February Fever (16 page)

Thirty-Five

My eyes identified it
first, but my nose was a close second as the rich smell of sticky green ganja curled up my nostrils and asked me to play. I pulled out the bag. It was gallon-sized zippered plastic, full of orange-dusted bud. The funny thing was, I recognized the bag. Identifying the generic ziplock was not as hard as you'd think, given that there was a note scribbled on the side in my handwriting:
Jed: choc. chip cookies. Enjoy.

I'd given my friend the fresh-baked treats as a thanks for shoveling the library sidewalk for me, unasked, after our last snowstorm. And he'd apparently eaten the cookies, rinsed out the bag, and stuffed it with green. For the love of Betsy. I needed to buy him a fresh box of storage bags. More importantly, I needed to decide what this meant. Was Terry really a cop, and if so, why was he pretending to be a PI? And why had he taken Jed's weed? Was he here for something unrelated, possibly a drug sting, and had simply stumbled onto the murder and missing persons case?

I scrounged through the rest of the bag, looking for clues. The duffel contained two pairs of blue jeans, size 33, folded neatly; four shirts ironed and sealed in vacuum travel bags; four pairs of clean (I hoped) underwear and the equivalent pair-balls of socks; deodorant, a toothbrush with a travel-sized mint toothpaste, a comb; and a carton of Hentridge cigarettes. Those might come in handy if the train went prison riot on us.

I stuffed the loot back in exactly as I'd found it, minus the weed. Let Terry wonder where it had gone. I rezipped the main bag and searched the one outer pocket. I discovered a cinnamon gum wrapper and a ticket stub to see a newly released comedy at a Chicago theater. Nothing else.

Not helpful. I was considering the options when a pounding on the door made me clench my butt cheeks hard enough to clap. “Occupied!”

“Yeah, I know,” said a female voice. “So are the other two. You gonna be long?”

“Who else is out there?”

Pause. “Just me.”

I tossed the duffel strap over my shoulder, grabbed the red suitcase, whispered a prayer that the woman on the other side of the door wasn't the owner, and dashed into the open. “Just cleaning up,” I said, tossing her a smile. She looked more bored than startled.

I shoved the red suitcase and then the duffel back where I'd found them and made my way up the stairs, a huge bag of weed tucked in my shirt and my thoughts racing. Who was Terry Downs? And how good were Jed's pot smoker instincts that he'd immediately gotten a bad vibe from the guy? I smoothed my hair and tried to do the same for my face as I cleared the landing on the second level of Car 5. If anyone was watching, I needed to look like a calm woman who'd just gone down to do her morning toiletries. If someone was paying real close attention, they'd notice I appeared no cleaner coming up than I had going down, but it was a free train, right?

Doghn's cabin was next on my list. Odds were good that he was still in it. If that was the case, and I accidentally woke him up, I'd just say I was wondering what time the interviews were starting today.

The redheaded kids were in the viewing car, gnawing on day-old bread like feral bear cubs, their mother ignoring them to mess with her phone. Watching them eat, I was blindsided by a memory of Noel. We were huge fans of the
Little House on the Prairie
TV show that summer. We'd fight over who got to be Mary, who, while not the star, was the prettiest. Noel always won because, she'd argue, my hair was darker and I had freckles. TV-Mary was a cream-faced blonde. Plus, Noel had said, we were best friends forever and always, and best friends didn't fight. I was cool with that.

Pillow-case bonnets over our heads, we'd wrap rolls in a handkerchief, tie it around a stick, and pretend we were walking cross-country. We'd only traverse Koronis Park, but if you did it right, that could take all day. On this particular day, our mission was to reach the slides without Chuckie, aka Nellie Oleson, spotting us. He seemed to have a sixth sense for the days we didn't want to see him, and so as soon as he saw us crossing the park wearing our moms' aprons and our pillowcase bonnets, he charged at us from his house, stealing our hobo bread and telling us we were as stupid as poop.

“You know what's really stupid (
thtoopid
)?” Noel asked.

“What?” smirking Chuckie Greaves asked, chewing on our precious bread, our carrying stick broken at his feet.

“You. We put girl juice in that bread. You're really going to turn into Nellie Oleson!”

We high-fived each other, feeling too empowered even to laugh as Chuckie ran home crying.

Girl juice
. I could use some now.

I pulled myself out of the memory and back into the moment. Reed was no longer serving coffee. He'd been replaced by a porter I didn't recognize who'd also had the good grace to bring sweet rolls and butter with. I nabbed one for Mrs. Berns and another for myself and made my way back.

