Who's Taming Who? Read online

She heard someone settling into the adjoining compartment and impulsively opened the connecting door between them. She thought she knew who was there but she just had to find out.

  “I knew it would be you.” She greeted Frank with a wry smile. “You have been sending all those gifts and notes all along, including the pearls and the train ticket, haven’t you?”

  “All I sent were a few loose pearls and some string, no big deal.” Frank shrugged, all the while watching her speculatively out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the explosion he knew was sure to come. “I don’t know anything about any other gifts.”

  “No big deal!” Lanie protested. “Frank! That necklace is easily worth a king’s ransom.”

  “Well, if a king ever gets kidnapped, we’ll know enough to come to you,” he quipped.

  “Stop that right now, you idiot, this isn’t a joke.” She quieted her tone and continued in a more pleasant manner, “You’ll have to take it back, you know, I can’t possibly keep something so extravagant.”

  “I knew you’d say that.” Frank paused before continuing slowly, “Do me a favor, Lanie. Please. Keep the necklace for a year, just one year, wear it and enjoy it. At the end of a year, if you still want to give it back, I’ll take it with no argument.”

  “You mean that by the end of the year, when your bet is over, if we’re not married you’ll take the necklace back?” she clarified.

  “Well, if I win the bet, we’ll be married and you won’t want to give the necklace back,” Frank pointed out with a trace of logic, “and if I haven’t won, you may still decide you want to keep the necklace as a token of all the aggravation I will have caused you. I’m sure there will be more aggravation, no matter how hard I try to prevent it. Either way, keep it and enjoy it for the year, please?”

  “Okay.” Lanie grinned at him. “I was fighting my conscience to keep it anyway. I love it. But I really do have to give you back the lingerie. There’s no way for me to accept such an intimate gift.”

  “Lanie, I didn’t give you the lingerie,” Frank protested. “Honestly.”

  “Sure you did,” she said slowly and firmly. “Who else would have sent me such an assortment of panties?”

  “I don’t know who could have sent you the panties but I did not,” he said sincerely. “I don’t even like to think about how you got them, about who else is sending you gifts. Please believe me.”

  “Really?” Lanie was incredulous. “Frank, are you telling me the truth, was it really someone else?”

  “I swear,” he said solemnly. “The only gifts I gave you were the pearls and the string. The only notes I sent you came with the pearls, except for the first note.”

  She looked into his face and saw the truth written there but still wondered about the ticket. Aloud, she said, “Okay, I’ll keep the lingerie. It’s very nice, anyway.”

  “Are you ready to go for a cocktail?” Frank asked. “The train has left the station.”

  “I hadn’t even realized we were moving. I’d like to go for drinks but first, we have to settle the gift issue,” Lanie replied. “Are you serious in saying you didn’t send anything but the pearls?”

  At his nod, she continued, “Then who sent the train ticket?”

  “I thought you had,” Frank said slowly.

  “Me?” Lanie was so surprised her voice squeaked.

  “I must have been fooling myself,” Frank admitted. “I’d promised not to call you or visit you, so I thought, hoped really, that you’d sent the ticket as a way to see me.”

  “No way, Jose.” She shrugged. He looked so disappointed she added, “Sorry.”

  “Well, remember I said the next time we got together it would have to be your choice and you would have to get in touch with me,” Frank pointed out. “I tried to respect that but it wasn’t easy. I really wanted to see you. I was hoping that the ticket had been your way of letting me know you had changed your mind about seeing me.”

  “But I didn’t,” she protested.

  “If you don’t want to see me, do you want me to leave?” he asked with deceptive calm. “If that’s what it takes to make you happy, I’ll go.”

  “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant. I just meant that I didn’t send the ticket. I guess I can stand your company for a weekend, besides,” Lanie gave him an impish smile as she took his arm, “if you leave, who’s going to buy me a drink?”

