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

or something. I’ll come to see you first chance I get after thecase. Have a good day.”

Shelingered for a moment, still holding the phone, wondering what else to add, butthen just hung up. Anything else could be said in person.

Thephone didn’t stay lowered, though. Now, she did call her father, his name storedin her device only as The Sergeant.

Thephone began to ring and her father picked up quickly.

“Adele?”he said.

“Hey,”she replied. “Hey, sorry. I just had a moment here. Was wondering how you are.”

“Fine.You?”

“I’m—I’mfine. Look, I’m sorry for just leaving you. I’ll be back from the case as soonas possible. Like I said before, make yourself comfortable at the apartment. Ifyou’d like—”

“Don’tworry about it,” the Sergeant said. “I’m heading home anyway.”

Adeleswallowed. “When?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh.You sure? You don’t have to. You’re welcome to—”

“I’msure. Look, sorry, Adele, my taxi is here. Have a good day.”

“Goodbye…”

Thistime, the Sergeant hung up and Adele slowly lowered her own phone. Shecontinued to stare through the glass at the milling passengers, some of themgrowing impatient in the interim. She glanced at the phone, wondering if sheshould have insisted he stay. But her father was a decisive man. If he wantedto leave, then he wanted to leave. Nothing she could do…

Shefelt the stirrings of disgruntlement, but forced herself once again to starethrough the glass and fixate on the passengers nearest the front.

Therewere only about six first-class passengers joining them for this next leg ofthe trip. One man in particular stood out to her. Not so much because of hisappearance, but because of the way the other passengers had given him a widerbirth. Perhaps he smelled. But as Adele watched, she glimpsed a surly, frowningexpression across the man’s face. He had no facial hair, and a dark shock offading hairline that was clearly dyed. The man’s eyes stretched in folded frownlines, and his lower lip seemed to be permanently jutting forward as if hetasted something sour.

Asthe surly man regarded the other passengers around him, the source of the sourtaste seemed to become evident, as his scowl only deepened near other humans.

Oneof the valets reached out, nodding politely, and tried to grab the man’s bag,but the angry man suddenly shouted. Even from within, through the glass, Adeleheard the words, “Get your dirty paws off,” followed by a dark muttering, “Stupidbastard.”

Theman with the dyed, receding hairline glared at the valet until the young manretreated, apologizing profusely, his face red.

Afew of the other first-class passengers looked on in disapproval, but insteadof quelling his behavior, the surly man turned on them and demanded, “What?Mind your own damned business.” And then, jamming a crumpled ticket hard intothe hand of the collector, he pushed past, entering the train.

Adelenoted the way he protectively gripped the brown satchel the bellhop had triedto grab. Curious.

Butthere had been no murders in the night. Which meant what? Was she just lookingfor a needle in a haystack? Trying to find someone to blame?

Maybethey had gone about this the wrong way. Maybe the murders weren’t tied to days,but trains. Maybe the murderer had to move to another train before he killedagain. Or, perhaps, not the trains, but the countries. A death in Italy, one inFrance, and the next one?

Adelebit her lip. They were at the last stop before the German border. What if thekiller was waiting for them to enter? She watched the old, surly man clutchinghis brown bag as he disappeared behind the ticket collector into thefirst-class compartment.

Adele’scountenance darkened a bit, but as she peered through the window, toward thepassengers, she recognized a different face. Her eyes went wide, and her lipsformed a sudden smile. This face was much friendlier and handsomer than the oneprior.

Herbreath suddenly fogged the glass a second time, and for a moment, she wasn’tsure why she couldn’t see, but then quickly, feeling embarrassed, her cheeksheating up, she reached up and wiped hurriedly at the misted surface.

Theperson in question spotted her also, it seemed, and was now waving in agood-natured, easygoing sort of way. She tried to suppress a grin and wavedback before pushing away from the lacquered counter and moving quickly throughthe car toward one of the entrances.

Adelebrushed past one of the valets, who was lugging a particularly large suitcaseaboard, and smiled down toward where Agent Leoni from Italy was now handing histicket to the collector.

Shewaited expectantly as the ticket collector nodded, ripped off the top of thepaper, and handed the stub back. Christopher Leoni was wearing plain clothesand even carried a suitcase. He took the two metal steps up to the backentrance of the train and entered past Adele.

“It’sgood to see you,” he said, winking.

Ashe brushed past her, she detected the faint odor of cologne. His hair was asshe remembered, perfectly set, with a single curl errant from the rest danglingover his forehead. His features were handsome in a clean, expected sort of way.Movie star good looks, she’d thought before. In the past she had characterizedJohn as a James Bond villain, but if so, then Agent Leoni was much like JamesBond himself. Not to mention, he’d once helped pilot a plane on an open highwayin Germany, and helped her save a life in the process.

“Whatare you doing here?” she said, moving along with Leoni away from the ticketcollector and the other first-class passengers toward one of the sleeper cars.

Heglanced over his shoulder, as if making sure no one was listening in, and thensaid, beneath his breath, “I managed to talk to one of my superiors and showhim the merit of my theory.”

Adele’seyebrows rose. “So we’re both still thinking murder?”

“I’mcertain of it,” he said. “You look lovely as ever, by the way.” He grinned.

Adelepressed her lips, trying to hide her smile. “Oh? You too.” She chuckled. “Notto be a bore, but did you get the toxicology report back?”

TheItalian agent shook his head. “Not yet. But I know that when we do, it willconfirm what I think.”

“Howdo you know?”

Leonisaid, “Thirty-year-olds don’t die of heart attacks. Not one day before someoneelse dies in a similar way. Call it a hunch, call it instinct. I seem toremember you went off that quite a