The silence in the police station was encompassing. It had been hours since Juliet began reviewing her cold cases and there she remained, the scraps from her lunch sitting cold on her desk.
The current cold case involved the death of a homeless man, it was a sad case and unjustified, but there was nothing new to add to it. No similar cases in the recent years, no new witnesses, no new evidence: just another murder that would remain unsolved, its file would return to the archives to wait until it was completely forgot.
After brushing the remaining scraps from her lunch into the waste basket and picking up a new file, the phone rang out sharply, breaking the calm of the office. “Detective O’Hara,” she began, not even looking at the phone to check the number.
“Jules!”
“Shawn?” Juliet asked, thinking to herself that it seemed right that Shawn would be the one to disturb the calm, even when he was not there in person.
“Yeah. Hey, Jules, could you do me a <i> huge </i> favor?” Shawn asked.
“That would really depend on what the favor is? Oh, and if you want your water balloons back, the answer is still no.” Juliet knew that Shawn calling for a favor was often not a good thing, but it gave her a break from the monotony of the day and she dropped the file down onto her desk giving her attention to the phone call.
“Come on Jules, I am not asking for the paperwork to requisition another Segway, so don’t worry. And no water balloons. Though, I’ve been considering growing out a mullet, what do you think?” Juliet remained silent so Shawn continued, “You know, fun in the back, work in the front.”
“I know what a mullet it, I watched MacGyver when I was younger,” Juliet would have hung up the phone, but the conversation was still more interesting than the files. Plus, she knew there was something else going on, “What is it really, Shawn?”
“Ok, look, I need you to pull up some police records for me. I’m investigating a ghost that is haunting a train to Vancouver and I think that the train employees’ police records might help me.”
“A ghost on a train? Did someone just die?” Juliet was intrigued; a ghost meant a dead body and the possibility of a real case.
“Well, a ghost is haunting the kitchen and it seems to be the ghost of the dead former chef, Sam Claiborne. Apparently he died from a food allergy a few weeks ago, but I think that there is more to it.”
“What like murder?” Juliet asked intrigued. There was certainly not enough for the police to go on, but if Shawn suspected foul play it was likely he was correct.
“Something like that. The spirit is crying out for justice. Anyway, I think that being able to know about his fellow employees will help me connect with him spiritually.”
“I’ll see what I can do: Abigail over in records owes me a favor. What are the names?”
Shawn listed pulled a piece of paper from his pocket with a few scribbled names on it and read them off to Juliet. “So what are you guys up to?”
“It’s been a slow day; we’re only reviewing cold cases.” Juliet picked up yet another new file that was currently sporting a lovely mustard stain, a remnant of her lunch. There was a reason she tried not to eat at her desk. She tried to rub off the condiment, but to no avail.
“I would stop by, but we’re actually on the train investigating.”
“Cool, well I will call you when I have the records pulled.” Jules gave up and dropped the folder back down, mustard stain and all.
“Thanks, Jules.”
Juliet set down her phone, picked up the pad of paper with the list of names, and turned to leave for the records room when she heard someone calling her name.
“Who was that?” asked Lassiter, nonchalantly walking over to the desk.
“Shawn. He’s investigating some crime.” Juliet explained as she continued on.
Lassiter remained frozen in his spot. “Wait, Spencer has an actual case and <i>we</i> are stuck with cold case files? It better be something pointless like a missing dog and not some police investigation he is messing up.”
“He is investigating a ghost that is haunting a train. So, not really in our jurisdiction as there was no evidence of a real crime, the former chef apparently died of a food allergy. Shawn’s psychic intuitions say its murder, but there is nothing for us to go on.”
“So not an open murder then.” Lassiter remained still, as much as he hated working with Spencer, a case was a case and he would have worked with the psychic just to escape the seemingly endless number of cold case files. “Well at least he is not annoying us here, yet. I don’t think that I could take dealing with Spencer <i>and</i> investigating hopeless crimes.”
“He is apparently on a train to Vancouver,” Juliet explained to Lassiter as she walked towards the records room.
“That’s the best news I have heard all week,” Lassiter yelled back.
*****
“Juliet is going to call with the information. Apparently it is a slow day back in Santa Barbara and they’re just reviewing cold cases.”
