Murder on the Orient Espresso

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Further Titles from Sandra Balzo

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Further Titles from Sandra Balzo

  The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries

  UNCOMMON GROUNDS

  GROUNDS FOR MURDER *

  BEAN THERE, DONE THAT *

  BREWED, CRUDE AND TATTOOED *

  FROM THE GROUNDS UP *

  A CUP OF JO *

  TRIPLE SHOT *

  MURDER ON THE ORIENT ESPRESSO *

  The Main Street Mystery Series

  RUNNING ON EMPTY *

  DEAD ENDS *

  * available from Severn House

  MURDER ON THE ORIENT ESPRESSO

  Sandra Balzo

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain and the USA 2013 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

  eBook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2013 by Sandra Balzo

  The right of Sandra Balzo to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Balzo, Sandra.

  Murder on the Orient Espresso. – (A Maggy Thorsen mystery; 8)

  1. Thorsen, Maggy (Fictitious character)–Fiction.

  2. Coffeehouses–Wisconsin–Milwaukee–Fiction.

  3. Businesswomen–Wisconsin–Milwaukee–Fiction.

  4. Congresses and conventions–Florida–Everglades–

  Fiction. 5. Christie, Agatha, 1890-1976. Murder on the

  Orient Express–Fiction. 6. Detective and mystery stories.

  I. Title II. Series

  813.6-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8311-7 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-456-0 (epub)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  MURDER ON THE ORIENT ESPRESSO

  Narrated by Maggy Thorsen

  Cast of Characters

  – in order of appearance –

  Jake Pavlik, Brookhills county sheriff, as our victim, Ratchett

  Zoe Scarlett, conference organizer, as the Woman in the Red Kimono

  Missy Hudson, assistant conference organizer, as Mrs Hubbard

  Laurence (Larry) Potter, reviewer and guest of honor, as Hercule Poirot

  Rosemary Darlington, author and guest of honor, as Mary Debenham

  Markus, nonfiction writer and librarian, as MacQueen

  Prudence, aspiring writer, as Princess Dragomiroff

  Grace, aspiring writer, as Greta Ohlsson

  Carson, germaphobic literary agent, as Count Andrenyi

  Danny, young writer and ‘sycophant,’ as Colonel Arbuthnot

  Boyce, coffee cart owner, as M Bouc

  Pete, bartender, as Pierre Michel

  Big Fred, aspiring writer, as Foscarelli

  Harvey, aspiring writer and actor, as Hardman

  Audra Edmonds, wife of Laurence Potter, as the second Mrs Hubbard

  ONE

  ‘They look normal. In fact,’ I swiveled my head to survey the people in the South Florida hotel lobby with us, ‘if it was July instead of November, we could be in Uncommon Grounds.’

  Tennis togs, check. Golf shirts, check. Business suits, check. People with time on their hands and too much money in their wallets. Check, check.

  Even the smells reminded me of my upscale coffeehouse back home in Brookhills, Wisconsin, though these were emanating from a small cart near the elevators. To one side of it, a stylishly dressed, fashionably slim, unnaturally endowed redhead (check, check, check) seemed to be holding some sort of planning meeting, the group around her listening attentively.

  All of them were … extraordinarily ordinary. ‘Where are the Edgar Allan Poes with their ravens? The Sherlock Holmeses wearing their deerstalkers?’

  Brookhills County Sheriff Jake Pavlik, my main squeeze – hell, my only squeeze, since my ex-hubby Ted ran off with his dental hygienist – looked down at me, blue eyes amused. ‘You were expecting costumes?’

  I shrugged. ‘I worked on GenCon when the gaming convention was in Milwaukee and you wouldn’t believe the outfits. Every kind of superhero imaginable. People wearing wings and not much else.’ I sniffed. ‘I don’t even see a Miss Marple or Hercule Poirot and what would that take? Tweeds and knitting needles? Some hair wax and a fake mustache? How tough would any of that be?’

  ‘Might depend on whether knitting needles or wings are allowed on airplanes,’ Pavlik said, but he must have heard the disappointment in my voice. ‘Sorry, Maggy, but Mystery 101 is a crime-writers’ conference for people who want to write mysteries, not a fan convention for readers. However, even if it were, I doubt you’d find it resembled a gamers’ event like GenCon.’

  The sheriff lowered his voice as the desk clerk signaled for the next person in line. ‘Though if you’re game, I’d wouldn’t mind giving the “wings and not much else” idea a whirl.’

  His breath on my neck gave me goose bumps, and I couldn‘t stifle the moan that rose in my throat just as the dark-suited woman in front of us turned to gather up her wheelie. She glanced at Pavlik and me and then skyward, as if to say, get a room.

  Which, in fact, we’d do posthaste just as soon as she moved her butt toward the registration desk.

