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

For one strange moment, she glanced toward the externalwindows, looking out at the countryside. But then Agent Leoni nudged her, andshe looked toward the glass partition of the first-class compartment.

She frowned as she recognized the valet who had wanted torefuse her water. He was looking nervously over his shoulder, as if checkingwith the old man in the compartment for permission.

Adele remembered his testimony about something breaking. Aclue? Whatever the case, it wasn’t like they were getting anywhere fast.

She gestured urgently at the young man, who pushed throughthe glass partition and came to stand in front of John. He cleared his throat,glancing nervously around, refusing to look toward the body. His cheeks had awhitish tinge, as if he were equal parts sick and scared at the same time. Johnhad that effect on people, and corpses just a bit less.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” he said, stammering, “I know,I know you said not to, but, just the…” He trailed off and glanced toward John,who was glaring at him.

“What?” Adele said, trying to keep her tone gentle.

The young man, who couldn’t have been much older thantwenty, muttered, “The conductor would like to speak with you. If it’s not toomuch to ask. I know you’re busy, and I can tell him, if you’d like, that maybe—”

“The conductor?” Adele said, slowly.

For a moment, she hesitated. She didn’t have the time to beyanked around every which way. But as she continued to think about it, sheremembered the staff list. They had cross-referenced the same staff list, whichhad said two people were common between the murders on the train cars in Franceand Italy. The bartender, whom they had cleared. But the conductor also.

She felt a sudden shiver.

“The conductor,” she said, hesitantly. “It isn’t Peter Granet,is it?

The young man wrinkled his nose and shrugged. “Honestly,they switch so much, I don’t know. Should I tell him you’re coming?”

“Better yet,” Adele said, with a significant glance towardJohn and then Leoni, “lead the way.”

The young man turned, as if glad to be looking anydirection than in John’s glowering face, and then hurried off, his red uniformstiff and starched like cardboard. He walked quickly, not even glancing back,and Adele hurried along, listening as Leoni breathed, not cursing as he hobbledafter them. He’d refused any help, yet she still felt sympathy for the agent.His sock, from what she’d seen, was wet, with some droplets from melted ice nowseeping to the floor around him.

They had bigger concerns, though, than water damage on afew floorboards.

The young valet passed the old man who was sitting by thewindow. The man in question looked up, and he wasn’t smiling now, a newspaperlaid in front of him.

As he spotted the agents with the valet, he frowned for amoment, but just as quickly, his expression flickered, and he adopted the samesmile, his eyes shining as he regarded them.

Adele hesitated, looking at the old man, but then shefollowed after the valet, who was quickly losing them as he pushed through the partitionat the end of the first-class car, which led further into the train and uptoward the engine.

The engine itself was more spacious than Adele would’vethought. As they were pushed through a metal door, which was locked from theinside and required a quick knock and an announcing of their presence before itwould open, Adele could feel her apprehension rising. She felt a flicker ofexcitement, which just as quickly gave way to nerves. She wasn’t sure what laybeyond. Twenty minutes left, twenty minutes until they reached the station.Twenty minutes and the killer would get away. But the conductor had called. Thesame conductor had been on the Italian train and the French one. Peter Granet.Was it the same man here on this third train? If so, certainly it wouldn’t be acoincidence. It couldn’t be. Three bodies, three countries.

It was with a rising apprehension, like a child onChristmas morning unwrapping a glistening present, that Adele stepped into theengine.

Two men in white uniforms standing by the metal door turnedto resume their seats, facing a small window no bigger than a porthole. One ofthem picked up a book he’d left on a coffee table, and the other crossed hisarms, watching them enter. Adele’s attention, though, was drawn toward a mansitting next to an array of controls. The conductor wasn’t wearing a hat, likeshe’d imagined in her mind’s eye, but he stood, straight-backed, with perfectposture.

“Peter,” Adele said, preemptively.

But the man didn’t turn.

She pressed into the room further, staring at the back ofthe man’s dark head. Was it the same conductor? He had the same build. Why hadhe summoned her?

John stood in the frame of the door, as if blocking anyonefrom running, and Leoni limped after Adele, moving deeper into the engine. Thevalet, glad to be rid of them, his work done, turned and scampered off.

Adele stared at the back of the conductor. “Excuse me,” shesaid, “sir?”

At this, the conductor seem to snap out of his reverie fromwhere he was staring through the elevated windshield at the front of the train.Now Adele had an even better look at the approaching city beyond. Thesettlement outside the Black Forest wasn’t as large as Paris, nor did it seemas populated. The train station, though, would be a hub of transit. Adele knewif the train stopped, the killer would have every chance to slip away.

“Ah, yes, the federals?” said the conductor, turning fullynow.

Adele felt a sudden flutter of disappointment. It wasn’tPeter Granet—he didn’t match Granet’s picture at all. This was a differentconductor than the last two. Another dead end.

“Agent Sharp,” said Adele, nodding in greeting, her lipsfirm. “This is Agent Renee and Agent Leoni,” she said, nodding to each of herpartners in turn. “We were told you sent for us. We’re in the middle of aninvestigation, so I hope you don’t mind if we make this quick.”

The conductor still stood, straight-backed, perfectpostured. Something about his stance reminded Adele of her own father. Sheinstantly guessed he was either military or ex-police. Regardless, unlike herfather, he was perfectly clean-shaven, his hair trimmed back, neat. He wasn’thandsome, nor were his