All Aboard for Murder

Book 3: Golden Motel Mystery

by Ellen Byron

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Mystery; Cozy Mystery

Synopsis

Dee Stern is starting to feel at home running her Golden Motel in the quaint California village she moved to, leaving behind her LA life as a sitcom writer. But a killer sees the town’s Halloween celebration as a golden opportunity to write a script for murder . . .

It’s October in Gold Rush country and all manner of tricks and treats are happening in the lead-up to Halloween. October also happens to be the birthday of Angus Sprockles, the man responsible for the town being designated a historic landmark, and the residents are celebrating his memory as well. His only living descendant, Moses Sprockles, runs the narrow-gauge railroad—once used to ferry lumber from the mountains to the sawmill, now a tourist attraction. The Sprockles Railroad is hosting a Halloween-themed fundraiser for the Historical Society.

But when a body is found on the tracks, it’s not a Halloween prank. It’s Moses himself, seemingly felled by a fallen tree branch. Dee’s dad Sam is convinced his friend is the victim of foul play and urges his daughter to apply her sleuthing skills. Dee’s train of thought leads her to suspects ranging from a former child star and one-hit wonder, the owner of a nail salon with her claws in everything, and even the mayor.  When a self-proclaimed ghost hunter throws his hat in the ring and claims to know who did it, the investigation really goes off the rails. No matter how crazy things get, Dee is determined to blow the whistle on a runaway killer with a one-track mind.

Release date: July 28, 2026

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“Happy Angus Sprockles Birthday!”

Sam Stern issued the cheery greeting to his daughter, Dee, who was cleaning up the breakfast detritus left by guests in the Golden Motel’s midcentury, redwood-paneled lobby. The rustic retro hostelry was the venture that former sitcom writer Dee had sunk her funds and future into, along with her best friend who also happened to be her ex-husband, Jeff Cornetta.

Dee eyed her dad with amused skepticism. He was clad in the miner costume he wore to run the motel’s gold-panning sluice. “I’m more focused on Halloween than the late, great Angus. We’ve only got two weeks left to milk whatever we can out of it.”

The Halloween-themed events that she and Jeff dreamed up had helped fill the Foundgold motel’s rooms and cabins during the slow early weeks of October. The Frightfully Fun Family Package was particularly successful. It came with a pumpkin to carve, paper masks to decorate, and caramel apples from Williker’s All-in-One, the local general store. Guests also enjoyed the motel’s Saturday Movie Night, where they pulled up chairs on the grassy area by the pool and watched a tame Halloween movie projected on a large roll-up screen that Dee had found in a Hollywood studio dumpster bin.

Sam shook his head of thinning gray hair, housed under the floppy hat he wore as part of his costume. “Halloween is much less important than honoring the man who made Goldsgone the historic site it is today.”

“Except we live in Foundgold.”

The two locations—Foundgold a tiny hamlet; Goldsgone a restored miner’s village and tourist trap—had achieved an uneasy détente after decades of animosity. Still, given Dee’s competitive streak, she bristled.

“Angus fought hard to preserve our little piece of heaven,” Sam declared. “And all of Gold County. Who knows what the county would look like without him? It’d either be a ghost town or strip malls.”

“True,” Dee had to admit. As someone whose business capitalized on the history Angus fought to save, she was happy to give him his flowers—which he literally received on his birthday, his resting place at the local cemetery currently a sea of wilting bouquets.

“Are you going to the time capsule reveal?” Sam asked, referencing the day’s big event. When the region had earned its official historic designation from the state seventy-five years earlier, Angus Sprockles commemorated the occasion by having a time capsule placed in the corner of the Goldsgone City Hall. This was the day that current Goldsgone mucky-mucks would yank it from its resting place.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dee said. “Ma’am and Mister Ma’am are handling motel duties so Jeff and I can both go.” Dee referenced the odd but extremely handy backwoods couple who served as invaluable part-time motel support staff.

“Good. I have an early meeting with Moses. He’s the guest of honor at this shindig.”

