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

She reached out, suddenly finding her fingers trembling.The blanket wasn’t moving. The lump seemed strangely motionless. Her heartbegan to hammer. She felt a strong sense of foreboding rising in her gut. “John,”she said, her voice trembling.

Agent Renee stepped next to her, one hand on his hip, hiseyes fixed on the motionless form beneath the blankets.

“Conductor,” Adele said. “Johnson,” she said, louder now.

She could feel the eyes of the two other staff fixed onher, and her shoulder blades itched. She reached out now and grabbed the armbeneath the blanket and shook the man. The body went limp and fell toward her.For a moment, her chest locked up, and her hands went still.

But then, suddenly, as if roused from a deep reverie, theconductor beneath the blanket jolted. He sat suddenly upright, gasping andcursing. The man’s head collided with Adele’s elbow, and just as quickly as he’dsprung up, he rebounded back, his head flopping onto the thin pillow.

“What on earth,” he said, muttering, his voice creakingfrom a lack of sleep.

“Johnson,” John said, shouting, “stay still, stop moving.”

This, Adele decided, might not have been the bestinstruction for a man who was already motionless, with two looming shadowsstaring down at his sleeping form. The moment John’s voice echoed out, it wasclear Johnson realized he didn’t recognize them. His eyes widened in fright,and his hands gripped the edge of the blanket, as if preparing to use it like ashield. He struggled away, sliding on his back and kicking with his feet towedge up against the corner of the cot as far from them as he could manage,which wasn’t a long trip.

“Who are you?” the conductor shouted.

“Hands where I can see them,” John returned, at the samevolume.

“Careful,” Adele said, hesitantly. “Mr. Johnson, I’m withDGSI, and I’m here to talk—”

“Get away from me—don’t—get back!” he snapped. Then hestarted shouting, “Help! Help, I’m being robbed!”

Adele quickly held up her hands, releasing the blankets she’dbeen holding without realizing it, her fingers grazing against the fabric. Sheheld her hands out in mock surrender, taking two quick steps back. Johnreluctantly followed suit. And for a moment, the light from the TV screenbehind them no longer cast their shadows over the reserve conductor’s face. Theman had a fading hairline, combed over, and a cherubic nose which spoke ofyouth, but crow’s-feet eyes that contradicted the nose. He blinked, stillclearing his eyes and trying to come to. The moment he spotted how large Johnwas, he quailed back again but then his gaze found Adele, and his browfurrowed. “DGSI?” His sleep-deprived brain caught up with her words. “What are you talking about? What do you want from me?”

“Sir, we need to ask you to get out of the bed, please.”

The man, though, seemed hesitant, some of the original fearcreeping back into his posture, his eyes narrowed now. He held the blanket upover him, as if protecting himself in a cocoon against imminent attack.

“Were you on the LuccaRail?” John said, cutting to thechase, his shadow larger, and more foreboding than Adele’s as it stretched fromthe light of TV across the small cot.

“Yes,” the reserve conductor said, hesitantly. “But whatdoes that have—”

“Yesterday were you a second on the Normandie Express?”

He frowned now. “I was, but I got here about eighthours ago. What does that—”

“Sir,” Adele said, “were you aware there were dead bodieson both those trains?”

Now, the man was shaking his head, and it wasn’t the onlypart of him trembling. His hands clutching the fabric of the blanket wereturning white past the knuckles, and his cheeks went a similar hue. “Hang onjust a moment,” he said, hurriedly. “Are you implying that I had anything to dowith that? Those were heart attacks. Two heart attacks. It’s just acoincidence. You’ve got to be joking.”

“Get out of bed,” John said, sharply.

“You better listen, Johnson,” shouted a voice from near thecouch, as the waiter and waitress were now watching the events closer than they’dbeen staring at the TV. “The big one tried to punch Martha.”

“I did not,” John growled. “I don’t even know who that is.Shut up,” he added, pointing a thick finger behind the privacy curtain.

But the words from the waiter watching TV seemed to havetheir effect on Mr. Johnson. He continued to shake and tremble, and refused torise from his cot. “Please,” he was saying. “I have a family. A wife, two kids.Look, my wallet; I have a picture of them. Don’t hurt me. I wasn’t—”

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Adele said, firmly. She couldfeel her mind spinning. A competing swell of emotions, which included sympathy,frustration, and worry clashed with the evidence. This man had been a second onall three trains where the bodies were found. The only common staff among them.She set her jaw and said, “Please rise from the bed. We just need to talk. Doyou have any belongings here?”

“It’s just a coincidence,” he murmured, his voice frail. “Twoheart attacks. I know, strange. But it’s just a coincidence.”

“Sir, there have been three heart attacks. Anotherone on this train. You just so happen to have arrived directly before themurder.”

The man’s fingers went stiff. The blanket fell from hisgrip, tumbling onto his lap and revealing a sleeping T-shirt with stains as iffrom wine. “You’re joking,” he said, his eyes wide.

Again, Adele’s emotions competed with her intellect. Sheknew psychopaths could act. They were tactical liars who perfected the craftover a lifetime of deceit. But also people telling the truth behaved in asimilar way. The shock, the surprise, the note of tremor in his tone. All of ittugged on her heartstrings. But the cold hard facts competed. Three trains,three countries, three murders. Exactly one common point among them. She staredat him and his wine-stained white T-shirt.

“Get up,” she said, firmly. “Now.”

When the man continued to refuse to comply, John growled,reached out, and grabbed the man’s wrist. As if he’d been shot, Johnson shoutedsuddenly and began kicking, trying to keep John back. “Get off me, get off!”

“What are you doing to him!” shouted one of the waiters.

“None of your business,”