Chapter Eleven

Jill returned to the Silver Hostel, entered her compartment, and locked the door. Yawning, she glanced at her watch. By now it was past ten. She leaned over, peering out the small window above her berth. Outside all was in darkness, punctuated by the occasional lights, from cars on country roads or ranches, distant outposts spread out on Nevada’s Great Basin. Jill closed the curtains. The compartment was barely big enough to turn around in, but by now she was used to it. She kicked off her shoes and removed her nylons, rolling them up and tucking them into her shoes. Then she took off her clothes and put her uniform on a hanger. She put on soft, comfortable red-and-green-flannel pajamas. She hoped there wouldn’t be any middle-of-the-night calls for her services. If there were, she’d have to get dressed again before going out to deal with whatever situation had arisen. Zephyrettes didn’t respond to emergencies in their PJs.

Jill pulled the sink down from the wall, then washed her face and brushed her teeth. After pushing the sink back up to the wall, she lowered the back of the bench seat, transforming it into her bed. She switched on the light above her berth and turned off the overhead light. It felt good to get off her feet and tuck herself into the berth under the warm blankets. Now she propped herself up with her pillow and set her watch forward one hour. She’d set her notebook, pencil, and her book on the toilet lid. Now she reached for the notebook and pencil and went over the notes she’d made for her trip report. All in all, this first day out had been routine. She hoped tomorrow would be as well.

With another yawn, Jill set aside her notebook, reaching for the Agatha Christie novel her sister and brother had given her that morning. It was called Murder with Mirrors. She opened the hardbound book and turned to chapter one, ready to escape into another case featuring the redoubtable Miss Jane Marple of St. Mary Mead. But it had been a long day, and she was tired. Sleep tugged at her eyelids as she came to the end of the first chapter. She tucked a bookmark between the pages, turned off the reading light, and snuggled down under the covers. She fell asleep almost immediately, lulled by the familiar soothing clickety-clack of wheels on the rails.

Jill woke up again as the train pulled into the station at Elko. She glanced at her watch. Eleven-twenty, right on schedule. There was another engine crew change here. She heard voices outside the train, propped herself up and looked out the window. Snow blanketed the platform. A moment later the train moved, pulling out of the station. Clickety-clack again on the rails as the Zephyr picked up speed, heading northeast to Wells, then southeast to Wendover on the Nevada-Utah border. After that it would be a fairly straight eastbound run across the flat terrain of the Great Salt Desert, skirting the southern shore of the Great Salt Lake. She fell asleep again, her slumber undisturbed until the train pulled into the station at Salt Lake City at five-twenty.

Salt Lake City was a longer stop, with passengers getting off the train and others boarding. This was the changeover stop as well, where the train’s Western Pacific crew put the California Zephyr into the hands of the Denver and Rio Grande Western crew. The orange WP locomotives were switched out for the yellow of the D&RGW, which advertised itself as “The Main Line Through the Rockies.” Five powerful diesel engines would pull the train over the high reaches of the Rocky Mountains.

It was too early to get up, though. Jill turned over and dozed again. Next time she woke up, the train was pulling into Provo, southeast of Salt Lake City. It was still dark outside. She looked at her watch. Six-thirty, the morning of December 23rd. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. Her stomach rumbled and she needed coffee. She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of her berth. Though there was a shower in the dormitory section, that was used only by the male crew members. There would be no hot shower for Jill until she got to the Chicago hotel where she would spend her layover before returning to California on the westbound Zephyr. She made do with a washcloth and water in the sink. Once she was dressed, she put on her makeup with quick, practiced gestures and left her compartment.

It was still dark outside on this winter morning. The kitchen and dining car staff had been up far earlier than Jill, preparing to cook and serve breakfast to passengers. But at a quarter to seven, the tables in the diner weren’t crowded. There were just a few passengers, early risers like Jill, outnumbered by the waiters. She saw Mr. Webb at a table with a man and a woman she recognized, passengers in the same car. He smiled at her as the waiter delivered plates of ham and eggs.

The dining car steward directed her to a vacant table. A waiter brought Jill a pot of coffee as soon as she sat down, pouring a cup for her. “How are you this morning, Miss McLeod?”

“Fine, thanks. I’ll be a lot better once I get some coffee in me.” She took a restorative sip of the dark brew and pulled a menu from the stand. She didn’t really need to look, though. She always had the same thing for breakfast when she was on the road. She marked her meal check—orange juice, French toast with syrup, bacon—and handed the check to the waiter when he came back to her table.