“Since Moses is Angus Sprockles’s only living descendant, he’d kind of have to be,” Dee responded. Moses, great-nephew of the legendary Angus, had inherited the Sprockles family narrow-gauge railroad. Once used to ferry lumber from the mountains to a nearby sawmill, Angus had turned the railroad into a popular locale, around the time of the region’s historical designation. His taciturn descendant Moses had run the Sprockles Valley Railroad Ride for decades, ever since the rest of his relatives shuffled off their mortal coils and transitioned from earth to the great railroad in the sky.

“Moses isn’t too happy about being the center of attention,” Sam said. “I promised to give him tips on speaking in front of a crowd if he’s asked to say a few words.”

Dee chuckled as her father preened. An actor who specialized in voicing cartoon characters, Sam was affectionately known in Hollywood as “The Man of a Million Voices.” He was warm and welcoming, with the soul of an artist—the polar opposite of Moses Sprockles, a conservative, rigidly moral man who had a sideline as a traveling notary. The two disparate senior citizens had met when Sam needed bank forms notarized, and somehow hit it off.

Dee deposited food scraps into a compost jar. “I will never understand your friendship with Moses.”

“A textbook case of opposites attracting,” her father said. “There’s a bit more to him than meets the eye. He’s got quirks. He sleeps with an old railroad spike under his pillow. He says it has sentimental value.”

Knowing that Moses’s employees, except for one, were the Digswallows, a ne’er-do-well family who’d inherited their jobs from previous generations of Digswallows who worked for the railroad, Dee posited another theory. “Or he keeps the spike handy in case he ever wants to take it to one of those Digswallows. No one would blame him if he did.”

“A secondary benefit,” Sam said in a dry tone. “Moses told me it’s a wooden replica of the ceremonial gold spike driven into the train track to celebrate the creation of the nation’s first transcontinental railroad in 1869. Angus Sprockles’s father carved it for Angus when he was a boy. It’s been in the Sprockles family ever since. Means a lot to Moses.”

“Aww. That’s surprisingly touching considering I’d never in a million years have pegged him as the sentimental type.” Dee retrieved a jar of disinfectant from under the sink and set about cleaning the tables. The motel’s laconic hound, Nugget, loped behind Dee as she cleaned, scouring the floor for dropped foodstuffs.

An alarm dinged on Sam’s cell phone. He extracted it from the pocket he’d built into his costume pants and checked it. “Well, will ya lookee at the time,” he said, switching to the voice he’d created for Prospector Pete. “I best be goin’.”

Dee gestured to her father with an empty cereal box. “You’re going to the reveal dressed like that?”

Sam grinned and spread his arms to show off his outfit. “I’m a human time capsule.” He doffed his hat to Dee. “Ma’am.”

He sauntered out of the lobby, missing the joking eye roll his daughter directed at him.

Dee made a modicum of effort to spruce up for the time capsule reveal. She changed into clean jeans and not one to miss any promotional opportunity, slipped on a V-neck T-shirt sporting a graphic image of the Golden’s iconic neon sign over the tagline A STAY IS PURE GOLD. With no time to wash her thick chestnut hair, she’d pulled it into a high ponytail that bounced back and forth, whipping her in the face as she hurried to join the festivities.

The designation of “city” in Goldsgone City Hall was hyperbolic, considering the village’s population hadn’t cracked five hundred in decades. Still, the verdant green lawn fronting the quaint, two-story nineteenth-century brick building buzzed with excitement. A large crowd eagerly awaited the time capsule’s excavation from the cornerstone it had called home ever since being lodged there decades earlier by Angus Sprockles.

Dee waved to her father, who waved back with his free hand, his other hand resting protectively on his friend Moses’s shoulder. The two had a place of honor next to Goldsgone’s newly elected mayor, Barry Ritter. Moses appeared more reserved than ever, if that was possible. He was in his mid-seventies, only a few years older than Dee’s father. But his weathered complexion, which was more like hide than skin, added at least ten years to his appearance. His lips were pressed so tightly together they all but disappeared and his expression was so wary the mayor might as well have been extending his hand to give him a flu shot instead of a hearty shake. To Dee’s eye, Moses’s stiff, stoic posture rendered him less human and more like something carved from one of the massive trees on his property.

