Who's Taming Who? Page 8

  During breakfast, they sat with the older gentleman they’d noticed from the previous night’s crime scene and his wife. His name turned out to be Charles Wells, and his wife’s name was Ellen. Charles was in his mid-sixties, gray-haired, very distinguished looking and dapper. Charles’ looks reminded Lanie of the Monopoly man from the board game. His wife was extremely well groomed, fit and trim. Her silver hair was superbly styled. She had avoided that purple or blue hue that so many women get on their gray hair. She had the look of someone who simply could not get dirty or mussed, no matter how hard she tried.

  That morning Charles seemed a little sad and distracted. His attention wandered away from the lively conversation several times, and his hands shook as he barely ate his breakfast and drank his coffee. His friendly demeanor was stiff; it seemed forced and a bit unnatural. His wife was acting very loving and supportive but there was an element of suppressed tension in her, too.

  In spite of that they seemed like a very close, devoted couple. They told Frank and Lanie that they’d been together for over forty years, married to each other for over thirty-eight. Charles, it turned out, was a highly successful Wall Street stockbroker. After breakfast Charles and Ellen left the table.

  Frank and Lanie began to work on solving the crime. Surprisingly, they made a good team. Their personal styles balanced and complimented each other. Frank, more clerically inclined, sat at the table and kept the notes. Lanie, who tended to be more creative, paced around the room and brainstormed.

  “I know it was poison and that it was put into the champagne,” she said aloud. “But we have several unanswered questions.”

  “Let’s list them,” Frank said, also thinking aloud. “We have her name and description, but who was she really? What did she do for a living? Why was she on the train? Who did she know on the train?”

  “Also, why was she in my compartment of all places? It appeared that she was using my compartment for a tryst, but with whom? Did the champagne indicate a friendly rendezvous, or was it actually there to calm her nerves and ease any hidden hostility between her and the person she was meeting?” Lanie added, pacing, “It might have been a man, well, probably, there was no lipstick on the second glass, besides why would she meet secretly with a woman? Who wrote the letter on the wall? Why? What did it mean? Was it just a red herring? Also, she knew Charles, but how well? He cared for her. Did you notice his reaction this morning at breakfast?”

  “There was definitely something there,” Frank agreed, adding, “and his wife knew about it, whatever it was.”

  Finally Lanie couldn’t think any more. She needed a moment to herself. She turned Frank around and literally booted him out the door, kicking him gently on the butt.

  “Go away for a while, I want to freshen up and change. I may even grab a short nap,” she ordered.

  Frank left reluctantly.

  As he went through the door, Lanie called after him. “Nice butt!”

  “Glad you like it.” He turned and grinned. “It’s part of the original equipment. I got it from my mom.”

  “I’ll thank her when we get back.” She shut the door. “She did pretty well by you, overall.” The admission floated softly through the closed door.

  “Lanie?” Frank said softly through the adjoining door. “I have many other sterling qualities from my mom. I even got a few from my dad. Would you like to know more about those qualities?”

  “Don’t tell me. Let me discover them on my own.” Lanie chuckled. “It will keep the mystery alive.”

  “I’m a mystery?” Frank asked, surprised.

  “Maybe enigma is a better word,” Lanie replied softly. “Now, leave me alone.”

  “I’m an enigma,” Frank whispered as he sat in his compartment smiling to himself.

  At lunch, over a hearty meal of hot tomato soup and cold roast beef sandwiches, they discussed the murder with the other couple seated at their table. That couple, an electronics engineer and a schoolteacher, had been married for fifteen years. They had barely noticed the murders; instead they acted more like a honeymoon couple. They were so wrapped up in each other that it was hard to hold a conversation with them.

  “I hope we’re like that when we’ve been married fifteen years.” Frank grinned.

  “First, you have to convince me to marry you,” Lanie challenged, “and that’s not going to be easy, Big Fella.”

