Murder on the Orient Espresso (10 page)

Life was good. I sighed.

‘Something wrong?' Pavlik asked.

I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. ‘Not a thing.'

I should have known it couldn't last.

‘E
xcuse me,' a voice said.

I opened my eyes to see Danny/Col. Arbuthnot's name badge sidle into sight. Tilting my head, I saw the tousled dark head.

‘Danny.' I sat up and self-consciously slid the spaghetti straps of my sundress back onto my shoulder like we'd just been caught making out in the back seat of a Chevy. ‘Have you met Sheriff Pavlik?'

‘Jake, please,' Pavlik corrected.

‘Jake,' I repeated. I wasn't used to all this first-name stuff. In fact, given Pavlik's position as Brookhills County Sheriff, I made a real effort to use his title when addressing him in front of others, especially his deputies.

‘Thank you, Jake.' Close up, the young man looked older than I'd thought earlier, maybe mid-twenties. ‘And please, call me Danny.'

‘Danny it is.' Pavlik turned to me. ‘And, obviously, you two have already met?'

‘I don't believe so.' Danny's matte brown eyes showed no recognition.

‘The coffeehouse owner?' I reminded him.

He squinted at me.

‘I told you I wasn't a writer?' I tried.

‘Oh, yes.' Danny turned back to Pavlik. ‘Well, it's a real honor to meet you, sir. I'm looking forward to your workshop tomorrow on “How to Kill Realistically with Guns, Knives and Bare Hands.”'

‘That's the name of your panel?' I asked Pavlik.

‘They edited it. My title was longer.'

Figured. So many weapons, so little time.

‘And it's a workshop, not a panel,' Danny corrected, this time. ‘“Hands-on,” the program says.'

‘I'll be calling up volunteers and demonstrating some techniques,' Pavlik said, looking pleased by the younger man's enthusiasm.

For my part, I was imagining myself – a convenient ‘volunteer' – being tossed around like a crash-test dummy. Maybe I'd sleep in tomorrow morning. Catch Pavlik's second panel. ‘What's the other one you're doing?'

‘“The Ins and Outs of Firearms,”' Danny supplied eagerly. ‘All about guns and ammunition. And entrance and exit wounds, of course.'

Even better. The hotel probably had a nice pool. I'd hide there.

‘You'd be surprised,' Pavlik said, ‘at the number of mistakes in books – or in television and even movies, too. And it's not complicated stuff. Simple terminology, or the difference between a semi-automatic and a revolver.'

Danny was nodding. ‘The protagonist of the last book I read – or tried to read, I should say – put a silencer on a revolver.'

Pavlik looked skyward. ‘See what I mean? That's as bad as a having a revolver that ejects brass.'

‘Everybody knows that it's semi-automatics not revolvers that eject casings.'

‘And, of course, that revolvers can't be silenced.'

The two men – and I bestow that mantle of maturity loosely – cackled at the stupidity of it all.

‘I understand you've written a book,' I said to Danny, trying to participate in the conversation. ‘What's it about?'

‘I'm afraid it's much too complicated to describe at a gathering like this,' he said, dismissing me again.

‘Well, then it's much “too complicated” to sell, as well.' Zoe Scarlett slid onto the bench Audra Edmonds had abandoned after her introduction. ‘If you can't describe your book, how do you expect publishers to categorize it and wholesalers and booksellers to display and sell it?'

‘Then I'll publish it myself,' Danny said. ‘Ebooks and on-demand publishing have changed the world for authors.'

‘You're absolutely right,' Zoe said. ‘But with something like a quarter of a million books being self-published a year, how is anyone going to find yours?'

‘Because I'm good.' Danny's face was sullen, like a five-year-old who's been told he can't have a cookie before dinner.

‘Yeah, you and two-hundred and forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine other authors who think the same thing.'

Disheartening words, I thought, from someone whose own conference was dedicated toward teaching people to write and, presumably, get published.

‘But there obviously are success stories,' I pointed out. ‘I've seen books on
the New York Times
bestsellers list that are obviously self-published. The authors' names and the publishers' names are the same.'

