Left to Lapse (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Seven) by Blake Pierce (a book to read .txt) 📕

Afterbidding a final farewell, Agent Leoni hung up, leaving Adele standing in theold hospital with a rising sense of uncertainty in her gut. She frowned after amoment, then glanced back at John. Raising her voice, she said, “We need to geta list of all the first-class passengers on the train at the time. Staff aswell.”

Johnnodded once. “Who was that?”

“Anotheragent,” she replied, curtly. “From Italy. He’s confident this was murder.”

Thenshe turned and exited the hospital, not bothering to look and see if John wasfollowing.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Adelepaced the small, cramped room back in the Bourthes Precinct, scrolling throughthe documents on her phone. John sat on the floor, beneath a window, a laptopopen on his legs as he also scrolled through the same information.

Adelesighed, but didn’t speak. Again, a strange, awkward silence had filled thespace between them. By now, it was irritating enough that Adele half felt likeaddressing it then and there. But what could she say that wouldn’t simply makethings worse? She shot a sidelong look over at where John continued to stare athis laptop screen, his face illuminated in glowing blue light from the deviceand also the bright white glare from the naked, tube ceiling bulbs.

AsAdele considered what she might say, a staccato knock on the door echoed out ina playful rhythm, then the door opened and a smiling face popped into view.

“Everythingall right?” Officer Allard said, glancing from Adele to John in the small spacehe’d managed to set aside for them back at his precinct.

“Fine,fine,” Adele said, forcing a smile. She looked back distractedly at the phone,reading and rereading the names she’d been provided by Normandie Express.

“Anythingto drink?” Allard asked.

Adeleshook her head, and John just grunted.

“Well…I’ll be just out here if you need anything,” he said, as if hopeful they mighttake him up on the offer.

Anothershake of the head, another grunt.

Theaffable agent dipped back out and shut the door again behind him. Something aboutthis brief interlude shifted the atmosphere enough that Adele struck up thecourage to glance at her surly partner and murmur, “See anything standing out?”

Johnkept staring at his screen, frowning. “Joseph Dupuy—the first victim—was ayoung man in his thirties…”

“Inoticed that too.”

“Ithought both would be old. Pretty rare for a thirty-year-old to have a heartattack.”

“Whatdoes it say—he was a tech entrepreneur, yes?”

Johnfinally looked up. “You think money is a motive? Bad business venture?”

Adeleshrugged. “I’m not ruling anything out. Ms. Mayfield certainly came fromwealth. I wonder if she had investments of a type. I’ll request thatinformation.”

Johngrunted again, returning to the screen. “Don’t know about investments. But itlooks like most of her money was inherited from her late husband. She’sinvolved in dog shows and is a breeder.”

“Notexactly a tight connection with a tech engineer,” Adele murmured. “They’re bothrich, both were in first-class compartments on their respective trains… butotherwise they couldn’t be more different.”

Johnshrugged now, seemingly deciding he had nothing further to add.

Forher part, Adele’s brow creased into a frown. “Maybe…” she said, slowly, “maybethey knew each other?”

“Onewas from London, came here on a cruise,” said John. “The other was an Italiancoder. Doesn’t exactly seem like they would have had any reason to connect.”

“Well…still worth looking into.”

“Iguess.”

“Youguess?”

Johnshrugged again.

Adele’seyes narrowed. “You know…” she said, testily, “we might not have left thingsthe best, but there’s more at stake here than just—”

Hecut her off mid-sentence. “You see the staff list?”

Adelegaped at him, hesitant, having been stopped mid-flow. For a moment, she feltlike lashing out again, but then she breathed a couple of times, exhalingthrough her nose, and said, “What about it?”

“Bothtrains were from the same company. Normandie Express and LuccaRail are fundedby Lockport Enterprises.”

“I’veheard of them before. They’re involved with buses and ferries too, if Iremember. You don’t think they’re involved, do you?” Adele’s tone softened abit now that John was actually contributing something.

Herpartner shook his head. “Not the company, exactly. But because they’re funded byLockport, they also sometimes share employees. Trade to another line to fillthe gaps.”

Adelestared. “How do you know that?”

“Iwasn’t always a helicopter pilot.” John grunted. “I did a stint on an overnightferry for a couple of years when I was a teenager and lied about my age. Mypoint, though, is that I cross-referenced staff names.”

Adelestared. “Between the two lines? Anything?”

Johnnodded once. He held up two fingers. “Two names. Peter Granet, the conductor,and Martin Rodin, the bartender. On Tuesday, they were both in Italy on theLuccaRail, then Wednesday they were on the Normandie Express.”

Adeleregarded John with a look of surprise. “Good work,” she said.

Hegave a half shrug.

“Soyesterday they switched rails?” said Adele. “Even if that’s the case, I don’tthink Mr. Granet, the conductor, could be involved. He would be at the helm,far from the first-class compartment.”

“Unlesshe took a break,” John pointed out.

“Perhaps.But in both deaths? It would be noticed, surely…”

“Wellthen, that leaves us with Mr. Rodin, the bartender in the dining car. In fact,the dining car is directly next to the lounging area, where Ms. Mayfield wasfound.”

“Thebartender you say,” Adele said, perking up suddenly. She felt a flutter ofexcitement in her chest. “Strange you mention him… I didn’t ask for a name, butmy contact in Italy mentioned the bartender on the LuccaRail was overheard inan argument with the first victim.”

Johnand Adele both shared a look of surprise at this declaration, the tall agentsitting cross-legged, while Adele continued to pace the room, her eyes on herpartner.

“SoRodin is our guy?” John asked.

“Wecan’t be sure. But he’s the only connection between the two trains. And if hehad an argument with the first victim back in Italy, before switching trainsfor the company, maybe he had motive too. Not to mention,” she added, frowningin thought, “he was the bartender, which means he had access to the passengers’drinks.”

“They’rerunning a tox report now,” John added.

“Exactly.Two heart attacks. Poison would be the obvious murder weapon. And what betterway to poison someone than by handling their favorite drink right beforeconsumption?”

Johngot to his feet, closing the laptop lid and putting it back in the black satchelhe’d brought from the car. “Well, Mr. Rodin is our guy then. The staff is allstill held back at the train, so our best