“And no ghost cases we could work on instead of this one?” Gus asked with a glimmer of hope. The San Luis Obispo station was still coming up and they could just get off the train there.
“Well, the people are dead. They could have become ghosts,” Shawn replied sarcastically, although his tone quickly changed to one of excitement. “Maybe I should call back and try to solve a case by communicating with the dead.”
“Wait, do you seriously think you could solve a case over the phone?” Gus was skeptical; Shawn was good at solving crimes, but not that good.
Shawn thought for a moment before responding, “Well, I might need them to send me the crime scene photos on your phone.”
“Why not your phone?” Gus asked confused.
“I may have forgotten to pay my bill last month…” Shawn paused to think before continuing, “and the month before. I missed that bill as well.”
Gus rolled his eyes at his friend. “Fine, we’ll stick with the train. So, are we just going to sit here while we wait for Juliet’s call?”
“Dude, we’re reporters. We’ll interview everyone for the article and maybe get some information about this ‘ghost’. And, Gus, you can take the notes.”
“Why don’t <i> you </i> take the notes this time, Shawn. Real reporters don’t have assistants that take down the notes for them; they take their own notes so they can mark down anything they think is worthwhile.”
“I’ve seen it both ways. Plus, you have the pen and paper.”
Gus was uncertain whether to be insulted or complemented by Shawn’s assumption of his preparedness. “Why do you always assume that I have everything, maybe I didn’t bring one today?”
“So, what you are not prepared for your meeting in San Louis Obispo, I’m very disappointed in you, Gus. I guess it’s a good thing you’re not going to the meeting.”
Gus sighed, knowing where this was going. “Of course I’m prepared,” Gus replied as he pulled out his pen and paper to demonstrate.
“Great! So you can take notes.”
“Fine, but only because I cannot even read that chicken scratch you call handwriting.” Gus started to walk down the train car, but paused when Shawn was not following. “What, Shawn?”
“We are starting with the conductors, they hear all the gossip and they’re probably at the other end of the train.” Shawn gestured in the opposite direction of where Gus was going.
Shawn and Gus made their way through the train cars, passing by the young couple Gus had met in the Santa Barbara station and were currently desperately trying to get their youngest child to fall asleep and stop crying. Their fairly put together appearance in Santa Barbara was already quickly fading into one of disarray and exhaustion. With a look of sympathy Shawn and Gus quickly walked by.
The last seats of the passenger car, right before the engine, were occupied by two female conductors who were nonchalantly flipping through the piles of paperwork and abandoned ticket stubs on the table in front of them.
“Ladies, I’m Shawn Spencer of the Santa Barbara Independent, a local paper in Santa Barbara. This is my partner, Pierre Pluma. We are writing an article about the wonder that is train travel.”
“Well, how can we help you?” asked the first woman, a brunette. The woman looked as if she could have been drop-dead gorgeous if she decided to, but seemed to prefer a more mature, respectable appearance.
“Well,” began Shawn, “why don’t you start with your names.”
“Cindi Holton, that’s Cindi with two ‘i’s. I always dot my ‘i’s with little hearts,” she said, winking at Shawn. While, her name and unnecessary comment about the hearts may have suggested a woman of a more simple nature, her eyes betrayed this assumption.
“Well… isn’t that sweet,” Shawn replied.
With a look of disgust, Gus copied her name down into his notebook, as if he actually cared how the woman spelled her name. Surprisingly, the little hearts were nowhere to be found in his notes.
“Shirley,” replied the other woman, a blond, “Shirley MacLaine, as in the actress. My parents named me after her.” Shirley was nothing if not normal. While her eyes, her face, and her personality were upbeat, yet possessing of no inner depth, her appearance was quite plain and she made no attempt to disguise it.
“Well that is fascinating,” replied Shawn. “So have the two of you been working here for long?”
“Two years,” replied Cindi, gesturing to Shirley she continued, “The both of us, we started the same day.”
“What drew you to the job?” asked Gus.
“Oh, the thrill of it,” replied Shirley, her face lighting up as she spoke.
“It is that exciting to collect tickets on a train?” asked Gus.
“Well, not that much really, I guess,” Shirley continued, retracting her previous statement. “But you can make any job fun if you want to.”