  After lunch, Frank and Lanie mingled and spoke with various guests. Most of the guests were couples between thirty and fifty. As a group, they tended to be bright and fairly well off. Frank and Lanie quickly spotted one or two actors among the guests. The actors were the only ones who knew anything about the victim.

  The actors would circulate and gossip about the victim and various guests. From the gossip, Lanie and Frank learned that the victim was a famous socialite named Vera Stanhope. She had a scandalous past, including several affairs with movie stars and politicians. She was currently having an affair with a senator who was mentioned as a possible presidential candidate for the election almost four years away.

  Not long after lunch, while Frank and Lanie were still talking with the other passengers, they heard a woman scream. Turning their heads, they saw a tall slender figure running down the narrow passageway away from the sound of the scream. Jumping up, they both followed the fleeing person at a dead run, only to lose their quarry. How they did that, in a narrow, straight, corridor was a mystery, even to them.

  They gave up on the suspect and turned their attention back to the source of the scream. They fought their way through the crowd of passengers and found another dead body at the core of the mob. This time they were shocked. The victim was their breakfast companion, the older gentleman, Charles Wells. He had a gun in his lifeless hand and a bullet wound on his temple. Frank looked long and hard at the suicide note without saying anything.

  Lanie seemed more interested in the man’s wound. She also noticed the victim’s wife Ellen sobbing over the body. Then she noticed Frank’s preoccupation with the note.

  Back at the compartment Lanie demanded, “All right, I saw how interested you were in the note, give. What is it?”

  “The note was written by a right-handed person, I think a woman,” Frank said importantly, “but the dead man was holding the gun in his left hand.”

  “Forged suicide note. That means it was a murder, right?” Lanie sounded impressed.

  “Right.” Frank was self-satisfied.

  “Idiot!” She socked Frank in the arm. “We already knew it was a murder. It’s a murder mystery, remember? Besides the wound was definitely not self-inflicted, there were no powder burns.”

  “But it’s a clue,” Frank pointed out, “just like your scent of almonds in the champagne glass.”

  “You’re right.” Lanie grinned unrepentantly. “Poor baby, did I hurt your arm?”

  “Well, you could kiss me and make it better.” Frank looked pitiful but there was a teasing glint in his eyes.

  “Sure. No problem.” Lanie leaned towards Frank and kissed the spot where she’d socked his arm. “Better?”

  “Not really,” Frank teased. “Maybe it would help if you kissed me on the mouth?”

  “Why would a kiss on the mouth make your arm feel better?” Lanie asked warily.

  “A kiss on the mouth, the right kiss, would make everything feel better,” Frank teased again. “For both of us.”

  “Sounds like the right kiss would be magic,” she murmured, moving closer to him.

  “The right kiss is always magic,” he said in a seductive tone.

  “Sorry, Frank. Magic is something far too powerful for me to mess with.” Lanie laughed and backed to the door of the compartment. Turning, she headed for the club car to get a cold drink.

  During the afternoon a couple of clues were found by one passenger or another. A letter to Vera was found but its meaning wasn’t very clear. It read:

  Thanks for the rabbit. I’ll skin him and put him in the pot. You just keep on adding th
e greens.

  Your Pal

  Another clue that was found by a passenger was a picture of Vera and Charles dancing. The picture, a Polaroid, was taken recently judging by the appearance of the couple, their ages and the style of their clothes. Besides, Frank pointed out with a grin, there was a date on the back of the picture, making it about four months old.

  The pair was both formally dressed in the picture; Charles was in a tuxedo and Vera in a red flowing evening gown. They were obviously dancing to a slow dance and they were holding each other in an especially intimate looking embrace.

  Around three in the afternoon, the train pulled into a station and the passengers were quickly unloaded and shuttled to a lovely old beachside inn. All the guests were efficiently checked in and shown to their rooms. By mutual agreement Frank and Lanie, who once again had connecting rooms, quickly unpacked, changed, and met in the lobby for a walk on the beach. They almost laughed aloud as they realized that their shorts matched, both the same exact shade of khaki. Along with the shorts Frank had on a blue polo shirt and Lanie a bright green tank top.

