Elle answered the door promptly when the waiter returned with her food. She looked very pulled together though sleepy. She yawned. “If this is Washington, it must be Sunday, right?” she said. She slipped something into the waiter’s hand that made him stammer, “Th-thanks, Ms. San Carlos!”
Just Stacey’s luck. She’d chosen the cheap tipper. She watched in disgust as the waiter walked away. Elle had slept well and Benjamin had slept badly. So his sleeplessness couldn’t be blamed on any fight the two might have had. For a moment Stacey wondered if Elle’s husband could have secretly boarded the train. Maybe he had, and had lured Benjamin to the platform car, and Benjamin had thrown Charlie off. Maybe that’s why Benjamin looked so harried. Guilt was preventing him from sleeping.
But that theory was ruined a moment later when a conductor knocked on Elle’s door. “Telegram,” he said.
She opened the door, grinned ruefully at the conductor, and said, “Oh, dear. Another one?”
“Yes, Ms. San Carlos.”
“Let me guess. Charlie’s still pining away for me in Boston. This telegram is just to let me know. See? I was right! How many telegrams has he sent since we left? Fourteen? Poor Charlie. He never was very good at investing his money wisely.”
The door closed and Stacey realized that it had also closed on the possibility that Charlie was on board the train. If he had sent fourteen telegrams since the previous afternoon, no way could he have been on board and then thrown over by Ben.
Unless, she thought, he’d arranged for someone to send the telegrams beforehand, to cover himself while he stalked Benjamin. Hmmmm …
“Ms. Atlantic? Ms. Atlantic!” A hand fell on Stacey’s shoulder. Stacey turned as the voice went on. “Ms. Atlantic, we were wondering if … Oh! Sorry.”
One of the assistants had mistaken Stacey for Jane Atlantic, at least from behind.
“No problem,” said Stacey, flattered. She turned to head back to her compartment. At least she’d sort of ruled out a possible suspect, but the murder on the Mystery Train was still as big a mystery as ever.
The Brunch on Board stop of the Mystery Train, in Washington, D.C., lasted for hours. The train stayed in the station, and people disembarked to go to a fancy restaurant while the crew brought important things on board, such as more fresh flowers for the compartments in which the stars were staying.
Derek did his usual admirable job of talking to reporters and posing for photographs, but his father gave him permission to skip the brunch (despite dark looks from Anne).
She managed to recoup this publicity loss, however, by telling the reporters all about Derek’s “nice, normal little friends,” and herding Greg, James, David Michael, Buddy, Linny, and Nicky front and center to be photographed.
“Aren’t they sweet?” she kept saying.
The boys took it with good grace. In fact, although the Stoneybrook kids tried to act cool, I think they were kind of excited about the prospect of having their photograph in the news.
Todd and Daniel, to my surprise, had elected to go to the brunch with Mr. Masters and Daniel’s father. Maybe they’d been promised ice cream for dessert.
As soon as all the star power had left the train, we got down to business. After making the boys promise not to alarm Todd and Daniel with the information, we filled them in on what had happened and what our detective work had turned up so far: nothing.
“Not nothing,” said Nicky. “You have the page from the script.”
“Score one for Nickman!” said Greg. He thumped Nicky on the shoulder and Nicky gave him a friendly shove back. In Derek’s frequent absences to do publicity work for the movie, Greg and Nicky had bonded big time.
In fact, they seemed to have squeezed Derek out of the loop altogether. I saw Derek glance from one to the other and I thought he looked unhappy.
“I think Charlie did it,” said Linny. “I bet he paid someone to send Elle all those telegrams so he’d have an alibi!”
“Yeah!” said Buddy.
“Yeah, but who did Charlie push over the side?” asked David Michael.
“What I want to know is, what does one torn piece of script mean?” asked Stacey.
Abby said, “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. We don’t have much else to go on.”
Greg said, “It had to come from someone’s script, didn’t it?”
“You’re right!” exclaimed Derek.
