A Changing Light by Edith Maxwell (feel good books to read txt) 📕

This wasn’t a large station, as Amesbury was the end of the line. The building, with its wide cantilevered overhang on all sides, had only recently been moved here to the corner of Elm and Water. The engine of a Boston & Maine passenger train sat huffing and ready on the tracks.

Kevin again ordered the young officer to post himself at the door and watch for any well-dressed light-haired ladies hurrying out. We pushed through the crowd inside to the platform. A conductor stood checking tickets and helping women up the two steps into the first car.

“Police,” Kevin said to him. “Did a lady with a through ticket to Canada already board?”

I stepped forward. “She might have been dressed in widow’s black.” Or perhaps not. She’d be traveling among people who didn’t know of her husband’s death, and she obviously wasn’t actually mourning. Luthera could have dressed in the garments she’d brought.

“Let me think, now.” The conductor rubbed his forehead. “Why, yes, that lady. She’s checked through to Montreal.”

“Out with it, my man,” Kevin said. “Which car is she on?”

“They’re all the same. No first class on this train. Not until she transfers in Portland. She could be in any of the five.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Come on, Miss Rose. You start here, and I’ll run down to the other end and meet you. If you find her first, detain her until I get there.”

“Now, hold on a minute,” the conductor protested. He pulled out his pocket watch. “Train’s due to leave in two minutes.”

Kevin glowered. “Until Mrs. Dodge and I have descended with a known murderer in custody, train doesn’t leave Amesbury.”

The gent’s eyes widened. “With all due respect, sir, that’s not possible. We have connecting schedules to keep up. One late train and the entire network goes all to . . .” He glanced at me. “To heck.”

“Kevin, we can get off in Newburyport,” I blurted. The train from Amesbury had to first go slightly southeast to connect with any through lines, whether they traveled north or south. “It will arrive there in, what, twenty minutes?” I asked the conductor.

“Fifteen,” the man said.

“Very well.” Kevin sounded exasperated but took off for the caboose end of the train.

“Mrs. Dodge.”

I turned to see a breathless Mary Chatigny at my elbow. She was dressed for traveling in a sturdy brown suit and duster, and she carried a full satchel.

“Mary, is thee taking this train?”

“Yes. I’m late, but I’m off to a medical conference in New York City.” She lowered her voice. “What’s this about a known murderer?”

I matched her tone. “I can’t go into detail but, yes, there’s a woman from Ottawa aboard who was responsible for this week’s homicide.”

A steely look came into her eyes. “How can I help?”

I liked this woman. “If thee sees a lady with pale skin and light hair, about my age and height and wearing stylish clothing, please engage her in conversation.” My words tumbled out even as I saw the conductor check his watch again. “The chief and I will be going through the cars from opposite ends.”

“I think I’ve seen her around town. I shall board in the middle.” She strode down to the third car and climbed on without any help.

I smiled to myself at her fortitude as I ascended onto the first car, accepting the conductor’s offer of a hand up. He fastened the heavy chain across the opening after me.

I opened the door to the car, gazing down the length of it. This local line didn’t pull Pullman sleeper cars nor was it a luxury express train such as the one David and I had ridden to Cape Cod after our marriage, which had included lush upholstered chairs. The benches here were of a more utilitarian varnished wood.

A thought struck me. What if Luthera had been gazing out a window on this side and seen Kevin and me arrive? Or spied him racing down the platform to the other end. Would she have hurried to descend from, say, the second car and find her way out of town by some other means? Would the conductor apprehend her? I leaned my head back out and glanced up and down, but I didn’t see her. If she had already made her getaway, perhaps the police officer at the depot door would nab her, but that depended on him recognizing her. It also depended on Luthera not talking her way out of being detained.

The conductor climbed on. “All aboard,” he cried, leaning out from the passage between the first car and the coal car. The whistle blew, and the wheels began to move.

I tried to still my racing heart as I moved through the aisle at a funereal pace, checking each seat for Luthera. The train picked up speed and clacked through the woods toward Salisbury. It occurred to me the murderer might have disguised herself. Or perhaps she wore a traveling hat with a veil.

Spying someone I knew, I paused. Marie Deorocki huddled next to a window, a handkerchief to her mouth. Her shoulders heaved in a muffled cough.

“Where is thee bound, Marie?” I asked.

She glanced up, startled. “Hello, Rose. Dr. Chatigny convinced me I really must seek the cure at Saranac Lake.”

“I wish thee safe travels and much healing, Marie.”

She held up a hand in acknowledgment even as she bent over in a paroxysm of coughing. No wonder the seat next to her remained vacant. She couldn’t get to the sanitarium a minute too soon.

I continued on my quest. At the far end of the car were sets of seats facing each other. After I passed, I peered at the backward-facing ones. No Luthera.

Pulling open the door, I stepped onto the overlapping iron plates of the noisy open space. The connected plates were designed to slide under each other when the train took curves. I caught myself on a vertical bar when the train swerved as it turned south. We now approached the