The Christmas Train (28 page)

“Not too generous, since he was only giving people back their own property,” countered Agnes Joe.

“Or she,” said Tom under his breath.

An Indian guide boarded the train before it left the station, and for the next hour or so he regaled them with tales of the land, Indian reservations, and the history of his people. He got off at the stop in Gallup, known as the Indian Capital of the World, because various tribes, including Hopi, Zuni, and Acoma, gathered for meetings there.

After dinner, many people went to the lounge car and watched a video of the wedding ceremony that Kristobal and Max had prepared. Steve and Julie watched, laughing and occasionally crying as the special moment was replayed for all. To Tom, Steve looked particularly exhausted, and he noted with a smile that as soon as the film was over, Julie grabbed his hand and pulled him back to their honeymoon suite.

It was late at night when they entered Arizona, and Tom found he couldn’t sleep. He dressed and walked the halls. He looked in on Eleanor but she was sleeping soundly and he didn’t want to awaken her.

As he passed Max’s compartment, he swore he could smell incense, and didn’t that make perfect sense. He was afraid to go by Lelia’s sleeper for the sounds he might hear coming from there. From personal experience he knew that the woman who gave life to the innocent darlings Cuppy, Sassy, and Petey was a lot more racy in her personal life. Poor Kristobal would never know what hit him.

While he was rambling around the train slowed and then stopped. He peered out the window. There was a station here, but he’d thought there’d be no more stops until Los Angeles. He shrugged and kept walking until he arrived outside Agnes Joe’s compartment. The woman’s phonograph was still playing its Christmas tunes. Her unit was dark, and he assumed she must have fallen asleep while the music played. Then the phonograph started skipping, repeating the same lyrics over and over and then degenerating into a nerve-rattling screeching sound. Apparently the woman was sleeping heavily and couldn’t hear it. He tapped on the glass of the door. “Agnes Joe? Agnes Joe, your record player is going crazy.” There was no response and he knocked again, louder. The screeching sound was only getting worse. He looked around and slid open the door. “Agnes Joe?” His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw that the compartment was empty. There was no light on in the bathroom, but he tapped lightly on that door, receiving no answer. He eyed the duffel bag in the corner and was tempted to look inside again. He unzipped the bag and put his hand in. The newspaper was gone, but out came several items, including a watch, a pair of earrings, and what looked to be a very expensive pair of sunglasses. Maybe they were Kristobal’s. Here was proof positive. He stood there trying to decide what to do, when he heard footsteps heading his way. He put the items back and zipped the bag closed, shut the compartment door, and then slipped inside the bathroom. He prayed it wasn’t Agnes Joe, but his prayer apparently went unanswered, because the compartment door slid open and then was closed. The light came on and he could hear footsteps. He’d left the bathroom door open a crack, and he peered out through this sliver.

It was Agnes Joe, fully dressed in blue slacks and sweater; she held a piece of paper in her hand, and her expression was very serious. He just hoped she wouldn’t need to use the john, but then how was he to escape? Wait until she was asleep? The woman didn’t look ready for bed any time soon, and yet what choice did he have? He looked around and was about to back up slightly to sit on the toilet when the train started up again. The rocking motion was just enough to cause him to lose his balance. He knocked against the wall and his hand shot out to steady himself, closing around the shower control and accidentally turning it on. The water hit him with a chilly blast, causing him to scream out a few choice words that, if he’d been Catholic, would have required a trip to Father Kelly for confession and a load of Hail Marys as penance.

He managed to turn the water off in time to stare out at Agnes Joe, who’d opened the door and was studying him, as though he were a curious breed of animal at the zoo.

“Hi, honeypie,” said Tom with a sheepish grin.

“Would you care to come out here and tell me what you’re doing in my shower?”

He emerged, wiped himself down with a towel, and explained about the phonograph, his coming in, and getting rattled when he heard footsteps.

