Loco Motive (19 page)

Sharon made a face at her husband. “The motel view isn't all that bad. Despite the snow and the early evening, there's enough activity to cause speculation about the vagaries of human nature.”

Jim snorted. “If you enjoy watching adulterers and druggies. What else is there for small-town excitement? And how do you keep a secret? I don't see the point in parking your pickup on the side street, going in the back way, and coming out the front twenty minutes later.”

“Spoilsport,” Sharon murmured. “I thought it was funny when the one guy knocked on the door and it was opened by a naked man. He must've been cold standing there chatting.”

“He's probably nuts. By the way,” Jim went on, “is there any news about Roy, our missing attendant?”

Judith shook her head. “It's worrisome, isn't it?”

“It is,” Sharon said. “We heard there was a state trooper on board. Maybe he knows something about Roy. Have you seen him?”

For an instant, Judith wondered if Sharon was probing. But the other woman's face was devoid of guile. “No,” she replied, “not lately.”

Jim glanced at the table across the aisle and lowered his voice. “Aren't those people wearing Western getups in our sleeper?”

Judith nodded. “They're next to the reclusive Kloppenburgs.”

“What's with those Kloppenburgs?” Sharon asked. “Jax said they prefer keeping to themselves. I'd think they'd atrophy from boredom.”

Renie laughed. “Coz here is about to explode with curiosity.
The two of you should concoct a plan to flush them out in the open.”

“I've got a puzzle for you girls,” Jim said, his voice still low.

“Not about the Kloppenburgs, but the Western couple. I talked to the husband briefly this morning when we were waiting to be seated for breakfast.” He turned to Sharon. “See for yourself and tell me if I'm crazy.”

Sharon uttered an impatient sigh. “Fine, but I'll need my glasses.” After rummaging through her brown suede hobo bag and putting on her glasses, she asked what she was supposed to see.

Jim, who was sitting in the seat next to the aisle and facing the Johnstons, nodded slightly. “Him, not her.”

Judith and Renie exchanged puzzled glances. “I feel like a spy,” Sharon murmured, pretending to read the menu. “This is a blur. I'm shortsighted.” She smiled, even as her eyes veered toward Jack Johnston. “He looks fine to me.”

“No sideburns,” Jim said.

“So what?” Sharon removed her glasses. “He must've shaved them off.”

Judith poked Renie. “Drop the pepper shaker.”

“What?”

“Drop the pepper shaker. Then retrieve it.”

“Oh.” Renie picked up the shaker—and dropped it in the aisle. “Oops! Clumsy me.” She slipped from her seat, crouched to retrieve the shaker, picked it up, and sat down again. “Well,” she said to Judith, “did that help?”

“Yes.” But Judith didn't sound pleased. “You're right,” she said to Jim, who looked as bewildered as his wife. “He had sideburns when he went outside.”

“That's crazy,” Sharon said. “He gets off to smoke and shave?” Jim looked irked.

“Jeez, Sharon, how do I know? Why don't you ask him? Go ahead, we talked to him this morning. We're old chums.”

Sharon hesitated. “Oh, hell!” She jumped up from the seat, grabbed her purse, and shoved her way past Jim.

Startled, Judith watched her stomp out of the dining car.

Jim held his head. “My wife can be so damned—” He stopped, a sheepish expression on his face. “I'm sorry. It was a stupid argument. They usually are.”

Judith smiled. “How long have you been married?”

“Twenty years,” Jim replied. “Right now it feels like a hundred.”

Renie shrugged. “My husband and I've been married twice that long. Not,” she added hastily, “two hundred…” She paused, eyeing Judith. “I don't do numbers. What would that come to?”

“Blows,” Judith retorted, “as in me punching you in the nose.” She was immediately apologetic. “Cousins argue, too, Jim. Don't worry about feeling bad. Half an hour ago I was annoyed with my husband. I'm over it already.”

Jim nodded. “Sharon's fairly good-natured, but something about this trip has her on edge. Maybe it's the daredevil guy who died.” He shrugged. “I hope the body's been taken off the train. That could give anybody the creeps.”

Earl appeared with the cousin's entrées. “Duck and more duck,” he said, putting the plates on the table. “And you, Mr. Downey?”

