The Great Train Episode aka A Mystery in Four Acts

Characters
Shawn Spencer : Fake psychic, real detective.

Burton “Gus” Guster : Pharmacological representative by day; psychic assistant by night…and often day as well.

Family with Two Young Children : Why would a family with two young kids travel to Seattle by train?

Hans Hansson : Swedish Chief? Or serial killer?

Gareth : Engineer, but of what?

Sam Claiborne : Former Chief, was his death and accident… or murder ?

Cindi Holton : Is there more to this brunette conductor than meets the i ?

Shirley MacLaine : Would any parent in their right mind really name their child after the actress in Some Come Running ?

Alfred and Melinda Gustafson : Are they really as obnoxious as they seem?



1987

    A cool breeze drifted down the Santa Barbara beach as the morning clouds obscured the sun. However, the June gloom would soon be replaced by the afternoon sun and Shawn and Gus had plenty to do before the heat of the day made them retreat inside; their childish activities outside to be replaced by the sedentary task of TV watching.

    “What’re we doing, Shawn?” asked Gus, reluctantly covering his eyes with his hands as instructed by his friend.

    “It’s a surprise,” replied Shawn as he guided Gus down the street towards the beach.

    Gus was concerned by the prospect of one of Shawn’s “surprises”. The last surprise involved water balloons and Mrs. McGallager’s cat. Gus still had the scars, both physical and psychological, from that experience.

    “Ta-da!” Shawn exclaimed, cueing Gus to remove his hands and open his eyes. Shawn waved at the train tracks along the beach and then pulled a handful of pennies out of his pocket, “We’re gonna flatten coins! I sold one to that little kid, Jack, for 5 cents last week. He thought it cost more because it’s bigger. We could make millions from this.” Shawn knelt next to the tracks and started to arrange the coins carefully along the rail while Gus nervously waited behind him.

    “Shawn,” Gus began as he cautiously crept further back from the train tracks, he feet sliding awkwardly in the loose gravel surrounding the tracks, “Are you sure we should be doing this? It’s dangerous.”

    “Relax, Gus; I’ve lived by the train tracks my whole life.” Shawn leaned in further, adjusting one of the pennies on the rail.

    “I can hear the train coming,” Gus pointed out as he peered down the tracks watching for the train, “Remember the movie we watched in first grade and second grade and…”

    Shawn interrupted, “The one that explained all the exciting things we can do by the train tracks? Stop worrying. This is fun! And I’ll see the train before it comes.” Shawn finished placing the final penny along the rail where it would await its flattened fate. In the distance the bells sounded as the barrier came down blocking the cars from crossing the train tracks.

    “My cousin told me that trains will fly off the tracks if you put coins on them.”

    “That’d be awesome!” Shawn exclaimed as he glanced further down the tracks, completely missing Gus’s concern.

    “Shawn, people would die if…”

    Gus was interrupted by a booming voice coming from behind them. “Shawn! Gus!” The two quickly stood up and turned to face Shawn’s dad. “What are you doing? You know better than to play by the train tracks!”

    Henry’s rant was interrupted by the train rushing by, the wind from the passing train causing them to involuntarily step away from the tracks.

    When the train finally passed Henry continued his tirade, “Don’t they show you that video in school anymore? Do you know how many people die from being hit by trains each year?” Gus was standing at rapt attention, listening to Henry’s speech and deciding that he was never going to go along with one of Shawn’s surprises again. Shawn, however, was distracted by something shinning on the ground next to the track. He reached down to pick up one of the flat pennies.

    “Oww,” Shawn cried out, dropping his prize. The penny, still hot from being flattened, left a pink burn mark on his hand.

    Henry grabbed Shawn’s hand, “That’s what happens when you fool around down here, Shawn. You will get hurt. Kids your age are hit by trains every day, some are injured and some die. I don’t want that to happen to either of you. It’s dangerous to play by the train tracks, the two of you are smart enough to know that,” Henry explained, looking at Shawn and Gus.

    Shawn looked down, uncomfortable with the discussion and accusation, “I am careful, Dad. The lunchtime train always comes by like 58 seconds after the bells at the rail road crossing. I knew how long it was in my head and was looking for it.”

    “I still don’t want you to play down here again, next time I’ll just let you be flattened by the train along with your coins.  Now, your mom made lunch for you and Gus and she won’t want it to get cold.”

    As Henry turned to walk back to the house he saw Shawn grab some of the misshapen coins from the ground.  “Put those back, Shawn. It is your fault you wasted your money.”

    Shawn let the coins slip from his hand and clatter to the ground in disappointment. As he walked away from the tracks he glanced back at his glittering prizes lying in the gravel. Shawn thought to himself, “Maybe I can sneak back to get them later.” Looking back towards his dad who was stomping back home he quickly changed his mind; he did not want to get in the path of that storm again.

    “Dad,” Shawn began as he hurried to catch up, “Did you ever flatten coins as a kid?”

    “That would be reckless and irresponsible,” Henry replied.

    “You know, Grandpa was the one that told me that trains could flatten coins,” Shawn stated as he quickly walked back to the house.



Present Day

    Gus opened his eyes at 8:30 that morning, precisely when his alarm clock first rang and the sounds of 105.9 Krazy Country blasted from the radio. He groaned out loud as the twangy music filled his ears and quickly turned off the offending device; Shawn must have changed the channel again. Jumping out of his bed, wide awake, he quickly got ready for work. His day was carefully scheduled to get him on the road to San Luis Obispo at 10:00 and to arrive in the city no later than noon, giving him plenty of time to prepare before his meeting and allowed a cushion of flexibility in case something went wrong.
    
    Looking back days later he decided that he should have just given up and called in sick, spending a relaxing day it bed, when the first sign that everything would not go according to plan occurred the previous day. Gus thought back to the event he had fruitlessly tried to banish from him memory and just dub “The Pineapple Smoothie” incident. Needless to say Shawn would not be consuming any frozen beverages in his car ever again. With his car in the shop in the hope that the horrid yellow stains on the seats could be removed without having to reupholster the whole car, Gus’s initial had to be adapted.

    The incident had left Gus temporarily carless and he needed it to get to his meeting. He had been eager to volunteer to give the introductory presentation about “What Central Coast Pharmaceuticals Can Do for YOU!” to a group of physicians in San Luis Obispo. He was unsure why the marketing department decided to capitalize “YOU” in the slogan as the emphasis was not worth the affront to proper writing style, but he had to use the slogan. His company was looking to expand the business and, while he would never want to commute that two hour distance, he was excited for the task of introducing them to the business, horrible slogan or not.

    With his car unavailable it had left the only available vehicle to get to San Luis Obispo being Shawn’s motorcycle. As Gus would not ride that death trap no matter what the situation, and didn’t have the proper license, he was left with only one choice, to rent a car.

    Sitting down for his morning coffee Gus considered calling the car rental service to confirm his reservation, but decided against it.  He had called twice the day before, first to reserve a car for the following day and second to confirm the reservation. However, he held off calling that morning as well with the thought that he did not want to seem overly concerned.

    Double checking his planner Gus saw that the route 11 bus would leave at 9:15 and would arrive at the airport where he could rent the car at 9:45. A quick check of the bus schedule confirmed the times. Grabbing his jacket, sample case, briefcase, a roll of posters, extra samples, and a muffin for breakfast he stumbled out the door and to the nearest bus stop.

    Gus was thrilled when at 9:13, two minutes ahead of schedule; the number 11 bus arrived at the station. After rifling through his pocket for the correct fare he collapsed into a seat surrounded by his myriad items.
    
    As the bus rolled along the city streets, and having nothing better to do, Gus spent his time observing his fellow passengers. The woman across from his caught his eye after she smiled sympathetically in response to his plethora of luggage. She was surrounded by bags of her own, Macy’s, Saks Fifth Avenue, other stores with expensive sounding names, it seemed odd that she was riding the bus, but he was so he couldn’t judge. “Shawn would probably be able to figure out why she was there,” he thought to himself as he imagined scenarios. A broken down car was his first theory before moving on to one where her desire to save the environment had caused her to become a mass transportation aficionado. He even moved on to a scenario where the woman had a pathological fear of cars and the city bus was her only method of travel when the roar of an airplane passing over the bus alerted him that they were about to arrive at the airport.

    As the bus ground to a halt next to the airport Gus stood up and moved to the exit. After practically clambering down the exit of the bus and onto the dirt at the side of the road by the airport Gus made his way to the adjoining building at the car rental service. The empty parking lot was his first clue something was terribly wrong.
    
    Standing behind the counter was a young woman with a smile plastered insincerely on her face as she absentmindedly smacked a piece of gum between her teeth.

    “Santa Barbara Car Rentals, how may I help you today?”

    “Burton Guster, I have a car reserved to pick up,” Gus explained as he set his items down in front of the counter.

    “Guster, let me check the computer.” The woman’s plastered on smile melted into a look of confusion as she checked the database on the computer and then spat out her gum into a waste basket.

    “I’m sorry, but we have record that you assistant called an hour ago to cancel your appointment.”

    “Excuse me?”

    “Your ah-sis-tant,” the woman enunciated more clearly as if she thought her pronunciation had led to Gus’s confusion. “It says so right here.” The woman gestured to the screen unhelpfully.

    “Look, I don’t have a…” Gus stopped himself and tried a different approach. “Is the car still available or is there another I can rent? I still need the car; there must have been an error with your database.”

    “I can assure you there is no error. I took the call myself.”

    “I don’t have an assistant and I still need the car. Look, is there some other I can rent?”

    “I would love to help you, sir. But we are not expecting any cars to be returned until this afternoon. With the Entomological Convention downtown this weekend we are quite low on cars.”
    
    “Well what about the car I reserved earlier?”

    “I’m sorry, but we released the car after the phone call. Someone else has rented it already.”
    
    Gus stood in shock as his carefully crafted schedule became entirely useless.

    “Is everything ok?” The woman asked with the first bit of sincere feeling that her voice had shown all day.

    “No, everything isn’t ok. It’s not fine either. And it’s certainly not hunky-dory, so don’t ask.” Gus was ashamed at his tone the moment he spoke, but did not apologize.

    Gus closed his eyes and leaned his face against his hands as he tried to calm down, his perfectly crafted day disappearing before his eyes. “Okay,” he thought to himself as he frantically tried to figure out how to get to San Luis Obispo. “Plane? No, there are no planes that go there. Bus? No that wouldn’t work,” he told himself. Not only would an hour and a half trip by horrific by city bus, but he would likely have to transfer several times and that meant he would be unlikely to arrive before the meeting.

    The woman working behind the counter was a bit worried about the man standing in front of her in silence, hands over his face, but she choose not to comment.

    “Think, think, think.” Gus silently commanded himself and suddenly he realized that there was a way he could make his meeting on time, the only real choice. “The train!”

    The woman gave him a confused look and Gus embarrassing realized he yelled this last bit out loud.

    After waiting for the bus to finally arrive, Gus sat down in relief on the next bus downtown, his baggage once again surrounding him. “The assistant incident was really odd,” he thought to himself. “How did the woman mess up so badly, it’s not like I have a…” A sudden though popped into his head, “Shawn? Did Shawn call?” He ran the idea through his head, there were no current clients and Shawn had not mentioned anything happening, plus Shawn knew how important this meeting was.

    By the time the bus reached downtown he had dismissed the idea. Shawn had promised to spend the day helping Henry clean out the attic so there was no reason he would have canceled the rental. Although try as he might he could no shake the idea that some way, somehow Shawn was involved.

*****


    Shawn exited the bus at Carpentaria bags in hand. He had considered riding his oft neglected motorcycle, but the number of bags quickly ruled it out as an option. While the bus was never his preferred method of travel his only other option was his dad’s truck and he didn’t want his dad to know that he was skipping out again until he had already left Santa Barbara far in the distance.

    With his ticket already in hand, sent to him by his client, he now just had to wait for the train to arrive. The tracks and benches were still empty as the bus schedule required him to arrive quite early for the train and his fellow passengers had yet to arrive. Picking one of the benches lining the train tracks, Shawn sat down to wait, tapping his foot in eager anticipation.

*****


    Gus did not enjoy traveling by train and was particularly reluctant to venture into the Santa Barbara station; he had nightmares of the place as a child. The train station was old and smelled of mold and dust and the heavy wood of the benches and ticket counter were dark and imposing. The dim lights increased the somber and rather dreary mood of the station, a sharp contrast to the bright lights and airy feeling of Santa Barbara outside its door.

    As Gus stepped through the door into the train station he felt as if he had traveled to another time. The building was a memory of the past and a relic of a time long since forgotten when train travel was fashionable.

    “Sonny?” Gus turned and saw a very old woman struggling with her bag. “Be a dear and help me carry my bag over to the bench.”

    As he helped the woman with the bag and realized that maybe some of the people here really were stuck in a past when train travel was still the fashion or at least remembered it fondly.