‘Sure, it can happen,' Zoe said. ‘But lightning has to strike. Even today, with all this opportunity, books become bestsellers the same way they always have. One person likes a book and tells somebody else. The only thing that has changed is the medium used to have the conversation.'

Pavlik grinned. ‘Zoe does a panel on changes in the publishing industry.'

‘And another thing,' she continued her rant. ‘Even if you self-publish, you need to come up with a pithy hook. One sentence that sells your book in the time it takes us to scroll on by. What's yours?' She stabbed a finger at Danny.

The boy's eyes widened. ‘Well, I—'

‘
That's
what you'll learn this weekend,' Zoe finished triumphantly. ‘Now, go do your homework.'

‘You've got a tough-love approach to promoting your conference,' I said, watching Danny slink, chastened, toward the passenger car.

‘Can't coddle these writers.' Her head was swiveling like a lighthouse beacon. ‘If you want something, you have to go out and get it.'

Which, of course, raised the question of what something – or
somebody
– she wanted.

I slid my hand off the table and onto Pavlik's thigh slowly, so Zoe would notice.

He glanced at me before asking, ‘Umm, are you looking for somebody, Zoe?

‘Larry,' she said. ‘I
told
him I was going to introduce our players.'

Which was most likely why the man had disappeared.

‘The last I saw of Potter was when he got up and stepped back to let you out,' Pavlik said, laying his hand on top of mine. ‘He didn't pass us to go forward to the club car, so he must have headed toward the back of the train.'

‘Well, we'd better find him before Missy's “program” starts. Thank God Markus can be counted on to drone on and on.'

The librarian was still at the intercom, presenting his talk.

‘Larry's probably in the bathroom,' I suggested. ‘Has Audra seen him?'

‘No,' Zoe said. ‘And he's been gone for half an hour.'

I shrugged. ‘Maybe he took his magazine in there with him. He's obviously quite the reader.'

‘Huh.' Zoe seemed to be thinking it over. ‘Perhaps I should go tap on the door.'

Pavlik watched her leave. ‘Was that a thinly-veiled knock on male bathroom habits?'

‘Hey,' I said, smiling, ‘if the stool fits.'

Pavlik laughed and raised my hand to kiss the palm. ‘You're one twisted woman, Maggy Thorsen.'

‘Not as “twisted” as I'd like to be,' I said, sliding even closer. ‘Bet even Rosemary doesn't have any wings in her boo—'

‘Have you seen Zoe?' Prudence was standing at our table now, fingers twisting in the ropes of princess pearls around her neck. ‘Missy is going batshit because she can't find Larry.'

And these people called themselves
mystery
writers? The train was four cars long, not counting the locomotives – first and last – so how tough could it be to find someone?

I had a thought. ‘Maybe Larry's standing in one of the vestibules between cars smoking. I saw him grab the matches when he got up from our table.'

‘Great,' Prudence said. ‘Markus is done with his soliloquy and we're all supposed to gather here in the dining car before trooping back to solve the crime. Wait a minute.' She squinted at Pavlik's nametag. ‘“Ratchett.” Aren't you supposed to be dead?'

‘Zoe didn't give me the—'

‘Well she
should
have,' Prudence said, looking more like the imperious Princess Dragomiroff. ‘How are we supposed to view the body in the sleeping car if you're out here, obviously still alive?'

‘Well, I don't know. I—'

Raucous laughter erupted from across the way. Grace/Greta was trying to climb up onto the table in a manner not befitting her role. In fact, the blouse and skirt somehow invoked more Naughty School Girl than Swedish Lady.

‘Damn it,' Prudence said. ‘We need to get some food into these people.'

‘There's cake,' I said, watching Grace gain her footing and release her hair from its bun, shaking out the wild curls like Raquel Welch in
One Million Years B.C
.

‘To be served when the crime is solved, from what I understand,' Pavlik said. ‘Though maybe if you ask Missy—'

‘Any sign of Laurence?' It was Missy herself, magically appearing but looking concerned.

‘No, but Zoe went to check the bathroom,' I said.

‘I've already done that.' Tears were welling up in Missy's eyes again. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. ‘Twice.'