The Denver and Rio Grande Western conductor who’d boarded the train in Salt Lake City entered the diner. He was a thin man with salt-and-pepper hair, a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses perched on his long nose. The conductor’s uniform was similar to those worn by the WP conductors, but his badge showed the railroad’s insignia—a snowcapped mountain peak, and the words MAIN LINE THRU THE ROCKIES surrounding RIO GRANDE.

The conductor scanned the car and walked to her table. “Homer Wilson. You must be Miss McLeod. May I join you?”

“Certainly,” Jill said with a smile.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, then reached for a meal check. “Don’t even need to look at the menu. I always have the same thing. Corned beef hash and eggs, over easy.” The waiter brought another pot of coffee and took Mr. Wilson’s check.

“We’re both creatures of habit,” Jill said. “I always get the French toast.”

Mr. Wilson took a sip of his coffee. “How’s the run so far?”

“Uneventful. Though we have a missing item.” She told him about the gold pen. “I hope we find it. There are quite a few children on board. I’m having a Christmas party in the diner this afternoon. What do the train orders say about the weather?”

“Wet weather, and be on the lookout for loose and falling rocks in the canyons,” Mr. Wilson said. “We’ve had snow all over southeast Utah these past few days. Western Colorado, too. The forecast is several inches of snow in the Rockies. We’ll do our best to make sure we don’t have any delays. Since it’s so close to Christmas, people will want to arrive in Denver on schedule. Barring any unforeseen complications, we should get into Union Station on time, at seven o’clock this evening.”

“We have lots of passengers getting off in Denver,” Jill said.

“Probably not as many getting on there. I expect the passenger count will be lighter from Denver to Chicago.”

The waiter brought their breakfasts. Jill poured maple syrup on her French toast and picked up her fork. It was after seven now. The dining car gradually filled, as passengers in the chair cars and sleepers awakened, needing coffee and food for this second day of the journey. Dr. Kovacs appeared, escorting Mrs. Tatum and the woman in the bedroom next to her, Mrs. Loomis. They were soon seated at a nearby table.

She and the conductor chatted as they ate. Mr. Wilson lived in Grand Junction, he told her, with his wife and three children, and he’d been with the Denver and Rio Grande Western for nearly twenty years, with a break during the war when he was in the army.

Jill saw a faint red glow to the east, growing brighter as the sun came up. Sunlight soon sparked crystals in the snow that blanketed the landscape on either side of the train. Jill finished her breakfast and looked at her watch. They were nearing a place called Soldier Summit, and it was time for her to make her first announcement of the day. She finished her coffee and excused herself. As she stood up, the Finches and Mrs. and Mrs. Constanza arrived from the sleeper section. A few steps behind them were Mrs. Tidsdale and Emily. Jill stopped to talk as the dining car steward seated the Finches, then came back to assist the Constanzas.

Mrs. Tidsdale looked as though she wasn’t quite awake. Not surprising, since she’d still been drinking in the lounge last night till Jill went to bed.

“God, I need coffee, and plenty of it,” she said, in response to Jill’s greeting.

“We have really good French toast,” Jill told Emily. “You should try it.”

Mrs. Tidsdale blanched. “Can I get a Bloody Mary instead?”

“You’ll have to go to the lounge for that.”

“Don’t worry, I will. As soon as we get some breakfast. Come to think of it, I could make the acquaintance of some ham and eggs.” Mrs. Tidsdale looked down at Emily. “Does that sound good, sweetie?”

Emily looked dubious. “I like French toast. With bacon.”

“Then French toast and bacon for you, ham and eggs for me,” Mrs. Tidsdale said. The dining car steward directed them to a table. The Bensons arrived, with Billy and Chip bouncing up and down. “Bacon and eggs, bacon and eggs,” Chip sang, to the tune of “Three Blind Mice.”

“Coffee, black, and lots of it,” his father said.

Jill laughed and headed for the public address system. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is your Zephyrette, Miss McLeod, welcoming you to Utah and the Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad, the Main Line Through the Rockies.

