Destination Murder (10 page)

The Whistler Northwind’s staff was lined up next to the train when we arrived. Callie, the most overtly bubbly of the staff, forced a smile as we filed by and began boarding. It must have been especially difficult for her since she’d mixed and served the drinks that Blevin had imbibed, possibly providing the poison that had been the cause of his demise.

My attention turned to Jenna. She was a very pretty young lady, petite and perky, with light blue oval eyes, her brunette hair in a stylish bob; she usually wore a mischievous smile on her lips. Junior’s claim to have seen her being “lovey-dovey” with Benjamin that morning was difficult to believe. Jenna’s and Benjamin’s personalities were polar opposites, she lively and vivacious, he the quintessential brooding, angry young man. Then again, I’d learned long ago not to judge what attracts one person to another.

I also reminded myself that Junior Pinckney might not be the most credible of witnesses when it came to evaluating people and their relationships. My conversations with him, as brief as they were, revealed what I considered to be a hardheaded man, opinionated and without much tolerance for disagreement. Not that he was unpleasant. He was just not someone I would seek out to sit next to on a long flight.

People gravitated to the seats in the coach car they’d occupied the previous day, except for Benjamin, who disappeared. I didn’t see where he went. Junior immediately stationed himself in the vestibule, and Maeve took the window seat next to me and pulled out her needlepoint. Detective Marshall sat alone at the rear of the car.
What is he going to do for the rest of the trip?
I wondered. My question was answered shortly after we pulled out of Whistler station. The big detective left his seat and engaged the club’s newcomers, Martin and Gail Goldfinch, in conversation.

I drew out a map provided by BC Rail and identified our route and the scenic treasures we’d pass on the way to the town called 100 Mile House. It was deep in the heart of British Columbia’s Cariboo territory, where a gold rush in the mid and late 1850s had opened up the rugged region to development. I looked up at the sound of Jenna’s voice over the public-address system.

“I’ll be pointing out many sights along the way,” she said, “including the mighty Fraser River, the longest river in British Columbia. We’ll be passing high above it; the sight is truly spectacular. The river is the site of a large salmon run each year where the salmon fight the currents and rapids to spawn upstream. We usually read a little poem about salmon.”

“A poem?” someone grumbled.

Jenna picked up her black book from the seat in front of her and turned to a page she’d marked. I noticed that her pretty face was not as brightly lit with a smile as it had been previously. Was Blevin’s death distressing her? Was there truth to what Junior had said, that she had a personal relationship with Benjamin Vail?

She began reading, her tone of voice serious:

 

People laughed at the punch line. Jenna’s mouth fought against a smile, finally letting a grin break through. “If anyone has any poems or jokes of their own,” she said, “I’m sure everyone would love to hear them.” There were no takers. “Perhaps later,” she said. “I’m giving you time to think up your best stories. You won’t get off the hook so easily next time.” She replaced the book on the seat and disappeared into the vestibule.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she,” Maeve said. “Nice to be that young and have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Yes,” I said, “but there are advantages to getting older, too.”

“You’re right. Ah always say ah’m getting better, aging like a fine wine.” She winked at me and went back to her needlework.

I picked up my map but again was distracted when Bruce came from the dining car and summoned Detective Marshall to accompany him. When they’d disappeared into the vestibule leading to the dining car, Reggie poked his head into the coach and motioned with his finger for me to join him.

“I think you were right,” he said, pulling me to the side.

“About what?”

We stood at the door opposite the one where Junior Pinckney was leaning out, taking pictures. It was noisy out there with the rumble of the train on the tracks, the squeal of the wheels on every curve, and the wind whipping through the open window, hitting us in the face. Reggie brought his mouth within inches of my ear.

“About Blevin being poisoned.”

I turned my back to Junior and looked out the open upper half of the doorway Reggie and I shared.

“How do you know?” I asked, glancing to be sure that Junior wasn’t trying to listen in on our conversation.