    Gus glanced at his watch and over to the line at the ticket counter, which was thankfully not too long. On the bus he had called the service number for the train company and was relieved that the next train to San Luis Obispo was scheduled to leave at 11:00, in just over twenty minutes. While the timeframe was tight, this would put him in San Luis Obispo in time to find a taxi or bus to take him to his meeting.

    After walking over to the ticket windows to wait in line, Gus was soon followed by a young couple with two small children who were struggling with their bags and strollers, his sample case, brief case, and assorted odds and ends no longer seemed as burdensome to carry.

    As the arrival of the train was growing ever sooner, Gus was relieved that there were only two people in front of him. There was not much time before the train left and if this did not work he was out of ways to get to the meeting and that was a call he did not want to make to his boss. With a look down at his watch he hoped that the train would be a bit behind schedule as the schedule arrival of the train was growing uncomfortable close.

    Gus awkwardly shuffled forward as the next customer approached the widow. The tightly wrapped bun in her hair and her well matched suit suggested, at first glance, a woman that was ready to take on the world. However, a single strand of hair had escaped the confines of her hairdo and made one question if she was really as put together as she wanted to world to believe.

    “I’m in a hurry,” the woman explained as she first approached the window.  This was music to Gus’s ears.

    “Certainly, I will be as quick as possible,” the ticket agent responded politely.

    “You better be. I cannot stand slow service. And the line, two people in front of me? That was inexcusable.” Gus adjusted his tie and buttoned his jacket nervously.

    “I apologize for the wait.”

    “I need one ticket to…oh I can’t remember the name of the stop…the one by LA. Here, give me a schedule so I can check.”

    The ticket agent politely handed over a schedule. Gus shifted back and forth impatiently, taking yet another desperate look at his watch. He could already tell the woman in front of him would be trouble and he really didn’t have time to wait.

    “Now let’s see…where was it again? What station is after LA?” The woman asked herself. “What is the order of the station stops?”

    “It’s listed right here,” the ticket agent explained and she leaned forward to point to the schedule.

    “If I wanted to read I would have done so myself. Now tell me the order of the stops.”

    After 10 more minutes of confusion the woman finally decided that she would rather stop at Union Station in LA and take rest of her journey by taxi. However, her troubles did not end there.

    “3 bags.”

“What ma’am?” The ticket agent asked confused by the laconic statement.

    “I have three bags to check,” explained the woman waving at the pile of luggage behind her in annoyance. “Now come around and take them from me.”

    “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we cannot check bags on short train trips,” explained the exasperated ticket agent.

    Gus, adjusted his tie once more and unbuttoned his jacket. After a moment’s pause he picked up his briefcase in the hope that the line would soon move. Turning around he noticed the couple behind him seemed equally concerned.

    “Why, my word. What am I supposed to do with my bags? Carry them on?”

    “That would be your option,” the polite tone long since vanished from the ticket agent’s voice.

    “Hurry up, will you!” A man cried out from the end of the line.

    “What?” The woman asked as her face began to turn red in anger, turning to Gus.

    “I didn’t say anything,” he explained defensively.

    “I heard you tell me to hurry up. I have as much right to be here as you do, blame the incompetent ticket agent.” The woman sharply turned back to the window.

    “It is just that a train is coming soon and we need to buy our tickets before it arrives,” one of the other customers in line explained.

    “Shut up!” The woman yelled at Gus who tried unsuccessfully to explain that he was not the one talking. “I was here first. I can have as much time as I need!” The woman turned back to the ticket agent. “As for you, I should report you to…to the Santa Barbara News-Press for horrible service. My friend, Edward Franklin, editor of the paper would love to hear of the incompetence of this company.”

    “If you want to ma’am, go ahead. There’s a payphone over there.”

    “I have a cell phone; I don’t need your help.”

    “I really do need you to pay for your ticket. As the gentleman said there is a line forming.”

    "I don't appreciate your tone Miss..." The woman looked expectantly at the ticket clerk, giving a slight shrug of her shoulders. The ticket clerk rolled her eyes.

    “Jackson. Mrs. Tracy Jackson.”

    “I want to talk to your supervisor, Mrs.Jackson. I refuse to pay full price.” She pursed her lips and held her head high.

    “I am the supervisor on duty. If you have a problem , I can give you the number to our corporate office and you can file a complaint with them!”

    Gus noticed the woman flinch slightly at the harshness of Mrs. Jackson's tone, but she regained her balance almost immediately.

    "Your tone is insufferable!" she cried.

    Gus set down his briefcase, loosened his tie and accepted the fact that he was going to be late to his meeting.

*****


    Once he was settled in his room on the train, Shawn procedurally tucked in his button up white shirt with care that showed routine. Next was the red tie which he deftly tied before flipping down the white shirt collar. Looking at the mirror he pondered whether he would have been fired from the job all those years ago if had followed the dress code this diligently when he was an actual employee, for some unknown reason they did not approve of additions of his uniform to make it look cooler. Shawn pulled on his dark blue vest, a perfect match to the color of the pants, and buttoned it closed.
        
    After his hole punch holster was fastened around his waist, Shawn could not help, but flip his hole punch around his finger and drop it into the holster as if he was a gunslinger in the Wild West. He knew this outfit would be useful one day. While looking at himself in the mirror one last time before exiting the room, he adjusted his hat and pulled the nametag out of his pocket, fastening it to the right side of his vest.

    With a smug look Shawn closed the door and walked down the hall, ready to begin his job. The train was calm as it made its way from Carpentaria to Santa Barbara, as most of the passengers were content with just watching the shore pass by outside their windows. After answering a couple of questions for the passengers he walked past, he settled into a seat to wait for the commotion of the passengers that would board at the next stop.

*****


    The police department was silent. The interrogation rooms, empty. The visitor’s desk, unvisited. Sitting quietly at their desks as if cramming for an upcoming test in the stifling silence of a college library, sat the detectives, flipping through file after file of unsolved crimes.

    The work at the department had been slow recently and while this was great news for the city, it meant boredom for the police officers.  Juliet, along with most of the detectives, had been assigned to review a collection of cold case files, checking to see if there was any new information or if there were any potential connections to more current cases.

    The cases varied from murders to thefts to the disappearance of a 19 year-old cat that was suffering from thyroid disease and, at the time, weighed in at hefty twenty-seven pounds. Juliet turned around to check on Lassiter, who was currently moping at his own desk staring at a similar stack of cold cases. She could not help but notice that the stack of piles still to be read had sat untouched for the past half-hour. Lassiter glared at the current one open on his desk as if somehow his annoyance would solve the case, or at least make the file disappear. Thus far it proved to be ineffective.

    Juliet glanced at the clock on the wall, it was 11:45. Buzz had left to pick up lunch twenty minutes ago and would be returning at any time, much appreciated take-out bags in hand. The fact that this upcoming event was looking to be the highlight of the day was not encouraging.

*****


    Gus shuffled on board the train with his briefcase, sample case and other assorted items in his tired arms, sorely wishing he had just left them all at home. His bags were awkward and he stumbled after crashing into an unapologetic conductor, who quickly disappeared into the crowd of equally frustrated passengers. After trying to make his way through the narrow aisles of the train he decided it would be for the best to take whatever seat was nearest.

    As he finally settled into his seat the train pulled away from the Santa Barbara station, glad to leave the chaos of the ticket line and train station behind him. The crying babies and blaring head phones seemed a calm reprieve from the stress of trying to buy his ticket. After the lady who refused to pay full price finally decided she would in fact take the train to LA and pay full price, there was an agonizingly long wait for the older gentleman in front of him to find his glasses… and his wallet… and his ID… Gus, who at this point was certain he would miss his train, finally reached the counter only to find that the train was an hour behind schedule.

    Moving his sample case off of the seat next to him, Gus double checked the contents. Although it was too late for him to go back and replace or refill anything, he found the monotony of the process relaxing. Plus, if he was missing anything, which was extremely unlikely, it did give him time to rework the presentation. “Tickets!” the conductor call out from behind, hole-punch clicking as he checked the passengers’ tickets.

    Gus placed his sample case back on the seat next to him and reached his hand into his jacket pocket as the couple behind him handed over their tickets. Where he expected to find his ticket packet he found only a folded up piece of paper. On that paper, in a distinctive scrawl he knew all too well were the words, “Turn around.”

    As Gus listened to the conductor converse with the couple behind him, he realized he recognized that voice as well. “Oh, please no,” he pleaded silently though he knew it would be of no use. He sat for a moment staring intently at the back of the seat in front of him as if the colorful pattern would reveal some great words of wisdom.

    Finally after having given up finding guidance in the pattern he turned to face the man behind him. With a smirk on his face stood the conductor he had bumped into earlier, his hand stretched out in front of him awaiting a ticket. “Shawn,” Gus, stated worryingly, apprehensive of his friend’s upcoming response. This meeting was important; he didn’t need Shawn there to get in the way.

    “Ticket please,” Shawn requested, holding his hand out expectantly as if this were merely another passenger and not his friend whose day had been secretly manipulated to reach this exact moment. “And please remove your luggage from the seat. The train is almost full and we need all available seats.”

    Gus ignored the waiting hand, “Shawn! Why are you here?” he asked, trying to keep his voice down, but his annoyance was betraying him. “And where is my ticket?”

    “Gus, you need to be more careful about your possessions,” Shawn explained as he pulled a ticket out of his pocket and handed it to Gus. “There are pickpockets running rampant around here.”

    “As far as I can tell there is only…” Gus stopped midsentence. “This ticket is for Vancouver, not San Luis Obispo,” Gus explained as calm as possible as he checked over his tickets, knowing that his friend had some worrying surprise waiting. “You know I have a very important meeting to attend. I told you right before you spilled your smoothie all over my car. Some of us have jobs that give us regular paychecks we depend on to pay our rent checks.”

    “That would probably be why your landlords always like you more than mine like me.”

    “Shawn, I’m serious. I don’t have time for whatever case you’re on.”

    “Don’t be mad, but your boss might think that your grandmother has the flu.”

    “Shawn!”

    “He was sad to hear that you would be missing your meeting. Some dude named Billy is going to cover it for you. Oh, and your boss is looking forward to dinner with your grandmother when she is better, apparently you never did invite him over after she broke her hip.”

    “Shawn, I can’t just miss work. And my Grandmother still lives in Jamaica.”

    “Dude, it’s just a couple of days. Plus, your boss already thinks you are leaving to help your grandmother. Don’t worry.”

    “No, Shawn. I’m going to call him now to explain that this was all just a misunderstanding.” Gus pulled out his phone and dialed. “Mr. Haversham, please.” Gus turned away from Shawn as he waited for the secretary to transfer the call. “Mr. Haversham, this is Burton… thank you sir… it is just that… yes sir, family is very important… well my cousin should not have called you… Oh, Billy is covering the meeting… I could go… yes… thank you again.”

    Gus dropped down onto his seat and began to breathe deeply. “Dude, are you Lamaze breathing again?”

    “It helps me relax. You know that, Shawn.” Gus tried to find a way out of the situation, but knew it was hopeless. There was no way Gus could go to the meeting without his boss thinking he had lied to him. “What’s the case?”

    “Hunting ghosts.” Shawn stated plainly.

    “Hunting ghosts? Really? And you needed my help because?” Gus was becoming increasingly annoyed with the path this surprise of Shawn’s was taking.

    “Moral support?” Gus rolled his eyes at Shawn’s response, “Come on, you’re my wingman, Gus. I need you to back me up and to bounce ideas off of.”

    “You could have called me.” Gus stood up angrily when he realized something, “You spilled that smoothie on purpose, didn’t you?” Shawn remained silent. “And the rental car! I should have realized you were up to something. When did you get this case?”

    “Oh, like a week ago,” Shawn explained.

    “Shawn!”

    “Come on, Dude, with everything that has been going on it has been so long since we worked an actual case together. Apparently not everyone wants to hire someone that has been accused of murder. This is our first real case since Bridger died, I need your help.”

    “Shawn, I have another job; it requires my time as well.”

    “Which you seem to spend more and more time at. Come on Gus, this will be fun.” Gus didn’t seem to think so and Shawn continued. “You were the one who wanted to be a train driver when you were a kid.”

    “I was five, Shawn, and they are called engineers. Plus, I remember that you wanted to be Santa Clause.”

    “We all go through awkward stages and, Dude, he gets to fly around and has all the toys he could possibly want.”

    “How many days is the trip?” Gus asked as he tried to brace himself for the answer.

    “Four, at most. Two days up and two days back.”

    Gus stood silently for a moment as he considered his options before agreeing, “Fine, but I’m getting off at San Luis Obispo if you don’t convince me by then that this is not pointless.”

    “It’s a deal, Gus.”

    “And, where did you get that conductor’s outfit? I’m assuming the train company didn’t hire you.” Gus asked as he noticed Shawn’s conductor’s hat and vest, with the regulation hip hole-punch holster.

