The Ghost in Roomette Four Page 21

  But that didn’t necessarily mean that the little glass bottle had contained aspirin. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the pills the man had poured into his palm. Other than to think that it had been a lot of pills, far more than anyone would take for a mere headache.

  Could the pills have been Digoxin? But where would he get that much Digoxin? Unless he, or someone he knew, had access to the drug.

  Who was he? What was his connection with Hardcastle?

  The woman who had just taken two aspirin got up, leaving her empty tea glass on the table. Mr. Griggs left the bar and came around the counter, collecting the glass and two empty coffee cups from another table.

  “We’re coming into Portola,” he said.

  The train slowed. Jill looked out the window and saw the outskirts of the town and the middle fork of the Feather River, just down the embankment. The river was lower now, in midsummer, than it had been in May. It had been hours since she’d gotten off the train in Salt Lake City. This would be a good opportunity to stretch her legs and get some fresh air. She headed forward, to the Silver Schooner, the third chair car. When the train stopped, she stepped down to the platform and took a deep breath, rotating her shoulders to work out the kinks. She walked alongside the cars. An elderly woman was boarding the Silver Ranch, the second chair car. Someone else stood nearby, waiting to board, partially hidden by the car attendant. Then the attendant moved out of the way.

  Jill stared. What was Wade Hardcastle doing here? Then she recalled the conversation she’d overheard at the garden party last Saturday. Hardcastle had been talking with his boss, Daniel Vennor. After Vennor had said something about Plumas County, and having some concerns, Hardcastle had said, “I’ll go up there and talk with Pierson.”

  “Up there” must mean Portola. But who was Pierson? The person whose company was being audited?

  Now Jill saw another man walking toward Hardcastle. The tall man with a mustache was dressed as he had been before, in serviceable work clothes and boots. The two men conferred briefly, then both men climbed aboard the Silver Ranch.

  So that’s Pierson, Jill thought. It has to be.

  Mr. Wylie, the conductor, had been up by the locomotives, talking with the brakeman. Now he checked his pocket watch and turned, calling, “All aboard.”

  Jill boarded the train and the car attendant pulled up the steps and locked the door. The engineer blew the whistle and the train moved, slowly at first. Then it picked up speed, traveling along the river.

  Jill walked back through the buffet-lounge car, where passengers crowded the coffee shop, and into the dining car, walking quickly along the passageway that ran alongside the kitchen. The public address system was located near the steward’s counter. Normally she would have identified herself as Miss McLeod, the Zephyrette. Today she altered the familiar script she knew by heart. She wasn’t sure if Hardcastle had heard her name mentioned at the Vennor party, but she wanted to play it safe.

  She keyed the mike and began. “Good morning, this is the Zephyrette. We are now in the famous Feather River Canyon…”

  When Jill finished speaking, she replaced the mike and turned, coming face to face with Wade Hardcastle, close enough to see his pale blue eyes and the long nose in his jowly face. She held her breath. Did he recognize her? No, she didn’t think so. Hardcastle was more interested in breakfast. He looked past her at the dining car steward, who pointed him toward a spot at a nearby table. Jill stepped aside so he could pass. He sat down at the table and reached for the menu.

  Jill turned away, heading up the passageway next to the kitchen. She went through to the next car, the Silver Club, stopped in her own compartment, then continued forward, past the crew dormitory. To her right, steps led to the upper-level Vista-Dome and down to the buffet-lounge below the dome. She went downstairs, passing the kitchen, and entered the lounge. The man with the mustache sat alone in the corner of the lounge, a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. He was taking a cigarette from a pack. He stuck it in his mouth and held the lighter to it.

  “Can I get you anything?” Mr. Griggs asked her.

  “I’ll have a cup of coffee. With cream.”

  Mr. Griggs poured the coffee and Jill stirred in cream. She sat down near the man she guessed was Pierson, close enough to observe him and eavesdrop if Mr. Hardcastle came to join him.

  Instead another passenger entered the lounge, the elderly woman she had seen boarding the train in Portola. She appeared to be in her seventies, hatchet-faced, with sharp eyes and white hair twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a mustard-colored dress with green collar and cuffs and carried an oversized handbag. She walked over to where the man with the mustache sat and fixed him with a sharp gaze. Her voice grated on Jill’s ears as she addressed the man in a loud, hectoring tone. “Harry Pierson, I saw you at the station. I waved at you, but I guess you didn’t see me.”