“But who has scripts?” I asked. “I mean, the movie’s finished. Why would they carry the script around?”
Derek said, “Lots of people keep theirs, just to see how the movie compares to the script. For instance, some scenes that are in the script are taken out after they’re shot, and things like that. I know that Anne put a copy of the script in each of the VIP compartments on this trip.”
We hadn’t had a copy of the script in our room. I guess Anne hadn’t thought we were Very Important Persons. In fact, at the moment, I suspected she would label us VBPs — Very Big Pains.
Well, she was going to be BTS — Big Time Sorry — when we solved the mystery.
We went on a script hunt. This was both easier and harder than it sounds. Easy, because no one had locked their door. In fact, many of the compartments just had their curtains drawn across the entries. People on this train were incredibly trusting. Easier still, because having Derek with us gave us the run of the train. Harder, because with so many scripts and so many people, we couldn’t be sure of finding them all. Still, it was worth a try.
We found Rock Harding’s with no problem. His compartment looked as if he didn’t even sleep there. The script was in the outside pocket of a soft-sided briefcase on the floor of his closet. It was fresh and new-looking and had SOUVENIR COPY stamped on it.
“Those are the ones Jane handed out,” said Derek. He reached down into the briefcase and brought out another copy of the script, heavily creased and rumpled, with a rainbow of colored pages in it. But both scripts were complete.
Elle’s compartment was filled with flowers. Her closet was crammed with clothes.
Even Stacey was stunned. “When does she find time to wear all these things? I’d still be unpacking.”
“She has a personal assistant for that,” said Derek.
“Her personal assistant isn’t still around is she?” I asked quickly.
“Nope. Elle sent her to look for a few things she needed,” Derek reported.
“Like what?” Abby snorted. “She doesn’t have a single spare inch of space, and this compartment is enormous.”
David Michael sneezed. He sneezed again.
“Shh,” I said automatically.
“ACHOO!”
“It’s the flowers,” Abby said, her own nose wrinkling. “If I stay in here another second, I’m going to have an allergy attack. Come on, David Michael, let’s keep watch in the corridor.”
Elle’s script was the publicity copy, every neat page in place.
“I guess she didn’t have room for more than one script,” said Linny.
Benjamin’s closet was as packed with clothes as Elle’s. He’d also brought an extra mirror, which was hung on the back of the compartment door. Fortunately, his flowers were limited to one bouquet, so Abby and David Michael could rejoin us.
“We’ll keep watch,” said Greg. “Come on, Nicky.”
“I’ll come, too,” said Derek.
“That’s okay. Two people are enough,” said Greg.
Derek opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He definitely looked hurt.
The only “important” discovery was made by James. “The guy wears perfume!” he said, coming out of the bathroom.
“Lots of guys do,” said Abby.
“I wouldn’t! Not even to be a screen star!” James said vehemently.
“You might change your mind,” Stacey told him. “I like perfume on guys sometimes.”
“No way!” declared James, and the others nodded emphatically.
We couldn’t help but laugh, even though we found only
the publicity script, still in its fancy envelope, tossed in the top drawer of Benjamin’s traveling trunk.
The rest of our search was no more successful. Every script we could find was intact.
Feeling discouraged, we went back to our compartment. When everyone returned from brunch, the train got underway again.
We spent the afternoon making publicity stops (including another lengthy layover in Richmond, Virginia). Derek made the interview rounds and, along with the other stars, acted out a scene from the movie for several reporters and the rest of us. Everyone applauded, and the reporters crowded around him again afterward.
I couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to be glancing our way, mainly toward Nicky and Greg.
Abby noticed it, too. “He feels left out,” she said. “Particularly by Nicky and Greg. I don’t think they’re ignoring him deliberately. But he’s so busy that they’ve just gotten into the habit of not including him.”
We pulled out of Richmond late in the afternoon. After that, we made one more stop. When the train was finally in motion again, Derek joined us in the club car, sliding in next to Linny.
“You must be tired,” Abby said.