The story might have worked, if he’d zippered the duffel bag up all the way. But in the darkness he hadn’t quite managed it. Agnes Joe looked over at the bag and then back at him.

He decided on a full-frontal assault. He opened the bag and pulled out the items. “You care to explain what you’re doing with these things? I’m willing to listen.”

She reached in her pocket. What she pulled out and pointed at him made Tom take a step back, his expression one of total shock.

A few minutes later, an ashen-faced Tom rapped on Max’s door. It took a few moments for the director to answer, and another minute or two before he opened the door.

“I need your help,” said Tom. “We’ll need Kristobal too.”

Max glanced behind Tom and saw Agnes Joe.

“It’s important,” said Tom.

They collected Kristobal from Lelia’s suite, not without some resistance from the little lady who voiced her displeasure in a decidedly non–Cuppy the Magic Beaver tone. They also woke up Roxanne and brought along Father Kelly too. Converging in the lounge car, they sat at a table, where Tom faced them. He pulled out Kristobal’s designer sunglasses, Max’s Bruno Maglis, and Father Kelly’s cross and placed each in front of its respective owner.

One man looked totally bewildered at what was in front of him, so confused that he never noticed Agnes Joe leaning toward him.

Father Kelly gave out a yell as the handcuffs closed around his wrists. He tried to get up but was wedged in by Max and Kristobal.

Agnes Joe flipped out her credentials, the same action that had stunned Tom earlier in her compartment. “I’m Amtrak police. Undercover Division. And you’re our thief, John.”

Tom looked at her. “John?”

She nodded. “I got his fingerprints on a beer glass before we were stuck at the Raton Pass. At one of the station stops I sent in an ID request. At the station we just left I got a notice back. His real name is John Conroy, and he’s no priest.” She sat across from the man, who looked so crushed Tom’s heart went out to him, despite the man’s criminality.

Agnes Joe continued her explanation. “I used my phonograph trick to make people think I was in my compartment when I really wasn’t. I was afraid he’d spotted me lurking around and might decide to lay low for a while. When he performed the Mass while we were stuck at the pass, I assisted him. I was already suspicious of him for other reasons, and that’s why I lifted his prints. I did that for some others on board too. He’s obviously Catholic and could fake his way through the Mass, but he made enough mistakes to make me even more wary.”

“And all the stuff I found in your bag?” asked Tom.

“Roxanne had gotten those items for me from some of the passengers as evidence we might need later. I got you, Max, and Kristobal involved so we could take Conroy without anyone getting hurt or him suspicious. I swiped his cross out of his compartment. When I laid it down in front of him, I thought it would confuse him enough for me to get the handcuffs on with no scuffle. You’re not a spring chicken, Conroy, but it’s been my experience that you never know. Always better to take ’em by surprise.”

“I hate to admit this, but I looked through your duffel before and just found newspapers,” said Tom.

“I know, I could tell someone had searched it and thought it was probably you. The newspapers that Regina found in the trash were from Conroy’s duffel. He had stuffed it full of old papers to make it look like it was packed as far as it could go. But once he got on the train, he ditched the papers and had a relatively empty duffel bag to fill up with his loot.”

They all turned to the old man, who looked even smaller and clearly beaten as he sat handcuffed.

Agnes Joe said, “Care to make a clean breast of it, John? I know you have a criminal record. But you could fill in some details.”

He shook his head and said, “What will be, will be.”

They called big Barry to stand guard and they trooped to the imposter priest’s compartment, where a number of the stolen items were in his duffel. There was nothing of great value in any of it, but it was stolen goods nonetheless.

“I’ll call this in,” said Agnes Joe.

“What I don’t get is why he returned so many of the items. What crook does that?” asked Tom.

“Something is funny about that,” said Roxanne, “but at least we have our thief. Now let’s all get some sleep.”

Tom did just that until about six in the morning, when there was a tap on his door, and he woke and answered it.

Agnes Joe was standing there with two hot cups of coffee. “I thought I’d better bring this as a peace offering for waking you up so early.” She was dressed in blue slacks and a sweater, and she had a crisp and efficient air about her.