    “What, I never told you about my stint as a conductor in Alaska?”

*****


    “So,” Gus began as he followed Shawn through the narrow aisle between the rows of seats to the back of the train. His metal sample case receiving weird glances by the passengers they passed by. “We’re going to Vancouver.”

    “Correct.” Shawn replied as he pulled off his hat and undid his vest.  “Here, hand me your briefcase.” Shawn swiftly placed the hat and vest inside the case, followed by the hole-punch holster. “You know, they film a lot of TV shows up there.”

    “Of course Shawn, they call it Hollywood North.  You know, they film many high-profile TV shows up there, such as Zamboni Survivor.” Shawn gave Gus a blank look of confusion. “’The zany show about the real lives of real Zamboni drivers.’”

    “Please tell me you’re making that up, Gus.  Zamboni Survivor? Seriously?”

    “It’s the third most popular show in Canada, right after Hockey and Canadian Idol. They are going to begin airing it on channel three, haven’t you seen the commercials.”

    “We got Tivo for a reason, Gus. Commercials are the plague.”

    “Well it is big in Canada, although it will never replace hockey. Those Canadians love their hockey,” said Gus with a satisfied smirk on his face.

    “Gus, the very fact that you know that disturbs me greatly.  But I was hoping that you would enjoy the train ride up, in addition to your disturbing thrill in the prospect of viewing the studio of Zamboni Survivor.”

    “I don’t know, Shawn,” Gus’s temporary enthusiasm was quickly fading as he realized the situation he was in. “There’s no way I can do this. I don’t have a change of clothes or my toothbrush. I don’t even have my passport.”

    Shawn silently pulled Gus’s passport out of his pocket and handed it to Gus. Gus took it in surprise, “How did you…”

    “You know, hollow book safes are only convincing if people believe that you would read the book,” Shawn explained. “No one would actually read War and Peace.”

    “Actually I have read War and Peace , Shawn. Some people do read for their own enjoyment.”

    “Mrs. Ramirez for freshman English said the same thing, but I still don’t believe it. Anyway, here we are,” Shawn explained as he stopped in front of one of the doors in the sleeping car and opened it with a flourish. Beyond the door was a tiny room with two little bench chairs and a door leading to an even smaller bathroom. Darkly carpeted walls added to the feeling of claustrophobia. How two people could sleep or for that matter even fit in the room was beyond Gus’s ability to imagine.

    “What is this?” asked Gus.

    “I believe they call it a ‘roomette’. I call it our home for the next twenty-four hours.”

    “Great.” Gus placed his sample case on the floor of his room and noticed a familiar black duffle bag on the luggage rack. “Is that my travel bag?”

    “You know, it is weird that you always have a bag packed for trips. Tell me, where are you planning on running off to?”

    “It is a responsible decision, Shawn; you never know when business will call you away at the last minute.”

    “Seriously? When was the last time you had an emergency meeting with a client that required you to travel?”

    “Well, it could happen,” Gus replied defensively.

    “Sure,” Shawn replied skeptically. “Plus, now you have a change of clothes. We should go to meet our client, who is the one fronting the bill for this wonderful room. I tried to convince him that I had two kids and needed the family sized room, but…” Shawn explained as he walked out of the room, but stopped and turned back when he saw that Gus was not following him. “What?”

    “I’m just amazed that you planned this far ahead, you got my passport and my bag.”

    “You underestimate me sometimes, Gus. Plus, I knew you would not agree to stay without your toothbrush. Not after the museum incident.”

    “Don’t even remind me of that. So what is the case? And if there’s another mummy I am leaving now.”

    “No mummy’s I swear. Our client is Hans Hansson, the chef on this train.”

    “Seriously, that is his name? Hans Hansson?”

    “What, it’s catchy and repetitive? Maybe I should start calling you Gus Guster,” Shawn gazed off as if absorbed in his own thoughts. “I could even call you Burty Burton. It doesn’t work as well for my name, Shawn Shawnerific? No. Spen Spenser... Sven Svenser?”

    “Shawn!” Shawn abruptly stopped experimenting with variations on his name. “Shawn, I will kill you if you call me either of those names, ever. And that’s not what I meant. Hansson, that’s a Swedish name…”

    “Yes Gus, our client is a chef, a Swedish chef, named Hans Hansson. ‘Bort, Bort, Bort’ and what not. Some of us have outgrown the Muppets. Seriously, though he claims to hear ghosts in his kitchen and said that food often either moves or disappears during the night.”

    “He hears ghosts?” Gus stopped following Shawn and remained fixed in his spot.

    “That’s what he said. So, either he’s crazy or someone is messing with his kitchen when he is sleeping.”

    “Or there are actual ghosts haunting the train,” Gus replied, pointing out the final option.

    “Gus, don’t be a Paranoid Polly,” Shawn dictated as he continued to the kitchen, “there are no such thing as ghosts. So I’m sticking with the explanations that actually make sense.”

    Just then Shawn’s phone began to ring. A quickly glance at the scene told him it was his dad. “Hey, Dad. I would love to talk but…”

    “Where are you, Shawn? You are supposed to be here helping me clear out the attic today.”

    “Yeah, I’m a kind of busy right now.”

    “With that? The agreement, after I let you borrow my truck last week, was that you would clear out the attic today. You would not believe how much of your junk is still up here.”

    “I would, but I’m on a train to Vancouver.”

    “What?” Henry asked in surprise.

    “It’s a case, dad. And no, I’m not running away to meet MacGyver again.”

    “I assumed you were beyond that stage, Shawn.”

    “Look,” Shawn replied, interrupting Henry, “I’ve got to go, our client is here.”

    “Wait, Shawn.”

    “Yeah?”

    “When you get back you will spend the whole week clearing out the attic.”

    “Ok, fine, look, gotta go.” Shawn hung up his phone and returned it to his pocket.

    “Shawn, please don’t tell me that you took this case just to avoid spending time with your dad,” Gus explained, rather annoyed at even the thought.

    “Of course I wouldn’t tell you that,” Shawn explained, his reply doing but reinforce Gus’s assumption. “It is just a fortunate coincidence.”

*****


    Shawn pushed open the door to the dining car and went down the stairs into the kitchen followed by Gus. Standing at the stove in the uncomfortably confined space of the kitchen, surrounded by various bubbling pots and pans, was the chef.

    “Hans,” Shawn began reaching out his hand for the rather large man to shake. “I am Shawn Spencer, psychic, and this is my partner Burton “Ghosty” Guster. He is called “Ghosty” by his closest friends and assists me by tracking ghosts with his keen sense of smell. Yes, he can, in fact, smell out ghosts with his nose.”

    “It’s a pleasure to have your help.” replied Hans shaking their hands in turn. On top of his head was a tall white chef’s hat that sat on a mound of graying hair. The moment he finished shaking their hands, he had to readjust the hat which had since flopped in front of his face. “I talked to my coworkers about the ghost and they just laughed at me. When I told Gareth, the engineer, about my plans to hire a psychic to investigate he even said that ‘such an irrational action could get me fired,’ and that he would report me. So, please, could you keep this investigation secret?”

    “Psychic/Client privileges are something we care very much about,” Shawn explained.

    “Mr. Hansson,” began Gus.

    “Call me Hans, Ghosty,” Hans replied with a jolly smile.

    “Right, Hans. So what is the exact nature of the paranormal events you have witnessed in this train car?” Gus began again, immediately hating Shawn’s new nickname for him.

    “Yes. There have been odd noises coming from this train car at night. I sleep in the next car over,” Hans explained, continuously gesturing with his hands. “And often when I wake up in the morning I find food and other things in the kitchen moved or missing.” Han dropped his voice and leaned towards Shawn and Gus, “I think it is Sam.”

    “Who?” asked Gus, looking at Shawn for an explanation about who this person was. Shawn merely shrugged, equally confused as to where this name came from.

    “Oh, Sam Claiborne, the previous chef for this train. He died about one month ago after a horrible reaction to eating Shellfish, foaming at the mouth and everything.  Apparently he had some sort of allergy.”

    “Did he know he was allergic to it?” asked Gus.

    “I think so. Apparently they were serving shellfish for dinner and it is thought that Sam accidentally switched spoons or something. The space is s cramped in here that things do get mixed up. Well, Sam was dead before anyone even knew anything was wrong.”

    “No one noticed anything wrong when Sam was frothing at the mouth and rolling on the floor?”

    “No.”

    Gus gave Shawn a disturbed look.  “So you replaced him?” Shawn asked.

    “The next day. You know, openings on trains don’t occur that frequently.”

    “I would imagine not,” Gus replied as he looked over the undesirable and cramped space.

    “Well we should begin our work. Ghosty,” Shawn began, “does the super-smeller sense any ethereal smells?”

    Gus moved about the room sniffing as he went. While he did that, Shawn surveyed the room for anything out of the ordinary. On the floor next to the stove and adjacent door were some odd scratch marks, but nothing else seemed to be out of the ordinary. Although, the kitchen did look to have been recently renovated, the paint on the walls seemed fresh and, apart from the scratches, the floor was in surprisingly good condition, even the appliances seemed new. After much frantic sniffing Gus returned to where Hans and Shawn were standing. “No luck, the smell of the garlic fries cooking is too overpowering. It’s blocking my abilities.”

    Suddenly Shawn stumbled to the side and collapsed to his knees holding his stomach.

    “Shawn!” Gus yelled out in concern over his friends reaction to a vision. “What is wrong?”

    “Paprika! Curry! Garlic! Pickled pork feet!” Shawn yelled out irrationally.

    Hans scurried away from the fallen psychic, his hat joining the psychic on the floor as he fled. “What is wrong with him?  Does he have a garlic allergy?” he asked Gus from the far corner of the room as Shawn continued to yell out various food names.

    “Fried  green tomatoes, French fries, French toast, Texas Toast!”

    “He is channeling the spirit.” Gus knelt down by his friend who was now writhing on the floor, yelling out the names of various foods. “What does the spirit want?”

    “Okra! Liver and Onions!” Shawn stumbled up and began to blindly wave his arms around the kitchen. “Avocado! Pumpkin! Tomato Aspic! Mushrooms, don’t eat the mushrooms!” Shawn leaned against the counter out of breath. “What happened? He asked looking around confused.

    “You were yelling like a mad man,” Hans explained, bending over to pick up his hat that was lost during Shawn’s ‘fit’.

    “I’m starting to remember now. It was the ghost. He was warning you against eating the mushrooms.”

    “What is wrong with them?” Hans asked as he tried, fruitlessly, to tuck some of his hair back under his chef’s hat.

    “I don’t know; I lost the psychic connection. But I wouldn’t serve the mushrooms if I were you.”

    “Does the ghost want anything else?” Hans asked, still concerned over Shawn’s previous antics.

    “The ghost seemed agitated by something. Did you recently change anything about the kitchen?”

    “Why yes,” Hans replied, amazed with the psychic’s abilities. “I had the whole kitchen renovated when I first came here. They replaced the appliances and redid the paint and the floors. The kitchen was outdated and the appliances really were too small. Is that a problem?”

    “The ghost tells me he is confused by the new room, but seems like he can make peace with it. That is all I was able to get right now, but is there a time later today when the kitchen will be empty? I think the ghost will be more likely to communicate with me if there were less people in here.”

    “In between dinner and lunch, at about 4:00 the kitchen can be emptied briefly. There will be some items cooking, but I will make sure there is nothing strong like garlic. Also, if my coworkers ask any questions you should know that I told them that you are reporters writing an article on train travel for a paper in Santa Barbara.”

    “That won’t be a problem. We will be back at four o’clock.”

    As Shawn and Gus walked out of the kitchen a very attractive young woman hurried into the car, requesting the chef’s attention for some specific food request. Gus could not help but think that if the same food was fine for everyone else it should be fine for her as well. Shawn on the other hand was focused on the subtle gold ring on her hand and his own assumption of who the woman was.

*****


    “What was with the mushroom comment, Shawn?” Gus asked as they walked back to their roomette. “What’s wrong with them?”

    “Nothing as far as I know, but did you see the menu for dinner? It listed the main course as steak with mushroom sauce. Who eats steak with mushroom sauce? They’ll thank me later.”

    “I doubt that. I for one happen to love my steak with mushroom sauce; it makes me feel like I’m at a wedding.”

    “Gus, I don’t even have anything to say in response to that.”

    “So, what do we think is causing the noises?”

    “It sounds like someone is just messing with the Swedish chef’s kitchen during the night; there were some scratch marks on the floor near the stove that had to have been made by something that actually exists. The real question is why would someone want to interfere with such a sweet Swedish chef, even if he is a bit misguided in his sauce selection? Although it is bugging me, I mean why were there scratch marks there?” Shawn asked, not expecting a response. “The kitchen was renovated recently so the marks must be new.”

    “They must be dragging things along the floor,” Gus suggested.

