Murder on the Orient Espresso by Sandra Balzo Read Free Book Online Page B

planning.’ But I wanted to hear more about the research, especially in regard to Rosemary Darlington. ‘Did you work on
Breaking and Entering
?’
    A quick sidelong look. Missy seeming uncertain about my motives for asking. I held up my hands. ‘Hey, I haven’t read the book. I’m not judging.’
    â€˜Oh, not
that
kind of research,’ Missy said with a slightly embarrassed smile. ‘Heavens, I’m sure Rosemary … well, I don’t mean to say she has more experience, but … Oh, dear, I’m still making a mess of this.’
    The banner took another dive and I made a grab for it. ‘I’m not sure even duct tape is up to this job.’
    But I was also fairly certain the banner-hanging wasn’t what Missy thought she’d messed up. Or, at least, not the only thing.
    She was happy to follow my differing lead, though. ‘You’re right. I didn’t ask the banner company to attach these ropes and they make it ever so much heavier. Maybe I should cut them off.’ She was eyeing the scissors.
    â€˜Uh-uh.’ I scooped up the scissors before she could and stepped back to look at our options for securing the signage to the side of the train. ‘How secure does the banner have to be?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Are we moving or staying right here in the station?’
    â€˜Oh, no, we’ll be leaving in a few minutes. It’s very exciting. I’ve managed to get us a sneak preview of a brand-new excursion into the Everglades.’
    I surveyed the ‘excursion’ train. There were four cars and … ‘We have a locomotive on each end.’ And facing opposite ways.
    â€˜Of course. The west one,’ Missy pointed at the locomotive to our left, ‘will take us into the Everglades. The east one will bring us back to Fort Lauderdale.’
    Seemed like kind of a waste to me. ‘Don’t they usually have just one locomotive and then circle it around to the other end at the station so it can go back in the direction it came?’
    â€˜Yes, if there
was
a station. We’ll be stopping on the single track in the Everglades and simply reversing back the other direction.’ A gust of wind ruffled the banner. ‘I hope the storms will hold off until after our three-hour tour.’
    â€˜Three-hour tour,’ I repeated, the theme from
Gilligan’s Island
dancing through my head. Not to mention the photograph of what was left of Flagler’s Railroad after the 1935 hurricane. ‘Isn’t the route through the Everglades called Alligator Alley?’
    â€˜Well, the driving one, anyway. However, we’ll be on a railroad bed that has just been completed – or almost completed – quite a bit north of the highway. We won’t even see Alligator Alley. And besides,’ Missy picked up one of the banner ropes and eyed it with evil intent, ‘you don’t see quite as many alligators anymore. The pythons are eating them.’
    I reflexively glanced west toward the Everglades, imagining ominous clouds building in the dark. Despite the Florida heat, I felt a chill. ‘Pythons? As in … snakes?’
    â€˜Yes, of course,’ Missy said. ‘Burmese pythons.’
    She said it as casually as Wisconsinites would say ‘Canada geese.’ But geese don’t eat alligators. The worst they could do is poop all over them. ‘
Burmese
pythons? How in the world—’
    â€˜â€”did they get to Florida?’ Missy was trying to unstick the tape she’d attached to her edge of the banner. ‘Until a couple of years ago it was legal to have them as pets.’
    â€˜Pet snakes.’ Snakes in their natural habitat scare me enough, but in the house? Brr. And what did you do with them? Take Fido out for a slither? Play fetch the squirrel? A snake didn’t even have ears to scratch.
    â€˜â€¦ ball pythons,’ Missy was saying. ‘People who had