It Happened on a Train

by Mac Barnett

  “Does this guy ever stop talking?” Claire whispered to Steve.

  Steve looked back. He rolled his eyes and nodded his head, even though he kind of liked Mr. Vanderdraak.

  “—and now, if you’ll follow me,” Mr. Vanderdraak said, exiting the kitchen.

  “Plus he’s a total chauvinist,” Claire whispered.

  “Wait, what?” Steve asked.

  “He never offered to show me this car. I think he’s glad to have some boys around.”

  “Are you into cars?” Steve asked. “No, but neither are you.”

  “How did you know?”

  Claire’s expression broke into a wide smile. “I just guessed! But I was right!”

  Steve turned around and hurried after Dana.

  They were in another cramped hall.

  “On your right is the lavatory, dressing room, and sauna,” Vanderdraak said, gesturing toward a door.

  “Sauna!” Steve said. “You guys have everything.”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Vanderdraak, trying to conceal his smile by nervously brushing his mustache.

  “And now the vault.” Mr. Vanderdraak stopped before a steel door. He spun a large dial right, left, right and then pulled a large latch. Mr. Vanderdraak threw his weight against the handle and slid the door open.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Mr. Vanderdraak said. “The Phoebus.”

  The whole car gleamed. Steve had seen cars like this in old movies—it looked like it should have tommy guns poking out its windows, or a fur-clad heiress behind the wheel. Instead the car looked too big for the small room, like a burly detective bound and stuffed in some hideout’s tiny cellar. The Phoebus was low and long, and all of it sparkled. The body was black and chrome, and the tires were white; if it weren’t for the tiny red circles at each wheel’s hub, it could have been a black-and-white picture of an old car. The front and back seats were covered with white cotton sheets—“to protect the interior during the trip,” Mr. Vanderdraak explained. He pulled back a corner of one sheet carefully, like he was unwrapping a Christmas present, to show off the tan leather upholstery. Mounted on the hood was a chrome angel, wings blown back, holding out a car tire in her slender outstretched arms. It would have seemed like a stupid thing for an angel to carry if it didn’t look so pretty.

  Steve was simultaneously compelled to touch the Phoebus and terrified of touching the Phoebus. He took half a step toward it.

  A man rolled out from underneath the car. Steve leapt back.

  “Hello, everyone,” the man said, chuckling.

  “This is Chuy,” Mr. Vanderdraak said. Chuy waved. “He’s the best mechanic there is—at least the best I’ve ever known.”

  Chuy was tall, or long, since right now he was on the ground. He had a goatee and friendly eyes, and his face was smeared with grease. “She’s looking good, jefe.”

  “Fantastic.”

  Chuy stood up and wiped his hands on his denim jumpsuit. “I’m going to grab some food from the kitchen,” he said.

  “Of course,” said Mr. Vanderdraak. “Well, what do you boys think?”

  “The Phoebus won’t be stolen as long as I’m here,” Steve said.

  “Or my uncle,” Claire added.

  “Well, I’m not sure how you want to proceed, Steve,” said Mr. Vanderdraak.

  “Well,” said Steve. “I guess I just wait around for someone to steal the car.”

  “Indeed,” said Mr. Vanderdraak. “Well, in the meantime, feel free to enjoy the observation room, help yourself to some more pie—”

  “What about the sauna?” Steve asked.

  “What about it?” said Mr. Vanderdraak. “Can we use it?”

  Mr. Vanderdraak looked surprised. “Yes. All right. Why not?”

  “Dibs!” Steve raised a finger into the air.

  Dana and Claire looked at each other.

  “Fantastic,” Vanderdraak said. “You’ll find towels and robes in the dressing room.” He moved around to the back of the car and wiped a speck of dust off a taillight.

  “He never let me use the sauna either,” Claire said.

  “That’s probably because you never asked,” Steve said. Man, she could be frustrating.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  LUXURY … AND DANGER!