    “Yeah, but the scratch marks were so specific.” The images flashed through Shawn’s head as he spoke. “It’s like the same thing was moved over and over.”

    “Maybe they are smuggling jewels.”

    “Really, Gus? Out of all the options you immediately jump the smuggling jewels?” Gus looked offended at Shawn’s skepticism. “Anyway, I think that they are smuggling anything it is smuggling something else. Something much more dangerous. Gus, there may be Snakes on the Train…I guess that makes you Samuel L. Jackson”

    “Shawn, please! Even Samuel L. Jackson didn’t go to see that movie.”

    Shawn and Gus sat down at the furthest table toward back of the dinning car and the best for watching the other people enter the room, although so far they were the only ones to enter the dining room. The room was sparsely decorated with kitsch artwork on the walls. The tables were covered with simple table clothes and were starkly placed along the walls, consolidating the space while making the room less inviting.

    Shawn leaned back in the chair and though out loud, “So, we know that the door opens to the luggage side of the car and that the room used to be used to store some of the food. The groove in the floor would make since if they were still using the room to store food, but since they no longer do that and the room has been recently renovated it’s odd that the door has been used enough to scratch the floor.”

    “The other grooves by the feet of the stove could have been caused by whoever is using that door as well,” Gus suggested.

    “True, but I don’t think that they would put the stove in a place where it would have to be moved every time that wanted to open the door. The stove might have been smaller before the kitchen was renovated and might not have blocked the door. After Hans’ renovations the stove was suddenly in the way.” Shawn sat silent for a moment, thinking, before he began again, “We know that someone has been moving things in the kitchen.” Noticing Gus about to jump in to argue, “And they are not ghosts. So someone must still be entering that room and moving the boxes the chef stacks by the door to do so.”

    “Maybe he’s running a gambling ring out of there,” Gus suggested.

    “Yes, I’m sure that is it. Really though, just because we encountered one random poker ring in a garden does not mean that they are all in weird places. Plus it would be impractical to have it moving.”

    “Well, you never know. Secret room, underground poker games at night.” Gus was going to continue, but one of the servers entered the room.

    Seeing a change to get some more information about the kitchen and possibly the former chef, Shawn stood up and walked over to him. “Shawn Spencer of the Santa Barbara Independent, this is my writing partner, Pierre Pluma. We are currently working on an article about this train.”

    “Oh, uh, Martin Daryl,” the server replied, confused as he stuck out his hand to shake, unaccustomed to this type of situation. “Uh, well is there something I can help you with?”

    “Actually, we were wondering if you could tell us about the former chef on this train, Sam.”

    “I would, but I wouldn’t be much help. I was hired after Sam’s death,” Martin explained.

    “Would one of the other servers be able to help us?”

    Martin thought for a moment before speaking, “Probably not, this job has a high turnover rate. And I am pretty sure that no one has been here since before Chef Hansson arrived.”

    “Really? Did something happen to the other servers?” Shawn leaned closer, intrigued by the possibility of a potential clue.

    “I never met them, so I can’t say, but no one really wants to be a server here, the customers are horrible…no offence,” Martin continued, remembering that Shawn was one of the customers, “Really I see this as a temporary job until I get hired as an actor.”

    “You expect to get discovered on a train?”

    “You would be surprised at the types of people that travel on the train. I guess if you are powerful you have time to take an absurdly slow form of transportation instead of a plane. Hey, you could mention in your article that I do stage, I was Hamlet in my high school play.”
    
    “If it fits I’ll be sure to add that. Well, thanks for your time, Martin. I will get back to you if I have any more questions.

    “Dude,” Shawn whispered as he sat back down with Gus, “none of the servers were working here when Sam was still alive. They have all been hired since.”

    “Should that mean something?” Gus asked, confused about the significance of that finding.

    Shawn shrugged, “I don’t know, but I’m sure something big is going on here. There are way too many weird things for them all to be a coincidence.”

    As five O’clock approached the first guests finally began to enter the room.

    The first couple was a man in his 80’s followed by the very attractive woman in her 20’s that had come rushing into the kitchen earlier in the day. “Trophy wife,” guessed Gus, whispering to Shawn and he motioned to them with a tilt of his head.

    “No.  She’s a nurse,” Shawn replied. “Look at the way she is pushing his oxygen tank and continuously checking the dial on it. She is clearly concerned about his health in a way only a nurse who, unlike a gold-digger, wants to keep him alive would. Plus, look at the ring on her finger. The older man is clearly loaded, yet the ring is just a simple gold band. She is engaged to be married to someone that is definitely not the old man and certainly not as rich.”

    After the woman helped the man sit down she walked over the one of the servers to inquire about the special directions she had given earlier in the day for the older man’s meal. After being reassured that the food was being taken care of she turned to return to the table, passing by Shawn and Gus on the way.

    “When’s the wedding?” asked Shawn.    

    The woman paused and back tracked slightly. With a smile on her face she replied, “Two weeks from today,” the woman replied without even having to think. “Now, how did you know?”

    “Your ring,” explained Shawn. “You keep looking at it fondly, but seem accustomed to having it on your hand, so clearly you didn’t just become engaged.”    

    “That’s amazing,” replied the woman as she gazed down once more at the ring that gave away so much.

    “It is a gift,” Shawn replied to the woman as she let. At which point he turned to Gus and stated matter-of-factly, “I’m sure her wedding with Charles, the ninth grade English teacher who lost his left arm from the elbow down in a boating accident, will go wonderfully.”  

    “What? Shawn how could you possibly know that?”

    “Oh, I just made that part up,” Shawn explained with a smirk.

    The next group that walked in was the family with two young children that both Shawn and Gus had met earlier in the day, Gus in the train station, Shawn on the train.

    “So who are they, Shawn?” asked Gus, who had already heard them buy their tickets to Seattle at the train station.

    “They are a young family who are traveling to Seattle to visit with family for a week, probably on the mother’s side, but I cannot say for sure. However, they are considering moving there as well. If you look at all the stuff for the kids the family is carrying and the fact that they do not yet look totally exhausted from the trip they must be going on a trip that is longer than a day or two and are just beginning the trip.”

    “Ok, I will give you that,” Gus replied that he was not able to show off what he already knew about them, “but how do you know that they are thinking about moving there?”

    “I heard them talking when they first got on the train and they were discussing the cost of houses in Santa Barbara versus Seattle, plus the husband was carrying some paperwork about homes for sale in the greater Seattle area.”

    The family was followed by a few more couples who quickly sat down in their seats and began talking, or in the case of one couple, yelling.

    “See that couple over there?” Shawn asked pointing to a couple in their 40s. They were dressed casually as if going on a vacation and yet, their outfits seemed too put together, as if they were trying too hard to give off a feeling of casual comfort, a feeling that was completely ruined by the yelling.

    “The ones who are yelling about whether or not the man spilled her drink on intentionally or if he’s just a complete klutz? Yeah, they’re hard to miss.”

    “They’re on a trip trying to save their marriage.” With a final yell of frustration that made everyone in the room turn to watch her, the woman left the table and stormed out of the room, leaving her husband to sulk.

    “And you would know that how?”

    “The yelling for a start,” Shawn replied plainly, Gus was not impressed and rolled his eyes in response. “And the brochures in her bag. Come on Gus, how could you miss them? ‘Come see the romantic botanical gardens of Vancouver’; ‘Discover the idyllic side of Canada’; and my favorite ’10 sexy Spanish restaurants you won’t want to take the kids to’.”

    The second and third couples came in together and were in their late 70’s.

    After listening to them for a bit Shawn smiled sadly and leaned in towards Gus.

    “Well, what can you tell me about them?” Gus asked.

    “They’ve been friends for a long time; their conversation has been about trips they have gone on together since they were much younger.”

    Gus listed carefully to their conversation and nodded at the couple on the left who were lovingly holding hands under the table. “That woman, Shawn,” Gus explained, “She is at the later stages of Alzheimer’s. The husband is explaining all the trips they have gone on together to her, but she does not really seem to remember any of them.”

    “Probably the last trip they will ever go on together.” Shawn leaned back in his chair listening to the couple’s conversation, with the failure that was his parents’ marriage is always amazed him to see people together and happy for so long.

*****


    The room was full before the clock struck five o’clock, while dinner would be served for hours the monotony of the train meant that many people wanted to just finish eating and go to bed.

    The calm murmuring of the customers was suddenly interrupted by a cacophony blasting through the door. “Alfred! Alfred!” cried a loud woman from the entrance of the dinning car. She was overly dressed for the meal in a scarlet dress with pearls. Her husband, Alfred, was equally over dressed in his black tuxedo. “Look how crowded it is in here, no free tables.”

    “The nerve,” replied the man who quickly proved to be just as loud and obnoxious as the woman. He leaned in towards the woman a said a bit quieter, “We should demand a partial refund on out ticket price if we have to share a table.”

    “Look, Alfred,” the woman whispered, though it was loud enough for Shawn and most of the other guests to hear, “There are children here.”

    “Here, let me take your hand Melinda. Let’s find a seat far from the…noise.”

    One by one relief spread over the faces of other people in the dining room as the couple walked past their tables, complaining as they went how they would expect the train company to reserve a table for someone of their importance. The actual reason why they were so important was unclear to everyone in the room.

    The youngest member of the family with the young children even began to cry as the woman glared at the poor child when she walked by. Thankfully for them there were no seats available at the table, not that they would have been taken if there were. In fact there was only one table with two empty seats and the couple was fast approaching it. Without even politely asking the couple affixed themselves on the chairs across from Shawn and Gus.

    “Mr. and Mrs. Gustafson,” the man introduced himself and his wife and he held out his hand for Shawn and Gus to shake.

    “Shawn Spencer and Pierre Pluma,” Shawn replied introducing himself and his friend, “Writers for the Santa Barbara Independent. We’re currently writing an article about train travel.”

    “Interesting, we travel on the trains quite often. Sadly the quality of the service and,” the man gave Shawn and Gus’s clothes a critical look over, “our fellow travelers are deteriorating. Why just this afternoon there was a horrible thumping coming from the wall of the room next to us.” The man looked around, agitated, “Where <i> is </i> the service here?”

    The man, Alfred, raised his hand into the air and began snapping his fingers. An annoyed kitchen server came over at a leisurely pace, much to the obvious annoyance of Alfred Gustafson. “What can I help you with, <i> sir </i> ?” The server asked in a slightly sharp tone, putting a strong emphasis on the word ‘sir’.

    “Menus,” requested Alfred who apparently saw no reason to talk to the server in complete sentences.

    The server walked away and came back with four menus and handed two over to the couple. He was about the hand the other two menus over to Shawn and Gus when he was interrupted by the couple, “They are not with us.”

    “Yes, it is very clear that they didn’t come with you, but it makes sense to hand all of you menus at the same time.”

    “Fine, go ahead,” the man allowed, waving his hand for the server to hurry.

    “Oh there’s a change to the menu. The steak was originally going to be served with a mushroom sauce; it will now have a different, non-mushroom based sauce.”

    “What do you mean there’s no mushroom sauce? Do you know who we are?” Alfred asked.

    The look the server gave Shawn and Gus clearly showed that he had no idea who they were or why he should care, but he knew how to do his job and wisely kept his mouth show to that fact. “There is nothing I can do. The mushrooms are not being offered as part of the sauce,” the server stated finally.

    “We should get out meals for half price.” The man leaned over to Shawn, “I hope you include this in your article.”

    Shawn leaned in as well, “This horrifying action and quality of the food service will be the focus of article. Who in their right mind would dare serve steak without mushroom sauce?”

    Gus rolled his eyes, aware of the exact reason the steak was being served without mushroom sauce.

    After a having to talk to the dreadful woman, Melinda, about a variety of dull topics such as the origin of Gus, or Pierre Pluma’s, name (Gus explained that his parents were Spanish French Canadians, which was met with some confusion on the part of the woman) and the excitement for raising bulldogs for show (which the woman apparently did) their dinner was finally served.

    “Do you travel often,” Shawn asked, under the guise of writing the article.

    “Oh yes, we travel along the coast by train quite often, a couple of times a month actually.”

    “Really?” Shawn asked, his voice conveying his surprise at the fact.

    “Oh yes, we visit family up north. It is a worthwhile experience, even if the crowds are…less than satisfactory,” the woman replied as she dug through her small hand bag. The overhead lights reflected off of the contents of the bag. Within the bag were quite a number of gold necklaces as well as other jewelry. Clearly the pearls were not the only jewelry Melinda brought on the trip.

    “Do you always dress up this much for meals?” Gus asked.

    “One has to demonstrate their worth,” the woman answered, touching her pearls.

    “Oh, are those worth much?” Shawn asked, feigning ignorance.

    “These, of course!” Melinda snapped, “Are you suggesting that we would wear anything less than perfect?”

    “Oh, leave the man alone, Melinda. Some people just do not understand wealth the way we do.”