Jed and Eliza were still asleep, and Terry Downs was nowhere to be seen. Mrs. Berns also was gone from our room. Since I had stuck to the top floor of the train, she could easily have been on any lower level. I left her roll with a brief note saying I'd meet her for lunch at noon if I didn't see her before then, and I stashed the monster bag of weed under my mattress. Forget the princess and the pea; this was the PI and the pot.

I munched on my pastry as I headed toward the rear of the train. It was a little dry, a little greasy, but it filled the hole in my belly just fine. Ms. Wrenshall's door was closed, but light was leaking out past the curtains and through the crack at the bottom. On a whim, I knocked.

“Come in.”

I slid open the door. Her room looked like a Tasmanian devil had napped in it. Dirty clothes were hanging off the second bunk and strewn across the floor, toiletries were stacked everywhere, and the garbage was overflowing with tissues. Ms. Wrenshall was seated in front of the window, the chair opposite her stacked with newspapers. “Wow,” I said.

“The porters don't clean.” She ran her hand over her uncombed hair, revealing a face where all the make-up appeared to have been applied one inch below the feature it was supposed to enhance. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Yeah. Um, they're serving rolls and coffee, if you're interested. Not sure how long they'll last.”

“Thank you.”

She returned to looking at the window. The sun was now rising so more of the landscape was visible, but not much. It was a winter moonscape out there, as unsettling as a face without features, and the storm was beginning to pick up again. There was something so sad about her in that moment.

“You okay?”

She gave me the first genuine smile I'd seen from her, though it was a shade of one. “I don't like being still. Things catch up to you when you stop moving.”

Oddly, I knew what she meant. “Hold on.” I stepped back into my
room, grabbed the roll I'd gotten for Mrs. Berns, ripped off the
chewed end of mine, and made what was left as presentable as I could. I returned to Ms. Wrenshall and offered both.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Yeah. Do you want to have lunch with Mrs. Berns and me?”

“Maybe.” But she was digging into the rolls. I made a mental note to check on her, or have someone else check on her, regularly. This woman was not doing well. I wondered what her story was.

I yanked her door shut behind me and hoofed it to Doghn's room. Car 12 was quiet, but Cars 13 and 14 had a festive air, with all the doors open and people talking in the hallway. They had their coffee machine going and cookies out. They must have figured out where the grounds and hospitality food for the sleeper cars were stored. Good on them. They seemed more than willing to share, but I demurred, continuing to Car 15.

Doghn had been set up in the conductor's cabin, which, from the layout of the car, was the same size as the room Mrs. Berns and I had been assigned. Unlike the previous two cars, all the doors in this one were closed. I could hear the merriment from Car 14 leaking through the double doors of the foyer. It seemed far off, like listening to a party your parents are having while you're in your room upstairs, grounded.

I knocked on Doghn's door. No answer. It wasn't yet 7:30 AM. He could be asleep. In fact, odds were good that he was because I'd walked the train from Car 4 backward and hadn't come across him or Terry. Wait a minute! Did that mean they were up in the conductor's office, investigating without me? I didn't think they were going about the investigation the right way, but I definitely wanted any updates they could offer. I needed to hurry.

I slid Doghn's door open. His room was dark, the shades pulled shut. I slipped in and closed the door behind me, letting my eyes adjust. My heart was thumping because I still wasn't sure if he was in the room or not. Could I pull a Ginger from
Gilligan's Island
if he turned out to be in bed?
I came to seduce you, my porky little friend.

I steadied my breathing. I didn't want to be too realistic if I had to call on my back-up plan. I didn't think I heard anyone in the room besides me, but I stood still as a stone for another thirty seconds to be sure. When I was certain I was the only pulse there, I flicked on the light.

There was a body in the bed.

A big, unbreathing body.

Thirty-Six

“Holy hair on fire!”

I scrabbled for the door, but I was shaking too badly. I couldn't get a grip on the handle. The walls felt slick with oil, everything colluding to keep me trapped in the room with the huge … wait a minute. Doghn wasn't that big. He also didn't have three heads.

I stepped toward the bed, my legs rubbery, and whipped the blanket back, trying to touch it as briefly and as far from my body as possible. There was no waxy, staring corpse underneath. It was only three baby dolls at the top, a pile of clothes in the middle, and a stash of salt and pepper shakers where the feet would be.

What the nutcracker?

I leaned in for a better look. The dolls were cherubic and plastic, about the size of a newborn, two wearing dresses and the third in a sailor outfit. The girls appeared relatively new, but the boy doll appeared to be well-loved.