Jim sighed. “I'm not sure if my wife's coming back. I'll wait—unless there's a big lineup for this dinner setting.”

Earl looked at both entrances. “More than usual. The coach passengers are passing the time by eating dinner in here, but you've got reserved seating. If you want to check on your wife, I'll hold your places.”

Jim nodded. “If I'm not back in ten minutes, give our seats away.” He excused himself and made his exit.

The cousins concentrated on their meal until Judith broached the subject that had preoccupied her. “Sideburns or no sideburns?”

“Mmm,” Renie murmured. “Duck good, duck tender, duck ducky.”

Judith scowled. “Try to focus on something else at the moment. You saw the Johnstons by the luggage rack earlier. Did he have sideburns?”

Renie licked her lips. “I didn't get a good look at him. Mrs. Hat was doing the talking. I honestly didn't notice anything unusually hirsute about Mr. Hat's appearance under his hat.”

“Hmm.” Judith craned her neck to look at the Johnstons and the
Z
s. “You're blocking my view. What's going on with our persons of interest?”

Renie glanced across the aisle. “All's quiet on the opposite front. The
Z
s are talking to each other. The Johnstons are focused on food. They all watched Sharon storm off but didn't seem overly interested.”

“So I noticed. I also noticed you have duck sauce on your chin.”

“Oh.” Renie wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Thanks.” Judith ate some rice pilaf before speaking again. “I saw Jack Johnston fairly close when we were waiting to go outside. He definitely had sideburns. He doffed his hat to me.”

“A Western gentleman,” Renie murmured.

“Or devious.” Judith winced. “Sauce now on upper lip.”

Renie used a second napkin to wipe away the sauce. “What do you mean by ‘devious'?”

“If whoever is across the aisle isn't the real Jack Johnston, maybe there's a reason for the first one to make sure somebody noticed. But I can't think why.”

Renie cut off another slice of duck. “You have the logical mind. Put it to use. Oops!” More sauce went awry, dripping onto Renie's bosom. “Damn! I'm running out of napkins.” She yanked at the tablecloth, dipped part of it in her water glass, and tried to mop the sauce off of her brown sweater. “At least it matches,” she said lamely.

“Have you thought about wearing a bib? Really, coz, you're such an untidy eater. A rain slicker would work better than a bib.”

“Maybe. This sweater's cashmere. I don't want to ruin it. I can change—”

The dining car erupted with sound and motion. Several people across the aisle were on their feet, voices raised in excitement.

“What the hell?” Renie said, jumping up and trying to see around the Johnstons and the
Z
s. Earl and another waiter were at either side of the serving area, caught in midstep and trying to balance their serving dishes. “Move it!” Renie yelled at Mr. Z.

“I'm small but mighty!”

“You're mighty small,” Mr. Z said. “But okay,” he added, stepping back just enough so Renie could see what was going on outside.

Judith couldn't help herself. It was pointless to avoid her mysterious B&B guests and the putative Jack Johnston. At five-nine, she could see over Renie. It looked to Judith like a drunken brawl that had started in the tavern and spilled out onto the sidewalk. A half-dozen people were exchanging blows, pushing and shoving while they slipped and slid on the snowy pavement. A pair of newcomers approached the mayhem, but stopped at a safe distance.

“The Wild West,” Renie remarked. “Maybe this is Scuttle's version of live entertainment.”

Judith tried to recognize the people involved, but the sole streetlight illuminated only a patch of pavement by the hardware store. Their identities were further obscured by the snow that encrusted their clothes. “Pig pile,” she murmured as the jumble of combatants wallowed around on the pavement.

“Just another night at the saloon in Smalltown, Montana,” someone said. “After they recover from their hangovers, they'll all be best buddies again when the tavern opens up tomorrow.”

Judith realized that the speaker was Dick Z, who flashed a peace sign and sat back down. His words apparently had a reassuring effect. A few other diners also stopped gawking as the sound level diminished.

Until they heard a shot. “What was that?” a woman cried from somewhere toward the rear of the car. “A backfire? A firecracker? A gun?”

The cousins knew a gunshot when they heard one. The passengers erupted with screams, gasps, and shouts. Judith, who'd started back to her seat, shoved Renie toward the window. “Quick,” she said. “See what's happening.”