“A variety of scenic wonders will be yours to see today. Beautiful rock formations such as Castle Gate. The bleak, forbidding, and yet beautiful Utah desert. Industry and agriculture will be side by side at Helper and Price, Utah. Colorado’s famous peach-producing area at Grand Junction and Palisade. Once little-known but now famous Rifle, Colorado, where oil is being extracted from shale at a government experimental plant. The marvelous canyons of the Colorado River, including the Glenwood Canyon, inspiration for the Vista-Dome car. The high spot of today’s trip will be when we are in the Moffat Tunnel. That’s nine thousand two hundred thirty-nine feet above sea level. Your ‘Vista-Dome Views’ booklet tells you when and where to look. Don’t miss any of these western wonders, for this is a travel day you’ll long remember.”

By the time Jill finished the announcement and turned off the mike, the Bensons were seated in one of the semi-private nooks and the waiter was delivering their food. Both boys quieted as they forked up bacon and eggs. Mr. Benson looked livelier now that he had a cup of coffee in front of him.

The train headed down the eastern side of the Wasatch Plateau. This was a steep grade, and the next town on the route, Helper, Utah, was named after the helper engines that would assist the westbound trains in making the climb to the summit. The train also stopped in Price, which was just seven miles from Helper. After that, it was another hour to Green River.

After the train pulled out of the Price station, Jill walked back through the Silver Hostel. There were people in the coffee shop section, which also served breakfast. In the lounge, she saw Mrs. Tidsdale at her usual spot near the bar, a drink in front of her. Mr. Paynter was with her. Tidsy smiled flirtatiously as she pulled out a cigarette and he lit it with his Zippo.

Jill headed back to the Silver Gull. She passed the porter’s seat, but didn’t see Si Lovell. He must be in one of the compartments, she thought. At the other end of the car, she saw Mr. Smith, the gruff, unpleasant man who was traveling on the Silver Palisade. He walked forward, as though headed for the dining car. They both neared the middle section of the car. Then Si Lovell, carrying a tray of breakfast dishes, stepped out of compartment F. The porter stopped, but not before he bumped into Smith.

“Watch where you’re going, boy,” Smith snarled. “You damn near spilled that coffee on me.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Mr. Lovell drew back against the window opposite the compartment door, leaving room for Smith to pass.

Now Mike Scolari appeared in the compartment doorway. “It was an accident. No harm done, and no need to blame the porter.”

Smith turned to him, mouth twisting. “Mind your own damn business.”

“Good morning, Mr. Smith, Mr. Scolari,” Jill said, hoping to defuse the situation. “Can I be of any assistance?”

Smith glared at all of them. “Stupid damn nig—”

“Watch your language in front of the lady,” Mike Scolari said.

“Is there a problem?” The voice came from behind Jill. She turned to look and saw Mr. Cole in the doorway of compartment B. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the noise down. My wife’s still asleep.”

Smith growled, deep in his throat, then he shouldered his way past Jill, heading for the front of the car. Jill turned to Mr. Lovell, who stood holding the breakfast tray. On first glance, his face was impassive but Jill noticed a tightness around his mouth. It bothered her when the passengers verbally abused the porters, or called them “boy” or worse instead of their names. She knew that porters traveling in the Southern states often had a rough time from the passengers. Mr. Smith was particularly unpleasant and it was clear he didn’t like Negroes. She wondered if he was from the South, but he didn’t have an accent.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lovell,” she said.

“Me, too,” Mike Scolari added. “That guy’s a jerk.”

Mr. Lovell let out a sigh, as though he’d been holding his breath. “Don’t worry about it, sir. It happens.” He turned and walked forward, taking the tray of dishes back to the kitchen.

“It happens, all the time, but it shouldn’t,” Scolari said. “Mr. Lovell will get a big tip from me when we get to Denver. Not that it takes the sting out of bigots like that and their race prejudice. I’m Italian. All the time I was in the service, they called me names, too. You must see lots of jerks on the train.”

“Sometimes. But I meet lots of nice people, too. There are more of them than the unpleasant people, so I try not to let the other ones bother me.”

He smiled at her. “That’s a good attitude to have.”

He went back into the compartment and shut the door. Suddenly Jill heard loud voices, coming from one of the compartments behind her. She turned. The raised voices were coming from compartment B. It sounded as though Mr. and Mrs. Cole were arguing. But hadn’t Mr. Cole said his wife was asleep?

“…make our move soon,” Mrs. Cole said, sounding so close that she must be standing just the other side of the door.

Jill backed away. She really shouldn’t be eavesdropping. Now she walked the way she’d originally been headed, toward the rear of the train. Still, she couldn’t help wondering.

“Make our move soon.” What did Mrs. Cole mean by that?