  While Pavlik had been engaged to speak at the writers’ conference, the whole idea of my tagging along was for us to spend some time together away from the impending winter snows and the demands of both his job and mine. Yeah, I know – county sheriff and coffeehouse owner might seem miles apart stress-wise, but you’d be surprised.

  I twisted
around and tangled my fingers in Pavlik’s thick dark hair. ‘What happens in Fort Lauderdale, stays in Fort Lauderdale,’ I murmured before bringing his lips down to meet mine.

  ‘A noble sentiment,’ Pavlik said when we finally broke. ‘Though remember: the conference organizers are comping me for my travel and the hotel room you and I are sharing, and paying me a speaker‘s honorarium to boot. I, at least, have to maintain some semblance of professional dignity in the lobby.’

  I grinned. ‘“Not I, said the little red hen.” And speaking of birds, maybe instead of wings, we—’

  ‘Jacob? Jacob Pavlik?’

  I turned to see that the redhead had broken away from her dispersing planning group and was swooping down on us, her crimson wrap dress billowing as it waged a losing battle to contain her after-market breasts. Before I knew it, those puppies were pressed against my sheriff.

  Pavlik looked appreciative, if startled. ‘Yes, but …’ His eyes narrowed and he pulled back to get a fuller perspective. ‘Zoe?’

  ‘Of course, silly.’ The woman did a little pirouette. ‘Didn’t you recognize me?’

  ‘Honestly? Not at first, and I’m supposed to be a trained observer.’ His eyes were bugging out of his head. ‘Wow. You look amazing.’

  ‘Divorce.’ She posed shoulders back, right hip cocked like an Angelina Jolie wannabe. ‘It does a body good.’

  As did a competent plastic surgeon, I’d wager.

  ‘Well, that’s great. Good for you.’ Pavlik’s eyes did a fly-by up the woman’s leg to her waist and past her cleavage, before landing innocently on her face.

  Like many people in law enforcement, Pavlik had the uncanny ability to enter a room and take in everything without seeming to. Though, in the current example, a pair of bodacious D-cups was admittedly hard for anybody to miss.

  The clerk was signaling for us to approach the desk and since everyone appeared to have forgotten I was there, I cleared my throat. ‘Umm, Pavlik?’ I’d started calling the sheriff ‘Pavlik’ when he’d suspected me of murder – not as unusual a circumstance as that might sound – and had never gotten out of the habit.

  It had become our little joke, but now, with this beautiful woman spidering all over him, my use of his last name seemed less … cute. I mean, how was I supposed to mark my territory when I didn’t even call said territory by its first name?

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Pavlik was still ogling Zoe.

  ‘Jake, the desk clerk is ready for us.’ I stuck my hand out to the other woman. ‘Hi, I’m Maggy Thorsen.’

  ‘Zoe Scarlett.’ We shook professionally. Kind of.

  ‘Zoe was with the Chicago Convention Bureau when I was the sheriff’s office liaison to the bureau.’ Pavlik, having put his eyes back in his head, seemed to realize an explanation was called for. ‘We worked together a couple of times and when Zoe moved to Fort Lauderdale and became the conference organizer for Mystery 101 a couple of years back, she asked me here to speak.’

  ‘And we’re very glad to have you back.’ Zoe was bouncing up and down. Or parts of her were.

  ‘How nice,’ I said lamely, thinking, Scarlett? Like Miss Scarlett in Clue?

  The woman in question turned to Pavlik. ‘Are you two … together?’

  Apparently she’d missed our clinch, or maybe that sort of thing was common behavior between strangers in a Florida hotel line. Either way, the conference organizer recognized the way the question sounded and actually blushed. ‘I mean, I’m not sure a double room was specified.’

  I glanced at Pavlik. Hadn’t he told her I was coming?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the sheriff said, ‘I—’

  ‘Missy?’ Zoe called to one of her minions in the milling mass near the elevators, the millers seeming to have regrouped. ‘We’ll check with my assistant, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of making sure there are enough towels and the like. Missy Hudson!’ Zoe Scarlett put a command edge in her voice this time. ‘I swear that girl just pretends not to hear me when—’

  ‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ interrupted one of a foursome of golfers that had fallen into line behind us, toting bags of clubs that could have stocked a Cro-Magnon arsenal. ‘If you aren’t quite ready to check-in, would you mind if we play through?’

  ‘Oh, no. Not at all.’ Zoe waved for us to step out of the line. ‘We may need to handle our situation with the hotel’s event coordinator anyway. You just go ahead.’

  The men hefted their golf bags as a young woman of about twenty-five with hair just on the blonde side of brown reached us. ‘I’m sorry, Zoe. Did you need something?’

  ‘Missy, this is the featured speaker for our forensic track, Sheriff Jacob Pavlik. I don’t believe you were on the committee the last time he spoke at Mystery 101.’

  ‘Good to meet you, Sheriff Pavlik. I’m Missy Hudson.’