Reggie, too, checked our immediate area before saying into my ear, “I overheard Bruce talking with somebody on his cell phone. He said he’d get the detective right away.”

“And?”

“It had to be bad news, Jess.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Bruce sounded like it was urgent.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Enjoying the view?” Winston Rendell asked. He’d stepped in behind us and stood with a pipe in his mouth. “Bloody silly rules they have about smoking,” he said, extending the unlighted pipe. “No smoking anywhere on the train.”

“We’ll be at 100 Mile House soon enough,” I said, wondering if he’d been eavesdropping, “and you’ll be able to enjoy that pipe.” We chatted a few minutes before I excused myself.

I returned to the coach and stood in the aisle stretching my legs and watching the landscape passing by outside the large windows. A few rows back, Deedee Crocker was standing as well. She was flipping through a book on the wildflowers of British Columbia, although on this section of the journey, the only plants I could see were acres and acres of sagebrush. I was restless and kept turning over in my mind conversations I’d overheard or had with my fellow passengers. Was there a clue I’d missed, a comment that had deeper meaning than I’d recognized at the time? I had questions for Reggie, but they would wait until we could speak in private. There were too many people eager to listen in on any talk concerning Theodora and Alvin Blevin.

A few minutes later, Reggie also left the vestibule and came into the coach car. This time I indicated to him that I wished to talk. The club car was no longer off-limits; the police had had the rest of yesterday afternoon and all night to collect potential evidence. Reggie and I went there and paused just inside. We were alone, but the vision and sounds of yesterday’s party, and Blevin’s gruesome death, were very much with us. We took chairs along one wall.

“Reggie, tell me how Elliott Vail disappeared,” I said.

“What makes you ask about that?”

“Just curious, I guess. I was going to ask Benjamin about it yesterday, but I don’t think he would have told me anyway.”

“Well, you can understand that, Jess.” He glanced out the window. “We’ll be coming soon to the spot where he disappeared.”

“Oh, my. Do you mean he disappeared on one of these train trips?”

“Yes. Three years ago, on this very route.”

“You never mentioned that, Reggie. How could you keep something so dramatic a secret?”

“Because I wanted this to be a pleasant ride for you. It was an opportunity for you to revisit Vancouver, and I didn’t want to spoil it for you with rumors and nasty stories from the club’s history.”

“No wonder the Crockers and the Pinckneys were surprised to see Theodora on this trip. I’m amazed, too. It must have been painful for her to revisit this scene. Why would Blevin subject her to it?”

“Who knows what really goes on in a marriage?”

“What happened to Elliott Vail?”

“I don’t really know a great deal. The story is bizarre. Elliott was on the Whistler Northwind three years ago. Theodora was with him. And the guy disappeared.”

“Were you on that trip?”

“No. It’s the only trip I’ve missed in recent years, which is why I wanted to come on this one. But I heard all about it from a dozen people who were with Elliott and Theodora.”

I thought for a moment before asking, “How do you disappear from a train like this? Where do you go?” I gazed out the window. The train was traveling along a ridge overlooking a canyon. We’d passed dry rolling hills that had reminded me of Texas and Wyoming. Now the hills were cleft by the Fraser River, a narrow stream of brown water far below. What vegetation there was was low and scorched by the sun. We hadn’t seen any signs of habitation for miles.

“When we get to the overpass that crosses Fraser River, you’ll understand a little better, Jess. It’s a spectacular view, way up high over the river and canyon. Some people can’t even bring themselves to look down. You know, fear of heights.”

“Are you saying that Elliott Vail fell into that river?”

“No, jumped, Jess. At least that’s the speculation.”

“Speculation?” I couldn’t restrain my incredulity.

“Yeah, as far as I know. I mean, I was never privy to all the details. I heard there was a suicide note and—”

“Vail left a suicide note?”

“So I understand.”

“What did it say?”

