More Precious Than Rubies

Prologue
May, 1979

The downpour was only a drizzle now along Interstate 95, but the south Florida breeze swept raindrops into the old tan Volkswagen through the inch opening of the driver’s window. The coolness soothed Michelle St. John’s hot cheeks and mingled with her tears as she sped southward through the darkness.

Dear Lord, she had to hurry; if she didn’t reach the station in time, Kelley would continue on. Her dearest daughter, her beautiful sweet Kelley. She had to reach the train stop. Had to.

Michelle’s blue-gray eyes filled again and she brushed at them with one hand. “Little Beetle,” she told the car as if it were some live thing instead of an almost out-of-gas beater, “please get me to the train stop. Please. I promise I’ll get your stuck door fixed and I’ll give you a fill-up, but please don’t let us down. Hurry.”

It was her son’s car. He’d taken her Porsche tonight, because his VW was so low on fuel. He hadn’t expected to leave the house. But then Tom Evans had delivered the letter and her world, already in such utter chaos that she didn’t know what to do, plummeted. She had never before felt so hopeless, so desperate, so alone.

Beside her on the seat lay the letter. Her fingers touched the paper and absorbed the words that were imbedded in her mind as painfully as a sharp splinter beneath a thumbnail. Oh, Kelley, please wait for me. Let’s talk it over.

Just ahead on the west side of I-95 sat the station. She put on her turn signal and edged to the right. Almost there and she’d beaten the train. With the tracks running parallel to the interstate, she’d have known if it had passed her.

She swung down the ramp, the only car to turn off at that exit. A lone light outside the station did little to dispel the dreary drizzle. No people around. Of course in May, most of the tourists had already gone home. South Florida was getting hot. And besides, the hour was late.

The great thing was she’d made it in time. Just cross the tracks and park and wait for the train to stop with her daughter on it. She wanted to cheer.

The Volkswagen rolled onto the first set of tracks, rolled onto the wooden median between the two sets, and choked.

“What’s the matter, Beetle? You’ve made it. I’m so proud of you. Just get across the second tracks and we’ll have it made, baby.”

The car continued to cough and for a moment she wondered if a wire had come loose. She vowed again to keep her promise to get Georgie’s car fixed tomorrow--the stuck door and anything else that might be wrong.

“Come on!” The Volkswagen bumped its way onto the second line of tracks at which point it stopped. For a moment, Michelle laughed. Georgie had told her the car needed work. But when she tried to start it and all it would do was sputter and choke, she began to see that the situation was not funny. She turned the key to off, then back to on, jolting the car a little farther across the tracks. FInally, it died completely.

She’d let it cool a minute. Try again.

Suddenly, far off in the distance, she heard the toot of a train. Thank goodness it would be stopping. Still...She tried the ignition again. It rumbled until the battery wore down.

A chill ran up Michelle’s arms. That’s when she recalled a very small item in the Palm Beach Post — after the season, trains would no longer stop to pick up passengers at Station #93. How could she have forgotten? Now how would she stop Kelley?

Far down the tracks she saw the glimmer of the train’s lights flashing first on one side then the other. She’d better get out. She pushed on the latch to open the door. Nothing. Oh my lord, that was the door that was stuck.

She pushed again. Nothing. Oh dear God. Panic wrapped its arms around Michelle.

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