Read Online Murder in Burnt Orange by Jeanne M. Dams - Free Book Online Page A

the—the engineer had to be able to stop the train himself.”
    â€œThere is, but there’s what they call a loophole in the law. If a train goes from one state to another, it has to have automatic brakes. But some of these coal trains, they just bring coal up north here from the coal mines down in southern Indiana, and so they can use old trains with the old systems. I talked to a couple of the train men, though, them as was at the other end and wasn’t hurt, and they said as how this train did have the new brakes, so somethin’ was maybe wrong with ’em, and that’s why the brakeman was up top, and why the first car jumped.”
    â€œThe brakeman would know,” said Hilda.
    â€œHe would, and so would the engineer. But the one’s dead and the other maybe dyin’, so how’s anyone to tell?”
    â€œAnd—the fire. Was anyone—did everyone—?” She had been afraid to ask before, and Patrick was quick to reassure her.
    â€œSven’s all right. He was in there fightin’ the fire with the rest of us, and so was Sean. Nobody was bad hurt, savin’ a few burns here and there. The factory buildings were never in real danger, though a few windows got smashed. And it never came near the houses.”
    Hilda’s sigh of relief came from so deep inside her, it seemed as if the baby must have sighed, too. Her mind set at rest, she bent it again to questions. “But was there no one there who might have—have caused this to happen? I know that if someone damaged the brakes, or the track, he could have done it hours ago, but I have heard that when someone does a bad thing, commits a crime, he wants to stay and see what happens.”
    â€œI know what you’re gettin’ at, darlin’. But there’s no tellin’, honest. You’ve never fought a fire. When there’s coal burnin’, like today, there’s so much smoke, sometimes you can’t tell who’s next to you, helpin’. And you’re hot and scared, and workin’ as hard and as fast as you can. You don’t have time to notice hardly anythin’ but where the flames are, if you can find ’em for the smoke.
    â€œAs for damagin’ the track, that couldn’t hardly have been done much before the train came along. There’s trains along that track all day long, and most of the night, too. It must ’a been the brakes. Maybe somethin’ could ’a been done to ’em so they’d work okay if the train was just slowin’ down a little, but when it was tryin’ to stop, they’d give out.”
    â€œCould not someone tell by looking at the wrecked cars?”
    â€œDarlin’, the shape those cars are in, it’s my belief nobody could tell now if they’d been cut apart with an axe.”
    And with that Hilda was obliged to be content—for the time being.
    She slept badly, visions of burning train cars playing behind her eyes. When morning came, very early, she was glad to get out of the rumpled bed and take a cool bath. By the time Patrick came downstairs, she was dressed and breakfasted and ready for church.
    For the past several months, with Hilda so uncomfortable, they had abandoned their practice of a family dinner after church. It had been their habit, with Sunday the servants’ afternoon out, to alternate between the Johansson and the Cavanaugh homes, facing in either place veiled resentment and chilly courtesy. Hilda had been glad to go to her church while Patrick went to his, and come straight home afterwards. Today, though, she felt better.
    â€œPatrick, let us go to Sven’s house after church. Mama and everyone will be there, and there will be plenty of food.”
    â€œThere always is,” Patrick agreed. “Your mama is goin’ to want a report, though, and seems to me you’ve found out precious little.”
    â€œThat is why I want to go, to talk to people at church, and