“I understand,” Shawn replied, “anything can be fun if you want it to be.”
Cindi giggled in response. “Plus, there are a lot of interesting people that travel; I really do enjoy meeting new people.”
“So,” Gus interrupted quickly, “getting back to the interview at hand. We just finished talking to the Chef, Hans. He said he was new here. What can you tell us about the previous chef?”
“Sam?” asked Cindi, to which Gus nodded in response. “Well, an okay Chef, I guess. And really close to Gareth the engineer. But that’s not important, Sam’s gone now.”
“Yeah, Sam must have not been paying as much attention to the cooking because next thing we knew, dead of an allergic reaction. Who would have thought? It was tragic, really.” Shirley explained quickly, clearly not broken up about the loss of a colleague.
“Yeah, that’s messed up,” Gus replied.
Shawn pulled Gus away and whispered, “Dude, what are you doing?”
“What, Shawn?”
“You’re totally trying to flirt with Shirley.”
“I was not.”
“You use the ‘that’s messed up’ line that you always use when you flirt.”
“It was appropriate. Plus, you were flirting with Cindi.”
“Yeah, we have a case; I’m trying to get information. You’re just making them uncomfortable.”
Turning back to Cindi and Shirley, Shawn continued, “So Sam was close to Gareth, in what way, our readers are a really accepting group. I know our readers would love and juicy details you can tell us about the lives of train employees.”
“Oh, it’s nothing really. You wouldn’t care,” replied Cindi.
“Well you could be surprised what our readers like. They can be an odd group.”
“What? Oh, no, there was nothing going on between then, romantically that is. They were just friends. No juicy details there then. Although if you want gossip you should ask about Shirley and the one server in the café, Martin.”
“Cindi!” Shirley responded with amused annoyance. “That is a secret. We really are not supposed to date anyone at work.” Shirley explained to Shawn and Gus. “Plus it has been over for days, and Cindi,” she glanced over and gave her friend a look, “already knew that. I would appreciate if you did not write about it in the article.”
“Don’t worry, if you don’t want people to know we can keep it quiet,” Gus explained.
As Shawn shook Cindi’s hand as he was leaving he noticed a large burn on her arm as the sleeve of her shirt pulled up, but he quickly met her gaze again as if he saw nothing. Turning to walk away he noticed Cindi slipp a piece of paper into his pocket, with a giggle.
“Her number? You got Cindi’s number?” Gus asked, shocked as they left the train car. “Dude, she could be in on this.”
“In on what, Gus?” Shawn asked as he looked at the digits on the paper, his mind though focused on the scar. “We don’t even know what is going on yet. Or even if anything is going on, maybe Hans is just crazy…or sleepwalking.”
“Whatever.”
“Plus, I prefer to assume that all beautiful women are innocent until proven guilty.”
Gus stopped to look at his friend. “I seriously hope you are not planning on calling her.”
“Really, Gus. You’re just jealous that I got Cindi’s number and you didn’t get Shirley’s. What could possibly happen? Plus, it’s not like she can poison me with shellfish or anything. I’m not allergic.”
“You think she killed the previous chef?” Gus asked surprised at this jump in reasoning.
“It’s possible. It just seems unrealistic that the chef would really make such a mistake if he knew he was allergic to shellfish. I suspect that there is more to his death that it seems.”
“But Cindi?”
“You never know, the cute ones are often guilty. Plus she had a large scar on her arm that looked like it was from an oil burn. It is possible that she may have been spending some time in the kitchen or that she at least shared an interest in cooking. That is something that could have connected her to Sam.”
“This would be easier if you could actually talk to Sam’s ghost.”
“Really Gus, you think I could only figure this out if I were a real psychic? You do know that there are no real psychics, right.”
“I was just saying. Plus, you never know, there may be some people that can actually talk to the spirit world.”
“You know, Gus, I’m just going to try to forget that you think ghosts could be real.”
“Now arriving in San Louis Obispo,” announced the voice overhead. “Please gather all belongings and move towards the exit on the lower level. If you are planning on continuing north remain on the train as there will only be a short stop at the station.”
