The Peculiars Read Online Free PDF Page A

two bodies to maneuver in the cramped space under the table and between the seats. Theybumped heads twice and one of Jimson’s sharp elbows jabbed her in her ribs. When she had covered every inch of floor, Lena crawled out and back to her seat. Her braid had come partially undone, and wisps of hair tickled like spiderwebs against her face.
    “Is there anywhere else it could be?” Jimson’s face was pinched with concern. “Maybe you left it in the dining car?”
    “I’ll go and look.” She smoothed her hair, forgetting momentarily about her hands. This time she noticed Jimson staring openly. She dropped them quickly to her sides and asked, “Has anyone been in this car besides you?”
    He shrugged his shoulders. “Just the conductor and deputy while I was here, but I left for a few minutes to refresh myself. Anyone could have come then.” He continued staring at her hands. “Are you a pianist?”
    There was no point in asking why. Lena just nodded, and for the second time that evening, stood abruptly and made her way to the dining car.
    The next passenger car was identical to hers. The curtains had been drawn against the night and only three people sat in the entire car: the silent man who had been reading the newspaper at dinner and the Jack Sprat couple. It was a domestic scene. The man was wearing a bandage on his head and his wife was pouring him a cup of tea. Glad to see that he had recovered, Lena hurried past. There were no passengers in the dining car. Fresh silver gleamed on tables. There was no sign of theprevious disorder. Lena hesitated only a moment, and then hurried toward the table where she had been sitting. Nothing.
    “I’m sorry. The dining room is closed for the evening, miss.” A waiter spoke to her from a corner table, where he was engaged in conversation with one of the deputies.
    “I was just looking for my purse. I thought maybe I’d left it here.”
    A bear of a man with a handlebar mustache and sandy hair rose from his seat. A badge gleamed on his chest. “And did you find it?”
    Lena shook her head, afraid to speak in case her voice quavered.
    “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m Marshal Saltre. Were you in here when the, eh, incident occurred?”
    Lena nodded, wishing he would let her escape before she began to cry.
    “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind my asking you a few questions, and perhaps you could describe your purse for me as well.”
    What choice did she really have? Lena sat down in the chair he pulled out for her. He smelled of something spicy—cologne, perhaps. From his pocket he pulled out a small notebook and flipped through the pages. Up close, Lena realized that he wasn’t as old as his commanding presence made him appear.
    “Let’s start with your name, then.” He looked at her expectantly from under shaggy brows. His eyes, Lena noticed,were pale and intense, as if a fire quickened behind them.
    “Lena Mattacascar.”
    “Well, now, that’s something.” He frowned, looked up, and then looked back at his notebook. He fired the next questions, one after another. Routine questions about what she had seen and what she had done. Lena found that she could answer them clearly and concisely. Even from under the dining table, she had been observant. A few times, he grunted in response. That was all.
    Then he asked for details about her missing purse. He didn’t look up again until she had finished her entire account.
    “And did you notice anything at all when the nun first came into the car?”
    “I knew something wasn’t right. And then I saw the nun’s hands. They were a man’s hands.”
    His eyes, pale blue under the bushy sandy brows, sought her own. “Ah, very observant. And something you would be particularly aware of, no doubt.” He looked pointedly at her gloved hands. Lena balled them into fists. “Mattacascar is an unusual name. I knew of a man once named Saul Mattacascar. My father tracked him for years.” The marshal’s voice was mild. “Could