Shades of Black: Crime and Mystery Stories by African-American Authors Read Online Free PDF Page B

don’t know if they’re the same for white women as for black. But when you walk in there, it smells . . . like hair frying and chemical smells, like in the labs they have in high schools. Women put stuff on their hair to straighten it or to change the color. What if, the schoolteacher—”
    â€œHad dyed her hair that dull brown?”
    â€œYes, sir. And put on glasses. And that ugly brown dress. What if she wanted to look like a spinster schoolteacher?”
    â€œWhen she’s really something else? What? A spy left over from the war?”
    â€œOr somebody Ruby . . . Miss Ruby . . . might have recognized if she looked like she usually did.”
    â€œBut if she was someone Ruby knew, even with her hair dyed and glasses—”
    â€œBut what if she didn’t know her that well, sir? What if she was just someone she would have seen in passing somewhere else?”
    â€œYou’ve got something in mind, haven’t you?”
    â€œYes, sir, but I don’t know . . . it was just when the major had his cramp . . . and the way the schoolteacher made a beeline away from Miss Peaches when she saw her and—”
    â€œMiss who?”
    Walter Lee shook his head. “I’m just thinking this through, sir. But what if . . .”
    When he was done, Dwight laughed. “That’s some theory. And you haven’t really identified the motive.”
    â€œThe motive? You mean why, sir? Well, I don’t know about that. I’m just trying to think how some of these things might tie together. ’Course it could have been one of the others. The major acts kind of strange. Still got the shakes. And the preacher was watching her.” Walter Lee shook his head. “I’m just saying suppose, sir.”
    Dwight nodded. “So now we have to figure out how to test your theory.”
    â€œYes, sir, and that could be trouble. Especially if I’m wrong.” Walter Lee rubbed at his chin. “And I’m wondering whether I should say anything to the conductor. But I’m feeling kind of uneasy, because he ain’t come to speak to me about this.”
    â€œBetter leave him out of it then.” Dwight grinned, “But I’m in.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Walter Lee said, and kept to himself his opinion that Dwight didn’t have a whole lot to lose. He was playing a game. But his help was welcome.
    The train would be coming into Union Station in less than an hour. The conductor had instructed Walter Lee—still without saying much about what had happened—to do his best to make things as normal as possible for the sleeping-car passengers. Bring their shined shoes and breakfast to their rooms if they didn’t care to go to the dining room and be served. Keep them as content as possible until the police could board the train to take Zach away. They’d be wanting to question the passengers too, so there would be some delay in getting people off.
    But Walter Lee knew time was running out. If the police thought Zach did it, the passengers would be questioned only about what they might have seen or heard. And then they would be gone.
    If he was going to do it, it would have to be now.
    Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the schoolteacher’s door. She hadn’t come out of her room to go to the dining car or rung for service. She might still be sleeping, but he doubted it.
    When she opened the door, she was dressed in another ugly dress, this one with a little jacket. Her hair was in that bun.
    â€œI need to speak to you, ma’am,” Walter Lee said.
    â€œYes?” she said.
    â€œInside, please, ma’am. This . . . you wouldn’t be wanting anyone else to hear this.”
    She looked at him, her eyes calm behind the glasses. Then she stepped back. Walter Lee stepped into her room.
    It was not unusual for him to be in a passenger’s room. He made their