‘OK, let's look at this logically,' Pavlik said. ‘He has to be in one of these cars. You're just missing him because people are milling around.'

A whoop came from the unincorporated mob as Grace slid butt-first off the table.

‘We're coming to a stop already,' Missy said as Prudence shook her head in disgust. ‘Now the rear locomotive will pull us back the same direction we came from.'

Since there were no lights outside to judge our speed by, I had to take her word for it.

‘So, are there two engineers, or does the guy in front have to come through the train to get to the other locomotive?'

‘Oh, dear,' Missy said, putting her hand to her face. ‘There
is
no interior connection. Our engineer is a lovely older man – retired, in fact, and a bit eccentric. He'll have to go out in this rain and wind. We didn't think of that.'

‘Would you like me to go out and check on him?' Pavlik asked.

‘That's so kind of you.' Missy was trying to peer out the window. ‘I'd be afraid, though, that you'd miss him somehow and accidentally be left behind. The Everglades is a dangerous enough place in the daytime. At night, and in this weather?' She shivered.

I was right there with her. Meaning inside the train was safe and sound, which is where I wanted Pavlik to stay.

But I knew the sheriff wouldn't be deterred by concern for his own safety, especially when somebody else might be in danger. It wasn't in his DNA. I wasn't sure I had that kind of grit myself – to run toward disaster, rather than away – but I was very grateful there were people like Pavlik who did.

So, I tried another tack. ‘You're right, Missy. We certainly can't chance losing your main forensics speaker. There would be no one to teach the panels – or workshops – tomorrow.'

Pavlik looked at me.

‘Imagine the disappointment if you didn't show up,' I said to him. ‘You know, to teach killing and guns and bullets and such.'

‘Oooh, that reminds me.' Missy turned away from the window to address Pavlik. ‘Did you bring your own weapons or do you need mine?'

‘You have … weapons?' I asked.

‘Of course,' the two of them chorused.

‘I meant Missy.' When it came to Pavlik, personal experience had taught me that asking Mae West's come-hither question, ‘Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?' wouldn't get me the answer I'd hoped for.

‘Oh, yes,' the young woman said. ‘But only props for the workshop. Rubber knives and the like.'

That was a relief, at least. Maybe I would attend, after all.

‘… shipped everything I needed, along with my handouts,' Pavlik was saying.

That explained what was in the UPS box that had been waiting for us in the hotel room.

‘My Glock Forty semi-automatic,' he continued, ‘and a Colt Detective Special, a revolver designed for a six-chamber cylinder. I also have a variety of cartridges – standard, hollow-point, Hydra-shok, the Glaser Safety Slug—'

Suddenly the Flagler Suite wasn't looking quite so romantic.

‘You
will
talk about caliber versus millimeter, won't you?' This from Prudence, whom I'd forgotten about. ‘That always confuses people and we really need to know those things in order to write intelligently.'

‘I'll have thirty-eight, forty and forty-five caliber cartridges as well as nine millimeter, to illustrate,' Pavlik assured Prudence, then turned to me. ‘What we're talking about, Maggy, is the diameter of the ammunition. A forty-five caliber bullet or cartridge – the same thing, for our purposes – is forty-five one hundreds of an inch in diameter, or nearly half an inch across. A nine millimeter is, as you might guess, nine millimeters across.'

‘And nearly equal to the size of a thirty-eight caliber,' Missy contributed brightly. ‘If you do the conversion from metric, I mean.'

‘A nine is a bit smaller than a thirty-eight,' Pavlik said with an approving nod. ‘But very close.'

Obviously gratified, Missy asked, ‘And did you bring – or ship – a variety of knives as well?'

‘I have a rubber knife with a five-inch blade to use in the hands-on demonstration, of course. For show-and-tell, I shipped a switch blade, and gravity, pocket and buck knives.'

What, I thought, no death by butter knife?

‘Oh, and my assassin's dagger, of course.'

So I
would
hang out at the pool tomorrow. Or maybe go to the beach. There was an original thought, given I was in South Florida. From rainforest tonight to sand castles tomorrow. And I'd thought Wisconsin was diverse.

‘Gravity,' Prudence said. ‘Is that the one with the button on the handle?'