  ‘Jake, please, Missy,’ he said, shaking the young woman’s hand. ‘And this is Maggy Thorsen.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ Missy flashed a smile at me. ‘I received your email saying Ms Thorsen was accompanying you, which was no trouble at all, given that Zoe had already requested a suite for you.’

  Again, Zoe flushed. ‘Well, good. Not to worry, then.’

  It didn’t take a mind-reader to realize that Zoe Scarlett – and could that be her real name? – had designs on something more than putting on a kick-ass conference this weekend.

  ‘Is that Larry? Thank God.’ Zoe was looking past her assistant and toward the front entrance of the hotel.

  I turned, following her gaze through the floor-to-ceiling windows to a lanky man who was stubbing out a cigarette as a curly-haired younger guy spoke to him. As we watched, Smoker held up a hand to Curly-top that seemed more stop-sign than farewell and stepped into the revolving door.

  If ‘Larry’ was trying to get away from the kid, he didn’t succeed. Curly-top followed him in.

  ‘Missy, can you handle this?’ Zoe asked, already moving away.

  ‘This’ presumably being Pavlik and me. ‘Not to worry, we can just get back in line,’ I said to Zoe’s retreating back.

  Then I noticed the dozen or so people who’d queued up since we’d moved aside. The way things were going, it would be hours before Pavlik and I were alone in his reserved suite.

  ‘No need to do that,’ Missy said. ‘I have an inside track.’

  Stepping to one side of the desk, she stuck her head through an archway. ‘Excuse me, Louis, but we’re getting backed up out here?’

  A man came out, struggling into a red-and-gold uniform tunic. ‘I’m so sorry, Missy. We’ll bring out two more clerks immediately.’

  ‘That would be wonderful. The people arriving now will be anxious to get checked in – and changed, of course – before tonight’s event. And could you also give me the welcome packet for the Flagler Suite?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The young woman certainly got things done. And pleasantly. My oft-irascible if not downright cantankerous business partner, Sarah Kingston, could take lessons from the mouths of babes.

  Age-wise, I mean.

  Raised voices drew my attention back to the entrance. Curly-top was nowhere in sight, but Larry the Lanky Smoker was talking to Zoe. He had a shaved head and handlebar mustache above a dress shirt and sports jacket, dark slacks and a pair of mated wingtips below. I recognized the style of shoes because it was one many of my former colleagues in the financial industry had favored while conducting business in the office or – in a more colorful version – on the golf course.

  None of those shoes, though, had quite the panache of this pair. With strategically-placed patches of soft tan, dark brown, pale yellow and forest green, these wingtips didn’t look so much like golf shoes as what golf shoes aspire to be when they grow up. The man wearing them expected to be recognized. To the point of demanding to be.

  But I’d be damned if I could place him.

  ‘If I must, I must,’ he was saying to Zoe as he fussed with his mustache. ‘But prior notice would have been appreciated.’<
br />
  ‘I’m certain you were sent—’

  ‘Here we go.’ Missy, apparently not noticing the dust-up involving her boss, handed Pavlik an envelope. ‘Everything should be in here, including your tickets for tonight’s event. Since it’s just barely six, you’ll have time to freshen up and change before we meet in the lobby at seven-fifteen.’

  ‘The lobby?’ Pavlik echoed, as I saw any hopes of an intimate evening in the hotel suite circle the drain. But then Pavlik had been invited as an honored guest and being on the conference’s dime would mean that he also had to be on the conference’s time, not my own.

  Bright side, this was his show and maybe they were taking us out to dinner. A nice seafood restaurant on the well-tended waterfront would—

  ‘Yes, here,’ Missy confirmed. ‘And, please, by seven-fifteen for the bus to the station. Oh, and you did bring costumes, I hope?’

  I perked up. ‘Costumes?’

  Pavlik glanced at me.

  Wings, I mouthed.

  The sheriff suppressed a grin. ‘Nobody said anything about an event tonight, Missy, but you’re paying me and comping us. The where and when are all we need to know.’

  I admired the sentiment, if not the resulting postponement of nookie time.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Missy threw a concerned look at her boss, who was still deep in conversation with Larry the Smoker. ‘Zoe didn’t email you about our murder train?’

  ‘No, but that’s fine,’ Pavlik said. ‘By “murder train,” do you mean like a mystery dinner theater, but on a railroad car?’

  A similar train ran on weekends between downtown Milwaukee and Chicago’s Union Station.

  ‘Yes, though it’s more “cars,” plural, and we’re just offering a mystery-themed cake and coffee. Not only is it cheaper and easier than full dinner service or even hors d’oeuvres on a train, but it gave me a great theme to build the event around.’ Missy pointed to a sign.

  ‘“Murder on the Orient Espresso,”’ I read aloud, wondering why I, a public relations person turned coffeehouse owner – said coffeehouse even being in a historic train depot – had never thought of mounting an event based on Agatha Christie’s classic 1934 mystery novel.