    “Yeah, sorry, not a jeweler,” Shawn responded, “Although I could not help but notice the jewelry in your bag. It just seems like a lot for a trip.” The woman clutched her hand bag to her body as if she was horrified that Shawn might suddenly make a grab of the jewelry and jump of the train onto a waiting horse.

    “We don’t trust these train folk to watch out baggage.”

    “Really?” Shawn asked. “Are the trains that dangerous? This could be perfect for our article Pierre. Have you had anything stolen on the train?” Shawn paused for a moment before continuing, “Has anyone ever ridden alongside the train on horses before jumping on, guns drawn, robbing everyone.”

    “Shawn, we are not in the Wild West. Although, if there have been robberies, it would make a great story,” Gus explained to the Gustafsons.

    “Well, we have not had anything stolen yet, but we are careful. Plus, the jewelry is insured. The insurance company will pay you back for what is stolen.”

    “Oh, so nothing stolen. Pierre scratch the idea of a train robbery from your notes, apparently the threat of robbery on the train is not interesting enough to make a story of it. Well we have other people to interview with more interesting articles for our paper. Pierre, hurry up and eat so we can leave.”

    “I doubt you will find much of any insight from the typical riffraff on this train. Low class slobs the lot of them.”

    Shawn made an exaggerated show of looking around the dining car at the rest of the passengers, who were, in general, not slobs and certainly not riffraff. Shawn could not help but notice that the baby belonging to the couple was currently drooling as she pulled on her ear. “Oh yes. Pierre, make a note, that baby is making a mess.”

     Shawn and Gus scarfed down their remaining food sloppily, much to the horror of the Gustafsons, before leaving the car.

*****


    Just as they returned to the room Shawn heard his phone ring. “Jules!” Shawn yelled enthusiastically. “What do you have for me?” There was an awkward pause for a moment before Shawn spoke again, “Oh, hi Buzz.” Shawn put his hand over the phone and turned to Gus, “So apparently not Jules.” Shawn removed his hand and spoke to Buzz once more, “Buzz, one sec. I’m going to put you on speaker so Gus can hear.”

    “So where’s Juliet?”

    “She and Detective Lassiter are currently in the shooting range, taking a break from reviewing cases. I don’t think Detective Lassiter ever completely got over the detectives’ exam incident, they have been trying to outdo each other ever since, or more specifically Detective Lassiter has been trying to beat Detective O’Hara.  Well, anyway, O’Hara told me to call when the records were pulled.”

    “Thanks, Buzz,” replied Shawn.

    “So you are going to Vancouver?” asked Buzz. Without pausing for affirmation he continued. “I have a cousin up there, a policeman, name’s Sage McNabb. He’s a great guy, could probably help you with the case up there if you need it.”

    “So,” Gus stepped up as he leaned into the phone, “What did the records say?”

    “Oh, right. Well, Gareth, Sam, and Shirley all transferred from Chicago to LA when a new train was added to the LA to Vancouver route. Gareth has a record from his early 20’s for petty theft, the same for Shirley, although neither of them served any time for the incidents. And both of their records are clean for the past 10 years or so. The other employees have no records of note and are all longtime residents of LA. Except for Cindi, that is.”

    “What about Cindi?” asked Shawn.

    “She has no record.”

    “So her record is clean?” asked Gus, who was confused as to why this was important.

    “No, as far as the records go, she does not exist. There is no one by the name Cindi Holton that exists. We’re still looking to see if she changed her name and goes by another, but we haven’t found anything yet.”

    “Thanks, Buzz, this will help us communicate with the Ghost of Sam,” replied Shawn before hanging up the phone. “Well, so much for Cindi’s number, I make it a point to not go out with anyone that doesn’t exist.”  Shawn paused before adding, “So, do you think Shirley will give me her number?”

*****


    Lassiter focused intently at the paper target on the far end of the shooting range. As he lifted up his gun to aim at the white cross at the center of the target the sound of Juliet firing in the cubical next to him faded to nothing. Arms relaxed and yet unmoving he pulled the trigger and with a crack the bullet flew forward and hit the target dead center. A quick succession of the remaining rounds followed.

    As the silence faded from his ears he became aware that Juliet had already ceased firing, her target ready to roll forward once Lassiter finished.

    Lassiter pulled out his ear plugs and set his gun and eye protection down on the ledge. With a push of a button his target whooshed forward followed quickly by Juliet’s.

    As the smell of gunpowder faded away he tore the target down from the holder and, after replacing his gun in his holster, he walked over to Juliet’s cubical.

    “O’Hara, firing all you shots first does not mean that you win, it is all about the aim.”

    “I am sure the criminals would be happy to wait for you to carefully aim.”Looking at Lassiter’s target Juliet had to admit though, Lassiter’s aim was better than hers, but she still did quite well and was willing to give up the small bit of accuracy that the additional speed required.

    “Better than missing them completely,” Lassiter responded, looking at Juliet’s target.

    “What?” Juliet held up her target. “Every bullet hit the target, although one of them was close to the edge of the shoulder of the figure of the man.

    Lassiter pointed to the bullet towards the side, “What about this one? Yeah it hit the target, but barely. Any shot that misses is a potential stray bullet that could hit someone else.

    Lassiter was right, she was getting out of practice and needed to spend more time in the gun range, though she was not about to admit to it to him. “Well at least I never had to pull my gun at a cat show.”

    “You have cats; you would be led into a false sense of security around them and those old women. I, on the other hand, am always on guard.”

    “Come on, Lassiter, they’re old women. I really cannot see how they could possibly be that much of a threat.”

    “So maybe none of them could see far enough to have much accuracy, but that only makes them more dangerous.” Lassiter looked over at the ledge where Juliet’s one gun and ear plugs were currently resting. “You should really think about getting yourself a new gun, the standard issue ones have none just aren’t the same. Plus, it will scare the bad guys without you having to fire a shot.”

    “What, like the monstrosity you carry around?”

    “It’s actually quite nice, not too heavy, but with some weight to it. Nicely balanced as well. And the grip is surprisingly ergonomic. Here, let me get mine, you can try it out.”

    Just as Lassiter was about to return to his cubical to retrieve his gun the loud sound of a bullet filled the room. As there was room was supposed to be empty save for him and Juliet and no one had announced that they were to begin firing, he assumed the worst. Someone must have entered the station and began firing on the police officers.

    Without thinking Lassiter crashing into Juliet who was also ducking for cover, knocking them both into the patrician separating their cubicles and causing it to come toppling down on top of them followed by their guns, ear protection, and other items.

    When the dust settled Lassiter looked around to find no gun man, instead, resting near the windows, was a ceiling fan that had apparently decided enough was enough and came crashing to the floor in a mess of screws, metal, and whirling bits.

    Only then did Lassiter realize that he was currently lying in a very awkward position atop his Junior Detective surrounded by debris and that the door to the shooting range was opening.

    Buzz walked into the shooting range, eyes down on the papers in his hands, “Detective O’Hara, I called Shawn with the information on the records searches and…” Buzz suddenly stopped talking the as he surveyed the situation in front of him. “What happened? Are you guys alright?”

    “It’s nothing, McNab,” Lassiter explained as he untangled himself from the mess and helped Juliet up. When Buzz did not leave Lassiter continued, “It there something you wanted?”
    
    “Actually I was wondering if I could review some of the citation codes with one of you. The detectives’ exam is coming up soon and I want to prepare so I can take it,” Buzz explained eagerly.

    “Here, I’ll help, McNab,” Juliet offered as cleaned up the mess. “I did score better than Lassiter.”

    “Hey, that was pure luck, my years of experience and record show that I’m the better, more knowledgeable one. Plus, O’Hara worked most of the time in Miami, the situation is completely different there.”

    “It is not that different. And I have worked here for years and have more recently studied the citation codes. You would find the Lassiter is a bit outdated on the citations,” Juliet explained as she put away the eye protection and ear plug.

    “But I got a better score in the firing competition,” Lassiter was struggling to fix the cubicle, but waved of Buzz’s help.

    “One time, Lassiter. Plus, a good detective needs to know things and not just be able to kill someone with more accuracy.”

    “If you both want to help, that is fine,” Buzz suggested. “Or I could just call Spencer; I heard he scored better than both of you.”

    “He took the test years ago, the questions were different,” Lassiter explained, finally moving the cubical divider back into position and proceeded to walk from the room followed closely by Juliet.
    
    “Detective Lassiter is correct; you really do need field experience to understand how the system works.”

    “So, you’ll both help?” Buzz hurriedly followed the detectives out of the room.

*****


    “Pierre, Shawn,” began Gareth as Shawn and Gus were led into the train engine by Cindi, “Cindi already told me about you two. So, you are writing an article about train travel.”

    “Yes, we want to introduce our readers to the intrigue of both train travel itself and the lives of those who work on trains,” explained Gus.

    “Think of Planes, Trains and Automobiles crossed with Caddyshack,“ explained Shawn in a truly non-helpful way.

    “Interesting,” replied Gareth, confused about what that was supposed to mean, as he scratched his bright red beard. He was a large man, not to say that he was necessarily overweight or portly, he was simply a giant of a man. At approximately 6’7” he towered around the others and looked like he could pull the train himself if he desired.

    “So, if you don’t have any objections,” began Shawn, who wasn’t actually going to even give Gareth time to object, “we’ll start right in with our questions. First, do you find your job exciting?”

    “At times.”

    “Was this your dream job?” As Gareth was about to begin to talk Shawn interrupted, “Pierre, you are taking notes, I’m sure.” Gus, who did in fact have his pen and notepad out nodded. “Sorry, Gareth, you were going to talk about your dreams.”

    “Yes, well, when I was five I wanted to be a train engineer, then a fire fighter, then an astronaut, and then an assortment of other careers. Somehow I ended back at train engineer.”

    “Do you hang out with your fellow train employees much outside of work?”

    “I have known Shirley and Cindi since I worked at Chicago. We have known each other long enough to become close friends.”

    “What about Sam?”

    “Excuse me?”

    “Sam, the former Chef, we heard he died on the train.”

    “Sam was my friend as well. Look, I don’t want to talk about the death, what’s done is done.”

    “I understand. So, do you always drive the train? Or in other words, do you ever sleep?”

    Gareth laughed out loud at this question, “Sadly I’m human and need sleep. While I’m the chief engineer and there are also two other assistant engineers. We work in shifts.”

    The conversation continued on for a bit longer before Shawn and Gus thanked Gareth for the interview and left.

*****


    Shawn and Gus made their way along the rows of people in the passenger car to the sleeping car. “Gus, maybe we should head over to the Gustafson’s room for bridge and…what do rich snooty people drink?”

    “Shawn,” replied Gus, ignoring the question, “if I never seen them again I will be happy.”

    “You know, I was thinking about starting to wear suits with…what do they call those scarves men wear around their necks, and don’t say ties.”    

    “I believe they are called ‘cravats’.”

    “Gus, why do you know that?” asked Shawn as he opened the door to their room.

    “History channel had a special on men’s suits throughout the ages.”    

    “Gus, you realize that I didn’t really want to know the answer of why you know that.”

    Shawn closed the door to the roomlette and began to go over what they knew thus far, “So, Cindi apparently came from Chicago with Shirley, Gareth, and Sam. But, Cindi doesn’t really exist or at least that is not her name. Also, it was a bit odd that Gareth didn’t even mention Sam until we prompted him,” Shawn explained, thinking aloud.

    “Well, Shirley did say that they were close. Maybe he has not yet gotten over Sam’s death.”

    “Yeah, but it just was odd that he didn’t even mention Sam and there was really no remorse in his voice when talking about the death.”

    “So, we have nothing really though,” replied Gus.

    “No, there’s something going on. You may not have been that far off with the smuggling. Something is going on in the luggage room. But I’m actually more interested in Sam’s death, everyone that knew Sam is reluctant to talk about it and it’s hard to believe that he would accidentally poison himself by eating shellfish when they are making the food and well aware of the allergy… Gus, there may have been a murder on the Vancouver express!”

*****


    “What was that about?” Asked Shawn, as Gus walked back into the room.

    “Oh, just talking to Billy to see how the meeting went.”

    “And?”

    “It went fine, perfect in fact,” Gus replied as he dropped into his seat in despair. “I should have been there.”

    “Well if it went fine…”

    “Yeah, but I should have gotten the credit, I was the one that prepared for it.” Gus turned to watch the landscape flying past the window, leaving Shawn to his own thoughts.

    As Shawn pulled Gus’s pharmacology magazine out of his bag he considered that he really should have brought something for him to do during the trip. After opening the magazine to a random page that was describing new advances in mucus reducers he gave up and dropped it back into the bag. Leaning back against his seat, bored, he noticed the familiar ringing of his pone and pulled it out to see who was calling.

    “Oh, it’s Cindi,” Shawn explained to Gus.

    “What, you gave her your number as well?”

    “Gus, I would never pass up the opportunity. You know you need to take more initiative.”