The clothes below the dolls were folded, and far too numerous and diverse to belong to one person. The pile contained, at a glance: pantyhose, women's underwear, dresses, jeans in five different sizes,
t-shirts, and kids' pajamas. Below the clothes were at least two dozen salt and pepper shakers, most the stubby kind found in the sleeper cars but a couple the long, elegant glass shakers the dining car stocked. Below the shakers was a pile of wickedly sharp steak knives, their silver blades glinting in the dim light.

Doghn was a magpie. A thieving, glossy bird, stealing weird bits from here and there.

The realization made a weird thudding in my stomach. Was he also a murderer? That was quite a leap, but weirdness is often a gateway attribute. He hadn't boarded until Glendive—or had he? I scrambled back in time to remember what Jed had said when he first encountered Doghn back in eastern Montana. What was it? Had Jed thought he'd seen Doghn in Fargo?

Unlikely. With his moustache, height, and C-level fame, he would have a hard time blending in. Still, I made a note to ask Jed as soon as I saw him, which would also be when I'd return his hefty and crazy-illegal bag of weed to him.

“Spying on the spy?”

I swiveled like a surprised cat—straight up, 180-degree turn, straight down.

Doghn stood in the doorway, his cheeks flushed, beady eyes sparking fire.

Thirty-Seven

“There you are!” When
in doubt, state the obvious. It confuses people. “I've been looking everywhere for you. Didn't you hear?”

His eyes narrowed, but some of the flush left his cheeks. “Hear what?”

“You didn't hear a thing?” I was fishing for a hint of what direction to steer this lie. Help a lady out already. Snaking one hand behind me, I surreptitiously pulled the blanket back over the pile of booty.

Doghn scowled but seemed reluctant to step into his own space. I filed that away. “You mean about the train not moving until tomorrow?” he said.

Dang. That was a bad news sundae topped with hot crap sauce. It also would not account for me being in his room. “No. Why can't we move until then?”

“Storm has started up again. It won't pass until tonight, and it'll take the snowcutter another day to reach us.”

“Oh. Well, that makes my news even more urgent. I heard that the conductor wants to see us in his office. That's why I came look
ing for
you.” This was a risky lie, as it was very possible Doghn had just been meeting with the conductor. It was the only excuse that made sense for me to be in his room, however.

Doghn twirled the end of his moustache and raised an eyebrow. “So you came into my bedroom to tell me?”

I didn't like the glint in his eye. “You didn't answer when I knocked. I was worried.”

“Well. We should certainly go visit the conductor if he wishes to see us. After you?”

Doghn stepped to the side, a conniving tilt in his features. He knew I'd seen what was under the blanket. We now had an unspoken agreement that we wouldn't talk about it, and that I owed him one for invading his privacy. I hated owing people. I'd need to even the score.

I slapped the light switch, stepped into the hall, slid the door closed behind me, and started walking toward the front of the train, hyperconscious that Doghn was staring at my back this very moment, angry, and that if I couldn't figure out a way to reach the conductor alone before Doghn and I did together, I'd have some more 'splainin' to do.

I tried scooting through the cars, but Doghn stuck to me like white on rice through Cars 14 and 13. I was slapping the exit panel on the Car 13 door when I smelled it: the sweet, sweet aroma of marijuana burning. Car 12 was still quiet, but my own Car 11 was smoking like Cheech and Chong.

My stomach dropped. Mrs. Berns must have located the stash under my mattress.

Indeed, when I slid open the door to our room, I found her and Jed sitting on the recliners and staring out the window as if the newly energized snowstorm was the best TV show they'd ever watched.

“Ahem.”

They both turned at my cough. Jed's face lit up. Mrs. Berns
scowled when she caught sight of Doghn over my shoulder.

I waved away some smoke and pointed at the recliners. “I see you two made my bed.”

Jed nodded happily. “Just Mrs. Berns made it, but she found something I'd been missing. Thanks, Mira!”

“We'll talk about it later. In the meanwhile,” I said, making my eyes big to indicate that they needed to follow my lead, “Doghn and I are going to find the conductor because he told you he's looking for us, right?”

“Dude, I just got up. You have something in your eye?”

I desperately turned my attention to Mrs. Berns. “Jed seems to have smoked too much and doesn't remember telling me the conductor needed us, which is why I was back in Doghn's car looking for him.”

“That sounds like Jed.” She pointed two fingers toward my face. “You sure you don't have something in your eye? You keep making them big and then small.”

I sighed loudly. “There's cookies in Car Fourteen. Catch you two later.”

