This is mystery about a retired detective on a luxury train trip across the United States and the quirky crime on the train. There’s no lesson to be learned, it’s just a story to entertain the reader. It’s a long short story, 20 pages, 6400+ words, so I will only be posting this as part 1 and part 2. I plan to post both parts this week. Sometimes I like to read a story that takes my mind away from today’s problems, so if this story does that for you, I’ll consider it a success. Comments are welcome.
* * *
If you want to get somewhere quickly, don’t take the train. Traveling on a train takes time, money, and conversation with strangers. If your trip is about the destination not the journey, take a plane.
Riding the rails will settle your life, open your mind and maybe recharge your
spirit. Well, that’s what I expected it to do for me. I’m Richard, a retired detective and this was my first cross-country train trip. This luxury-escorted tour was pricey, but I wanted it to be special. It would be my one and only trip by rail, but let me explain. I was always fantasized about a cross-country tour on the rails. At age seventy-four, it was now or never. I wouldn’t be alone. My granddaughter Penny would travel with me. She was a precocious thirteen-year-old with a love of adventure. Her personality always exploded, leaving a trail of smiles along the way, and she has never met a stranger. We have that last part in common.
The seventeen-day trip started in New York City and ended in San
Francisco, with many stops to take in the magnificent scenery and historical highlights. As amazing as that sounds, the most interesting and fascinating part of the trip took place on the train itself.
Penny and I were settled in our seats, anxious to get on our way when within
minutes of pulling out of the station, Sarah Mae came sashaying down the aisle. She looked over her shoulder at me and said, “I always “dress to the nines,” especially on the first day of the trip.” Sarah winked. “Do you like what you see?”
“You’re very put together,” I responded.
She gave me her hand. “I’m Sarah Mae. Have you read me?”
It was an odd way of introducing herself, but I immediately knew she was an
author and a bit quirky, but that goes with the territory. “No, but I’m always looking for a good book. Is yours any good?”
“Oh! Honey, you’ll love them.” Sarah Mae winked and said, “All my novels are
murder mysteries.”
I waved. “I’ll pick one up. Call me Rich. I’m a retired detective, so let me know if
you want a critique.”
Sarah tipped her glasses down. “Tata, sweetie.”
Penny was intrigued but confused because she had no idea what Sarah Mae
meant. She whispered. “Gramps, What is she talking about when she says ‘dressed to the nines”?
“It’s another way of saying she’s wearing fancy clothes,” I whispered back.
“Those are her words. She’s a writer, so words are important to her.”
The guy across the aisle chuckled, listening to our conversation and hearing Sarah
Mae boast about her book. Charlie was a jack-of-all-trades and a storyteller but without the eloquent words. His stories were funny and raw but entertaining.
This is what I liked about the train; everyone would become part of our lives for
seventeen days. We became a family that we’d never see again, so it was a safe zone with no secrets. It’s easy to be honest with a stranger.
On the way to our first stop in Washington, D.C., we had lunch in the dining car
and shared a table with Jeffery, a professional gambler and entertainer.
He pulled out a deck of cards and shuffled them like a Las Vegas dealer. “Watch
closely.” He fanned the cards and held them in front for Penny to choose. It was an advanced card trick, and it fascinated my granddaughter. He, of course, guessed the card and revealed it in a flashy way.
“That’s so good,” Penny replied. “Can you do another one?”
Jeff did a few more card tricks and showed her how to do a few basic ones.
She was hooked and couldn’t wait to see his act.
Jeffery explained he normally warmed up the crowd for the headliner, he was
gaining a following of his own but because of his updated act,. He freshened up the act by adding ventriloquism. A parrot would become part of his act. It turned out to be a huge success. It was so well received by the audience, that in some ways, the parrot Billy Bob stole the spotlight away from Jeff. Not quite what he intended, but still better than a career path as a second banana.
Curious, I asked, “Where did you get the parrot?”