    “Yeah, but she could be…”

    Shawn held up his hand to quiet Gus and answered the phone, “Cindi with two ‘i’s how are you?”

    Cindi must have said something because Shawn smiled and replied “Oh, really. I will meet you there,” before hanging up.

    “What are you doing, Shawn?”

    “We are meeting in the dining car for drinks and dessert. She said that she is not on duty for the rest of the night.”

    “You shouldn’t go.”

    “What would I tell her? I’m sorry, but traffic is bad and I cannot make it? We know something is going on, Gus, this would be the perfect time to figure it out.”

*****


    The dining car was darker than it was during dinner and had emptied of any other guests; the clanging in the kitchen meant that they were not alone. The faint sound of Hans singing to himself drifted up the stairway as he cleaned up from the dinner rush.

    In the back, where Shawn and Gus had eaten diner just hours before, was Cindi. She was eerily lit by the street lights outside as band of orange light flashed across her face. On the table in front of her were two drinks, one mostly empty, and two plates with some pastry on them.

    “Cindi!” Shawn called enthusiastically as he crossed the mostly empty dining car.

    “Shawn, I’m so glad you were able to make it.”

    “The traffic was terrible crossing car number three,” Shawn replied with an endearing smile. “But crowded train cars cannot keep me from dessert with a beautiful woman.”

    Cindy thought for a moment before responding, “Car three, that’s the one with the school group in it isn’t it?”

    “Yes, and the exhausted teachers and chaperones. I don’t envy their jobs.”

    Cindi leaned across the table towards Shawn, “Please tell me we are not going to talk about jobs forever and that you’ll put down your reporter’s pad for a moment and just talk with me.”

    “Sadly I left it in the room so there will be no work on my article tonight. But I did want to get to know you better, Cindi.”

    “Not much to tell, really,” Cindi explained as she picked at the pastry with a fork, “I grew up in Chicago and moved to LA about two years ago. When there was a new opening in LA to Vancouver route I jumped on the opportunity to move.”

    “Chicago, I worked there once, at the Baseball stadium. It is a nice city.”

    “Yeah, but it grows old on you, plus I wanted to get away from my family,” she set down the fork as she explained.

    “Trust me, that’s something I can relate to.”

    “So how did you decide to go from Chicago to Santa Barbara, that’s where your paper is located, right?”

    “Well, I grew up in Santa Barbara, but I wanted to get away from my dad, so I moved around a lot, taking random jobs, including the one in Chicago. Then I finally decided to settle down in Santa Barbara again. My friend, Pierre, the guy who takes the notes, still lived in the area and we’ve been friends for a long time.”

    “That I understand. I don’t think that I would have taken this job if Shirley and Gareth had not transferred as well.”

    “Oh, they came from Chicago?” Shawn asked, although he already knew the answer.

    “Yeah, we were really lucky to be able to be placed on a train together. Had to pull some strings to get it done.” Cindi stared fondly out the window. “I really do love trains; the way the world just flies by outside, it is like it is stuck on fast forward. And at night the street lights and the lights in the windows are like star, glittering outside. There were not many stars in Chicago, the street lights blocked them out. I have visited Santa Barbara a couple of times; it is nice because you can still see the real stars in the sky.”

    Shawn and Cindi’s conversation continued until nine when she announced that she really should get back to make sure that Shirley didn’t need her help with anything.

    “I hope I see you on the train back to LA,” Cindi stated as she left the car, a sincere smile on her face.

*****


    “So?” asked Gus as Shawn entered the room.

    “She’s great,” Shawn explained as he sat down.
    
    “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I meant did you find out anything?”

    “She came from Chicago, was friends with Shirley and Gareth, and made no mention of Sam. She left Chicago because she wanted to live somewhere new and was tired of her family.”

    “So nothing then.”

    “She likes trains,” Shawn provided.

    “That is so helpful, Shawn. Look I’m just going to go to sleep now.”

    Shawn glanced at his phone to check the time, “Dude, it’s like not even ten.”

    “Yeah, but the earlier I go to sleep the quicker it seems like morning is here and the closer it is until we get off this train.” Gus refilled through his overnight bag to find his toothbrush.

    “Gus, how can you be bored, there may have been a murder on the train and we still don’t know what’s going on with the kitchen, I have a new theory that involved illegal dairy imports and chipmunks. Plus, we still have about fifteen hours before the train arrives in Vancouver.”

    “That is a fact I don’t want to be reminded of,” Gus explained as he began to brush his teeth at the sink. Spitting he continued, “You know that if we flew we could have been to Vancouver already. Who would seriously take a train this far?”

    “Rich snooty people apparently. Anyway, if we flew there wouldn’t have been any ghosts.”

    “There are no real ghosts here Shawn, plus with you along who knows. There would probably be ghosts on the plane as well. So, where do we sleep and if you say in these chairs I will get off this train and walk home?”

    Shawn reached up and undid a latch above their heads. With a flop a panel on the carpeted wall flopped down revealing a small bed that fit in the wall. “The bench seats also turn into a bed.”

    Gus gave the arrangement a critical look over, “Seriously, these are beds, Shawn? They expect people to sleep on these things?”

    “Think of it like camping, Gus. Camping with all the amenities you don’t get in the wild like running water and a water-proof ceiling… just pretend that we are back in Junior Bobcats on that camping trip to Sunny Pines.”

    “The trip where I ran into a patch of poison oak while we were running from the swarm of bees that <i> you </i> thought it would be fun to provoke?”

    “Exactly, how could this be any worse… there aren’t any bees?”

    “Fine, but I get top bunk,” Gus stated as he closed the door to the bathroom to change.

    The room was pitch black when they turned out the lights, the only light came from the early orange glow of the passing street lights. As Gus was about the fall asleep he heard a loud buzzing in the room. “Shawn, I will kill you.”

    “What? I’m totally bored. It’s only 9:30. We could play I Spy! I’ll start; I spy with my little eye something… red.”

    “Shawn it’s pitch black, how can you see anything red?”

    “Photographic memory, remember.”

    “Shawn I’m not playing photographic memory I spy. Good night, I’m trying to sleep.”

    Within minutes Shawn could hear Gus sleeping, knowing that Gus would kill him if he turned on the light and knowing that there was really nowhere else for him to go Shawn just lay back in his bed thinking about the case.

    As Shawn leaned against the wall he was throwing his tennis ball against earlier he noticed he could hear the Gustafsons in the next room arguing with each other. Apparently the happy couple was not agreeable with each other as they first appeared to be.

    Shawn could barely make out the discussion, but he was able to catch a few words here and there.

    “What were you doing?” Alfred complained.

    “…couldn’t trust…”

    “But you let them see it.”

    “…keeping…appearances…”

    “They’re journalists…”

    “...I am sure…”

    “You can’t be…last trip…sell…jewelry”

    Shawn strained to hear more, but their voices had dropped down too far to make out. Shawn leaned his ear against the wall to try hear, but the last words he could make out came a few minutes later as the couple said goodnight to each other. The silence that followed was finally interrupted by the sound of snoring, or what Shawn might have guessed to be someone sawing in the next room over.

    The couple seemed to have been talking about him, Gus, and the jewelry. Shawn played the conversation over in his head, piecing together the fragmented phrases and trying to figure out the missing words. The couple seemed much less happy and much more suspicious than Shawn had initially assumed as he figured out more of the words. With his assumptions of the conversation running through his head Shawn eventually went to sleep.

*****


    Shawn awoke with a start. A quick glance at his phone told him it was 4:30 in the morning. After the moment of disorientation that comes with being woken suddenly in a strange bed early in the morning, he remembered where he was and realized that he had woken due to the deceleration of the train.

    This was not an unusual occurrence in and of itself. The train stopped when it arrived at its scheduled stops at select stations, but these stops were always accompanied by bright lights from the station outside the window and a loud announcement overhead. This was not the case.

    The passenger train also, occasionally, stopped for passing freight trains, where were larger and had more trouble stopping, plus, they did not fit on the bypasses. Sometime the train had to even stop and wait for a good 15 minutes before the freight train passed.

    This explanation seemed to be affirmed when Shawn heard a voice that sounded like Shirley’s on the announcement apologizing for the stop and the announcement and politely explaining that there would be a short break for a freight train to pass.

    Shawn would have been assumed this to be the whole explanation and tried to go back to sleep were it not for the flashlights roaming outside. After taking a look at Gus who was fast asleep in the top bed he grabbed his sweatshirt, pulled some jeans over his nightclothes pants, and went out of the room.

    The hallways of the train were unsurprisingly empty, the lights dimmed during the night. Shawn found the door on the lower level of the sleeping car open and pulled on his sweatshirt before he snuck outside. As he dropped down onto the gravel alongside the tracks he wished that he sleep addled brain had thought about putting on shoes before he left.  Shawn carefully crept away from the line of slight of the men holding the flashlights before looping back around to watch them.

    Shawn crept behind some bushes near the car cold mud squishing between his toes as he moved. Soon he close enough to hear the people talking and listened in. The cool Oregon night was making him appreciate his sweatshirt.

    “Load it on the train carefully, we don’t want any of the merchandize bruised,” an unknown voice demanded quietly. “But hurry it up, the freight train will be passing by within the next ten minutes and I want the bulk of the merchandise on the train before that.

    “I still don’t understand the bananas,” replied a whispered second voice.

    Shawn leaned forward to try to get a better idea of what was in the crates, but it proved unhelpful and he hid back behind the bushes, the mud soaking through his pants as the cold numbed his legs. Shawn remembered that Gus smelled banana’s in the kitchen, there were no bananas in the kitchen and none in the luggage room for that matter.

    “Extra cash, you know how much bananas fetch in Canada. Plus, the tariffs make it very worthwhile to smuggle them in,” the first voice explained, he voice rising as he spoke. A voice Shawn suddenly recognized as Gareth the engineer’s, a recognition verified when a flashlight passed by him, lighting his behemoth stature.

    The next voice confirmed this recognition beyond any doubt. “Gareth,” Shirley whined, “how do we know that they won’t rip us off again? Last time they were short on the real merchandize. Sam was not amused.”

    “No talk of Sam anymore, remember,” replied Gareth, sounding almost afraid. “We’d like to see the real merchandise, and make it quick.”

    The unknown man pulled the layer of bananas off of the carton. “It was an honest mistake last time. There are 36 M4s in each crate and 2 extras on the sides to make up for the 4 that were mistakenly left out last time.”

    “There better not be any mistakes this time. Our boss does not take kindly to mistakes and won’t assume that the next missing rifle is a mistake. Remember Luke, his <i> accident </i> was a warning.” Gareth motioned for the men to load the crates in the luggage car.

    After the last crate was carried onto the train a light approached from the distance announcing the coming freight train. The men backed away from the train car to avoid the coming train and to avoid being seen.

    After the gust of wind and the rattle of the train passing by Gareth and Shirley climbed back onto the train through the door to the luggage car.

    “Let me remind you again,” Gareth threatened, “There will be severe punishments for any mistakes.”

    “Ye..yes. I know. Please, it was nothing.”

    “No more mistakes,” replied Gareth forcefully.

    “Never.”

    “Come on, Shirley, let’s go.”

     Shirley and Gareth quickly boarded the train and a shadowy figure appeared at their sides, rifle in the person’s arm.  “Hey, Sam.” Gareth turned back to the unknown man and stated, “Be polite, and say good bye to Sam.”

    “Bye, Sam,” the man replied, his voice quivering in fear.

    Sam lifted up the gun, as if to shoot, when the train door closed. Within moments the train began to roll away.

    The man collapsed to the ground in relief and before quickly fleeing with the rest of his men. It was only then that Shawn realized that he was still kneeling behind the bush, his knees wet from the damp earth, and that the train was rolling away without him.

*****


    Shawn stood up, momentarily blanking on what to do. In his desire to remain unnoticed by the arms smugglers he inadvertently missed returning to the train. He quickly pulled out his phone and dialed his friend.

    “Gus,” Shawn began.

    “What? Shawn?” Gus spoke, his voice raspy from being woken, “Why are you calling me?” A sudden realization occurred to Gus, “Shawn, where are you? You aren’t in the room.”

    “Gus, you may be alone on a train with a bunch of arms dealers and possibly a murderer, but I’m not completely sure about that.”

    “Alone? Shawn, where are you?” asked Gus, suddenly very awake.

    “I may have gotten off the train when it stopped to see what was going on and I may have forgotten to get back on.”

    Shawn looked down the tracks to see the train begin to turn the corner. It took him a moment to realize that the train was still traveling quite slowly. “Gotta go, Gus.” Heabruptly hung up the phone, knowing that his best friend was currently stuck in a train with a bunch of smugglers and murderers who would eventually realize Shawn’s absence; a realization that could be very dangerous for Gus.