  The afternoon was warm, but not hot enough for a swim. Frank had a large gray blanket and a thermos of something that he’d gotten from the hotel staff. He spread the blanket on the sand, set down the thermos and took Lanie’s hand. They shed their shoes, walked along the beach listening to the squalling seagulls, and waded about knee deep into the cold water.

  Lanie’s small hand felt snug and secure in Frank’s larger one and even though she wasn’t ready to admit it to him, she relished the contact. Finally they turned and walked back to drop onto the blanket. They sat side by side and sipped orange juice from the cooler Frank had brought. Finally they laid down beside each other. Each one lay on their side and faced the other as they talked about the crimes comparing thoughts about the victims and the clues, keeping the conversation light and impersonal.

  “It seems like Vera was involved with a blackmail scheme,” Lanie said. “That’s what the note must mean. She must have set up the victim and brought the greens.”

  “The greens?” Frank asked.

  “The money,” Lanie explained, “but who did she bring the greens to? She must have had a partner. And who was her victim?”

  “Probably Charles,” Frank said.

  “It could be. I looked at his driver’s license, his middle name is Randall.” Lanie thought for a moment.

  “So what does that tell us about who killed Vera and why?” Frank asked as he summed up the clues.

  “Not a thing, really, just that she must have had a partner and other victims, therefore she had enemies. We already knew that, people who have no enemies seldom get murdered. Not like that.” Lanie shrugged. “It gives us an area to investigate. We also need to find out for sure if her murder ties in with Charles’ murder.”

  “It must,” Frank speculated. “They knew each other as evidenced by the picture. What we need to know is: Was that dance an isolated incident or were they having an affair? Was that what was behind the blackmail.”

  “I’m voting for an affair as the basis for the blackmail,” Lanie stated positively. “It’s almost too obvious.”

  Frank grinned. “Which means there will be a twist attached.”

  Soon they fell into another discussion. As they sat side by side on the beach towel, Frank asked the question he’d been avoiding for a long time. “Lanie, I get the feeling that you’re fighting your feelings for me, that you’re holding something back. What’s wrong? Is it something I’ve done?”

  “No Frank.” Without looking at him she took a deep sigh and thought for a moment. “You’re right. I am holding back, fighting my attraction to you. It’s nothing personal, nothing against you. I was hurt very badly once, long ago, and I don’t want to risk that kind of pain again.”

  “Could you tell me about it? If not now, when you’re ready,” he asked gently.

  “I will, soon,” she promised, “but not yet.”

  “Lanie, you know I don’t ever want to hurt you, don’t you?” Frank looked into her eyes.

  “I know, and I don’t want to hurt you either,” she smiled sadly, “but it’s still frightening.”

  “And exciting?” he urged.

  “And exciting,” she agreed, noticing his sudden grin.

  Before too long they went in and dressed for dinner. This was the one meal on the trip where formal wear was encouraged.

  Lanie put on her make-up and combed her hair. Then she went to open her garment bag and soon discovered that true to form, Tina had replaced the evening dress she planned to wear with one that was much more revealing. It was also stunning. She started to put on the dress when there was a knock on her door.

  “Lanie?” It was Frank.

  She spread the gown on the bed, threw on a robe and opened the door. She noticed that he had a garment bag in his hands. “Hi Frank, what’s that?”

  “I hope it’s a pleasant surprise and not a mistake. I thought maybe you’d want to wear it.” He seemed apprehensive as he handed her the garment bag and left rather abruptly.

  Intrigued, Lanie opened the garment bag and was stunned to see her white dress. It was the same one she’d worn when she met Frank, the same one that was irretrievably damaged by a combination of tomato juice and mud. It was in perfect condition. The only difference in this dress was the label; this was a handmade copy.

  She was really touched by his consideration. She sat on the bed and stared at the copy for a long time. Finally she slid the dress on and stood there looking at herself in the mirror, tears welling in her eyes. It was perfect.