  Jill took a quick inward breath. As she suspected, this was Pierson, the man Hardcastle had been talking about with Daniel Vennor at the party last weekend. The man whose company had been acquired by Vennor and whose books were being audited by Kevin Randall. And his first name was Harry. Wade Hardcastle, Harry Pierson. Both had names starting with the letters H, A, R. Jill felt frustration bubbling in her chest. Which man was guilty, and of what?

  She sipped her coffee and glanced to her right. The look on Pierson’s face told her he didn’t like the old woman. She wondered if he’d been avoiding the woman earlier, in Portola.

  He took a drag from his cigarette and blew out smoke before speaking in a rumbling voice that went with his weathered face. “Mrs. Bowman. No, I didn’t see you at the station.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t,” the woman said, her voice sounding aggrieved. “It’s small enough.”

  Pierson drew in smoke, his finger absently stroking his thin mustache. “Are you going to Stockton to visit your son?”

  “I certainly am. I want to see Walter and my grandchildren, even if I don’t much care for that woman he’s married to.” Mrs. Bowman sat down between Jill and Pierson, crowding Jill to the left as she set down her handbag. She waved her hand at Mr. Griggs, behind the bar. “You, boy. Get me some coffee. With sugar and cream.”

  The waiter nodded, his face impassive. “Certainly, ma’am. Coming right up.”

  Now Jill eavesdropped shamelessly as Mrs. Bowman buttonholed Mr. Pierson, asking where he was going and why. “Where are you headed today? The Bay Area? On business? Things must be good at the lumber mill if you can go to the Bay Area all the time. Weren’t you there last month?”

  Pierson’s mouth tightened as he replied, “No, it was the month before.”

  “Oh, right. May, wasn’t it? Around the time of your father’s birthday.”

  He puffed on his cigarette, blowing out smoke, an edge to his voice. “That’s right. The week before Memorial Day.”

  Mrs. Bowman stopped talking as the waiter delivered her coffee, with a cream pitcher and sugar bowl. She dumped in two spoonfuls of sugar and a generous pour of cream. “What’s this I heard about your business having problems? Georgia Markley said she heard you and your sisters were having a difference of opinion about the way the business is run. I shouldn’t think you’d be having money troubles, especially after you sold out to that company in the Bay Area.”

  Pierson’s face darkened. It seemed to Jill that he was having difficulty containing his temper, but he was reluctant to make a scene because there were others around. “Mrs. Markley is talking out of turn.”

  Mrs. Bowman looked affronted. “Well, it’s none of my business but—”

  “You’re right, it isn’t,” Pierson snapped.

  Mrs. Bowman gave him a sour look. “If you feel that way, then we won’t talk about it. I’m just being neighborly. How is your father? I know he had another episode with his heart.”

  Pierson bit off the words. “He’s fine.”

  “He takes Digoxin to control it. I saw your sister at the pharmacy,
filling his prescription.” He gave her a look that would have quelled a less nosy woman, and she went on, a bit defensive. “Well, I couldn’t help reading the label, could I? My husband takes Digoxin, too. You have to be careful with it, of course. He took too much last year and very nearly died of heart failure.”

  Now Pierson dropped his gaze, concentrating instead on the ashtray as he ground out his cigarette butt. “I heard about that.”

  Digoxin. Kevin Randall took the drug and it was possible he’d died of an overdose. She thought back to May, and the pills that Pierson had poured into his hand. What Jill had just heard confirmed that Pierson had access to Digoxin. Since his father was taking it, no doubt he had knowledge of the overdose effects as well.

  Hardcastle and Pierson. They were in this together.

  Speak of the devil, she thought, as Hardcastle walked into the lounge. He looked first at Pierson, then his gaze swept over Mrs. Bowman and then lingered on Jill. Her coffee cup was halfway to her mouth. She raised it and drank the last of the coffee. Once again she wondered if Hardcastle recognized her. Before, he had looked right through her. Now his gaze had lengthened. Perhaps it had occurred to him that he’d seen her before, and more than once. But what, if anything, would he do about it?