Dee noticed Kim Garcia, the sole non-Digswallow railroad employee, standing respectfully behind her boss, Moses. The only time Dee had ever seen the old man express the hint of a smile was toward the young girl he’d trained as an engineer so they could alternate train runs. Behind Kim and trying to get closer to the action were the Digswallows—sketchy mom Edith and her twentysomething offspring, miscreant son, Yancy, and his hottie sister, Scarlet. Good luck, she thought as she watched them fail to maneuver around the human roadblock that was Verity Donner Gillespie.

Verity basically ran Goldsgone. Dee, who didn’t get along with the town macher, had nicknamed her Yes-that-Donner for the woman’s constant bragging about being related to the ill-fated pioneer family. To Dee’s dismay, Verity had developed a flirtation with Jeff. Dee just hoped the relationship stayed at its current level of useful-for-business-but-not-ringing-dreaded-wedding-bells.

She saw Jeff had scored a prime position between Verity and Mayor Ritter. He waved her over. The crowd grumbled but parted and Dee made her way to his side. “Your little romance has its perks,” she said to Jeff sotto voce.

“For you, me, and the Golden,” he whispered back. He continued in his normal voice. “Guess what? Verity got reupped as Goldsgone’s tourism director and she’s hired me to update the town website.”

“Congratulations,” Dee said, adding with asperity, “You can start by replacing the dated photo of our sign where some of the letters are burned out and it says ‘Old Motel,’ not ‘Golden Motel.’”

“First things first.” This came from Verity, who was in the middle of a conversation with the mayor but still managed to overhear Dee’s comment. “And that would be everything else.” She gestured with her hands to indicate a much bigger picture than Dee’s paltry concerns.

Dee was about to mouth a pithy retort when she noticed Verity’s hands looked unusually lovely. They were soft and supple, with an elegant golden manicure that for once didn’t seem anachronistic compared to the pioneer garb she and everyone who worked in Goldsgone wore. “Verity, your manicure is gorgeous.”

“Oh,” Verity responded, thrown by Dee’s sincere tone. “Thank you. Credit goes to the new Golden Glow treatment that Prism Hart is offering at her Oh My Darlin’ Nail Spa. It’s a combination of Prism’s special hand cream and nail polish with genuine gold flakes. It’s pricey, but worth it.”

Mayor Ritter clanged a cowbell handed to him by Goldsgone’s resident leather tanner, the aptly named Abe Tanner. Dee’s proximity to the bell made her ears ring. “Today, we pay tribute to Angus Sprockles,” the mayor intoned once he had everyone’s attention. “Angus was the man responsible for lobbying California to designate most of Gold County an historical landmark, protecting it from wanton development. To honor his memory, Goldsgone—”

“The county’s biggest attraction,” Verity declared, interrupting the mayor, who shot her a baleful look.

“Goldsgone,” Ritter continued, determined to regain the floor from Verity, “has issued a proclamation declaring that the entire month of October will now and forever be known as Angus Sprockles Month. Today, October fifteenth, is not only Angus’s birthday but the seventy-fifth anniversary of the historical designation we honor him for. Bricklayer Bert Clanton is here with what he needs to fill in the hole after we extract the time capsule, so let’s go!”

Mayor Ritter fist-pumped the air. The bricklayer stepped forward, but Verity held up a hand to hold him off and get the crowd’s attention. “But first, I have an exciting announcement.”

“Not sure what tops a time capsule for excitement,” the mayor said, trying to disguise his annoyance at the interruption with a jokey attitude. “But okay.”

Verity teased out the announcement. “Someone very special is coming to the Sprockles Valley Ghost of Angus Railroad Rides. Wait until you hear.”

