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  Death Deals a Hand

  A California Zephyr Mystery

  Janet Dawson

  2016

  Perseverance Press / John Daniel and Company

  Palo Alto / McKinleyville, California

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, companies, ­institutions, organizations, or incidents is entirely coincidental.

  The interior design and the cover design of this book are intended for and limited to the publisher’s first print edition of the book and related marketing display purposes. All other use of those designs without the publisher’s permission is prohibited.

  Copyright © 2016 by Janet Dawson

  All rights reserved

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-56474-800-3

  A Perseverance Press Book

  Published by John Daniel & Company

  A division of Daniel & Daniel, Publishers, Inc.

  Post Office Box 2790

  McKinleyville, California 95519

  www.danielpublishing.com/perseverance

  Distributed by SCB Distributors (800) 729-6423

  Cover art © Roger Morris, Two Rock Media. All rights reserved.

  CZ car diagram: From plans originally drawn by Julian Cavalier. Used by permission. Copyright White River Productions, 1974, 1999

  Book design by Eric Larson, Studio E Books, Santa Barbara, www.studio-e-books.com

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  library of congress cataloging-in-publication data

  Dawson, Janet, author.

  Death deals a hand : a California Zephyr mystery / by Janet Dawson.

  pages cm

  ISBN [first printed edition] 978-1-56474-569-9 (pbk. : alk. paper)

  1. California Zephyr (Express train)—Fiction. 2. Railroad travel—Fiction. 3. Murder—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3554.A949D425 2016

  813’.54—dc23

  2015028933

  To Mom, as always

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  ­Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The westbound California Zephyr sped across the high plains of eastern Colorado, the train’s headlamps piercing the early morning darkness. In the cab of the first diesel engine, the engineer blew a warning signal as the train approached a crossing—two long blasts on the horn, followed by one short, then one long.

  Jill McLeod had just entered the Silver Banquet, the dining car. She paused in the corridor that ran alongside the train’s kitchen and turned toward the nearest window, her face reflected in the glass. Then, outside the train, twin headlights glowed. Silhouetted in the lights from a nearby building was a pickup truck, stopped at the crossing. Then the lights, building and vehicle disappeared as the train passed.

  Breakfast service aboard the California Zephyr started at six o’clock in the morning, and it was a quarter after the hour. Jill walked down the corridor past the kitchen to the main part of the Silver Banquet. This early in the morning, few of the tables were occupied. Jill nodded to several early risers. Some of them she recognized as passengers who’d boarded the train the previous afternoon and evening, in Chicago and at other stations across Illinois and Iowa. At one table were two people Jill hadn’t seen before, a mother and her young son. They must have boarded the train late last night, after Jill had gone to bed.

  Near the center of the car, the steward, Mr. Taylor, stood behind a curved counter, its base decorated with a mural of carved linoleum. Behind the steward, a doorway led back to the kitchen, a hub of activity this morning, as cooks in white uniforms, aprons and caps moved between the shiny stainless steel counters, opening cabinets and reaching up to remove pots, pans and serving pieces from shelves.

  The dining car crew consisted of the steward, a chef and three cooks, as well as six waiters. The California Zephyr was the joint operation of three railroads—the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy; the Denver & Rio Grande Western; and the Western Pacific—and each railroad operated a segment of the run. The dining car was staffed for the entire trip by a crew made up of employees from one of these railroads. For this westbound run, the dining car crew was from the CB&Q.

  Before the train left the rail yard and moved to the platform at Chicago’s Union Station, the kitchen and pantry had been loaded with supplies from the commissary. The train—also known as the CZ—carried enough food and beverages to feed the passengers and crew during the two-and-a-half-day westbound run. The pantry also carried supplies—crockery, glassware, silver service and kitchen equipment, and the linens used to cover the tables.

  Jill greeted the steward, who smiled and waved a hand at the tables. “Good morning, Miss McLeod. Sit anywhere you like.”

  She took the window seat at a table for four, facing toward the train’s engine. The table was covered with a crisp white cloth with matching napkins and set with heavy silverware. It was set with china bearing a pattern of violets and daisies. Each table held a full water bottle, a bud vase containing a fresh carnation, and a heavy silver stand holding the breakfast menu and meal checks on which passengers marked their menu choices. Jill didn’t need to look at the menu. She marked her meal check, choosing a favorite breakfast.

  There were six waiters in the dining car, all of them wearing white jackets. She knew many of the waiters by name, having traveled with them before. Jill was the Zephyrette, the only female member of the train’s onboard crew.

  A waiter approached her table, carrying a silver coffeepot. “Good morning, Mr. Gaylord,” Jill said. From the conductor on down, the crew were expected to keep their communications with their fellow crew members on a “Mister and Miss” basis.

  “Good morning, Miss McLeod. Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He smiled as he poured a steaming cup of black coffee and took her meal check, though he didn’t have to give it more than a glance. The waiters aboard the train were adept at reading the passengers’ tastes, the better to serve frequent travelers. After many trips on the CZ, they knew what the crew members liked to eat as well. “I’m guessing you want your favorite. French toast and bacon, crisp but not burned.”