  He was doing handstands in his head as he followed her to the club car where they had cocktails and then sat at a table and talked until dinner.

  Just as the salads were being served, another couple came over and asked if they could join them. “There aren’t any empty tables available,” the woman explained, “and you’re the only couple here that’s even close to our age.”

  “Sure, we’d love to have you.” Frank introduced himself and Lanie. “Please, sit down.”

  The other couple was Marilee and Paul. They were here for their third anniversary. “We thought we’d do something special this year because by our fourth anniversary we hope to have a baby,” Marilee said, grinning.

  The foursome talked their way through a very good chicken dinner. After dinner, there was an announcement by the train’s mystery host. He explained that there were several actors among the sixty or so passengers on the train. They had been hired to act out parts of the murders, but with his help the regular passengers would have to be the detectives to solve the crimes.

  The passengers would work in teams of two and there would be awards for the couple that solved the murder or murders first, of course, with the correct solution. There were also small prizes for finding various clues.

  For each murder they would have to identify the victim, name the killer, point out how the victim was killed, why, and list the clues that led them to that solution. In the event of a tie, the team with the most correct clues would win.

  “Remember,” he warned them, “there might very well be more than one murder and more than one murderer aboard the train. If you find a body, remember to look around carefully for clues without touching anything. Please leave the crime scene intact for the other guests, then scream bloody murder,” he winked. “Or at least tell either the porter or me so the rest of the passengers can come along and investigate the crime. If you find a clue anyplace other than a crime scene, study it then bring it to me so it will be available for everyone. We’ll review these clues after every meal. You wouldn’t want to take unfair advantage, or would you?”

  “Sure I would,” whispered Frank. “It’s my competitive nature.”

  “Not me, I want to beat you fair and square,” Lanie answered, challenging him. “Not that it will be very hard, you’re no match for me. I’ve read all the Sherlock Holmes stories!”

  “But you still can’t beat me since we’re not competing against each other,” Frank said. “We’re going to be partners and solve the murders together. Come on Lanie, please.”

  Lanie looked around pretending to think it over before she finally relented, “Since everyone else seems to be paired up already, I guess I’m stuck with you. You can be the brawns and I’ll be the brains. Deal?” She grinned as she held out her hand.

  “Deal.” Frank reached out and shook hands with her. “But I want it to go on record; I do have some brains.”

  Lanie patted his arm gently and said, “Sure you do, dear, sure you do.” She cooed. “I know you’re more than just a pretty face and a great bod.”

  “You think I have a great bod?” Frank grinned from ear to ear. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head, it was probably only temporary insanity,” she stated archly. “I’m sure I’ll recover before too long.”

  They mingled with the other passengers for a while until Frank suggested they go back to their compartments and talk.

  Lanie thought quickly and then agreed. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling for Frank but remembered a kiss that made her want to jump his bones on a public str
eet in broad daylight, and a tingle in the pit of her stomach every time their eyes met. He intrigued her. He frightened her. No, she admitted silently, her own feelings frightened her but they were certainly worth exploring. She also realized with a start that she had never been bored in his presence. She had been angry, irritated, baffled and indignant maybe but never, ever bored.

  “So?” Frank said as they walked down the corridor. “Your compartment or mine?”

  “Let’s open the door and make it ours. At least until bedtime,” Lanie suggested.

  “We could leave the door open until morning if you want.” Frank wiggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated suggestion. “Or share one.”

  “I don’t think so,” Lanie singsonged to him before adding seriously, “we still haven’t managed to spend a whole evening together without having an accident or an argument, not even once. Let’s just get to know each other, okay?”

  Frank gave her an innocent almost boyish grin. “Okay, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “Keep trying, it’s good for my self-esteem,” she grinned, “and I’ll keep saying no. It’ll be good for your humility.”

  “I don’t have any humility,” Frank pointed out.

  “Stick with me, Kid, and I’ll see that you get some,” Lanie offered with an evil grin.