    In the hope that he would somehow catch up Shawn began to run along the tracks, his bare feet slapping painfully against the cold mud with each step. His mind racing to sort out what he had just seen. “Sam is alive?” Shawn thought to himself, “How is Sam alive?” As much as he wished that it was just some other random person named Sam, he knew that this was not the case.

    Picturing the ghostly figure in the obscuring lights of the door way Shawn realized that he had seen Sam somewhere before, but where?

    As Shawn looked up he saw that the train had pulled further away, leaving him alone and barefoot in that cold and damp Oregon morning.  And his friend was equally alone and in serious danger aboard the train.

    Shawn pulled out his phone as he walked alongside the train tracks in the cold of the Oregon night, pulling his sweatshirt tighter around him. He needed to explain everything to Gus the best he could and Gus was currently stuck on the train and he needed to know what was going on.

    As Shawn dialed he neared the bend in the tracks and he could see beyond the trees for the first time. Up ahead he noticed a cluster of lights and what appeared to be a small town. Ignoring the fact that he did not have any money on him, was barefoot, and muddy and altogether unpresentable he ran forward his bare feet once again slapping against the wet mud and gravel along the tracks.

    “Shawn?” Gus began, after hearing silence when he answered his phone. “What’s going on?” Shawn flipped closed his phone and shoved it in his pocket; he would wait to deal with Gus later.

    With a sigh of immense relief Shawn saw that the cluster of lights up ahead included the next train station and his missed train was waiting, with an audible cheer of relief Shawn ran forward and slipped aboard the once again still train amid the zombie-like passengers getting on and off in the dim of the early morning.

    “Gus!” Shawn cried out as he rushed into their room and closed the door, still out of breath from his trek.

    “What the hell is going on, Shawn? You said there was a murder on the train and smugglers.”

    “Yes, and Sam appears to be alive.” Shawn slid back against the wall to sit on the floor, stretching his damp and mud soaked feet out in front of him.

    Gus glanced down at the mud stains on Shawn’s knees in sleep dazed confusion, desperately trying to process what was going on. “So let me get this straight, Shawn,” Gus began is he sat back on the lower bunk. “Sam is alive?”

    “Apparently.”

    “And people are using the train to smuggle weapons?

    “Yes, M4 assault rifles?”

    “And they apparently killed someone before.”

    Shawn shrugged, “Well, I’m not so sure about that. They made vague references to someone named Luke, but I don’t know if they just injured him or if they really killed him. Sam seemed to consider killing the guy they got the riffles from, but didn’t go through with it.”

    “So, why did you even think it would be a good idea to get off the train and spy on them at the first place?” Gus asked as he threw a towel a Shawn to clean his feet.

    “It made sense at the time. Plus I found out some crucial clues,” Shawn explained excitedly, no longer tired for being woken so early.

    Gus shrugged in agreement, but the smile faded from his face when he came to a realization, “Dude, if they discovered you they would have realized I was involved as well.”

    “I was careful, Gus. Plus, I didn’t even think about that at the time.”

    “That is not comforting, Shawn. I really wish they were smuggling jewels, or something less menacing,” Gus turned to the window in a huff.

    “They were smuggling bananas as well.”

    “Seriously?” Gus turned back to Shawn, questioning the ridiculous statement.

    “Yeah,” Shawn relied with a chuckle, breaking the tension in the room.

    “Now, that’s weird.”

    “I know.”

    Gus was silent for a moment, before speaking, “So Sam is alive and Gareth and Shirley are in on the smuggling?”

    “Yeah, so much for that date with Shirley.”

    “What about Cindi?” Gus asked, noticing her absence.

    “Don’t know, I didn’t see her, but it was dark.” Shawn looked at his watch. It was 5:30 in the morning. “Do you think Lassie’s awake yet?”

    “I think he would personally get on a plane and fly to Vancouver to kill you if you called him this early now.”

    “True.  But, I know someone who’ll definitely be awake,” Shawn pulled out his phone and dialed.

    After several rings the phone was answered, “Shawn, what do you want? I’m getting ready to go fishing,” asked the gruff voice.

    “Well, Dad, I’ve been thinking about growing a mullet.”

    “Shawn!” Henry replied, not amused at being interrupted by something so pointless and yet knowing there must be more to the call.

    “Ok, ok. Question, if a theoretical person is smuggling something across the border to Canada, whose jurisdiction would it be?”

    “What have you gotten yourself and Gus into?” Henry asked accusatorily, ignoring the question.

    “Well, it turns out that our haunting case is a bit more complicated then it first appeared. But my question still stands, who do I call?”

    “Ghostbusters,” Henry replied sarcastically.

    “Dad, did you just make a joke?” Shawn asked, surprised.

    “Shawn, you should drop this case and get off the train. You can call out the police when you are off the train and safe. Smuggling is a serious crime and those involved won’t take it lightly if they find out that you are poking around.”

    “I’m not just poking around, they have no idea I’m investigating them at all. They think Gus and I are journalists. Plus, if we just leave then they’ll know we’re looking into them and will abandon the merchandise.”

    “Fine. If depends, if the thing they are smuggling is illegal to own or own with intent to sell in the US they can be tried here. However, once they cross the border the case would fall under the jurisdiction of the Canadian police, so a bit out of your normal group. However, if you notify the Santa Barbara police should be able to then contact the Canadian authorities and likewise notify them of the potential smuggling threat. Look Shawn, you need to be careful, smugglers can be unpredictable and…”

    “Thanks, dad, but we’re fine, really.”

    “Shawn!” Henry’s voice could be heard yelling as Shawn pulled the phone from his ear.

    “Oh, gotta go.” Shawn closed the phone, hanging up on Henry.

    “What was that about?”

v“Oh, my dad was going on about how dangerous smugglers can be, but no worries.”

    Gus didn’t look comforted. “If you get us killed I will come back and kill you myself.”

    “Gus, seriously, that does not even make sense.”

    “Shawn, I will do it.”

    “Gus, don’t worry, I can assure you, this time, I won’t do anything stupid. They’ll not even know we are onto them until the police show up to arrest them when the train pulls into to Vancouver.”

*****


    Buzz sat uncomfortably at the interrogation table across from the two detectives who were currently talking harshly at one another and both looking at Buzz for defense.

    “Officer McNab, tell O’Hara that there is no way you would admit to breaking into the victim’s house if you were questioned that way by O’Hara.” Lassiter demanded.

    “Well, I, I…” Buzz stuttered, unsure which side to take while the detectives argued with each other. “I don’t really...”

    “It was much better than your approach of just yelling at the suspect, Lassiter,” Juliet stated before turning to Buzz to explain, “You need to build a connection before they will admit to a crime on such slim evidence.”

    The two officers continued to complain to each other about debate interrogation techniques as Buzz looked on. When O’Hara volunteered the day before to go over interrogation techniques when they finished covering what citations different crimes fell under, it seemed like a great opportunity. When Lassiter said that he would help as well, Buzz was still cautiously optimistic. When the detectives were waiting for him in the interrogation room, already arguing, when he arrived in the morning he knew it would not be a good thing.

    “So what do you think?” Buzz looked up, suddenly realizing that the conversation had shifted to him again. Lassiter repeated the question.

    “Uh,” Buzz scrambled to think of a response to the unexplained question, “I guess I think it is a good idea.” Buzz hoped this would come off like he was agreeing with Lassiter, which was usually the safe choice.

    Lassiter looked at Officer McNab confused, “You think it is a good idea, what’s a good idea?”

    Buzz knew he was caught, “What you suggested?”

    “I asked what you thought would be a good scenario for the next case.”

    “Oh,” Buzz replied, feeling a bit stupid when Lassiter’s explanation the situation. Looking back and forth between the two detectives across the table from him, he panicked and quickly stood up, “Sorry, I just remembered I need to turn in a paper to the desk sergeant, I’ll be right back.” Buzz quickly left the room, leaving the once again arguing detectives behind, and returning to the open hallways of the police department, relishing the open space. With the bickering of the detectives the close quarters felt even more claustrophobic than normal.

    “McNab!” Buzz turned to see another officer calling for him, “Shawn is on the phone.”

    After a brief conversation, Shawn asked to speak to Lassiter, so Buzz reluctantly returned to the hallway by the interrogation room and opened the door, startling Lassiter and Juliet from their argument, “Detective Lassiter, Shawn Spencer is on the phone to talk to you.”

    Lassiter glared at Buzz, “Is it important?”

    “I don’t know, he didn’t say. But he’s investigating a ghost on a train to Vancouver.”

    “Yeah, I heard. Tell him I’m busy and see if it’s anything important.”

    “Sure thing.” Buzz headed back out of the room.

*****


    Shawn dialed the police department and asked for Lassiter. He was connected to Buzz instead, “Hey, Buzz, great to talk to you again, but I was expecting Lassiter. Is he around?”

    “He is in the interrogation room. He and Detective O’Hara are currently debating interrogation techniques.”

    “So he isn’t free?” Shawn asked.

    “Probably not, I’ll go see though.” Shawn waited as Buzz went over to talk to Lassiter. “Apparently Lassiter and Jules are busy arguing,” Shawn explained to Gus as he waited for Buzz to return.

    “Shawn?” Buzz began as he picked up the phone.

    “Still here.”

    “Yeah, he’s busy. Is there something I can help with?”

    “Actually, yeah. Ok, first, I’ve been trying to contact the ghost of the dead chef Sam Claiborne, but I’m not having any luck…”

    “Wait,” Buzz interrupted, confused, “the ghost is Sam? But she isn’t dead.”

    “Excuse me?” asked Shawn, motioning for Gus to pay attention.

    “Samantha “Sam” Claiborne isn’t dead,” Buzz explained.  “Or at least there isn’t any record of it.”

    “Sam is a woman,” Shawn mouthed to Gus, his eyes lighting up as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall together. “Are you sure about that?” He asked Buzz. “Everyone on the train seemed to think she died of food poisoning.”

    “Well, records can be misplaced and sometimes deaths are not reported properly. She isn’t working for the train company anymore, but there is no official account of her death.”

    “That’s fine. What else do you know about Sam? Is there a description?” Shawn asked.

    “One, sec.” Buzz rifled through the paper’s on Juliet’s desk, looking for the ones Shawn wanted pulled. “Alright, she is 33 years old, 5’6”, with blond hair and brown eyes.”

    Shawn began to jump up and down excitedly, or as excitedly as he could in the tiny room as his suspicions were confirmed. “Dude,” he whispered to Gus, his hand over the mouthpiece, “Sam is Cindi.” Shawn removed his hand to talk to Buzz, “Okay. Did you find anything on Cindi?”

    “Not yet.”

    “I may be able to help you with that and I’m going to need you to call your cousin in Vancouver. Tell him that the spirits have led me to a weapon smuggling cartel and that I have found Cindi Holton, or should I say,” Shawn paused dramatically, “Sam Claiborne.”

    “The spirits told you all that?” Buzz asked, impressed.

    “Apparently there’s an old and wise Indian princess haunting this train.”

    “I’ll call my cousin to have to police meet the train. But, I should warn you, they don’t typically work with psychics up there, they’ll want actual evidence.”

    “The spirits will lead me to the evidence, Buzz. Have the police stop the train in Vancouver and explain to them that there is a major smuggling operation going on.”

    “Ok, I’ll tell them that, Shawn.”

    Shawn hung up his phone. “Sam is Cindi, I’m sure of it,” Shawn explained to Gus. “She has to be the same person, she just dyed her hair.”

    “Ok but how did you not know that Sam was a woman in the first place, Shawn?” Gus asked accusatorially.  “You took the case and you saw her in the train.”

    “I don’t know, I just assumed, ok. Sam is a guy’s name. Plus, everyone that worked here when she was still here has left so there was no one here to correct me. They probably assumed Sam was a man as well. As for this morning it was dark and, like, 4:30 in the morning, plus I was still half asleep.”

*****


    Just as Buzz hung up the phone Lassiter with his newly acquired coffee was walking over to where he was standing, followed closely by Juliet. “What did Shawn want?” Juliet asked. Apparently they had set aside their argument for the time being.

    “Oh, apparently spirits led him to uncover an arms smuggling ring that’s operating between Oregon and Vancouver and to uncover the secret identity of one of the smugglers.”

    “He did what?” Lassiter asked, choking on his coffee as he heard the news. “I thought he was just talking to ghosts.”

    “Apparently there was a ghost of an Indian Princess that was quite helpful. Anyway I was going to call my cousin who is in the police force in Vancouver that they need to stop the train when it reaches the station.”

    
*****


    Shawn looked back at his watch. The train arrived in Vancouver in six hours. “Dude, more I spy.”

    “Shawn, I hate that game. Plus, we need to keep watch. I don’t like being here with arms smugglers.”    

    “And murderers,” Shawn added.

    “What?” Gus glared at Shawn angrily, assuming that there was an additional dead body he was not aware of.

    “They might be murders in addition to being arms dealers. While Sam may be alive, it doesn’t sound so good for, Luke, whoever he might be.”