Gus stood silently and considered fleeing to the exit, but decided against it. He would already be missing his appointment with the new buyers in San Luis Obispo and his boss seemed determined that he help his ‘grandmother’. Billy was probably already preparing to schmooze the doctors. Gus could just imagine the conversation between them, Billy’s lack of class exaggerated in the fictitious scenario.
But, he really had no option. If he went to the meeting he would be in trouble with his boss and he could not afford that. Plus, the case was actually becoming interesting and Shirley was kind of cute.
Gus looked down at his watch. It was two o’clock, meaning that he had two hours to kill before they would investigate the kitchen in more detail. With a last longing look at the San Louis Obispo station Gus followed Shawn to their room.
*****
Shawn and Gus sat facing each other on their bench chairs, wasting away the two hours until they would return to the kitchen. The room was claustrophobic by anyone’s standards. Their chairs were moderately comfortable yet oppressively close, every movement was accompanied by them harshly knocking knees.
Gus had been initially thrilled to remember that he kept a book of Sudoku in his bag to pass the time while waiting for appointments, but this joy was replaced with annoyance when he discovered that Shawn had completed all the puzzles at some point and returned the completed book to his bag without telling him.
“Gus, let’s play “I Spy.” Shawn suggested.
“That’s okay,” Gus replied, not even really considering the suggestion. “This must be worse than house arrest. At least you had your whole apartment.”
“Trust me, Gus, it’s not. At least you can leave this room and walk about the whole train, plus it’s not like you are being accused… never mind.” Shawn fell silent and stared out the window.
“Okay… let’s play I spy,” Gus gave in. “I’ll go first, you guess,” Gus looked around the tiny room for something to have Shawn guess. “Alright, I spy with my little eye something…”
“The Pharmacology Monthly magazine sticking out of your briefcase,” Shawn answered without a thought.
“Shawn, you are supposed to let me give you the clue.” Gus responded, annoyed.
“But that was it, right?” Shawn asked with a smirk, knowing the answer.
“Fine, let me go again.” This time Gus didn’t even look around before beginning. “I spy…”
“Your right shoe,” Shawn finished. “Gus, you have to make this more difficult. Okay, my turn. I spy with my little eye something blue.”
“Okay, the seat cushions.”
“No.”
“Your pants.”
“No.”
“Your suitcase.”
“No.”
“The carpet.”
“No. Not as fabricy.”
“I don’t think that “fabricy” is a word. Your pen.”
“No.”
“Your cell phone.”
“No, it’s bigger and is still blue.”
“Your suitcase.” Gus suggested again, running out of blue things in the room.
“You already guessed that.”
“Okay, what Shawn?” Gus asked, ready for Shawn’s turn to be over.
Shawn, however, was enjoying it too much to let Gus just stop. “You’re giving up already? Common, Gus, that’s no fun.”
“It’s a stupid game,” Gus explained as he grabbed his magazine from his bag.
“Do you want me to tell you what I picked?”
“No, I don’t really care.” Gus was actually intrigued, but he was not going to admit it. “I’m going to read my Pharmacology Magazine.” Gus had read about two pages of his magazine when he heard a “thump” above his head, followed closely by another.
“What?” Gus looked up from the magazine to see that Shawn was lobbing a ball at the wall above his head. Shawn continued tossing and catching the ball, unperturbed. “Shawn, would you stop that!”
“Thump,” the ball sounded again.
“Shawn!”
“What?” Shawn asked as he lobbed the ball across the room once more.
“I will kill you if you continue doing that. Plus, you’re probably driving the people next door to us crazy.”
“You are no fun, Gus,” Shawn explained as he caught the ball and returned it to his pocket.
*****
After over an hour and a half of unbearable boredom Shawn looked at his watch and saw that it was almost time to go to the kitchen. He looked over to Gus who was fast asleep, drooling onto his magazine. Quietly Shawn reached over and picked up Gus’s briefcase.
Shawn smiled as he found what he was looking for and pulled out a pad of Post-it Notes and a black Sharpie. He quickly jotted down a few words before carefully attaching the paper to the back of Gus’s shoulder. He then tapped Gus to wake him, “Dude, it’s <i> finally </i> time to explore the kitchen again.”
Gus sat up awkwardly, embarrassed to realize that he had fallen asleep reading his magazine and quickly wiped the drool off of his mouth, “Sorry, what Shawn?”