  He sat down near Jill, at the table with seating for four. Pierson got up, without a word, and carried his coffee to the table where Hardcastle sat, slipping into the seat across the table. Mrs. Bowman sniffed, offended at Pierson’s open rudeness. She got up and swept out of the lounge.

  Time to leave, Jill thought. She would catch up with Mrs. Bowman later, hoping to pump the old woman for more information about Pierson and his family business. She stepped past the table where Hardcastle and Pierson sat and went into the passageway. She took a deep breath and headed back through the sleeper cars to the dome-observation car. The train was now heading across the Clio Trestle, the high railroad bridge with its panoramic view of the surrounding mountains, and Jill always enjoyed seeing the view from the Vista-Dome. As the train went through the forested slopes, approaching the little communities of Graeagle and Blairsden, she went downstairs and walked forward, to the buffet-lounge car. She wanted to talk with Mr. Griggs again, but first she checked the lounge. Pierson and Hardcastle had gone.

  “Those two men you’re looking for,” Mr. Griggs said from behind the bar. “They went up to the Vista-Dome.”

  “How did you know I was looking for them?” Jill asked.

  “Just a feeling I had.” Mr. Griggs was washing coffee cups in the bar sink. “They sure were looking at you as you left.”

  Jill didn’t like the sound of that. “The man with the mustache is Mr. Pierson. The other man is Mr. Hardcastle. We were both here in the lounge that day in May, when you showed me the picture of your daughter. They were having words with Mr. Randall, the man that died.”

  “Yes, I remember it well.”

  “Do you think they recognized us?”

  He smiled. “Me? I’m just another black man to most passengers. But you? Yes, Miss McLeod. I think maybe they recognized you.”

  Mr. Griggs had a point. Many passengers couldn’t see past the skin color of the waiters and porters who provided service aboard the train. The Zephyrette, as the only female crew member, was more visible. She had been counting on her uniform as camou­flage, but perhaps that was naive, particularly since Saturday, when she’d been quite visible at the party. Visible, certainly to Hardcastle. The big man had worked with Kevin. He must have known about Kevin’s weak heart. Surely it was he who had suggested the method of murder to Pierson, who had access to his father’s Digoxin. The numbers on the sheets of paper that Kevin had mailed to Margaret must show the reason why. Kevin had gone to Portola at the behest of his employer, the Vennor Corporation, to audit the books of a business that the company had acquired, presumably Pierson’s family business, based on what Jill had overheard earlier. Pierson must still have a hand in the business. And, according to the old woman, there was tension between Pierson and other family members regarding the business.

  Jill was sure the gossipy Mrs. Bowman could tell her more about the Piersons.

  The train was approaching Spring Garden. The 7,344-foot tunnel bored under the divide at Lee Summit, which separated the Feather River’s middle fork drainage from the north fork drainage. Jill had heard that while the tunnel was being constructed, the workers found gold in an ancient river channel. She made her way to the Silver Ranch as the CZ went through the tunnel, plunging the car into darkness. When it emerged, she looked for Mrs. Bowman. She had seen the woman board this car, but when Jill checked the seats, she didn’t see her. Mrs. Bowman might be in the ladies’ room on the lower level, beneath the Vista-Dome. Or she might be up in the dome. If she could find the nosy old woman, perhaps Jill would strike gold of another sort.

  Jill climbed the steps to the upper level and looked around. Mrs. Bowman sat by herself in one of the front seats. Jill moved up the aisle and sat down next to her. The train was moving slowly into the Williams Loop, where the track made a continuous one-mile loop in a one-percent grade. Depending on how many cars were on the consist, the train might cross over itself.

  Jill pointed. “This is called the Williams Loop.”

  “I know what it is, young woman.” Mrs. Bowman’s voice was tart. “I live in Portola and I’m certainly familiar with all the sights along the Feather River route.”

  “I should have guessed,” Jill said, smiling. “I saw you earlier in the lounge with Mr. Pierson. He’s from Portola as well.”

  The older woman gave Jill a sharp look. “Indeed he is. And how do you know him?”

