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

door, whistling now with the saxophone musiccoming from the kitchen and stomping back in the direction of the bathroom tofinish up. She didn’t have long for this world. Maybe an hour, tops.

The information she’d provided though… That would last.That had true implications for his real friends. For the masterpiecesthat actually mattered.

He couldn’t wait for night to come.

CHAPTER FIVE

Adele and John took his Cadillac lease to the Gare de Ruein Northern France where the Normandie Express had been held.

She regarded John as he exited the vehicle onto the smooth,almost glassy black cement of the parking lot. A stream of passengers movedthrough the train station, heading in and out in a cavalcade of dailysojourners.

“I hate trains,” John muttered as Adele slammed the doorand fell into step behind him.

She perked at this sudden interest in conversation. Theride had continued in an impressive stretch of silence, with neither John norAdele willing to break the ice. Adele hadn’t even quibbled with her tallpartner about who should drive the vehicle—normally a matter of greatcontention. Jumping on the chance to hopefully smooth things a bit with herpartner, she said, “Oh? What about them?”

“I get sick,” John said. “Sick like a dog and puke overeverything. Last time, I only had one shirt on a road trip—I stank like vomitfor days.”

“Lovely,” Adele said.

John often said gross or offensive things—it was his way ofrattling cages. Now, though, instead of playful, his words felt barbed, as if hewere interested in simply offending her for the sake of the offense rather thana shared joke or a playful tease.

Maybe she was simply reading too much into it. Adelesighed, wishing she’d had a chance to go for her usual morning run before herfather had arrived, and instead contenting herself with a brisk walk after John’slong-legged form in the direction of the large train station built into theflatland of the northern country. Adele acknowledged the tall, curvingstructure of the station. From within, she could hear the chug of locomotivesand the sound of milling passengers.

A local uniform was waiting in front of the station. Whenhe spotted them, the young man glanced at his phone as if double-checkingsomething, and then his expression brightened. He was a round, cherubic-facedfellow, with dimpled cheeks and a thin hairline visible beneath his policeofficer’s hat.

“Hello!” the man called, waving his pudgy fingers in ahyper sort of greeting.

John’s eyes narrowed and Adele smiled. Nothing pissed herpartner off more than good cheer, and this jolly fellow seemed to have it inspades.

“Bonjour,” Adele replied. “Are you here for show andtell?”

The man wrinkled his nose for a moment, but then laughed,even though she wasn’t sure what at. “Ah, yes, mademoiselle. Agent Sharpand Agent Renee, yes?”

Adele nodded. John just glared.

“Well, come this way, the Normandie Express is sequestered.We transferred the passengers to their destinations, of course,” he said, moreprattling than advising. As he turned to lead them away, though, Adele coughed,frowning herself now.

“You sent the passengers away?”

The man hesitated, turning back, his double chin pressingagainst the side of his uniform as he twisted. His dimpled cheeks seemed a bitless pronounced as he cleared his throat. “Umm, yes,” he said. “Is that… isthat all right?”

Adele shook her head. Friendly and chipper was one thing.Incompetent and people-pleasing was another. Now, she noted, it was John’s turnto give a ghost of a smile. This only further darkened her mood.

“Damn it,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, ah, yes… I’m Officer Allard.”

“Do you have a first name, Officer Allard?”

“Ah, yes. Francis.”

“Well,” Adele said, testily, “Francis, we’re hereinvestigating a potential murder. Sending the passengers home is the same assending the potential killer home with plenty of time to cook up an alibi,destroy evidence, or simply disappear to the four winds. Do you see why thatmight be an issue?”

She tried to keep her tone matter-of-fact, but couldn’thelp the edge creeping in.

If he noted it, Allard didn’t seem to mind. “Oh,” he said. “Yes,well, that wasn’t an option, unfortunately. My captain made sure of that.”

Adele sighed. Great. A local cop was already meddling. Sheshook her head and amended her mood, trying to at least maintain a workingrelationship. “Thank you for your help, regardless. Well, I suppose it is whatit is. Did you at least keep the staff around?”

“Yes, of course!” he said, brightly. “Follow me, please,Agent Sharp and Agent Renee.”

Then, with a slight skip to his step despite his heavyframe, the jolly officer led the two grumbling agents into a side service doorof the massive train station, and down a long gray hall with thick, edgedbrick-work.

At last, they reached a white door, which he pushed open.As Adele followed with John and the door hissed, closing on a contained springsystem, the train station became suddenly much more muted.

John whistled beneath his breath, pursing his lips andtransitioning the expression into one of mild awe. He looked around the highceilings and the varnished wooden archways. For her part, Adele glanced down,regarding the marble fountain in the center of what was purportedly a trainstation, and the old-fashioned, wooden ticket-collecting stand with oldphotographs framed and pinned to the side. She spotted a rest area in onecorner, complete with an ottoman and six recliners all facing a sputteringprojected screen playing a black-and-white video of some kind.

And the centerpiece of it all, sealed in the strange area,cordoned off from the rest of the train station, was the train itself. Exceptit didn’t look like any train Adele had seen before.

It looked… old, though she knew the Normandie Express was anewer circuit. The train itself had drapes in the windows and a balcony aroundthe front locomotive. Crisp green paint with golden lettering on each of thecompartments displayed the name for the company.

Officer Allard, noting their astounded looks, coughedsheepishly and said, “Ah, yes… Part of the deal the Normandie Express made whencontributing to the station—an allowance for a private holding area in six ofthe nineteen stops it makes on its seven-day journey.”

“Seven days?” John asked, seemingly even more surprisedthan before. “Who wants to be trapped on a blasted puke box for seven days?”

Allard chuckled good-naturedly, as if they were sharing ajoke rather than listening to