“It's four o’clock, we’re exploring the kitchen for ghosts, which I like to call real people messing with the chef’s stuff.” Shawn noticed Gus rubbing his eyes, “Are you ok?”
“Just a long week at work,” Gus explained with a yawn.
“And you’re on a vacation now, perfect.”
“Yeah, a vacation from one job, but trust me, this train trip is not a vacation. I think I may need another vacation to make up for the boredom of this one.”
“Well next time we are in the room we can play identify the drug from your sample case.”
“Shawn that’s not a game I ever want to play. Do you know how much time it takes me to get the case this organized?”
“Too long?” Shawn suggested as he exited the room followed by Gus. “You know, we could stop in Seattle on the way back, I modeled there. It would be exciting”
“You were a foot model.”
“Foot and ankle. And I did the one insurance ad,” Shawn explained mimicking the movement of his hands in the ad, “but, if you don’t want to stop there on the way back it’s your loss, Gus. Anyway we have plenty to do right now, starting with investigating the kitchen. I wonder if we can get the chef to show us exactly where Sam died. Maybe say it will help if we act out the murder.”
“Shawn, that’s just weird, plus, if we don’t think that Sam is actually haunting him, how would doing that help the case?”
“No idea, but you never know.” Shawn explained as he stumbled when the train began to decelerate to a stop.
“What’s going on?” Gus asked. Shawn replied with a shrug and continued along the hallway, when an overhead voice responded.
“There’s a freight train approaching in the other direction,” the disembodied voice of Shirley explained. “We’re stopping to let it pass and then will be on our way shortly.”
Shawn and Gus descended the stairs to the kitchen the now familiar wobbling of the train back and forth along the tracks replaced with a now awkward stillness.
“Hans!” Shawn waved to the portly chef. “Would you mind if Ghosty and I explored the kitchen alone? To help the psychic vibe.”
“Not at all,” replied Hans as he stood from his chair where he was relaxing in the corner. “Please don’t disturb the food cooking on the stove.”
“Of course,” replied Gus, leading Hans to the exit. “We’ll call you if we need your help.”
“Ok, I will be right up the…” Hans stopped suddenly and looked at the note on Gus’s shoulder.
“What is it?” Gus asked, turning back around.
“What are phlegm reducers?” Hans asked confused.
Gus answered automatically, “They are a one of the new product lines Central Coast Pharmaceuticals is currently promoting. The new advances in phlegm reducers have significantly…” Gus stopped confused and turned to Shawn who was bent over laughing at the other end of the kitchen. “Why are you asking?”
“It’s just…” Hans stopped looking back and forth between Shawn who was turning bright red as he tried to breathe between gasps of laughter and Gus who looked ultimately confused and annoyed. Hans began to motion to the note on Gus’s back but stopped himself partway. “It’s nothing.” He hurried out of the room.
“Shawn, what’s going on?”
Shawn was still unable to talk and merely pointed to Gus’s shoulder.
Reaching back Gus felt a piece of paper on his shoulder and pulled it off. On the distinctive yellow sticky note was the message, “Ask me about phlegm reducers.”
“What’s this, Shawn.”
“I thought that since you were missing your meeting you might enjoy a chance to talk about your drugs here. I never thought you would slip into your rehearsed speech from you note cards. It was perfect.” Shawn began laughing once again.
“You went through my briefcase!”
“I was bored, Gus. You slept practically the whole time.”
“Whatever. Let’s just get back to the case,” Gus crumpled up the Post-it before dropping it to the ground.
Without another word, both Shawn and Gus approached the scratch marks on the newly replaced floor. The scratch was an arch about a foot long that looked to be made by something revolving along a fixed point. They appeared to match up with the door next to the stove, the fact that the stove and some boxes of fruit partially blocked the door seemed to suggest that it was not being used much anymore.
Shawn stood, staring at the door for a bit before he turned to Gus, “Dude, can the super smeller figure out what passed by this area?”
“What do you think, Shawn? The super smeller is amazing.” Gus knelt down on the floor to sniff the groove.
