Fatal Flowers. V. J. Banis

      “Thank you.” I began stacking my suitcases on the seat.

      It was at that moment that I saw Sarah Braddock. The train was slowing, its bell clanging as we started toward the station. I saw a girl running across a field just outside my window, running as though the devil himself were chasing her. And the man pursuing her might well have been the devil by the look of him in his black chauffeur’s uniform, the visor of his cap flashing in the sunlight like flames from Satan’s fires.

      He overtook her and grabbed hold of the girl. She fought to get free of him. I might have passed the whole incident off as merely some wayward, wealthy young lady who was rebelling against her established family, or her chauffeur, for some capricious reason. But he struck her.

      I stiffened with revulsion. She went limp and he scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward a long, sleek car which I hadn’t noticed before, an old-fashioned limousine from the forties.

      Just then the door to my compartment opened and the porter came in. He started to collect my baggage.

      “Quick,” I said, pointing out the window. “A girl is being abducted.”

      The porter merely stared at me.

      “Look. There in the field.”

      Unfortunately, the train was still in motion. First a line of trees obscured the view, then a billboard, then more trees. Before I realized it the train was clanging to a halt alongside the station.

      I completely forget about Diana Hamilton, my broken leg, my luggage, my supposed recuperation. I grabbed up my crutch and hobbled quickly past the porter and started off the train. I didn’t give a thought about anything except that poor unfortunate girl. I had to do something. I couldn’t just let her be dumped into a limousine and spirited away to heaven knows what fate. Perhaps if I acted quickly enough, the authorities might overtake the limousine and confront the driver before he had a chance to get the girl too far away.

      I hobbled down the length of the passageway, down the metal stairs of the coach.

      “Watch your step, Miss,” the conductor said, when I almost tripped and fell. He grabbed my arm.

      “I just saw what I think was an abduction,” I said breathlessly. “Where is the station master’s office?”

      He just looked at me rather blankly. “Beg pardon?”

      “Which way to the station master’s office? A man is abducting a young girl. I saw them from my window.”

      “But....”

      And then they descended upon me.

      “Darling,” Diana Hamilton called, advancing toward me with her entourage of newspaper men, photographers, well-wishers.

      My heart sank. “Oh, no,” I moaned and turned a pleading eye to the conductor. “I saw a girl knocked unconscious and put into a limousine. You must do something.”

      He gave me a suspicious look, a faint smile, and then eased by me and got back up on the steps of the train.

      Seconds later I found myself completely surrounded. I looked for help, but it was useless. I was trapped.

      “Darling,” Diana said again, her voice high and affected. I could barely make out the exaggerated smile behind the heavy veil she wore. She hugged me to her and I cringed inwardly. “Alice. How simply marvelous to have found you at last.” She turned me—forcefully—toward the newspaper men and photographers. Everyone started speaking all at once.

      “Please,” I managed to say to the woman who was hugging me and smiling at the photographers—the woman called Diana Hamilton. “I must find the police. I saw a girl being abducted.”

      One would have thought I made a comment on the weather. Diana kept smiling. If she heard me she didn’t show any evidence of it. She was too intent upon posing for the photographers and reporters swarming about us.

      She forced me about to face another bank of flashing cameras and, turning me toward a distinguished-looking gentleman directly beside her, she said with a regal wave of her hand, “Your stepfather, my dear.”

      “Alice,” the man said, reaching his hand to me. “We’re so happy you’ve come to stay with us.”

      My mind was a complete blur. I didn’t really see him or feel the touch of his hand. If she had said his name I wouldn’t have heard it. People were smiling, talking, laughing. I was looking past all of them—or trying to. My frustration grew.

      The conductor called, “All aboard,” and the train began to chug out of the station. Too much time had passed. The girl was gone by now. There would be no way of pursuing her or her captor at this point in time. It was too late. I found myself glowering at Diana Hamilton.

      With a toss of her head she tucked my arm in hers and said, “Come, my dear.” My stepfather took my other arm and between them they led me toward a line of automobiles parked outside a small, dilapidated waiting room. People were still scurrying around asking questions, taking pictures.

      It confused me terribly, but Diana Hamilton was in her element, calm and aloof and very much in control of the situation. She answered the reporters slowly and clearly. She did not let the constant flashing of the bulbs disturb or distract her. She smiled. She hugged me from time to time as we walked along.

      I said absolutely nothing. She chattered on. I heard not a word of it. Whatever questions were asked of me, Diana chose to answer on my behalf. How useless I felt.

      When we reached the cars Diana nodded toward an older model Town Car. “I do apologize, my dear. I’m afraid the chauffeur had a bit of trouble with the limousine at the last minute so we were obliged to take Leland’s car. Alice and I will sit in the back, Leland.”

      Leland got behind the wheel after Diana and I were seated in the back seat. Suddenly I remembered my baggage.

      “My luggage,” I said as the crowd of faces peered into the car at us, still shouting questions, still taking flash pictures. Diana was pretending they weren’t there, but her expression said otherwise.

      “We’ll send Martin for it later. It will be safe at the station. In a place like Gulf Point there is little fear it will be lost.”

      Leland carefully backed the car out of the parking area and turned westward toward the Gulf. It was only after we were well away from the newspaper people that Diana allowed herself to relax. She fumbled in her purse for a cigarette, but she merely toyed with it without lighting it.

      “Now, what is this you said about seeing a girl abducted?” Her voice was cold as ice. There was obvious disbelief in her tone.

      “Yes, I saw it from the window of the train. The girl was racing across a field. A man in a chauffeur’s uniform caught up her and knocked her unconscious.”

      “Perhaps you imagined it,” Diana said. “The plane crash and all....”

      “No, I saw it. I did not imagine it. I couldn’t have imagined it.”

      Leland glanced over his shoulder. “The sun and shadows at this time of morning can be quite deceptive.”

      “No, I saw it all quite clearly,” I insisted. I glanced at Diana and at once I understood.

      She lived in a world of fantasy. She was used to imagining things and being surrounded by people with very active imaginations. For all I knew, Leland was part of that world too.

      Diana gave a little laugh. “Well, if you think it will make you feel better, we’ll telephone the authorities when we reach home.”

      “Do you honestly think that’s necessary, my dear?” Leland asked.

      “We must humor Alice,” she said in a condescending voice. “I see no harm in Alice’s reporting whatever it is she thinks she saw.”

      Leland sighed and shrugged. “I suppose not,” he agreed.

      “You