Left to Lapse (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Seven) by Blake Pierce (book club suggestions txt) 📗

Acouple of the older staff—from the dining car judging by their uniforms andspaghetti sauce splatter, were giving him a piece of their mind. They were bothequally wrinkled, short, and had introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs.Something. Smole? Smile? No.

Johnshook his head. It was so hard to concentrate with such incessant yammer.

Mr.Something was shaking a finger in front of his bald head. Mrs. Something lookednearly identical to her husband, even with nearly matching spaghetti stains,with the addition of a wig that resembled a dry mop in John’s opinion.

“ButAgent,” Mr. Something was moaning, “if there is a body on the train why won’twe stop? Surely it’s not sanitary…”

Johnwinced, straining to pick up the English words amidst the German accent. Heshook his head slowly, still massaging his nose. “We are heading to the neareststation. There, people may disembark. Now, about the dead woman. You’re sayingyou never saw—”

“Wetold you already!” said Mrs. Something, shaking her head and causing one of herchins to jiggle. She reclined in a lazy boy, staring up at a screen displayingsome sort of dance competition. She took a long sip from a lager and glanced upto where John stood in the center of the compartment, trying to maintain theattention of the couple. “No clue who she is. Dinner hasn’t even been served.We’re not on shift till then anyhow.”

“Youmentioned,” John said, grimly. “Do either of you know anything useful?”

Thehusband and wife shared a look, and the woman brushed her mop-like locks out ofher eyes, and then she shrugged. “Not sanitary to be with a body,” she said. “How’sthat for useful?”

Johnclenched his teeth now. For one, he’d managed to get nowhere interviewing thestaff. For another, he wasn’t entirely certain what the word “sanitary” meantin English. He’d have to look it up. But either way, he was sick of thecomplaining and needed some air.

“Say,”called another voice from the back of the compartment.

Johnlooked and watched as two new waiters entered and collapsed on a soft couch. “Areyou with the feds?” one called. “We hear there’s a body in the new compartment.Is it true?”

Johnturned his attention to this new, younger couple, desperate and hoping perhapsthey’d have something useful to add. “Do either of you know the victim?”

“Victim,see,” said Mrs. Something. “There’s a killer on the train. What did I tell you?”

Herhusband nodded darkly and leaned in a bit closer to his wife, where he sat onthe arm of the chair.

Theyoung couple looked nervous now. “There’s a killer here?” one of them said.

“Forgetit,” John replied, turning.

“Wait,hang on,” said Mrs. Something. “I’m not done speaking with you!”

“I’vegot to go!” John cried over his shoulder, muttering darkly and stomping out ofthe staff’s compartment. He moved on into the mostly empty dining car, hearingthe swish of the door behind him, grateful to have escaped the incessantnagging.

Johnwaited a moment, exhaling softly through his nose, then looked up. Besides abartender preparing for the evening rush, there was only one other person inthe room.

AgentLeoni was wiping sweat from his forehead and thanking the bartender as hereached out, gingerly accepting a small bag filled with ice.

Fora moment, John stared at the Italian. He didn’t like the man. He wasn’t surewhy yet, but John didn’t like him, and his instincts were rarely wrong. Well…then again, he hadn’t liked Adele when he’d first met her. But she’d beenteachable. His own personality had managed to rub off on her a bit, making herat least tolerable company. This Leoni fellow though—shifty, unreliable. He couldsee it in the eyes.

Whatsort of idiot sprained their ankle while doing a simple rappel down from ahelicopter?

Johnsnorted to himself as he reluctantly moved across the compartment toward whereLeoni sat, more to escape the staff behind him than for any desire to becomeproximate with the Italian.

Leonitook the small bag and lifted his foot, pressing the ice to his ankle justbeneath the pant leg. Were those pants from a dinner suit? They seemed far toofine for work clothing. Again, John resisted the urge to scoff—though not toohard. The Italian clearly wasn’t a man built for action.

Hismood souring even more as he approached Leoni, John came to a halt. “Anything?”he said, followed by a grunt.

Leonidabbed at his ankle with the ice for a moment, as if finding a tolerableposition, and then he pressed it against his leg, emitting a soft sigh ofrelief. He looked up, regarding John. “Nothing,” he said. “Sleeper cars weremostly empty—and those that weren’t had little to tell me. I understand the victimwasn’t very well-liked by everyone, though.”

“Whois,” John riposted. He sighed, passing a hand through his hair. “Shit, it justfeels like we’re wasting time.”

“Mhmm.The train will stop at the next station; to not do so would be negligence. How doyou think Adele is faring?”

“Adele?”John asked, regarding the Italian again. The smaller man had symmetricalfeatures and a messy strand of hair threatening to get in his eyes. Not theideal haircut for a shooter, John thought to himself. Even the smallestdistractions could prove costly. “Let’s reconvene with Agent Sharp then. Need ahand?”

Leonilooked at John, then shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, pausing for a momentto gather his strength. “Thanks, though,” he added as an afterthought. “For… well,for saving me back there.”

Johnjust grunted. “Stop falling off trains and you won’t need saving.”

“Ican’t argue with that.” Leoni, gritting his teeth, the ice pack tucked in hissock, lowered his leg and began limping back toward the front of the train. Hepaused for a moment in the doorway. “You and Adele aren’t much alike,” he said.

Johnglowered. “Maybe you just don’t know her as well as you think.”

“Perhaps.She’s a good agent—you’re fortunate to be partnered with her.” Then he turned,limping back up the train.

Johnfollowed, frowning as they went.

***

Thekind-eyed man gnawed at a fingernail, staring absentmindedly out the window tothe first-class car, doing his best not to look like he was eavesdropping.Every so often, he would glance over to where the blonde agent was talking toother passengers.

Shewas getting close. Too close.

Shelooked up and he glanced sharply away again, watching the passing countryside.There was something off about that woman—something too keen, like an overexcitedhound on a hunt.

Heneeded to get