  Then without really knowing or understanding why she did it, she took the dress off and hung it up again before putting on the sexy and more formal gown Tina had packed for her.

  It was a moonlight blue sheath, made of the softest velvet, with thin spaghetti straps that crossed in the back. The straps were made of rhinestones. The plunging neckline and dropped back were also lined with the rhinestones. There was a slit in the dress from the floor length hem halfway up the thigh. Looking in the mirror, she was stunned. That couldn’t be her! She was a tomboy who dug in the mud for a living. She was not really that woman in the mirror, that woman looked extremely glamorous and very sexy. She took a deep breath and went down to dinner.

  As soon she entered the hotel’s small dining room she saw Frank sitting at a table across the room looking very handsome in a dark suit. For once, her perspective when she looked at him wasn’t tinged by anger or mistrust. Her reaction to him was the same, however. The familiar jolt in the pit of her stomach. Goodness, he’s gorgeous, she thought. She took a deep breath before crossing the room to meet him.

  Chapter Eight

  Frank was sitting with some of the other mystery train guests when he looked up from his chair and felt dazzled as he spotted Lanie entering the ballroom. He smiled with genuine pleasure at Lanie just as she started to walk across the room. Stunned and entranced, he stood up and moved towards her, forgetting the other guests he had been speaking to at the banquet table.

  She’s terrific, he thought even as a part of him wondered vaguely why she wasn’t wearing the dress he’d had made especially for her. He was a little bit disappointed but maybe she had a reason. Shrugging it off, he walked towards her almost in a daze. There was something to be said about the gown she was wearing, he realized. What little there was of it looked spectacular on her. How was it that a classy woman could wear a revealing, sexy dress and still look every inch a lady?

  They met in the center of the room on the small dance floor just as the music started playing. It was recorded music, drifting in through hidden speakers. Without a word Frank and Lanie started to dance, moving slowly to the romantic music, holding each other closer than formal dancing allowed.

  “You look stunning but I thought you’d wear the white dress,” Frank asked her quietly. “Was it a mistake? Was I wrong to have it made for you?”

  “No,” she whispered, kissing him quickly
, just a fleeting butterfly touch against his mouth that stunned them both. “It was definitely not a mistake. Having that dress made was the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me. I’m just saving the dress for another occasion. I’m not sure what, but I want to save it. It was an instinctive reaction. Trust me, Frank, please trust me?”

  “Lanie? I don’t want to claim all the credit,” Frank admitted, “someone gave me the idea about the dress. I just don’t want you to feel like I let you down or deceived you if you ever found out that when I had it made I was acting on somebody else’s suggestion.”

  “But you were the one who had it made. That’s what’s important.” She kissed him again. “Let me guess, was it Kate or Laura. Kate?”

  “Good guess.” He grinned at her.

  He hugged her tightly for an instant before he whispered in her ear, “Do you like this song?”

  “It’s beautiful, a lovely old standard,” she whispered back. “Who wouldn’t like it?”

  “Listen to the lyrics,” he told her softly. “They say what I feel better than I ever could.”

  She thought for a minute, then stiffened slightly in his arms and her eyes opened wide as she realized what he meant. The song was: When I Fall In Love, and Nat King Cole was singing. She shivered at the phrase “and the moment that I feel that, you feel that way too, is when I fall in love with you.” After a moment she sighed and relaxed in his arms again.

  “They’re beautiful lyrics,” she whispered. “Very meaningful and touching.”

  “Not just sloppy and sentimental?” Frank questioned softly.

  “Maybe so, but maybe I’m feeling pretty sentimental right now,” Lanie told him, rubbing her cheek softly against his suit in an almost unconscious movement.

  Although they had danced through the whole song, it seemed as though they had barely started when the music ended. They stood in place on the dance floor and waited for a moment.

  Another song started and they began to dance again. They were still moving slowly almost dreamily, even though this song had a faster rhythm. After a while Lanie started to laugh softly.