  They each went into their own respective compartments. Lanie knew the mystery game was officially underway the moment she opened her door. There was no room for any doubt. There was a dead body lying on her compartment floor!

  “Frank! Get in here, I need you.” She quickly opened the connecting door.

  “You finally realized it,” Frank teased, entering her compartment.

  “Not that, idiot.” She gestured at the body. “Look!”

  Together, they looked over the crime scene carefully. The corpse was a beautiful woman in her thirties, beautiful and dressed in a slinky peignoir. There was no blood, no visible wounds or other signs of violence; neither Frank nor Lanie had seen her before.

  The single letter “R” was written on the wall in lipstick, a shade too red to be Lanie’s. On the nightstand there were two champagne goblets, one with lipstick on it. Both glasses had a small amount of what appeared to be champagne in the bottom.

  “Who’s R?” Lanie asked.

  “Probably a red herring, a tribute to Sherlock Holmes from, I think it was, A Study in Scarlet.”

  “No, you fool,” Lanie dismissed the idea. “That was the word Rache. Inspector Lestrade thought it was a woman named Rachel, remember?”

  “He was wrong, as I remember,” Frank said.

  “Lestrade was always wrong,” Lanie agreed.

  “What did the word mean in the book?” Frank asked.

  Lanie thought for a minute then said, “Revenge. It was sort of a red herring in the book.”

  “Enough about Sherlock,” Frank told her, “we’d better find the porter and report this murder.” He started towards the door.

  “Wait! Let’s make it really exciting.” Lanie winked at Frank and then let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  “There goes the neighborhood,” Frank said with wry resignation in his voice as the other passengers came running.

  The invasion lasted well over an hour while nearly sixty people poked and looked and speculated on everything in the room, Lanie and Frank included. One of the older gentlemen seemed especially surprised by the sight of the beautiful woman on the floor. Surprised and devastated.

  While everyone was still trying to see all there was to see, Lanie had an idea. “Distract them,” she whispered to Frank.

  Frank walked to the doorway and peered into his compartment and said, “What in the heck is that?” as loud as he could.

  Lanie took immediate advantage of the distraction and quickly sniffed both champagne goblets. Her hunch paid off; the goblet with lipstick on it smelled faintly of almonds. Was that cyanide or arsenic? She wondered vaguely.

  Eventually the mystery host and the porter came in with a sheet and a stretcher and removed the body. The other passengers left, and Lanie and Frank were finally alone.

  Pulling a bottle of champagne out of an ice bucket by his bed, Frank said, “I propose a toast.”

  “What to?” Lanie asked.

  “To the first time we were together without spilling anything, especially all over you.” He winked at her as he worked on the cork.

  “Stand back while you--” Lanie almost got the whole warning out before the champagne fizzled all over her.

  She was silent for a long moment, wet, cold and stunned.

  Then she saw the guilt and embarrassment on Frank’s face and suddenly without warning, she laughed.

  And laughed. And laughed. Her face turned purple, she was holding her sides, and there were tears streaming down her face while she continued laughing.

  Frank began to think she was hysterical. He vaguely wondered if she would ever forgive him if he slapped her to snap her out of it. Luckily, she got herself under control before he came to a decision.

  “Are you okay?” he asked with concern.

  “My sides hurt,” she told him, then asked, “Can you break a rib from laughing too hard?”

  Finally Frank started to laugh too, a real laugh but not hysterical. “Lanie, if anyone could, my bet would be on you. I have to ask you though, why aren’t you threatening me this time?”

  “This outfit costs less than twenty dollars and can be used on my job, even if it’s stained.” She motioned to her denim shorts and tangerine tank top. “Remember, I dig in the dirt almost every day.”

  “Please never dress up around me again,” Frank begged. “I liked this reaction better than the yelling.”

  “I don’t want to sound rude,” Lanie sipped her champagne, “but I’m tired and I’m going to bed, so lock the connecting door on your way out.”