“I bought Billy Bob from a guy just back from the Amazon. He purchased the
bird on a whim, but the parrot was so annoying that he couldn’t deal with it.” He laughed. “I was able to buy him for a tenth of the cost and figured an annoying bird would be good comedy.”
Billy Bob was an African Grey about forty years old and knew many phrases, but
Jeff taught him to move his beak without speaking as part of the act.
I smiled. “It sounds like this could make you a headliner.”
“We’ll see.” He leaned back in his chair. “It has turned out to be a funny duo,
even funnier when Billy Bob throws out random comments that surprise me.”
“That must mess with your timing.”
“It could, but I’ve learned a few things. You need to have a quick wit to do
sarcastic battle with a parrot. Sometimes the audience doesn’t know if it is Billy Bob talking or me throwing my voice, but they love it.”
He and his parrot would be performing on the train during the leg between
Chicago and Grand Junction. Penny was anxious to see this unusual act.
We spent a few days touring our nation’s capital with Charlie before we boarded
the California Zephyr for our trip west. Keeping us laughing the whole time we were with him, Charlie turned out to be great company. He was the kind of person who could fit into any conversation and end up leading it in any direction. An influencer before the word became popular.
Sarah Mae saw herself as an influencer, but she was just a tease. Flirting was her
marketing strategy. The more I watched her, the more obvious it became. As a flirt, she met a lot of people and learned a lot about them. But like information on the Internet, I’m not sure what to believe. Sarah writes murder mystery novels. Her main character is a woman with all the quirky traits of Sarah Mae. Surprise!!!
I picked up a copy of Sarah Mae’s latest book and read it in a couple of nights,
thanks to my insomnia. It reminded me of a few unsolved cases from my past. Was she using real cases as her prompts for her mystery novels? Maybe, but writers use lots of methods to get inspired. The novel was good for insomnia, but it wouldn’t keep you awake with intrigue.
One evening in the bar, I approached her. “Your novel, The Dance of
Death. Interesting twist at the end.”
“Thanks, that’s my signature style.” She smiled. “If you liked that one, you’ll
absolutely love the one I’m working on now. It will be called Death on the Rails.”
“Intriguing!” I held my glass up. “When will it be available?”
“Before Christmas . . . If the publisher gets their act together.”
“Do all your book titles have death in them?”
“It’s what my readers expect and want.” She flipped her hair. “I’m a slave to my
followers.”
“Are you going to the show tonight?”
“I’m going to try, but I’m just so busy.”
“Penny is looking forward to seeing Jeffery’s act. So, maybe we’ll see you there.”
* * *
Later that same day, Sven, the train conductor, came around to tell us the show
Was postponed.
“Postponed?” Penny disappointed. “Why? I was looking forward to seeing him
with his parrot.”
The conductor shook his head. “That’s the problem. Billy Bob has been stolen.
When Jeff went back to his cabin after lunch, the bird was gone. The thief took nothing else, only the parrot.”
Penny looked over at her grandpa. “You’re a detective. Can you help?”
“Sir, that’s why I came here first.” The conductor leaned over, bracing himself on
the seatback. “I was hoping you could lend your expertise to help us get to the bottom of this.”
“I’m happy to be of service, but I’ll need more information from Jeffery and
anyone else who had access to the parrot. Can you get me a list of names? I’ll chat with them in the dining car.”
A table was set up in the dining car, for me to do my interviews. Sven then
brought me a list of five names.
Jeffery was the first to be interviewed. “So, what did you see when you got back
to your cabin.”
“I was going to go over the act with Billy Bob before tonight’s show, but when I
pulled the cover off his cage. My parrot was gone.”
I jotted down a few notes, while I while watching his facial expressions. “Was
there anything else taken from your cabin?”
“No, nothing else was disturbed, but the cage door was open.” Jeff rubbed his
forehead. “It doesn’t make any sense. I always latch the door of his cage, but my mind was whirling with new ideas for the act, so might have I forgotten.”
