Part of Ian wanted to tell the elderly man that, statistically speaking, he wasn’t going to enjoy his second chance for much longer. But there was an enthusiasm in Kasper’s voice that spoke better than the Swede did, making Ian want to believe it.
Ian was about to say something when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Solely by instinct, Ian grabbed at the hand and glanced up sharply, only to find himself face-to-face with Nellie. “Give me a warning next time,” Ian growled at her, annoyed.
“You must be the wife! It’s nice to meet you,” Kasper said, extending a leathery handshake. He may have missed the tension in Nellie’s face, but Ian didn’t. Ignoring Kasper’s hand, Nellie motioned for Ian to follow her. All too eager for another mystery, Ian rose out of his seat at the bench and followed Nellie. Behind him, he could hear Kasper struggling to find the word in English to express his surprise.
As they walked briskly, Ian asked, “What happened?” He needed to know why he was being pulled out of exile in the coach car.
“There’s been another murder, well, three actually…” Nellie began to say as they made their way to the end of the car. Nellie yelped a little as Ian grabbed her by the arm and hustled her into the bathroom. Nellie was forced to squeeze between the dirty toilet and infested wall as Ian closed the door.
As Nellie recovered, she said sarcastically, “Dark, cramped, wet – I feel like I’m being born again.”
There was a gas lamp planted on the wall, giving off a fluttering light like a firefly. The little flame haunted Ian’s face. “What happened?” He demanded.
Nellie paused. “There was a murder-suicide in the first-class car.”
“Not involving our hapless friends, I hope?”
“No. Remember the rancher I told you about earlier, the one whose bodyguard shoved him into his sleeping compartment after the last murder? The wife had put a bullet in each man’s head before killing herself. We heard the gunshots, of course – it sounded like the world was ending. I ran in, and that’s when…” Nellie choked up, as the words inflated in her throat. “I saw the revolver still smoldering in her hand. It was the only thing still warm on her.” She shook her head. “I never felt so cold in my entire life.”
Then, perhaps prompted by her words, Nellie reached out, hoping to embrace her friend and feel warm again. But Ian suddenly gripped her by the shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. “Listen,” he said steadily, “were the marshals already there when you were there?”
“What? No, no, they weren’t. Someone went to go fetch them.”
“Go back to the car, now! I need you to take a second look at the crime scene…”
Nellie looked down and shook her head. “I can’t,” she said tearfully.
“You will, before the marshals get there and do what they do best and foul up the investigation. If we lose the trail now, we won’t pick it up again until the next person dies. We have to find out who our murderer is.”
Nellie stared at him. “You don’t think it was the wife?”
“Go – now!”
Nellie and Ian awkwardly switched places in the tiny restroom so that Nellie could walk out the door. Before she could do, Ian suddenly thought of something. “Nellie?”
“Yes?”
“Remember: it’s the little things that matter. When you look at a painting, you don’t look at the big picture – you look at the brushstrokes.”
Nellie was confused. “Of course you look at the big picture…”
“Just go!” Ian said, pushing her back out into the hallway and closing the restroom door behind her.
Nellie stared at the door for a moment, trying to make sense of what he was asking of her. Then, shaking her head, she muttered, “The things I do for charity.”
The moment she walked out onto the vestibule and closed the car door behind her, the door at the other end of the coach car opened and the marshals marched through, on their way to yet another crime scene.