Free Maria Hudgins - Lacy Glass 02 - The Man on the Istanbul Train by Maria Hudgins Page B

mansion, looking for her children. She’ll go to their bedrooms and knock on their doors. Says she’s trying to wake them up. Max told her doctor to drop by the house and see if she needs a change in her meds.”
    “How long ago did this happen?”
    “The phone call? A couple of days ago.”
    “No. The plane crash.”
    Henry paused. “Six years ago.”
    “What about Max’s father?”              
    “He’s ninety, but until a couple of weeks ago, he was in amazingly good health. Then he had a stroke and he’s been in the hospital ever since. The last we heard, he was in a coma.”
    “Was that before or after you and Max came to Turkey?”
    “After. Right after, in fact. Max got the call while we were still in Istanbul.”
    They had come to the far side of the parking area beyond which lay nothing but an open field. They stopped and headed back. A few of the tents radiated faint glows from lamps or lanterns left burning inside while their owners remained at the lecture.
    “Who inherits all of Max’s money?”
    “Good question. I know Max had a will, but I don’t have the foggiest idea what’s in it.” He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets and kicked one foot forward in an exaggerated giant step. “So. What were you doing in Istanbul?”
    Lacy explained her summer’s work.
    “And when Paul called you, you just dropped everything and came out here?”
    “I was winding things up, anyway,” she lied.
    “How did you get here? Bus?”
    “Train.”
    “Aha. The good old Meram Express. How was the trip?”
    “It was nice. Quite luxurious, actually. I had a sleeper compartment so I got a pretty good night’s sleep.” Lacy stopped there, sticking to her decision to tell no one but Paul about the man whose body had been tossed off the train like so much garbage.
    * * *
    His lecture over, Paul apologized for embarrassing her in front of the group. “I’ll never make ambassador with these social skills.” With an arm draped around her shoulders, he led her out to the van.
    Sierra, she noticed, was already standing beside its open door. Paul said, “I’m going, too, Sierra. Can we all squeeze in?”
    Eight or nine kids already sat on the floor in the back of the van, their backs against its sides and their feet jumbled together in the center. Paul grabbed the next worker trying to climb in and steered him toward the shotgun seat. Lacy heard Paul whisper to him, “You sit up front. I’m riding in the back.”
    She climbed in and scooted around, positioning her back against one side and her feet abutting others in the middle. Paul slipped in beside her, knees bent close to his chest.
    The scowl on Sierra’s face glowed in the headlights as she walked around the front of the van to take the driver’s seat.
    “You missed my lecture on Neolithic flint.” Paul steadied himself with a hand on the floor as Sierra slammed the van into reverse and jerked the wheels sharply to the right.
    “Sorry.”
    “You and Henry left.”
    “I wanted to talk to him about Max.”
    “What did he tell you?”
    The chatter around the circle of seated workers had tapered off to nothing, all ears tuned to the conversation between their boss and the new girl. Lacy glanced around and smiled but her expression was probably wasted in the dark. The van was now bouncing across the open field, far from the nearest light. “Max had two children but they were killed in a plane crash.”
    “Yeah. What else did he tell you?”
    Lacy looked at him, letting her eyebrows answer that question.
    “You’re still pissed,” he said.
    “No, I’m not.”
    “Yes, you are.”
    “Did you tell Henry about the man on the train?”
    “No.”
    “Because?”
    “I told you already,” she whispered. “I don’t want a bunch of off-the-wall theories. I want to figure it out for myself.”
    * * *
    Sierra backed the van up to the side door of a long, low, cinder-block building and the workers piled out, some carrying baskets with