Page 32 of With a Vengeance
“You said you and Mr. Dodge were alone in this lounge before the others arrived. Is that true?”
“Yeah.”
“I can confirm that,” Sal says. “They were the only ones inside when I got here.”
“And which one of you was here first?”
“Me,” Herb says after a nervous swallow and another dab of his brow. “But I didn’t do anything to any of the glasses. I swear. You can even search me.”
That, Anna realizes, isn’t a bad idea. If the killer is someone in this car who dropped the poison directly into Judd’s drink, then whoever did it still has the container that held it. A vial or pillbox or small bottle.
“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Anna says. “In fact, everyone needs to empty their pockets and purses. Starting with you, Mr. Pulaski.”
Herb does as he’s told, slowly emptying his pockets and revealing the contents. Two invitations—one for the lounge, the other for the train journey itself—a thin billfold, a pack of Lucky Strikes, and a silver lighter. Anna examines all of it. The billfold is emptyexcept for a five-dollar bill, there are eight cigarettes left in the pack, and the lighter produces a flame with a single flick.
Before handing everything back to Herb, she nods toward Seamus. “Pat him down. Just to be sure.”
“Now you wait just a goddamn minute,” Lapsford says as, five feet away, Seamus frisks Herb from feet to shoulders. “This is a free country. You have no right to search me or anyone else without just cause.”
Anna gestures to the cloth-covered corpse at the far end of the car. “I think that’s cause enough, don’t you? If you’re innocent, you have nothing to worry about. But if you refuse to be searched, we’ll all just assume you’re the killer. The choice is yours.”
Lapsford thinks it over before turning his pockets inside out. There’s nothing in them but a Baby Ruth candy bar partially melted by body heat. When Seamus swoops in to pat him down, Lapsford expresses his disapproval with several annoyed huffs.
“I’ll go next,” Dante says as he steps from behind the bar. He removes his suit coat and passes it to Anna, who roots through the pockets, finding only a striped breath mint in a cellophane wrapper. As Seamus approaches to search him, Dante grins and says, “You sure you don’t want to do the honors, Annie?”
Anna cringes at another use of his nickname for her. Although several threats currently exist on this train, failing to resist Dante’s charms is among the biggest.
“I’m certain,” she says before motioning for Seamus to frisk him. The ensuing search is rougher than the others, with Seamus spinning Dante around and shoving him against the bar. The pat-down is even worse, leaving Dante looking rumpled by the time it’s over.
Anna tosses his jacket back to him as she and Seamus turn to Sal.
“I suppose you should search the women,” Seamus says.
An impossible task, Anna realizes as she faces Sal. She can endure Sal’s presence when she’s among the others, in the thick of the group. But being one on one with her is too much for Anna to bear. Her anger is too great, Sal’s betrayal too painful, her memories too raw.
Like the year Sal spent Thanksgiving with her family and they stayed up late painting each other’s toenails, giggling so hard they woke Tommy in the next room. Or during the Phoenix’s maiden voyage, when Sal slid open the window and told her to wave at all the people who’d gathered to watch the train go by. Or when she was sixteen and had told Sal her biggest secret—that she was in love with Dante Wentworth.
“Be careful,” Sal had warned. “Boys will break your heart without a second thought.”
Dante did indeed break her heart, but not nearly as much as Sal had. Anna would rather touch the cooling corpse of Judd Dodge than lay hands on Sally Lawrence.
“You do it,” she tells Seamus. “I’ll check her bag.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Sal warns Seamus as he comes in for the frisk. “You’re not my type.”
Seamus starts patting her down. “Good. Because if I were, I might have to throw myself off this train.”
Anna turns to the bar and grabs Sal’s handbag. Sorting through it, she finds a compact, lipstick, a small bottle of nail polish, and a silver flask with a bit of liquid sloshing inside. Uncapping the flask, Anna smells what’s inside. Whiskey. Not poison.
“She’s clean,” Seamus says.
Anna drops the flask back into the handbag before returning it to Sal. “So is her bag.”
That leaves only Edith, who remains in her seat, armsstubbornly folded across her chest. “I refuse to take part in this indignity,” she says. “You should be ashamed of yourself for treating ladies this way.”
“Ask me if I care,” Seamus tells her. “Now get up so I can search you.”
“My purse is in my room, and I have no pockets. There’s no place for me to hide anything.”