Skirting around the
Z
s and stepping over two young men who'd ducked for cover, Renie squeezed past an older couple who seemed transfixed. “No harm done,” she shouted over the din of panicky voices and the clatter of crockery. “It must've been a warning shot.”

Sidestepping a fallen cup and some silverware, Judith joined Renie at the window. “Everybody's standing up out there—more or less,” Judith murmured. She counted the bedraggled brawlers, but didn't include the growing number of curious onlookers. “Seven, plus a state trooper who probably fired the shot.”

“Purvis?” Renie murmured.

“I think so. Right size. Unless Emily stole his gun.”

“Recognize anybody?”

“Besides Purvis?” Judith noticed that the older couple's eyes were glazed and their skin was ashen. “Hey,” she called to Earl, who was trying to calm a hysterical young woman, “can we get Dr. Chan in here?”

Earl didn't respond right away. The young woman was leaning against him, sobbing noisily. Before he could disengage himself, Mr. Peterson entered the dining car. “Attention!” he shouted. “There's no cause for alarm. I repeat, there's no danger to anyone on this train. Please resume your places.”

Judith waved at Mr. Peterson. “We need a doctor.” She indicated the oldsters. “They're in shock.”

The conductor nodded abruptly even as he scanned the distraught passengers. “Anyone needing medical attention should come to this end of the car. If you're not certain you can walk, let me know. I'm calling for Dr. Chan. If there are other medical practitioners aboard, let me know. Thank you.” Mr. Peterson exited the car.

Earl had calmed the hysterical young woman. He stood in the aisle, banging a metal spoon on a cast-iron skillet. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “please be seated except for the last two tables at the end of the car. We need room for the doctor. We're sorry for the inconvenience, but there's no cause for concern. Some locals got into a dispute that turned ugly. It has nothing to do with us. Be easy.”

Renie made her way back to their table, but Judith couldn't leave the elderly couple. As an innkeeper, she was required to periodically take a Red Cross refresher course in first aid. Gently, she lifted the woman's thin arm, carefully pulled back the sleeve of her Fair Isle cardigan, and felt for a pulse. “Don't be frightened,” she said soothingly. “Nothing bad is happening.”

“Hey!” A man's voice broke her concentration on the pulse count. “I was a medic in the First Gulf War. I can help.”

Judith turned around. Dick Z was right behind her. He stared; she froze. “You're the B&B lady,” he said, looking astonished.

“You're Dick Z,” she retorted, realizing that it sounded like an accusation. “I mean…skip it. We can talk later. You take his pulse while I take hers.”

Even without interruptions, it was difficult for Judith to focus. There was too much noise and too much movement in the dining car as passengers and crew tried to regroup. Just as she was about to try again, the woman blinked and attempted to speak. “Am…is…what?” she gasped.

“Nothing's wrong,” Judith assured her. “We're safe here on the train.”

The old lady turned to the old man. “J-J-Julius?” she said. “He'll be fine,” Dick Z said. “Won't you, Mr…. um…Julius?”

Julius's color was improving. He nodded. “Take a sip of water,” Dick Z said, handing a glass to the old man. Judith saw Matt Chan enter the dining car. “It's okay,” she said to the woman. “There's a doctor here if you need him.”

The old lady tapped the window. “Is this Wolf Point?”

“We're in Scuttle,” Judith said. “A trooper fired his gun to break up a tavern brawl.”

Her faded blue eyes brightened. “A real brawl?”

“It looked real,” Judith said.

“Oh.” The old woman seemed disappointed. She turned to the old man, who was being eased into his seat by Dick Z. “Julius? Where's Chester?”

Julius frowned. “Wolf Point. Where else would he be, Bessie?”

“I don't know.” She looked sad. “I don't know anything anymore.”

Judith steered Bessie back to her seat next to Julius.

Dick Z moved out into the aisle. “Queer old duck,” he muttered when Judith joined him. “His brain's scrambled.”

“He must be close to ninety. He's entitled to be daffy.” She got out of the way as one of the waiters moved meals from the end of the car where Matt Chan was talking to the young woman who'd had hysterics. “So you're a fellow traveler. How did you enjoy your stay at my B&B?”