the berm/island on the other side. I followed, trying to keep the gun from getting wet.

I didn’t call for help, which was probably dumb, but I was the one waving the firearm and chasing someone. Who would the citizens’ militia behind me choose to shoot?

Missy had made it across to the other bank, the one with the mangroves growing on it. She’d taken about three feet into the sawgrass when she froze and said, ‘Don’t move.’

‘Me?’ I looked at the revolver in my hand. ‘I have the gun. You don’t move.’

Over her shoulder she whispered, ‘It’s a python.’

‘Good,’ I said, much more calmly than I felt. ‘How about you and me retreat slowly back to the train and leave the monster alone.’

‘I don’t think she’ll let us.’

I crept up behind her and peered over a shoulder. A mottled nest of white eggs was not four feet in front of Missy’s bare feet. The nest had a head. A pointy head.

‘Is this the kind that’s pretty protective?’ I asked, backing up. I was remembering the old joke about not having to outrun the bear, just the person with you.

‘Really protective,’ Missy said, grabbing my arm so I couldn’t move without startling the snake. ‘Don’t leave me here.’

‘I won’t.’ I was feeling ashamed of myself. Murderer or not, Missy didn’t deserve to end up as snake food, despite the fact she’d turned her lover into it. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘I won’t.’ And with that, she gave a brutal yank on my arm, sending the gun flying and me staggering into the snake’s nest.





THIRTY-FIVE





The female python and I were eye-to-eye.

I tried to get back up, reminding myself that they didn’t bite so much as squeeze you to death.

And then eat you.

The thing started to uncoil almost casually, like a cross-armed street punk, breaking away from his gang with a, ‘Wait here, dudes. This won’t take me long.’

Only this reptilian thug intended not only to put the squeeze on me, but have me for dinner. And not in a Welcome Wagon kind of way.

I managed to get to my feet and take a step, only to be tripped. While I was busy watching the head, the coils had snuck up on me from behind, launching me back nose first into the sawgrass.