Derek smiled a bit wanly. “I am, I think.”
“Hard work,” said Greg.
“Yeah,” said Derek. Then he said, “I forgot. They’ve made a board game of the movie. My dad has an early copy of it, and he said we could borrow it and try it out if we wanted.”
“Super,” said Nicky.
Derek brightened a little.
“It’ll be nice for you to spend some time with us. I know you’ve wanted to, but you’ve had to work,” I said pointedly.
“Wow,” said Linny. “You’ve had to work practically the whole time, haven’t you? That’s no fun.”
I saw Nicky look thoughtful, and I silently cheered Linny.
“Yeah, I have missed goofing with you guys.” He brightened, looked around, and lowered his voice. “But it’s been fun looking for clues to solve the mystery.”
Just then, Anne hurried to us and put her hand on Derek’s arm. “Derek,” she said. “The reporter from Screen Team has a few questions.”
Derek looked unhappy but he stood up.
“Bummer,” said Nicky.
“Yeah,” said Greg. “Hurry back.”
Derek brightened. “Yeah?”
“Definitely!” said Nicky.
Derek the kid looked a lot happier as he left to be Derek the star.
We set up the game after dinner. Derek’s character was one of the pieces, which made everybody laugh. James said that his piece, the Ben character, smelled like perfume. All the boys thought this was hugely funny. Stacey and Abby and I rolled our eyes.
Then, in midgame, I stopped. “Wait a minute,” I said.
I pulled the piece of script from my pocket carefully, glanced around the room, then slid it across to Derek. “Read this.”
He did. He looked up. “This isn’t the right script,” he said.
“I thought the characters’ names weren’t right,” I said.
“No, they’re not. Not a single character’s name is the same. No one in the movie has these names, but some of the lines are the same.”
“Do you think it’s a fake script?” Abby asked.
“Maybe,” said Stacey. “But why? How could that affect anyone on the train?”
I didn’t know. So I brooded. And brooded. I brooded all through the game. I brooded as we put the kids to bed.
Stacey and Abby decided to go to the club car.
I sat on my bed and brooded some more.
And then, as I stared at that scrap of paper, it hit me.
I leaped to my feet. I ran to the door and out into the corridor. I had to find Stacey and Abby. I had to —
The train lurched. It bucked like a wild horse. I reeled from one wall to the other and wondered if we were about to go off the tracks. The train seemed to pick up speed — and so did my heart.
Then the lights went out.
Claudia had not only lit the pool area with lanterns, she’d also come up with another fantastic decorating idea. She’d persuaded Nikki to buy lots of brightly colored beach balls. Then she, Mary Anne, Jessi, and Mal had stenciled GREENBROOK CLUB POOL PARTY KID on each one.
The kids arrived at the party to find the pool filled with the balls.
Naturally, this was a big hit.
After they’d worked off some of their energy with swimming and splashing, Mal stood up and said, “Time for games. First, a cannonball contest. The winner will be the kid who makes the biggest cannonball splash. Judges, to your places.”
The Three Musketeers had volunteered to be judges. They sat in chairs (well back from the splash zone) and held cards numbered from one to five. Mary Anne sat next to them, ready to write down the scores. The splash that earned the highest score would win.
When Jackie headed toward the edge of the pool for his turn, Karen flung down her card and cried, “WALK, DON’T RUN!”
Jackie stopped, wide-eyed, lost his balance, and fell in while everyone else cracked up.
His splash was tremendous.
After a hot debate among the judges, in part because Karen said that his fall hadn’t been a real cannonball, the prize went to Jackie and to Becca in a tie.
Stephen didn’t win a prize, but he did jump in and made a very respectable splash.
For the younger kids, we had a face-in-the-water contest. We put weighted plastic dinosaur toys on the bottom of the shallowest part of the pool and let the kids bob down to grab them.
Greed soon overcame even Jenny’s desire to avoid getting wet, and she emerged, clutching a purple stegosaurus and shouting, “I got one, I got one, I got one!”