“You’d make a great actress,” said Tom. “I had no clue that you were anything other than, well, I mean...”

“An eccentric old woman with nowhere to go during the holidays? Yeah, it’s a good cover. People say things around a character like that they otherwise never would. I’ve busted drug dealers, swindlers, theft rings, and lots of other bad people with my bewildered look, my stupid dresses, and—”

“And your honeypies.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I suppose your cover is sort of blown now.”

“That’s okay, I wasn’t joking about retiring. It’s time to move on.”

“So was any of the rest of your back story true?”

“I worked for Ringling Brothers, not as a trapeze artist but as a horsewoman. I’ve been married twice, and I do have a grown daughter.” She paused and added, “And we are estranged.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Well, she read about the Chief being trapped, and she called last night, to make sure I was okay. First time I’d heard from her in a while. We’re going to see each other when I get into LA. She does work for the circus, and she’s on the West Coast. We’re going to take another shot at it.”

“I’m happy for you, a late Christmas present. So what did you want to see me about?”

“Well, I’ve got a bit of a dilemma, and I wanted your advice. I obtained more info on our fake priest. He was busted years ago for petty thefts—I mean, almost thirty-four years ago. He’s been straight since, real job and everything.”

“Why the return to crime after all that time?”

“His wife of over thirty-three years just died. I talked to Conroy, got him to open up some. With her gone, he didn’t know what to do. He was lonely, just wanted attention. They had two kids, but one died in an accident and another from cancer.”

“Boy, that’s tough. And it seems like his life of crime stopped when he married her.”

“Exactly. Now, I’ve dealt with lots of criminal types and I’ve heard all the sob stories and I’m not swayed by that stuff. But the other thing he told me, that’s why I have the dilemma.”

“What is it?”

“He returned the stolen items on Christmas Eve as presents. The only ones he didn’t return, the ones we found in his bags, were nothing much, and he left cash, more than enough to pay for them. I’ve confirmed that with the passengers they belonged to. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. All he talked about was his wife. And he really helped when the train was stuck.”

Tom let out a long breath. “I see your dilemma.”

“What would you do?”

He thought about it. “Well, I got a second chance on this trip, and maybe John Conroy deserves one too. Have you called the police yet?”

“Yes, but I gave them no particulars.”

“Is the train making any more stops?”

“It can, at Fullerton, a couple of hours before we get into LA.”

“Well, maybe the Chief should stop at Fullerton.”

“Maybe it should. I don’t think Conroy is going to jump into a life of crime. In fact, I know some people near Fullerton who can help him.” She rose. “Thanks, Tom. I think we made the right decision.”

He smiled at her. “So what’s your real name?”

Agnes Joe let her frame droop and her face bloat out, and her hair seemed to whiten right before Tom’s eyes. “Well, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be a secret, now would it, honeypie?” chapter thirty-three

At Fullerton the train stopped, and an elderly, tired-looking gentleman got off, no longer wearing priest’s clothes. Some friends of Agnes Joe were waiting for him, and they drove off, hopefully taking John Conroy to a better life than felony by rail could ever provide.

Tom went to the communal showers to get washed up before they arrived in LA. As he was going in, Steve the honeymooner was coming out. The young man still looked very weary, yet Tom could hardly feel sorry for him, knowing full well the source of his fatigue.

“I thought you had a shower in your room,” Tom said.

“My bride is hogging it,” said Steve.

“Better get used to it, buddy,” he jested, “and enjoy this part while you can.”

As Steve left, Tom went inside the dressing area and started to disrobe. That’s when he saw the wallet on the floor under the counter. He stooped to pick it up, thinking it must be Steve’s. As he snagged it, some of the contents fell out and he got down on his knees to retrieve them. He glanced at one of the cards he picked up, and the shock was as great as he’d ever had, perhaps even more than discovering Eleanor was on the train.