Mrs. Jones and the Midas Train: A Jazz-Age Decopunk Fantasy

By Grace E. Robinson

Mrs. Jones, bodyguard.

Women in the 1920s don't usually protect and defend the men, but Cornelia Jones is an unusual woman.

Dr. Braddock has invented a device that he believes will change the face of medical science, and he needs just one more piece to make it work. Cornelia agrees to protect the old scientist on his train trip to retrieve the final piece. But the Caelum, a secret organization that uses science and magic for nefarious purposes, wants the device for themselves.

Cornelia soon gets more than she bargained for when she learns that the doctor's invention is much more than a just a contribution to modern medicine. Can Cornelia protect herself, the doctor, and all of the passengers before the train becomes their doom?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grace E. Robinson
• Release date: Sep 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998815916

Book preview

MRS. JONES AND THE MIDAS TRAIN

A Jazz-Age Dieselpunk Fantasy

Grace E. Robinson

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

©2017 Grace E. Robinson

Cover design ©2017 by Tina Glasneck, www.tinaglasneck.com

A light breeze ruffled Cornelia Jones’ yellow satin skirt as she walked down the gravel path. The warm spring air was refreshing; not too hot yet. Cornelia admired the flowers in the garden—dozens of different varieties, all blooming brightly. Her groundskeeper, Joey, was as skilled with the plants as he was with the animals.

Cornelia paused at one of the benches that were scattered throughout the garden. A gray tabby cat was lounging on the bench, one paw draped over the side.

Do you mind if I join you, Esther? Cornelia said to the cat, sitting down at the opposite end of the bench. Esther opened one eye briefly and then closed it again.

Gravel crunched; Cornelia turned her head to see her elderly butler making his way up the path.

Begging your pardon, Miz Jones, the wiry black man said as he came closer. But there’s a telephone call for you.

Apparently, Esther did not appreciate the butler’s intrusion and opened both eyes to glare at him.

Who is the caller, Rawlins? Cornelia asked. The society gala had been a bit too convivial, her weekly bridge club gossipy, and she had accepted the invitation to the premier of a new moving picture; until then she would have preferred to spend the rest of the week in solitude at home. Surely the societal elite of Los Angeles could get by without her for a few days.

Says her name is Miz Weinstein, ma’am, said Rawlins. She says it’s real important. About her father, Dr. Braddock.

Cornelia snapped alert at that mention of his name. Dr. Braddock worked with John years ago, before the War, she said.

Rawlins nodded. That’s right, ma’am. I ’member him.

Cornelia stood up. Of course I’ll take the call. Thank you, Rawlins. She headed for the house. Rawlins fell into step behind her, but she soon outpaced him. She hadn’t spoken to Pearl Weinstein in at least a couple of years. Her father had worked with Cornelia’s husband, John, many years ago. That was long before John’s accident. Dr. Braddock had been old then; the scientist had to be quite elderly by now, unless…. Cornelia bit her lip and stepped into the cool house foyer.

Cornelia picked up the phone receiver from where it was lying on the table. Hello? Pearl?

Cornelia, darling! It’s wonderful to hear your voice. I’m sorry it’s been so long. How are you, dear?

I’m doing quite well, Pearl. And you? How is your father?

I’m fine, and so is Father, said Pearl.

That was a relief. She’d hate to think that another great scientist from the pre-War days had suffered a mishap or passed away. I’m very glad to hear that, Pearl, said Cornelia.

Father is the reason I’m calling, however, Pearl continued, her voice shifting from a cordial greeting tone to something more earnest. "I need your help—he needs your help. I wouldn’t be calling you about this if I didn’t think you were the best person—the only person—for the task."

What do you need? Whatever Pearl was about to ask, Cornelia