  STEVE, CLAD IN A SOFT WHITE ROBE with a red dragon stitched on its pocket, admired himself in the mirror. He was standing in front of a row of stainless-steel sinks. In his periphery a blur of blue and green and tan flashed in the window. This was how to travel on a train.

  Towels, neatly folded like little sailboats, lined the sinks’ backsplash. Amber bottles of lotions, salves, and aftershave stood on the counter. In a basket were paper packets labeled SHOWER CAP. Steve had never worn a shower cap before, but suddenly wearing one seemed very important. He took one out and placed it on his head. Yes. This was luxury.

  The door to the sauna stood open. He pressed the ON button on the wall, walked into the steam room, and pulled the door closed.

  The sauna was a small room covered in light blue tile. There were no windows; yellow light came from a circular lamp on the ceiling. It was quiet in there. The only sounds were the slapping of Steve’s bare feet on the floor and an occasional drip. It smelled a little musty, and a little like chlorine.

  There was a high ledge against the wall. Steve took a seat and waited.

  A thermometer on the wall read 70 degrees.

  Then all at once came the sound of steam rushing through pipes. Vapor came gurgling from a vent in the floor and swirled upward. Steve sighed. He relaxed as hot fog gradually filled the room.

  Steve wished Claire could see him now, in his nice robe and shower cap, just relaxing and looking cool while steaming it up in a high-end sauna. He tried out various cool-looking poses—elbows on knees, one arm resting on the ledge beside him, head against the wall like a thoughtful man at peace. This was the life.

  Then it started getting really hot.

  The thermometer read 85 degrees, but it was hotter than any 85-degree day Steve had ever experienced. Must be the humidity. Steve’s knees were sticky and wet. The air felt thick in his throat and lungs. Steve coughed. Did people actually enjoy this? It wasn’t pleasant, exactly. It was kind of like being inside a dog’s mouth.

  Maybe he was missing something. He would give it a few minutes, see if it got better.

  Pipes rumbled. Steam kept swirling up from the floor. Steve couldn’t see the thermometer anymore. The robe felt damp and heavy and oppressive. Steve was being oppressed by his robe! He was getting loopy. Steve removed his robe. He felt better for fifteen seconds, and then he was hot again. His whole body was soaked. Was it sweat or condensation? Steve was not a big sweater. He prided himself on that. But now his back was slippery and slid against the tiles. Drips from the ceiling fell onto Steve’s lap. He felt exhausted. How could sitting around be such hard work?

  He hated to admit it, but it had to be said: Steve Brixton was not a sauna guy. He stood, and when he did, he felt hotter. He needed to get out of here: take a cool shower, maybe relax in his robe a little bit. He stepped over to the door, turned the handle, and pushed.

  The door was locked from the outside!

  CHAPTER XXXII

  TRAPPED!

  STEVE PUSHED AGAIN.

  The door wouldn’t budge.

  He stepped back, still holding the handle, and threw himself against the door.

  It didn’t budge.

  His mind, dulled by the heat, began to race.

  He went to the thermometer and wiped water droplets off the glass. It was now 102 degrees. The heat was unbearable. He shook his head.

  What could he do? He needed to get out. He felt along the wall for some sort of opening. The tiles were warm, and they were all Steve could feel. Right. That was the point. The room was sealed except for the vent in the floor: Steam came in, and nothing came out.

  Steve felt like a potted lobster.

  Maybe he could turn the sauna off from inside.

 
He couldn’t.

  Why would they put the controls on the outside of the steam room?

  The thermometer climbed to 103.

  Steve was trapped. He felt faint. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could last.

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  DEADLY HEAT

  THE BAILEY BROTHERS’ DETECTIVE HANDBOOK has no advice on what to do if you’re trapped in a sauna, but it does have a bit to say about locked rooms:

  Rats! Even careful crime solvers like Shawn and Kevin Bailey sometimes get caught by baddies. But locks can’t keep these two sleuths off the case for long! After they’ve escaped from their binds using the Old Flex-Your-Muscles-While-You’re-Getting-Tied-Up Trick (p. 56), they drape the ropes around themselves like they’re still all tied up! Then they wait for their no-good captors to come in with a meal or snack. As soon as those crooks unlock the door, they bum-rush the bums and kayo their way to freedom!