  “He was on the train a couple of months ago. In May, right before Memorial Day, going from Portola to Oakland.”

  “Yes, he would be going to Oakland,” Mrs. Bowman said. “He makes that trip frequently these days.”

  “Something to do with his business, isn’t it? The family sold it, I believe.”

  It didn’t take much to get an inveterate gossip going, and Mrs. Bowman was no exception. Her face held an avid look as she dished the dirt. “Yes, they certainly did. The Mohawk Valley Lumber Company. The Pierson family has been in the lumber business since the early days. They started that company in nineteen-ought-eight, the year before the Western Pacific completed the railroad down the canyon.”

  “That’s over forty years,” Jill said. “It must have been hard for Mr. Pierson to sell the company.”

  Mrs. Bowman sniffed. “That lumber company was not entirely his, you know. His two sisters had a say, too. Equal shares, the three of them. They sold the business last year, to some big company in Oakland. The younger sister, Mabel, didn’t want to sell, but Harry and the older sister, Ruth, they outvoted her.”

  Why did they sell? Jill wondered. Money, I’ll bet. It’s always money.

  Her suspicions were confirmed by Mrs. Bowman, who had stopped talking briefly to pull a sack of lemon drops from her large bag. She offered one to Jill, who took it, then continued with her tale about the Piersons.

  “They were in financial trouble, at least that’s what I heard. And I gather that they still are. Not that I’m surprised. Harry Pierson always did have a way of letting a dollar slip through his fingers.”

  “How so?” Jill popped the lemon drop into her mouth. She glanced out the curved Vista-Dome window in front of her and saw that the train was coming out of the Williams Loop.

  Mrs. Bowman lowered her voice. “Not the best businessman in the world, if you get my meaning. Certainly not the businessman his father was. His sisters have more on the ball than Harry ever did. But that’s not the only reason. If you ask me, Harry Pierson has a gambling problem. He spends a good deal of time in Reno. Why, Georgia Markley’s husband has seen him in several of the casinos in that town. I rue the day they legalized gambling over in Nevada.”

  It had been more than twenty years since the Silver State had legalized gambling, in 1931, in the heart of the Depression. Portola was only
about fifty miles from the Reno casinos, an easy trip to make if someone had a yen for gambling.

  Jill had heard enough. “Thank you for the lemon drop.” She stood and looked around the Vista-Dome. Uh-oh. Harry Pierson was sitting in an aisle seat near the back of the dome. She wondered if he’d seen her talking with Mrs. Bowman. The hard stare he gave her as she walked past him seemed to confirm that. As she took the steps down to the lower level, she had the unmistakable feeling that his eyes were boring a hole in her back.

  When she reached the vestibule, Wade Hardcastle was there. He, too, gave her a lingering look as she stepped past him. Now Jill was sure he recognized her. She walked quickly back through the next car and entered the buffet-lounge car, heading through the coffee shop. As she passed the lounge, she waved to Mr. Griggs. Then she made a brief visit to her own compartment before going through the dining car. It was after nine and breakfast service was winding down.

  She looked out the diner windows and glanced at her watch, guessing at the train’s location. The California Zephyr had already passed Quincy Junction, and was heading toward the little settlement of Keddie, and the famous Keddie Wye. Now the train rumbled past the high three-legged trestle, descending further down the canyon, with the tracks crossing back and forth over the river, on several bridges. On either side, granite cliffs soared high. Here the train ran close to the river, with State Highway 70 high above on the side of the mountain. There were two places along this section of the route, at Pulga and Tobin Bridges, where the highway and railroad bridges intersected, crossing over one another.

  Jill walked back through the sleeper cars, heading for the Silver Planet, the dome-observation car at the very end of the train. Her mind wasn’t on the scenery, though. Now that she’d heard what Mrs. Bowman had to say about the state of the Pierson family business, Jill was connecting the dots. The Piersons were having financial difficulties before and after the sale to the Vennor Corporation. Selling the company to Vennor was supposed to solve the lumber business’s money difficulties, but it hadn’t. This had led to tension between Pierson and his siblings, according to the old woman. Now Jill wondered if the financial problems had something to do with Pierson and his way of letting dollars slip through his hands. Mrs. Bowman had said Pierson had a gambling habit.