  “No goodnight kiss?” he asked softly.

  “No,” Lanie smiled gently, “too dangerous.”

  Chapter Seven

  Frank was both bewildered and bemused as he went into his suddenly too small and very much too lonely compartment. He was plagued by several questions. Could Lanie’s last remark possibly mean what it sounded like? Was she actually afraid that one kiss might be too dangerous? Why? Could it be because a simple kiss could lead to something more? Was she fighting her attraction for him? Why? Would a kiss, even a simple goodnight kiss, force her to face her feelings for him? Is that what she meant by dangerous?

  That parting remark could be significant. It could well be a sign that she was beginning to care for him. It could even be the best reason a woman had ever given for refusing to kiss him. Heck, Frank thought with a smug shrug, damn few women had ever refused to kiss him for any reason. He was still disappointed and frustrated, though.

  “Lanie?” he called softly through the compartment door. “Have you ever heard what they say about making love on a train? The motion of the train is supposed to be highly erotic.”

  “When the time is right and we make love, big guy, we won’t need the motion of a train to make the experience any more erotic. It’s gonna be erotic enough. Believe me,” she answered, laughing.

  “Lanie?” Frank called softly. “You do realize that you just said when we make love? Not if we make love?”

  Lanie groaned with exasperation, then caught herself and clarified, “Well, I meant, if it ever happens between us, not when. What are you anyway, a grammar teacher? Go to sleep.”

  “That’s not what you said,” Frank cajoled in a soft, dreamy voice. “You said when, and that’s what I’m going to dream about tonight. What will you be dreaming about?”

  “Murder!” She laughed then continued sternly, “Forget it, Frank. It was a slip of the tongue,” her voice dropped and the rest of her reply was soft and muffled but still firm, “or temporary insanity.”

  “A Freudian slip, I hope. I’m still feeling very hopeful.” Frank whispered, “Good night, Lanie.”

  “Good night, Frank.” Her
voice was equally soft.

  They both got ready for bed very quietly, each very conscious of the other and of the door that served as the only barrier between them.

  That night neither of them slept very well in spite of the gentle motion of the train. Alone in their separate beds, both of them tossed and turned all night, each one very conscious of the other doing the same so very close by. Each tried to do their tossing and turning quietly, however, so that the other wouldn’t hear them through the thin adjoining door.

  The next morning Lanie quickly realized that her sister, Tina, had been into her suitcases. All the comfortable clothes she had packed were gone. Her shorts had all been replaced by newer, tighter and even shorter shorts, and all of her comfortable T-shirts had been replaced by tank tops and sweaters that seemed to have one feature in common, very low necklines.

  Lanie must have been very tired or just plain blind last night not to notice the new, slinky black barely-there nightgown she’d found in the suitcase instead of her usual oversized t-shirt. Somehow she had worn the nightgown all night without even questioning its presence.

  Lanie vowed revenge, somehow she’d sic Kate and Laura on Tina. Let them work their magic on her and mess around with her love life. Let Tina find out how it felt to be trapped and helpless, confused and frightened by the very intensity of her feelings, and unable to sleep. Then see how much she liked it! Lanie vowed to call Laura someday soon, very soon.

  “Nice outfit!” Frank said, as he eyed her appreciatively when they met for breakfast and compared notes on the murder from the night before.

  Lanie looked down at the low cut peach tank top with its revealing cleavage and her very short, tight white shorts. “I’m glad you like it. Tina picked it out for me,” she said ruefully. “She seems to have replaced all the comfortable clothes I packed. Everything in my suitcases now is either too tight, too short, or very low-cut; in other words, they’re all way too revealing.”

  “I’ll thank her when we get back,” Frank joked with a leer that was only halfway a pretense.

  “Don’t bother, so will I,” Lanie said, thinking to herself, I’ll thank her with my fist. “I’ll be sure to express my heartfelt gratitude.”