  Steve doubted the person who had locked him in this sauna would be coming by with a snack. Someone wanted him dead. Maybe the baddie would come to make sure the job was done, but Steve couldn’t wait that long.

  He banged on the door. It was solid cedar, and the knocks were muffled. He shouted until he was too lightheaded to continue. It was useless. Everyone was in the observation room, listening to Mrs. Vanderdraak play the cello. How could they hear him, through the dressing room, through the kitchen and dining compartment, over the noise of the train and the music?

  Steve’s skin was starting to sting. His head throbbed. It expanded until it felt like it would fill the room, and then contracted quickly. His scalp tingled, and his ears burned. The heat was worst at his head, and he needed his head to think.

  Even more steam hissed from the floor and filled the sauna. Steve hated that vent. He watched the steam rise.

  Wait. That was something: Heat rises. That was like fourth-grade science. It was why his room on the second floor was so unbearable in the summer. (It really didn’t seem fair that Steve had the hottest room in the house, but his mom always said that his heat problem didn’t seem like an emergency. Which, okay—given current circumstances, she was totally right.)

  Steve dropped to the floor, curling his body and positioning himself as far from the hissing vent as he could. It was cooler down here. Much cooler. But not cool. Still uncomfortably hot, actually—but livable. The vent let out another blast of vapor. Steve’s back smarted. He pulled the robe off the ledge and covered himself with it. That was better. How long would it be until someone came to check on him? Ten minutes? Twenty? He could make it that long down here. But what if it was the assassin who opened the door, the one who had trapped him in here? Steve lay on the tile floor of the sauna and hoped that when the door opened, he would still have the strength to mount a credible bum-rush, or at least to run out screaming for help.

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  OUT OF THE FRYING PAN …

  STEVE DIDN’T HAVE TO WAIT LONG. Maybe three minutes passed before he heard the door to the sauna open. A rush of cool air filled the room.

  Steve tensed; he arched his back, ready to pounce. He wondered if there was some way he could get the robe on himself and pounce in the same move. Otherwise this could be a very embarrassing fistfight.

  But he didn’t need to. Mrs. Vanderdraak called out, “Steve? Steve! Are you all right?”

  Steve lifted a flap of terrycloth near his eyes and peeked out at a pair of red shoes. “I’m okay,” he said.

  Mrs. Vanderdraak bent down. “Steve, what’s going on?”

  “Someone just tried to murder me is what’s going on.”

  Alice Vanderdraak’s eyes grew big. “Murder you? What do you mean?”

  “I mean someone tried to take me out by locking me in the steam room.”

  “But Steve,” said Mrs. Vanderdraak, “the sauna door doesn’t lock.” Steve looked at the door. It was true. There was no lock.

  Mrs. Vanderdraak stood, hurried over to the sink, and filled a glass with cold water.

  “Here, you need to drink something,” she said, handing it down to Steve, who’d wrapped himself in the robe while she’d had her back turned. He sat on the floor and gulped it down.

  “We need to get you to the hospital,” said Mrs. Vanderdraak, placing a cool hand against Steve’s forehead, like his mom did when he had a fever.

  “I’m fine,” Steve said. He was barely paying attention. His mind was busy unraveling what had just happened.

  “Are you burned?” asked Mrs. Vanderdraak.

  “No,” Steve said.

  “You were gone for a while. I came in to check on you, and the temperature was set to one hundred and seven degrees. You’re lucky you weren’t scalded.”

  Steve stood. “Someone must have been holding the door shut.”

  “What? Who would—Steve, the room was empty when I came in here. Steve, sit down. The heat—”

  “And nothing was blocking the door?”

  “No. It did stick a bit.” She looked annoyed. “It’s old. Like everything on this thing. Look, Steve, sit down. We should really take you back to your—Rick.” Just then Claire and Dana peeked their heads in through the dressing-room door. Did Claire know that Dana had a girlfriend? It seemed important that she know that. Steve cinched his robe and stood up.

