Twenty-Six

Chief Harris left my cabin door open when he departed. I heard him knock on Ms. Wrenshall’s door, give her a courtesy update that was much briefer than mine, and leave Sleeper Car 11. He reappeared on the platform and approached the two officers I’d previously spotted talking. Their posture immediately straightened when he approached. He was a man who commanded respect, despite his initial “aw shucks” small-town demeanor, or maybe because of that, and maybe because he got the job done.

He was off on this one, though. I felt it in my bones, and I guessed he did, too. Something stinky had happened to Sofia Ramos. There was no reason for Aimee and her dad to disappear otherwise. And it was unlikely that the convict’s murder was connected other than coincidence. Most killers had their MO, and violent men who murdered using guns didn’t turn around and kill quietly, not leaving a mark. If Sofia had been murdered, I was confident that Lester Pimmel hadn’t done it.

“Knock knock.”

I jumped, my head swiveling to the open door. Chad, my “dance” partner last night, stood in the doorway.

“Yes?” I didn’t mean for my voice to be so sharp. Shame does that to me, and I’d just discovered that I would never again be able to look at the kid without remembering the squish-crack his privates made when I face-planted them.

“Have you heard? The train’ll be moving again within the hour.”

“Yup.” I didn’t want to encourage this friendship. He seemed like a perfectly nice kid, but I had too much on my plate already.

“Hey, I was going to ask you …”

He didn’t say anything more, just stood there with his face open. Man, does that make me crabby, when a person asks a question that isn’t really a question. Grow a pair. I stared him down.

“Well,” he said finally, glancing at his feet, “I was wondering if I could join you for supper.”

Mrs. Berns appeared behind Chad and pushed underneath his arm to enter our room. “Least you could do is say yes, Mira, after you molested him last night. Usually, it’s kosher to buy dinner before you explore a man’s crotch, but whatever floats your boat. Oh, and Doghn will be eating with us, too. He told Reed, and Reed told me. We’re on for six thirty tonight.”

This dinner was going from bad to worse. Eating with Doghn? Then I had a realization. “We can’t. Where will Jed sit?”

Mrs. Berns began rustling through her gigantic purse. “On his ass. He said the dining car is too expensive, but I think he’s got the hots for that cutie he met in Car Eight. He stocked up on sandwiches for the both of them and told me they’re going to have a picnic in a private place he found on the train. Said we’re more than welcome to join him, but I know a man making a play when I see one. So, Face Magnet,” she said, turning to Chad, “you can join us at six thirty. Don’t expect any more action, though. Mira is a love ’em and leave ’em type.”

“Thank you!” Young Chad had the good sense to disappear before I could retract or otherwise modify Mrs. Berns’s offer.

I pointed a glare at her. “Did you ever think that I didn’t want to eat with that kid?”

“Did you ever think that whining makes your arms red?”

I glanced at my arm, bare below my t-shirt. “Does not.”

She pinched me, quick, hard enough to leave a mark. “Does too. Here’s my life philosophy: the devil you know is always better than the devil you don’t. More specifically, if we have to share a table, I’d rather it be with anyone but Ms. Wrenshall. I don’t like that biddy. So, strap in and prepare to be entertained. That’s the least we can expect of our dinner guests, right?”

I suppose. I redirected my creaky attitude, vowing to suspend my judgment of Doghn and Chad and make the best of it. And who knows? I could pick up some investigation tips from Doghn. He might be annoying, but he was also superb at his job.

Mrs. Berns and I took turns in the bathroom getting ready. She showered first, yelling through the door that it was like hosing yourself off with a straw and that maybe the space capsule was roomier and she was worried her sides weren’t going to get clean because there wasn’t enough room to turn around. I read my book through her remarks and then squeezed in when she was done. She hadn’t been exaggerating. The bathroom was set up like an RV in that it contained a regular-sized toilet and sink and, separated by a thin wall, a shower approximately the size of a drinking glass.

The shower head was detachable so you could clean your shadowy spots. If I’d have dropped my soap, though, I would need to step out of the shower in order to bend over and reach it. You know how I know this? I was just beginning to soap my body when the train lurched forward. I was thrown against the shower wall, bruising my shoulder, and would have fallen to the floor if there’d been room. As it was, I found myself wedged at an odd angle, face pressed to the glass.

“You okay?” Mrs. Berns hollered.

“Fine,” I called, only it came out “fnnn.” I de-wedged myself, opened the shower door so I could turn around and fetch the soap, and cracked the bathroom door. The muffled sound of cheering filtered in. “Guess people are happy we’re in motion again.”

Mrs. Berns peered up from where she’d been doing crosswords. “You have a face hickey. You fell when the train started moving, didn’t you?”

I put my hand to my forehead. “Maybe.” I pointed out the window, using my other hand to hold the bathroom door in front of my body. “It’ll be nice to get a change of scenery.”

She didn’t even bother looking out the window. “No, it won’t. It’s bad juju to leave before we find out what happened to that poor woman next door. I suspect things will get worse from here on out.”