“Since it’s happening at the Sprockles site, Moses should share the news,” Mayor Ritter said.

Dee couldn’t have agreed more, but Moses quickly shot down the mayor’s obvious attempt to sideline Verity with a brusque, “Pass.”

Verity shot a triumphant look at Ritter, and continued. “As part of the Halloween railroad rides and special show at Sprockles, Dougie Keefer, former child star from the beloved Kidz Channel TV series Oh, Come ON! will be performing his hit song, ‘Ghosted’!”

The news brought hoots and applause from the onlookers. Dee, who already knew the big news thanks to the fact Sam had arranged with Moses to house the actor at the Golden, clapped politely. Dee had never met Dougie during her prior career as a sitcom writer. But in Hollywood, his fading career made him a prime example of what happened to child actors when they grew up to be less cute and more bald.

“Looking forward to it,” Mayor Ritter said. “Now, let’s see what’s in that time capsule.”

The crowd watched with rapt attention as Bert Clanton chipped away at the old bricks designating the time capsule location. He reached into a black hole and pulled out a tarnished metal strongbox. He held the box out to the mayor but Verity intercepted it. “We agreed I should open it as the town’s director of the historical society,” she explained.

“We sure did,” Mayor Ritter said, managing a smile through gritted teeth.

“When you think about it, a historical society in Goldsgone is kind of redundant, since everything in the town is historical,” Dee mused out loud. Her observation earned a chuckle of agreement from a few of the locals and a glare from the redundant organization’s director.

Verity put the strongbox down on a folding table set up for the occasion. She snapped on archival gloves and opened the box. People craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the items she removed as Jeff took a barrage of photos for the updated website. Dee heard grumbles of disappointment as Verity took out average ephemera from the capsule’s time period, like a copy of Life magazine and a matchbook from a long-departed Goldsgone eatery. “Mommy, I wanna go home, this is boring,” a young boy whined to his mother. Dee was inclined to agree with him.

Suddenly, Verity’s eyes widened. “Oooh. Oh my goodness.”

Jeff peeked over her shoulder. His eyes also widened. “Wow!”

The mayor followed suit. “Wow is right. That is something.”

“What?” Dee asked, now consumed with curiosity. “What’s wow?”

“This.”

Verity lifted a gleaming silver railroad spike about a foot long out of the box. She held it up to the crowd, who gawked at it, awestruck.

“So,” she said with a smug smile. “Who’s bored now?”

The crowd surged forward to get a better look at the spike. Fearing someone might get hurt, Dee held out her arms and stood with legs akimbo to hold back the crush of curious spectators. “Easy, people. No pushing, please.” Her request went unheeded. People continued to press closer, almost knocking Dee off her feet.

“STOP!” Verity ordered.

Instantly, everyone froze like they were playing a game of Statues.

Mayor Ritter used the momentary distraction to wrest the spike from Verity. “Now that’s a reveal, huh?” he said to the crowd, holding it high above his head. Dee assumed this was to keep Verity from grabbing it back. “I promise we’ll put this glorious piece of California history on display, but right now we need to evaluate exactly what we got here.” He addressed Verity. “Is there anything else in the box?”

“Just this.” Verity made a face as she pulled out a desiccated pouch of chewing tobacco.

“America’s Best Chew,” Moses said, sounding emotional-adjacent. “Great-Uncle Angus’s favorite.”

“Alrighty, that’s it for today, folks.” Mayor Ritter tucked the spike under his jacket. “We’ll keep you posted on what we learn about the star of today’s show.”

“You can read all about it on our new, improved website. Right, Jeffrey?” Verity gave him a flirty wink.

“You got it,” Jeff said, winking back, earning a disgusted groan from Dee.

The bystanders reluctantly dispersed. “Let’s go somewhere private,” the mayor said, dropping his jovial act. “Like my office.”

“The historical society is right here,” Verity countered. She picked up the strongbox and marched off without giving Mayor Ritter a chance to rebut, forcing him to follow her into the gingerbread cottage across from city hall that housed the society.