  “Careful, Steve,” Mrs. Vanderdraak said. But he felt stable.

  “What’s wrong?” Dana asked.

  “Someone just tried to assassinate me,” Steve said. Dana and Claire looked surprised.

  “He got stuck in the sauna,” Mrs. Vanderdraak said.

  “That’s one theory,” Steve said, striding around the dressing room. He ran cold water in a sink and splashed it on his face.

  “Why would someone want to assassinate you?” Claire asked.

  “To get me out of the way.”

  He turned off the tap.

  “Dana,” Steve said, talking fast now. “Did you just come from the observation room?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “And you were in there with Claire and the Vanderdraaks?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone come through there, did you? No goons or anything?”

  “No,” Dana said, looking grave.

  “Then that means the assassin who did this has got to be in the rear of the car.”

  “With the Phoebus,” Dana said.

  “Stealing it,” Steve said. “Right now.”

  “Wait. Steve!” said Mrs. Vanderdraak. But Steve was running from the vault, and Dana and Claire were right behind him.

  CHAPTER XXXV

  A SINISTER FIGURE

  ANY REMNANTS OF STEVE’S HEADACHE had vanished by the time he reached the vault door. It was ajar, but only slightly. The three kids were crowded into the corridor.

  “We might have to kayo some guys in here,” Steve said, remembering the goon in the mug shot from the police. That guy looked pretty tough.

  “We’re not really good at that,” Dana said.

  Steve said nothing.

  “What do you mean, ‘kayo’?” Claire asked.

  “Kayo. Knock out,” Steve said.

  “Oh,” said Claire. “That’s sort of dumb.”

  He was beginning to wish she weren’t along. He pushed against the vault door. It opened slowly. Dana helped. It opened faster. Steve stopped and let Dana do the work. He stood in the entryway clenching his fists.

  The Phoebus was still in the vault. That was the good news. But the bad news was that a goon was in there too.

  The goon was standing on the other side of the Phoebus, by the driver-side door. Steve could tell he was a goon right away because he was wearing a stocking over his face. That was pretty much standard-issue goon wear. He looked up as the door opened. Steve couldn’t see the crook’s face—that was the whole point of the stocking—but Steve imagined his expression was a mixture of surprise and menace.

  “Stop it right there!” Steve said, but at that point the thief had already frozen. W
ithout thinking, Steve charged the man. Well, sort of charged. More like carefully skirted around the car toward the man.

  The masked man backed up and crouched down low.

  “Guard the door,” Steve said to Dana and Claire. “Don’t let him out.”

  Steve was at the front of the Packard, near the hood ornament. His heart was beating fast. He had no idea what he was going to do next.

  The man looked desperately around the compartment. He fixed on a pile of Chuy’s tools in the back corner of the room. In one swift motion he reached back and stood up with a small lead pipe in his left hand.

  “Look out!” said Claire. “He’s got a lead pipe!”

  “I know!” Steve said.

  The villain threatened Steve with the pipe.

  Steve stopped where he was.

  Then he took a couple steps back toward Claire and Dana.

  The thief watched Steve retreat, his gloved fist still wrapped around the pipe.

  “What do we do now?” Dana asked.

  “Well, he’s trapped, right?” said Steve.

  “I’ll go get my uncle,” Claire said.

  “No!” said Steve. “Stay here. It’s three on one right now. I’m not sure Dana and I could take him if he made a break for it.”

  The masked man seemed to consider whether or not to force his way through the vault’s door. Then he turned toward the back wall and fiddled with a dial Steve hadn’t noticed before. Most of the back wall of the compartment swung up and open like a garage door.

  A goon!

  “Two secret panels!” Steve said, looking at Dana.

  Dana frowned at Steve. “That doesn’t really count as a secret panel. It must be how they get the car in and out.”

  The goon looked back at the kids one last time. Behind him train tracks rapidly receded. The man’s tank top rippled in the wind. He turned again, took two steps, and jumped.

  CHAPTER XXXVI