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.
You must login () to review.