Destination Murder by Jessica Fletcher Page A

Benjamin Vail, Alvin Blevin’s stepson.
    “My mother wants to speak with you.”
    “All right,” I said. “I’m so sorry about your stepdad.”
    “Are you coming or not?”
    “I, uh—” I looked at Reggie, who shrugged. I got up and followed Benjamin into the dining car, which was empty except for Theodora Blevin, who sat at one of the tables. She looked up at me with an expression that said, all at once, the emotions and thoughts she was experiencing at the moment.
    “Thank you, Benjamin,” she said, clearly dismissing her son.
    “I’m staying,” he said, taking up a position behind his mother with his arms crossed. He glared at me as if to dare me to upset her.
    “No. That’s all right, dear.”
    “You need me here.”
    “Not right now. Mrs. Fletcher and I have matters to discuss privately.”
    “I want to hear what she says.”
    “We’ll talk later, Benjamin.”
    “But—”
    “Later, Benjamin.” The iron in her voice brooked no argument.
    He left, and I took a chair across from her.
    “I’m sorry about your husband,” I said.
    “It’s just beginning to sink in, the reality of it,” she said, her shoulders slumping as if under the weight of her suffering. “He’s gone. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “One minute he’s standing on a chair welcoming everyone, the next minute he’s on the floor of the club car with his face covered up. It’s so—so barbaric.”
    I said nothing. Had I been summoned to be a listening post while she poured out her grief? I couldn’t imagine why she’d choose me, unless I represented a stranger to her. Sometimes we seek strangers to confide in, content that they don’t have a stake in our lives. Theodora was a woman who didn’t convey emotion easily. In our short acquaintance, I’d seen very few expressions cross her beautiful face. I’d thought her arrogant, but perhaps she needed to protect herself from the unkind words of others. Or maybe she’d grown accustomed to keeping her feelings hidden when dealing with the difficulties in her life—the disappearance of her first husband, a dominating second husband, and a troubled son. In contrast to his mother, Benjamin seemed to have little control over his emotions, either pouting like a child or giving in to angry outbursts.
    “Ever have anyone close to you die like this?” she asked, her eyes focused on the white linen tablecloth.
    “No, not like this, Mrs. Blevin. I was with my husband when he died, but that was in a hospital setting. His death wasn’t unexpected. He’d been ill for a while.”
    She looked up at me. “Alvin had a lot of enemies, Mrs. Fletcher. Powerful, successful men always do.”
    Had she come to the same tentative conclusion as I had, that her husband might have been poisoned? “Do you think someone wanted him dead?” I asked.
    “He wasn’t poisoned,” she said firmly.
    I waited.
    “I know what you’ve been saying. You’ve been spreading that rumor, haven’t you?”
    “I don’t believe in spreading rumors,” I said, deciding now was not the time to tell her what I knew about the effects of various poisons, and one in particular.
    “I heard you tell Samantha he was poisoned,” she repeated, more vehemently this time.
    There was nothing to gain by pointing out that I’d said he might have been poisoned. She was not in the mood to listen. Instead I said, “I don’t know that for sure, but if he were poisoned, it could have been dangerous for her to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Do you know what caused your husband’s death?”
    “It wasn’t poison,” she ground out again. “You’re trying to ruin his reputation.”
    “Perhaps he was allergic to some ingredient in the drinks,” I offered, trying to give her something to hold on to until she was ready to hear the truth.
    “Al wasn’t allergic to anything. He was as healthy as a horse.”
    “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
    “I want you to stop spreading rumors. Haven’t