“Never saw it, of course. But the story is that he’d been despondent for a long time. Theodora told people she was concerned about his mental state and thought another trip on this train would pick up his spirits. Others on that trip claimed he was acting strangely, agitated and nervous. At any rate, he was last seen alive on the train just before it crossed the Fraser. After that, Theodora said she couldn’t find him. She never did. The consensus was that he jumped into the river from the overpass. Of course, if you ask Maeve Pinckney, she’ll say Theodora pushed him off.”

I sat back and digested what he’d said. “How could it be possible that his body was never discovered?”

“It’s pretty wild country, Jess,” Reggie explained.

“Still.”

“I know, I know. You’d think they’d at least find his remains after a while. But they didn’t. There are a lot of wild animals in these hills, cougars and bears. Maybe that’s why.”

Here was another mystery to match the death of Alvin Blevin. Theodora Vail Blevin had not been very fortunate in her choice of husbands. Or had she? “Was there insurance money involved?”

Reggie shrugged. “There must have been. Some people said Theodora collected a bundle, but you can’t prove it by me. I always wondered why an insurance company would pay off for a suicide, but—”

“They generally will after two years have passed,” I said. “What—” I started to ask another question, but Hank and Deedee Crocker entered the car and took chairs next to us. Deedee was holding her book on Canadian wildflowers.

“Hello, folks. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Hank’s usual gloom was nowhere in sight.

“Have you heard anything new about how Al died?” Deedee asked.

I shook my head.

“Well,” said Hank, “I thought that poem Jenna read about the salmon making love was great. If they ask for jokes from us again, I’ve got a few.”

“That’s . . . wonderful,” I said, glancing at Reggie.

“Ah, here comes Callie. I could use a drink,” Hank said. “I’ll have one of your signature Bloody Marys, Callie. I hope they haven’t closed the bar for the rest of the trip just because Blevin died.”

I saw Callie shiver. “No, sir,” she said, her smile tight. “But it’s a bit early. I’ll be opening the bar after lunch.”

“I think I’ll take a little walk,” Reggie said, standing.

“I’ll join you.” As I rose to follow Reggie, I saw movement in the back of the club car. We had thought we were alone but never checked the portion of the car that extended beyond the bar. Someone had been standing there, just behind the wall of glasses and bottles, listening to our conversation. He was still there. I could see the edge of his green and white sleeve. It was Benjamin.

In the Summit Coach, Bruce was conferring with the kitchen worker, Karl, who’d delivered the extra bottles of vodka during yesterday’s fateful party. The cook left, and Bruce asked me how I was doing.

“Good,” I said. “You?”

“As well as can be expected. We’ll be having lunch soon. Just got the menu from the horse’s mouth, halibut or terrific chicken potpie, the Northwind’s own special comfort food.”

“Sounds wonderful,” I said.

Detective Marshall, who’d been seated next to Gail Goldfinch as I passed on my way from the club car, got up and came to where I stood with Bruce and Reggie.

“Can you spare me a moment, Mrs. Fletcher?”

“Of course.”

He turned and headed up the aisle toward the club car from which I’d just come, passing Benjamin coming the other way. Reggie and I looked at each other, and I knew what my friend from Cabot Cove was thinking. I was about to be told the results of the autopsy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I followed Detective Marshall down the length of the Summit Coach, trying not to feel too self-conscious as more than a dozen pairs of eyes watched our progress and mouths whispered comments along the way. We walked through the front lounge of the club car, past Deedee and Hank, who were playing Scrabble, past the bar, where Callie was setting up for the afternoon, and stepped into the quiet salon at the back of the train, where Benjamin had been hiding not five minutes ago. To the left of where we entered, a built-in entertainment unit held cupboards below, bookshelves above, and a large-screen television perched on the counter between. The unit was dark wood, and its back formed the rear wall of the bar we’d just passed. As in the front lounge, chairs in this one were lined up along the windows but faced into the room. At the far end, two tables flanked the glass-paneled door that looked out on the tracks and the receding landscape.