The parents at poolside applauded and took many, many pictures.
But the biggest success of the evening was the silly bathing cap contest. Every single kid had gone all out for that one. As Claudia announced each entrant, Mary Anne, Jessi, and Mal made notes and tried not to laugh too hard. And every single kid enjoyed his or her moment in the spotlight to the fullest.
Karen strutted out like a model on the runway, her towel draped around her like a cape, wearing a bathing cap covered with sequins, beads, and every piece of old jewelry she could manage to attach. She’d even decorated a pair of sixties-style sunglasses and a pair of thongs to match. Hers was a real crowd pleaser.
Charlotte had made big basset hound ears for her swim cap. She demonstrated how the ears could be blown up like inner tubes. “It’s a bathing cap and a safety device,” she announced. “It’ll help keep you afloat in an emergency!”
Ben had gone for gross. He was wearing a bathing cap with a jagged hole in one side. He’d painted red fingernail polish around the hole. He was wearing a whistle around his neck and holding a cardboard triangle. “I’m a lifeguard,” he explained. “And this is all that’s left of that shark that took a nip of my cap.”
Claire Pike’s entry was simpler but very funny. With Vanessa’s help, she’d painted a face on the back of her cap. It was pretty funny to see Claire walking away from us — and see the painted face looking back at us as she retreated.
Other contestants included a camouflage cap, a rainbow cap, a fake pigtail swim cap, and even an invisible cap. It wasn’t easy to decide among them.
In the end, Charlotte won first prize, Ben was awarded a prize for most original, and Karen and Claire tied for “reserve first prize.”
Everyone applauded as the winners took one last turn around the pool.
Then it was time for more swimming. Greenbrook Club balls and kids’ bodies went into motion, while the smell of the grills heating up for the cookout wafted through the air.
Claudia nudged Jessi and said, “Look.”
By the pool steps, Stephen was talking solemnly to Claire and the four-year-olds. “Here,” they heard him say. “If you hold your breath, you’ll always float, you know. Just like one of these balls.” He demonstrated.
Cla
ire slid into the water and copied him. Soon the four littlest swimmers and Stephen were bobbing like corks.
“Good work,” Claudia told Jessi.
“We all helped,” said Jessi. “It was a team effort.”
“But you figured it out first,” Claudia said.
Now the parents were calling the younger kids, toweling them off, and helping them into dry clothes before dinner.
Mal rummaged around in her pack.
“Smells good,” said Claudia, taking deep sniffs of the air. “Hot dogs.”
“Turkey dogs, too,” said Mary Anne. “And hamburgers.”
“And make-your-own sundaes for dessert,” said Claudia dreamily. “Junk food heaven: nuts, whipped cream, cherries, butterscotch topping, chocolate syrup, three kinds of ice cream.”
“How do you know all that?” asked Jessi.
“I helped Nikki with the menu,” Claudia said simply and grinned. She took another deep sniff and frowned. “Ugh,” she said. “I hope that’s not on the menu.”
“What?” Jessi sniffed and made a face.
Mary Anne said, “Smells — inedible. Smells like …”
The three girls turned. Mal was squirting something out of a bottle onto her arms.
She stopped as Jessi, Claudia, and Mary Anne stared at her.
“What?” she said. “What?”
“You don’t need sunscreen, Mal. It’s almost nighttime.”
“It’s BugBeDead,” said Mal. “Insect repellent.”
The girls stared at one another. Then they burst out laughing.
I was not having fun. The train lurched one way and then another and I zigzagged down the corridor. I hit something hard with my shoulder, rebounded, and crunched my knee against something made of metal.
I couldn’t see anything. I kept my hands out in front of me and smashed my knuckles against a knobby object. I tried to grab it to hold on to it, but another lurch of the speeding train sent me to my knees.
Just as I staggered to my feet, the train skidded to a stop with a long screech of brakes, and I was thrown into a backward dive. I slid like an upended box turtle for several feet as the deafening screech went on and on.
Kristy and the Mystery Train Page 7
