Page 38 of Death on a Scottish Train

“I only saw him from afar, and he seemed fine.”

“Was he talking to anyone in particular?”

“I cannae say I took notice. He was here at the start when everyone arrived. I did see his costume, though. He looked like something out of a Philip Marlowe novel. Trench coat and fedora, I believe. He spoke with some of the other storytellers as they arrived. I could not hear what they were saying.” Mr. Garfield continued, “As you saw, even though we weren’t selling tickets, I was at my station, until it was time to help out the engineers. When I got on the train, no one was in the building.”

Except for a very dead Mr. Jacks stuffed into a cupboard.

Chapter Ten

A half-hour later the train arrived from its last run. I waited for the passengers—there were quite a few who exited. That was good news for the town. It was important they recoup the costs of this latest venture. That was one of Mara’s main concerns. After the last passenger disembarked, the storytellers and staff climbed down the steps.

I knew quite a few, as that was one of the pluses as the town doctor. Many of them were patients or their family members were.

But I decided to home in on Sarah Billingsley. She was head of the train committee and a bit of a busybody. She always seemed to know what was happening in town, and didn’t mind sharing every bit of gossip she heard when she was in the office.

Today, the fifty-year-old was dressed in a vintage sequined dress, with buckled heels and a small hat with a feather. She appeared as if she’d stepped out of a 1930s fashion magazine.

I waved at her, and she walked over to me.

“Doctor, is everything OK? Please tell me no one else became ill on the train.” Her expression seemed strained.

“Nothing like that. Please don’t worry yourself.”

She blew out a breath. “After last night, I take nothing for granted. Mr. Jacks’s death put quite the damper on our festivities.”

As if realizing what she said, her eyes widened. “Oh. My. You know what I mean. We had all been so excited about opening night and none of us could have imagined such a tragedy.”

“It was sad,” I said.

“So, why are you here, Doctor?”

“I’m trying to get some background on Mr. Jacks. I understand he was quite a vocal member of the committee.”

“Aye, he was. In many ways, he was quite insistent about perfection. I tried to explain to him that many of our staff are volunteers. We really couldn’t make demands upon them or force them into any sort of training. And the uniforms. My goodness. That ended up being a great deal of expense fitting everyone. I, among some others, was not happy about that expenditure. It took a great deal of our budget, which was limited.”

“So, he made some enemies?” I asked.

“Oh, that is a bit harsh. I would say some of us were not his biggest fans. Though, I must admit everyone does look quite smart and professional. In the end, his suggestions were warranted, and he was right. I told him as much when we arrived yesterday. I still cannae believe he’s gone.” She put a hand to her chest and shook her head. Her words appeared to be sincere.

“How did he seem last night before the train ride?”

“Excited,” she said. “We all were. We’ve been working quite hard on this and praying that it would turn a profit for our volunteer efforts. It is also such a bonus for the town. We’ve been trying for years to make it happen. It was surreal when we all were on the train, and it started moving. And then equally surreal when we heard about his death. Just awful.”

Mara had told me all about the history of the train and bringing it back to life. It had taken them years to acquire the donations needed.

“I wonder if you noticed any sort of swelling on his face?”

“So, it was a bee sting? I’d heard rumors around town. I was curious.”

“During an active investigation …”

“You cannae say. I know the rules. Ewan is always telling us. But to answer your question, I don’t believe so. He seemed more animated than usual. Maybe even a bit nervous.

“We’d all practiced our stories with mock audiences, but he considered himself a shy man and not a performer. Though I sat in on one of his early sessions, and he was quite good. We loved that he used literaturefrom the 1930s, which was having quite a renaissance here in Scotland during that time.”

“So, other than he was a bit nervous, you didn’t notice anything different about his behavior?”

“No. I put his nerves up to performer’s anxiety. We were all very excited that it was actually happening.”