Dee had no intention of letting the Goldsgone power duo elbow Angus Sprockles’s sole descendant out of the picture. “Moses, you should be there too,” she said, motioning to the old man.

“She’s right,” Sam said. “Dee and I’ll come with you, if you want.”

Moses gave a slight nod and the three entered the cottage, where Ritter and Verity appeared to be in mid-argument over who should retain custody of the spike, city hall or the historical society.

“It belongs here,” Verity declared.

“And maybe it’ll end up here after we show it off in city hall for a while,” Ritter shot back at her.

“For how long?”

“TBD,” Ritter said with a shrug.

While the two continued to argue, Dee entertained herself by checking out the strong box, which Verity had deposited on one of the society’s many display cases. The metal was tarnished and scuffed in places but the lock and hinges were in remarkably good shape. Dee snuck a peek inside the box and noticed that what looked like paper lining the bottom of the box was actually an envelope. “There’s still something inside the time capsule,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Verity said. She registered Dee’s presence and added a blunt, “What are you doing here?”

“She’s with us,” Sam said, defending his daughter. “And she’s right. There’s an envelope in the box. You missed it.”

Dee silently saluted her father for one-upping Verity, who was not a fan of having her mistakes pointed out. The historical society director begrudgingly retrieved the envelope from the box. She removed a letter from the envelope and read it to herself. Curious, Dee tried to read over Verity’s shoulder, much to the other woman’s annoyance. “What does it say?” Dee asked.

“It’s a letter from 1870 to Angus Sprockles from his father wishing him a happy sixth birthday,” Verity said. “Sprockles senior was working on the railroad in San Francisco and writes that he hopes Angus likes his birthday present, a sterling silver souvenir copy of the golden spike used to ceremonially complete the last link in the transcontinental railroad in 1869.”

“Talk about a piece of California history,” Jeff said, impressed. The others murmured agreement.

“That settles where it goes,” Sam said. “It’s a Sprockles heirloom, so it belongs to Moses.”

“Sounds good to me,” Moses said.

To Dee’s surprise, instead of arguing, Verity and Mayor Ritter quickly agreed with him. “Of course it’s yours, Moses,” Verity said, sounding downright obsequious.

“You betcha. Along with everything else in the box.” Ritter gave the narrow-gauge railroad owner a hearty clap on the back.

“You can put the spike on display at the railroad museum and announce it tomorrow at the Angus Sprockles Happy Heavenly Birthday Bash,” Sam suggested. The bash was a yearly fundraiser for the Goldsgone Historical Society held at the Sprockles railroad compound. Due to the time capsule, the event had been scheduled for the day after Angus’s official birthday.

“’Kay.” Moses issued his monosyllabic approval.

“Wonderful,” Verity gushed. “Thank you so much, Moses.”

The provenance of the spike settled, the mayor tapped his watch to indicate he had town business to attend to, and everyone left the cottage.

“Are you okay handling the motel for a few hours?” Jeff asked once he and Dee were outside. “Prism Hart offered me a free manicure in exchange for a positive write-up on the new website.”

“Putting the ‘man’ in manicure and taking advantage of the perks, huh?” Dee teased her friend.

“You bet,” Jeff said. He rubbed his hands together gleefully, then stopped and examined them. “They are pretty dry. I could use whatever lotion Verity got a dose of.”

He headed to the nail spa and Dee took off in the opposite direction. As she walked, she replayed what she’d witnessed in the historical society. The fact that Goldsgone’s two obstreperous town leaders instantly caved when Sam claimed the spike for Moses mystified her.

It was almost as if they were scared of Moses.

Knowing the motel was in the capable if quirky hands of the Ma’ams, Dee decided to pop in on her quasi-boyfriend, Jonas Jones. Jonas was cousin to Elmira Williker, proprietor of Williker’s All-in-One, Foundgold’s only store. Jonas and Elmira were descended from ancesto. . .