  Jill smiled. “That would be a good guess.”

  “Coming right up.” Mr. Gaylord moved away from the table, heading for the kitchen.

  Jill reached for the heavy silver pitcher and poured cream into her cup. Then she raised it to her lips. Ah, the coffee tasted good. And the caffeine jolt was most welcome.

  She usually slept well on the train, but she’d had a restless night. Yesterday, Jill had reported for duty an hour before the California Zephyr, designated train number 17, was due to leave Chicago’s Union Station. She’d been in the Windy City for two nights, a layover following her eastbound run from Oakland to Chicago on train number 18. Now she was returning home, to California.

  When Jill arrived at Union Station, she stowed her suitcase and first-aid kit in
her compartment at the end of the Silver Chalet, the buffet-lounge car. Then she began her pre-departure routine. She walked through the train from beginning to end, checking the washrooms for cleanliness. Each car had a card holder, and in these, she inserted cards identifying her as the Zephyrette.

  The train’s consist—the rail cars that made up the train—began with three diesel locomotives owned by the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad. Following the engines were cars built by Pennsylvania’s Budd Company, a mix of equipment from all three roads. The legend California Zephyr decorated the sides of each car and the gleaming stainless steel cars all had “Silver” in their names. This was why the California Zephyr was known as the Silver Lady.

  For this trip, the baggage car was the Silver Buffalo. Behind this were three chair cars—the Silver Scout, Silver Mustang, and Silver Ranch. Each of these cars had seating for sixty coach passengers, as well as an upper-level Vista-Dome, a glass compartment with seating for twenty-four coach passengers. The Dome rose out of the car’s roof, accessed by stairs in the middle of the car. Underneath the Dome, two steps on either side led down to the depressed floor, which contained the men’s and women’s rest­rooms.

  In the middle of the train were the Silver Chalet, the buffet-lounge car, and the Silver Banquet, the dining car. Following these were the sleeper cars, the Silver Quail, the Silver Falls, the Silver Maple, and the Silver Rapids. At the end of the train was the dome-observation car, the Silver Crescent. Both the Silver Chalet and the Silver Crescent had depressed floors and Vista-Domes, for the use of the sleeper car passengers.

  Before the train’s 3:30 p.m. departure from Union Station, Jill and the Pullman conductor, Mr. Winston, stood at the check-in tables inside the station, greeting passengers and directing them to their cars. Jill also made dinner reservations for people traveling in the sleeper cars. These she charted on a diagram which she later turned over to the dining car steward. Once the train left the station, Jill went to the public address system in the dining car, where she’d made the first of several announcements she would make during the westbound journey. After that, she’d walked forward through the train to the three coach cars, where she began making dinner reservations for those passengers.

  She’d made another announcement as the train crossed the Mississippi River at 6:30 p.m. and headed into Iowa. After the dining car closed later that evening, Jill made her last announcement of the day on the train’s PA system, which was located just opposite the steward’s counter.

  “May I have your attention, please. Before retiring this evening, you may wish to move your watches back one hour, as we will enter the Mountain Time Zone at McCook, Nebraska at about four a.m. Good night.”

  After making her announcement, Jill walked through the train once more, stopping to talk with passengers. Many were settling down in their seats and sleeper berths, ready to turn in for the night, although seats were still occupied in the Silver Chalet’s coffee shop, which served hot food, snacks, and beverages. There were a few people in the lounge, where a waiter served liquor and non-alcoholic drinks. Both venues would be open until 10 p.m.

  Jill went back to her compartment at the rear of the Silver Chalet. The narrow space contained a bench seat that folded down into a bed, as well as a toilet and sink. The washstand pulled down from the wall and pushed up again when not in use.

  Inside the compartment, she took her suitcase down from the overhead rack and opened it, reaching for her soft blue cotton pajamas. She undressed and put on the pajamas, then stowed the suitcase on the rack. She pulled the sink down from the wall to wash her face and brush her teeth. She pushed it back up, letting the water drain into the pipes in the wall. Then she converted the seat into her bed, climbed under the blanket, and plumped the pillow.

  Jill didn’t go to sleep right away, though. First she worked on her trip report, which she was required to file at the end of the train’s fifty-one-hour journey. The report was an account of each day’s activities, a journal of the ordinary things that happened on the run, as well as anything out of the ordinary. It included information about any complaints from passengers, or problems that arose during the journey, such as difficulties with the dinner reservations, accidents, or late arrivals and the reasons for delays.

  She prided herself on the details in her trip reports, and she kept a small notebook and pencil tucked in the pocket of her uniform, making notes during the day. Her trip reports usually included comments about the number of dinner reservations she’d made the first day out, any troublesome or special-attention passengers, children traveling alone or any baby-sitting that she’d done for passengers with small children, medicine she had administered, although that was limited to giving passengers soda mints to relieve motion sickness, or treating minor scrapes and cuts with supplies from her first-aid kit. It seemed that no matter which run she was on, there was always a child who stumbled on the stairs or got a finger caught in a door.

