Mayhem at the Orient Express by Kylie Logan

froze and stared at the strip of floor
     behind the front counter.
    The strip of floor that wasn’t empty.
    “Gloves.” Leave it to Kate to refuse to accept anything but perfection. Even when
     it came to a sentence I hadn’t finished. I could practically hear the disapproval
     dripping from her voice when she came up behind me and said, “That’s what you meant
     to—”
    Kate stared at the strip of floor behind the front counter.
    The strip of floor that wasn’t empty.
    “Bea? Kate? What’s with you two?” I’m pretty sure the next person who spoke was Luella,
     but it was kind of hard to tell seeing as how the voice sounded as if it came from
     a very deep cave. I’ll bet she was the one who grabbed my arm, too, but then, Luella’s
     the type who would notice right away that I was swaying on my feet.
    The hold on my arm tightened when Luella looked behind the front counter.
    “What in the world is wrong with all of you?” Chandra’s laugh dissolved when she joined
     us and saw what we saw.
    The four of us stood side by side, leaned forward, and took another gander at what
     I’d seen the moment I walked up to the front counter of the Orient Express.
    Peter Chan on the floor.
    His eyes bulging.
    His mouth open in a silent scream.
    A knife through his heart.

5
    W hat’s left to say after you’ve found a body with three of your not-best friends?
    I didn’t have the answer, and apparently, Luella, Kate, and Chandra didn’t, either,
     because nobody was talking. After we called the police, gave our statements, and left
     the Orient Express, we somehow all ended up back at Bea & Bees, and we were in the
     parlor sitting in front of that roaring fire I’d envisioned earlier. Like me, the
     other women stared into the flames. Like me, I knew they were grossed out, upset,
     and feeling terribly sad, not only at the senseless loss of life, but at a disturbing
     and frightening act that was surely going to send out shockwaves that would ripple
     through island life for who knew how long.
    “I never thought . . .” We’d sat in silence for so long, each lost in her own thoughts,
     that Chandra’s comment made us jump. She sniffled and adjusted the knitted afghan
     she’d grabbed from a nearby chair and thrown over her shoulders when we came into
     the room. “I mean, I’ve never seen anything like . . .”
    “Me, either.” Kate was on the other end of the couch from Chandra and the couch was
     directly across from the fireplace. Though the logs hissed and popped, the warmth
     of the fire didn’t seem to make its way over to her. She wrapped her arms around herself,
     leaned forward, and shivered. “Did you see the expression on Peter’s face? It was—”
    “What a horrible shame.” Luella had taken the wing chair to the left of the couch,
     across from the chair where I was sitting, and on the other side of the mahogany coffee
     table. In spite of the orange glow of the fire, her face was pale. “Terrible thing,
     murder. To think anyone could have done such a thing . . .”
    “Not something you’d expect here on the island.” I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud
     until I heard my own voice. It was so small, it was nearly lost beneath the sounds
     of the crackling flames and the howling wind outside. “In the big city, maybe. But
     here . . .”
    “Horrible shame,” Luella muttered. “Horrible shame.”
    Chandra scrubbed her hands over her face. “I wonder if Peter had family.”
    “He never talked about them if he did,” I said. Then before any of them could point
     out that I was the new kid on this block, and thus probably didn’t know nearly as
     much as they did about the island and the people who lived there, I added, “Not that
     I knew him all that well, but we chatted when I went in to pick up food. He never
     said anything about a wife or kids.”
    Kate was as still as stone. “He was always so charming and friendly.”
    “Not true!” Once again, I spoke