Doghn and I barely hopped out of the way as the pair bumbled past us and raced toward the rear of the train. I made a quick scan of the room to make sure there was nothing illegal left in sight and closed the door behind me.

“Pot smokers,” I said to Doghn. “Can't remember much.”

He still appeared suspicious, but I cared less. I had my cover. If the conductor seemed confused when I told him we'd heard he needed us, I could blame it on the weed my friends had ingested.

“You guys find anything else out during the interviews last night?” I knew they hadn't. Jed would certainly have woken me otherwise.

“Nothing.” Doghn stopped to arrange his bow tie before we stepped into the coach cars.

“Hey,” I said, a thought occurring to me. “Where were you just now when I came looking for you?”

Doghn pushed past me, adjusting the pens in his suit pocket, presumably so he was ready to sign autographs if called on. “Searching the train for clues.”

I jogged to keep up with him. Alas, most of the car was too busy passing the time to pay either of us much attention. “What'd you find?”

“Nothing.”

I persisted. “Don't suppose you know where Terry is?”

“Don't suppose I do.”

A hand lunged out from one of the chairs, stopping Doghn. He turned, his expression happy, and then it fell.

I followed the muscled arm to the face that belonged to it. The guy was four hundred pounds if he was an ounce, and as hairy as a hermit. His t-shirt said
You Can't Fix Stupid.

“You know who's in charge?” the man asked. His voice was gruff.

Doghn peeled the guy's fingers off his arm. “The conductor. We're on our way to see him.”

“When you do, let him know we'd like some news back here, 'kay? We're not prisoners. We deserve to know what's going on.”

“Certainly.” Doghn started to walk away.

“Wait!” I said. I glanced around the train. On closer inspection, what I had thought was fatigue was something else entirely. Pinched eyes, drawn mouths, some faces fearful, some angry. These were unhappy people. “Doghn, didn't you say the train is moving tomorrow?”

That got most everyone's attention. Whispers ran like wind through the train. Doghn became fidgety. “Yes, after the storm passes.”

I turned one hand palm up. “And …”

“And the storm is supposed to pass later tonight.”

The hairy hermit pointed out the window. “It looks here to stay to me.”

It sure enough did. Now that the sun was up, the snow was swirling as thick as a milkshake out there.

“I talked to my wife just now,” a man toward the front of the car said, his voice raised, “and she said the storm is supposed to pass by tonight, too.”

“Then they gotta cut us out,” the hairy hermit hollered back.

“I know that, dumbass,” the man in front said, his face screwing in anger. “I was just saying when the storm was going to pass.”

The big guy started to stand. I put a hand on his shoulder. I'd spent enough time in bars to know this was not going to end well without major distraction. “So we know the storm stops this afternoon,” I said, pitching my voice so everyone on the car could hear it, “and that the snowcutters are on their way. We should be moving by tomorrow morning at the latest. In the meanwhile, you all have scheduled times to eat, right?”

At first, no one wanted to agree with me. Then, with grumbles, people began to hold up their reservation cards. “Perfect,” I said. “Eat a lot because there's plenty. And we'll ask the conductor to make hourly announcements. Okay?”

I got a few nods, but more importantly, people's faces didn't seem so tight. “I'll let you know what I find,” I said to the big man directly. “Promise.”

He shrugged. “Not a lot I can do if you don't.” He settled back into his seat and closed his eyes. Doghn began to beat cheeks toward the front of the car and didn't say another word until we were in the foyer separating the cars.

“That's why I didn't want to say anything about the storm,” he told me, his voice pissy.

“They needed hope. They deserve it.”

“And what if the storm doesn't stop as scheduled? What if the snowcutter can't get through until Monday?”

I leaned past him and pushed the panel that would open the door. “Then they deserve to know that, too.”

“You're going to have a mutiny.”

I didn't have an answer for him. The more coach seats I walked past, though, the more I wondered if he was right. There was a distinct odor of unrest and alarm in the air. It wasn't until we reached Car 5 that the dark mood shifted. It probably had something to do with the bartender serving bloody marys.

Except, he wasn't in uniform.

He was Jack, the oyster to Mrs. Berns's slot machine who had tried to pick her up back in Detroit Lakes. He'd gotten into the liquor stores in the viewing car, and he was opening up for business bright and early.

Curse words.

Doghn was right. We didn't only have a killer to contend with; we also had a few hundred stir crazy passengers. Forget Valentine Train. This was turning into
Murder on the Orient Express
meets
Lord of the Flies
.