  Jill finished this first day’s portion of the report, adjusted her pillow and settled back into bed. The hardbound book propped on her lap had a white cover showing a hat, an umbrella and an ax in black, with a bunch of flowers in the lower left corner, and the author’s name in black letters in the upper right corner. It was the newest Agatha Christie novel, Funerals Are Fatal, and Jill was eager to start chapter one.

  She read for a while, absorbed in the workings of Hercule Poirot’s little grey cells, accompanied by the steady and familiar click-clack of wheels on rails and the occasional burst of laughter coming from the lounge in the middle of the car. Finally she yawned and put down the book. It was half past nine. The train was due to stop at Creston, Iowa, at 9:45 p.m. After that came Red Oak, Iowa at 10:30 p.m. This wasn’t a regularly scheduled stop for the CZ. The train paused briefly in the small Iowa town only if passengers were getting off or boarding. In the latter case, the passengers would let the stationmaster in Creston know ahead of time that a stop was needed. After that, the train would leave Iowa, crossing the Missouri River at 11:15 p.m., heading into Nebraska.

  Jill set her own watch back an hour, ready for the move from the Central to the Mountain Time Zone. Then she turned out the light.

  Tired after a long day, Jill dozed off almost immediately. Then she woke up, not sure how long she’d been asleep. What had awakened her? Raised voices, just the other side of her door.

  She sat up in bed, turned on the light, and looked at her watch. It was just after ten. She listened to the voices, trying to make out words. A man and a woman, and they were having an argument, though Jill couldn’t figure out why. The man’s voice became louder, more insistent, and there was a thump, as though someone had bumped against Jill’s door. That was followed by the sound of flesh striking flesh.

  Now the man’s voice was clear, just the other side of the door. “Bitch!”

  Jill threw back the blanket and swung her legs out of bed, her feet scuffling around on the floor, searching for her slippers. She unlocked and opened the door of her compartment, peering out. Whoever they were, the people who had been out in the corridor were gone.

  Jill closed and locked her door. She ran a hand through her short blond curls, worn in an easy-to-care-for style known as a poodle cut. Yawning, she stretched her arms overhead. Then she turned out the light.

  She woke again sometime later. The sound of the wheels on tracks changed and she knew they were on the bridge crossing the Missouri River. She confirmed this by looking out the tiny window in her compartment and checking her watch. It was 11:15 p.m., on the dot. She yawned again and returned to her blanket and pillow.

  She slept for half an hour, then woke up again as the train rolled into the station at Omaha, Nebraska, at 11:45 p.m. The pattern of interrupted sleep was repeated all the way across Nebraska. She woke as the CZ arrived at stations in Lincoln, Hastings and McCook. She fell asleep again when the train resumed its motion.

  When she woke yet again and looked at her watch, it was a quarter to six. Might as well
get up, Jill told herself.

  She threw back the blanket and got out of bed. There would be no shower until she got home the following afternoon, at the end of the train’s run. She made do with a sink bath, then dressed and put on her makeup before turning her bed back into a seat. She stowed her suitcase on the shelf above and left the compartment, heading back to the next car, the Silver Banquet.

  Now, as Mr. Gaylord set her breakfast on the table, Jill looked at her watch. It was 6:30 a.m. The train’s next stop was Denver, at 8:20 a.m., an hour and fifty minutes from now. She thanked the waiter as he refreshed the coffee in her cup. Then she drizzled syrup over the French toast and cut into a thick slice with her fork. It tasted wonderful, as usual.

  The tables in the dining car filled up as passengers awakened and went in search of breakfast. Outside, the darkness changed from black to gray as the sun rose in the east. Here and there, houses and barns showed lights as farmers began their work day. As daylight crept over the landscape outside the train’s windows, she saw snow in the crevices of hills and the rims of ponds, left from the last snowfall. It was early April. At home in California it would be sunny spring weather, perhaps with rain. But Jill had grown up in Colorado and she knew that the state’s weather was changeable. It might be spring on the calendar, but snow could fall all through April and sometimes into early May. And there would definitely be snow on the ground once the train climbed into the Rocky Mountains.

  April 1953, Jill thought. She had celebrated her twenty-sixth birthday in March. That month was also her second anniversary as a Zephyrette.

  She was eager to complete this run and get home, for several reasons. She wanted to see her family, of course. Since graduating from college, Jill had lived with her parents, her younger sister, Lucy, and younger brother, Drew, in an old two-story house in Alameda, the island city across the estuary from Oakland. Her mother’s birthday was coming up at the end of next week, and Jill had found the perfect present for Mom during her layover in Chicago.

  The other person she looked forward to seeing was Mike Scolari. She’d met him on the train during an eastbound run last ­December, when he was traveling to Denver with his elderly grandfather. Mike was a veteran of the Army Air Corps in World War II. Now he was using the G.I. Bill to get a degree in sociology at Jill’s alma mater, the University of California in Berkeley. She and Mike had been dating for three months now. Her relationship with Mike had gone a long way toward banishing the specter of her fiancé, who’d been killed in the Korean War two years ago.