“Could the bird have escaped with the cover still on?”
“He’s a smart bird so I thought that might be possible . . . “ He handed me a scrap
of paper. “Until I found this note.”
I tipped my glasses down and peered at the note. “A caged bird wants freedom.” I
scratched my nose. “Animal activist . . . Hmm! Seems too obvious.”
Jeff stood to leave then turned. “Oh! One more thing, that crazy-ass writer Sarah
Mae constantly complained that my parrot was too noisy. She has the cabin next to me and asked the conductor to have us moved to a different sleeper car.”
“Thanks, I hope to get this resolved within a day or two. I’ll keep you
informed.”
The cleaning lady, Valerie, did not have any useful information. She was nervous
about the interview. Some people got nervous whenever the police asked questions, but the fact that she had access to the cabins couldn’t be ignored. I learned she had three children and money was tight as her husband was laid off from his construction job.
My third interview was with Charlie, but just as he walked up to the table the
Sven ran over to us. “There’s a problem. It’s in the lounge car. Please come with me.” I followed him as he tried to explain the situation. “The cook heard a scream coming from the lounge car, next to the kitchen. A woman found the parrot in a trash can, with a scissors protruding from his lifeless body.”
“So, Billy Bob was found dead. The bird kidnapping is now a murder, of sorts.” I
ran my hand through my hair.
The conductor left to find Jeffery so he could identify the body, which seemed
like a waste of time. How many parrots were aboard the train? One and only one, I suspected. Sarah Mae was right. Parrots are noisy, so if there was a second onboard surely someone would have noticed.
I sent Penny on an investigation to move around the train and keep her eyes and
ears open for any conversations regarding the bird’s demise. No one would pay much attention to a thirteen-year-old, so she could float through the train cars without being questioned. While she was gone, I sent a message out to a former colleague asking her to work up a background report on each of the suspects. She was happy to assist my investigation.
Jeff rushed to the lounge car. “What happened? Where’s my bird?”
“Sorry, I have some bad news.” I lifted the lid to the trash can.
His eyes narrowed, Jeff reached into pickup Billy Bob. “This is a really sick
joke.”
I scratched my head. “Joke? What are you talking about?”
“This isn’t Billy Bob. It’s an African Grey parrot, but my bird has a distinctive
red patch of breast feathers. This bird doesn’t have them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. We spent a lot of time together practicing our act.” He turned
the bird over to show me then laid it back down. “Billy Bob has only been missing for three hours, and this bird feels cold.”
“That is peculiar.” I turned to Sven. “Is a veterinarian on the train?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll check the passenger log.”
Now there would be another person to interview, Chelsea, the woman who found
the parrot. She could be the perpetrator returning to the crime scene. There was a lot to be considered, but the fact remained we had one dead parrot and one missing one. As I inspected the body, the conductor returned with Tracey, a veterinarian from the St. Louis Zoo.
“I’m happy to help. What do we have here?”
I pointed to the scissors. “Can you check the bird?”
Tracey reached into the trash can, picked up the bird, and examined it. “Well,
it’s dead.”
“Really! Thanks Doc.” I shook my head. “Is that all ya got?”
She rotated the parrot and held up a magnifying glass to look at the feathers.
“This bird has been dead for weeks, and it’s been frozen. The feathers have freezer burn marks.” She held it up so I could take a look.
Jeff turned to look at me. “So, this bird is a parrot popsicle. and my Billy Bob was
still missing. What are you going to do about this?”
This case didn’t make sense. Someone planned this. They brought a frozen parrot
on board so they could steal Billy Bob, then leave the dead parrot hoping to fool everyone. Jeffery’s act was promoted on the flyer, so all the passengers knew about the parrot, but why would anyone want to steal him? The bigger question was, where was Billy Bob now? I was stumped.