After just a minute Gus sat up thinking and then spoke. “Well ignoring the obvious foods cooking for dinner, there is the faint hint of bacon; apparently they have not cleaned up much from breakfast…” Gus paused, sniffing once again. “There is apparently something rotting behind the fridge…I can smell some fruit…pineapples and,” Gus sniffed again, “bananas.” Gus stood up, “I have nothing, Shawn, nothing that stands out as odd.”
“The super smeller is disappointing me, Gus.”
“Oh, yeah, so sorry that I cannot magically find a clue for you.”
“Let me try,” Shawn pushed Gus out of the way and knelt down. “As Shawn crawled around sniffing he saw something strange under one of the legs of the stove. “Gus, look at this.”
To the left of the legs of the stove were three inch groves similar to scratch they had investigated before. “Someone must have pushed this stove over and back a lot to have wore down the groves in the new floor. Dude, if Hans replaced the appliances he might have replaced them with ones a different size and blocked a door that was previously accessible. Here, help me move this.” Gus helped Shawn slide the crates away from the handle of the door and to push the stove over so that the floor would be able to swing freely. Shawn gave the handle a shake, but found it locked.
Shawn looked around the kitchen for a key, but came up empty.
“Hans!” Shawn called out.
Hans came rushing in. “What is it? Did you find something?”
With a roar the freight train came flying by, mere feet from the side of the train; the pattern of colors of the cars streaming by the window was dizzying. Shawn looked away blinking before responding to Hans. “This door, the ghost is leading me too it. Why is it locked?” Shawn asked.
“Oh, that? Here,” Hans pulled out his key ring and unlocked the door. “The kitchen links to the luggage room. We don’t usually open the door.” As Hans opened the door it was clear that the groove in the floor matched up perfectly with the path of the edge of the door. The corner of the door scraping the floor as it opened. “Apparently they used to use some of the extra storage space to store crates of food, but the health department ruled it as unsanitary. I was specifically told by Gareth to not store any food in there when I first began.”
“So no one uses the door anymore?” Shawn asked.
Shirley came over the loud speaker once more to announce that the train would be moving once again and Hans walked over to the stove to ensure that none of the pans moved.
“I can’t say they never use it, but if they do use it, it is very seldom. Why?” Hans asked, trying to steady himself as the train once again started up.
“Just information to help me connect with Sam. One more question, the new appliances, are they the same size as the previous ones?”
“Well, more or less, I guess. No more than a few inches larger, if anything.”
“Can we go in the luggage room?” Gus asked, already following Shawn who was entering the room.
“I see no reason why not. Just don’t touch any of the luggage!” Hans called out, watching them from the doorway.
Shawn and Gus ventured into the luggage room. It took up the remainder of the first floor of the dining car. On the back wall was a stack of luggage tied securely to the wall, but the remainder of the room was empty.
“So, why did the ghost lead you there?” asked Hans.
“I’m still working on that,” replied Shawn, his brain reaching to try to make a conclusion of the pieces he had learned thus far, but falling short. “Ghosty and I will return to our room tonight to try to communicate with the ghost. He’s really reaching out to try to tell us something and I think we may have a breakthrough tonight.”
“Wonderful, it’ll be nice to have the ghost stop moving things in the kitchen.”
“I guarantee that we will solve your ghostly concerns before we leave this train.” Shawn stepped out of the dark luggage room and back into the kitchen, the bright lights assaulting his eyes.
“Dinner will be served soon, if you like you could wait in the dining room. The seats during dinner can fill up quickly and there is no guarantee when more will become available. Plus, there are usually some colorful people to talk to during the earlier dinning times; they could make an interesting addition to your ‘article’.”
“That would be great, Hans. Could we just have one more moment down here, alone? I want to apologize to the ghost for invading its territory.”
“Of course, could you apologize for me as well?” Hans looked around nervously as he backed out of the room.
“Certainly, Hans.” The moment Hans left Shawn opened one of the crates of fruit that had been blocking the door. “Oooh! Pineapple. I’m sure they won’t mind us taking one. Quick, Gus, hide it under your jacket.”
“I’m not stealing a pineapple, Shawn.”
“It’s not really stealing,” Shawn began to explain, but stopped when he saw Gus glaring at him. “Ok, fine it might be, but come on, we need a snack for our séance later.” Shawn handed the pineapple for Gus to take.
Gus, looked down at the pineapple and silently turned away and walked out of the room. “Gus?”