    Gus breathed in a sigh of relief, “Yeah, Shawn, I know. I’m trying to forget that.”

    “Well, let’s go eat breakfast. They should begin serving it soon. And, hey, they should have bananas now.”

    “Shawn, eating breakfast on top of a bunch of M4s along with potentially meeting the Gustafson’s again does not sound very appealing.”

    “If we don’t act normally the smugglers might know we are on to them,” Shawn stated ominously.

    “Fine. Let’s go.”

*****


    The dining car was still empty when Shawn and Gus entered, but the smell of eggs and pancakes was drifting up from the kitchen. Shawn and Gus descended the stairs and saw Hans at the stove accompanied by the server who was harassed by the Gustafsons the night before. “Shawn, Pierre, good to see you today,” Hans walked over to them and whispered, “The ghost, did you convince it to leave?”

    “It took a lot of work, Hans, but the ghost shouldn’t be a problem anymore. We talked to her last night and she has decided to haunt your kitchen no more,” Shawn explained.

    “Good, good, so, was it Sam?”

    “Actually the ghost was only pretending to be Sam. It was actually an Indian Princess who just wanted to have a friend. She saw a friend in you, Hans.  But, she has decided it is now time for her to leave and rejoin her people.”

    “That is probably for the best. Thank you convincing her to leave; it will be a lot calmer around here. Now, if you would excuse me I should finish preparing breakfast, we begin serving at 6:30.”

    “Hey,” the server came over to Shawn and Gus, “The Gustafsons won’t come over for breakfast until 8:30. If you want to miss them I would eat before that.”

    “Thanks…” Shawn paused unsure of the server’s name.

    “Will,” he explained as he introduced himself.

    “So, Will, the Gustafsons travel on this train often?”

    “Oh yes, every other week since I started, but I heard that they have been traveling on the train for some time before that.”

    “Why would someone travel on the train that often?” Shawn asked, curious.

    Will just shrugged. “No idea really, but maybe that explains why they are always complaining.”

*****


    Breakfast was uneventful and they thankfully didn’t have to meet up with the Gustafsons again, the crying of a baby at a table across the room was much more easily tolerated.

    When Shawn and Gus left to return to the room Shawn called up Buzz one last time, shooing Gus to go on ahead and back to the room. “Buzz, could you pull case file for me and check out a name. The spirits are trying to lead me to the evidence; they say the file is crucial to the case...”

    After a few minutes Shawn finally returned to the room with a smile on his face.

    “What was that about, Shawn?” asked Gus.

    “Oh just wait, although I do have one last thing to do on this train. I overheard an interesting conversation last night.”

    “Yeah, about smuggling, you told me already.”

    “No, this conversation was about jewelry and came from the roomlette next door.” Shawn the proceeded to repeat the cryptic and fragmented conversation he head from the Gustafsons room the night before, supplementing what he could hear with what he assumed.

    “Now to wait, we have about half an hour.”

    “For what Shawn?”

    “Oh, you’ll see,” Shawn replied vaguely.

    After thirty minutes of impatiently waiting for some unknown event he refused to reveal to Gus, 8:20 rolled around and Shawn jumped up from his seat in their crowded roomlette and went to the door. “Gus you can stay here, I need to get something.”

    “It’s fine Shawn, I’ll help you, truthfully your random excursions are more fun than staying in this tiny room.” Gus stood up to follow Shawn.

    “I’m going to meet up with the Gustafson’s,” Shawn explained.

    “Oh, in that case I will stay,” Gus declared as he dropped back into the seat.
    
    Within five minutes of waiting for Shawn to come back the door open and Shawn strode in confidently, something dangling in his hand.

    “Is that…?” Gus asked.

    “Yeah,” Shawn relied before Gus could finish.

    “You stole it?”

    “Yep,” Shawn replied before slipping the item into his pocket.

    “But, why and how, they keep them with…”

    “Just investigating something. Hopefully Buzz will call back soon and confirm my theory. And don’t forget my pickpocket skills; you did not even notice me take your tickets from your pocket.”

*****


    The train pulled into Vancouver on time, much to the delight of the passengers on board. However, they were less than thrilled when they discovered that they were being detained by the police for the time being. Shawn and Gus waited by the entrance to the sleeping car and immediately spotted a man who was undoubtedly Buzz’s cousin, Sage. The family resemblance was quite startling.

    “Hey,” Shawn called out. “It’s Shawn. Your cousin, Buzz, should have called the department for us.”

    “Of course, the chief is coming over right now.”

    The police chief for the Vancouver police department was a middle aged man who reminded Shawn too much of his father and Shawn was immediately thankful that his father had not pursued the position. Although the stark suit was a pleasant contrast to Henry’s blindingly vibrant shirts, Shawn still had nightmares about the lime green pineapple on he was forced to wear.

    “Chief,” Shawn began. “I am Shawn Spencer, psychic for the Santa Barbara Police Department, and this is my partner, Burton Guster.”

    “Well, Mr. Spencer, you should know that my department does not usually deal with psychics.”

    “I can assure you,” explained Gus, “that the spirit will lead Shawn to some definitive evidence to put the criminals behind bars.”

    “I hope so, now can I let the passengers detrain?”

    “Yes, although the spirit tells me that you may want to detain the Gustafsons longer and keep an eye on their luggage.”

    “The Gustafsons?”

    “The overly dressed couple that is likely harassing whoever is trying to prevent them from leaving the train, the spirits tell me that they have been making trips every two weeks to sell jewelery in this country. They faked a robbery of their jewelry store in the US to get the insurance money and have been selling the stolen jewels up here for more cash. If you call the Santa Barbara police department they can confirm the robbery and that the jewels have never been found.” Shawn pulled out a necklace from his pocket, “The ghost left this for me along one of the hallways, she says that it is a match to one of the pieces of jewelry stolen from the Gustafsons’ store and that you will find more jewels in their bags or possible hidden in their room.”

    The chef gave Shawn a questioning look, “The spirits seem to be very specific, Mr. Spencer.”

    “They can be. The spirit world works in mysterious ways.”

    “Sure,” the chief replied, not buying into the whole psychic façade. “Well back to the main issue at hand. You told the Santa Barbara police department, which recommended your work highly, that the spirits told you that there were smugglers and murderers on the train.”

    “Yes the spirits said that there were smug..smugg…” Shawn began to stutter as if he were unable to talk.

    “Is he ok?” asked the Chief, wondering if he should be concerned.

    “It appears that the spirit is trying to get him to lead you to evidence proving the crimes,” Gus explained. Shawn whispered something in Gus’s ear.

    “He says you should bring Gareth, Shirley and Cindi, aka Sam Claiborne, here.”

    The chief motioned for Sage to retrieve them. Within moments they arrived, led by three police officers. When they arrived Shawn began again only to be interrupted by Shirley.

    “What are the reporters doing here?” asked Shirley.

    “Reporters?” the chief asked turning to Shawn.

    “We were undercover psychics,” Gus explained.

    “Gahh!” Shawn cried out and ran over to the luggage compartment of the dining car. “Over here,” Shawn blindly felt along the car until he reached the handle to open the door to the room. Shawn struggled to open it, but it would not budge.

    “You, Gareth,” the chief motioned to the engineer, “open this door for us.”

    Reluctantly Gareth did as instructed and opened the door to the dark compartment. Shawn led the police into the luggage car and over two crates beside the passenger’s luggage.

    Shawn stumbled against the passengers luggage and began yelling, “Traffic! Diamonds are forever!”

    “Is he ok?” The chief asked, Gus.

    “He should be fine, although the spirits are vague at times. He is trying to communicate what the spirits are telling him.”

    “Blue Montana Skies?” Shawn tried.

    Gus shrugged at Shawn, having no idea what that last movie was about.

    “Lethal Weapon!” Shawn cried out, desperately, collapsing against the wooden crates.

    “Smuggling!” Sage called out enthusiastically. “They’re all movies about smuggling.”

    “The spirits are telling me that these crates don’t contain what they are supposed to.” The chef motioned for the police officers to bring in Gareth and led him over to the crates in the now very crowded room next to the kitchen. “What’s inside of these?” The police chief asked Gareth.

    “Just cooking supplies. Pots, pans, and the like. I have all the paper work back in my briefcase.”

    “Well then of course you won’t mind opening them up and showing us.” The police chief motioned for some officers to come open the crates.

    “You can’t open them. You have no cause to suspect them of containing anything other than what’s listed. It isn’t allowed,” Shirley insisted, as she hurried into the luggage room, ruining any thought the police might have that the crates would actually contain what was listed.

    “Actually we can. All goods brought over the border can be checked. Terrorist threats and illegally imported goods exist and we must stop any probable threat,” Sage explained.

    “Open them now,” the Chief instructed.

    Gradually the nails were pried out of the first case and the top opened. “Bananas?” The Chief asked, surveying the cargo. “While illegal to import bananas without authorization it is hardly a matter for the chief of police, Mr. Spencer.  If anything I think it’s more of a matter for the chef of police.”

    “Gahhh!” Shawn stumbled back with a look of surprise, staring down at his chest and the suddenly brought his hand up as if in excruciating pain. Shawn looked down to his hand confused. “It isn’t just bananas… there’s something else!” Shawn stumbled back once again as if shot, much to the horror of the police men. “Under the bananas...there’s…just look!”

    One of the officers began to remove the bunches of bananas from the crate. “Sir, you’ll want to see this,” the officer told the Chief.

    Everyone gathered around and found the bottom half of the crate to be full of M4 rifles. “Gareth, Shirley, and Cindi, or should I say, Sam Claiborne, you’re all under arrest for weapon’s smuggling,” the Chief explained.

    “It’s just a bit of extra cash,” Gareth pleaded as he began his hopeless defense.

    “I don’t think the courts will feel that way. Although I have to ask, what was with the bananas? They‘re hardly on the same caliber as rifles.”

    “It saves costs on the train. Do you know how expensive fruit is up here?”

    “That does not excuse the action; get him out of my face. As for you, Cindi, did, you know it is illegal to fake your death? Why did you pretend to die as Sam before returning back on the train under a different identity? It all seems a bit pointless.”

    Cindi stood glaring at everyone and not talking, so Shawn responded, “The spirits tell me that she was worried that someone would connect the name Sam Claiborne with that of her father Samuel Claiborne, the recently arrested arms dealer in Costa Rica. With the smuggling operation in full force, she could not risk the connection. So, she faked her death on the train and became Cindi, with two ‘I’s in the hope of escaping the connection to her father.”

    “He was an idiot!” Cindi screamed. “His greed caused him to become reckless and reveal his operation.”

    “That sounds just like your operation as well,” The Chief replied. “Take them away.” As they were led away the police chief turned to Shawn and Gus. “Thank you for your assistance. Without your work we might not have discovered this smuggling operation until it was too late.

    The police chief was silent, staring at Shawn’s hand. He looked down at his hand confused and saw it wiggling around as if writing in the air. “Gus! I need some paper.” Gus pulled over a pad of paper and handed it over to Shawn who began writing. On the paper he wrote an address. “Here,” Shawn handed the paper over to the Chief. “I’m not sure what is there, but my senses tell me that you will find more related to this case there.”

    “More guns?”

    “I don’t know. Also, the spirits are telling me that you will find papers related to their operation if you search the first car of the train.”

    “Well, thanks. I’ll have my officer’s check it out. And thank you Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster, it was a pleasure to meet such as respected member of Santa Barbara’s finest.”

    As the police left Shawn and Gus behind Gus turned to his friend. “I understand the smuggling, but how did you find out about Cindi and the address of the warehouse?”

    “The spirits.”

    Gus rolled his eyes.

    “I asked Buzz to look up any records related a S. Claiborne, he found some information about an S. Claiborne arms dealer in Costa Rica. It didn’t take much work to connect it to Sam.”

    “The warehouse?”

    “The papers the conductors had when we first met them. They had an address on it with M4 written next to it. Out of context it meant nothing, but I just guessed given what type of guns they were.”

    As Shawn and Gus took their luggage off of the train and Gus turned to Shawn, “Well, what do we do now, Shawn? The train will be a bit delayed going back down to Santa Barbara as you arrested everyone in charge of it.”

    “We could visit the studio where they filmed 21 Jump Street. Don’t tell me you have gotten over your crush on Holly Robinson.”

    “Actually, Shawn, the studios used to film the show have all either been converted into parking garages or taken over by the X-Files. Plus, Holly’s been married for over 10 years.”

    “Fine, we can just do something else.”

    “No I Spy,” Gus stated before Shawn could even try to suggest it.

    “Actually I was thinking that we could spend some time writing the article we’ve been working on about the train, and then sell it to make a bit of extra money ourselves.”

    “What would we call it, “Crazy Train Workers Hide Guns In Bananas”?”

    “I was thinking something along the lines of, “Is That A Gun In Your Banana, or Are You Just Happy to See Me?”