That’s when he saw it. He couldn’t believe his luck. It was just sitting there in the aisle. A silver briefcase. It was next to a table full of people. Serge stayed cool, pocketing his camera. He scrunched down as he walked and dipped his left shoulder so his hand was at the same level as the briefcase handle. He snagged it without breaking stride and kept going, keeping the briefcase an inch off the floor as he moved away. When he was out of view, Serge brought the case to his hip and walked swiftly back to his sleeping compartment. He closed the door fast behind him, twisting the lock and pulling down the shades. He set the briefcase on the floor and tried the latches. He expected them to be locked, but they just flipped open. Serge broke into a broad smile. “We meet again!”
He raised the lid. His face changed.
“What the hell?”
He began removing plastic guns, plastic handcuffs, rubber knives, rubber candlestick holders, fake passports, packets of play money. He got to the bottom of the briefcase and removed a stack of stapled Xeroxes. He read the cover and riffled the pages.
“Scripts?”
“We better find Tanner,” said Spider. “We’re supposed to go on in a few minutes and we still don’t have our scripts.”
They noticed for the first time that a large group of people had gathered behind them, suspiciously quiet. The performers looked at them. The people stared back and smiled. Some had notebooks and pencils out. One wore a T-shirt: “Mystery lovers do it by the book.”
“This is creepy,” said Preston. “Let’s get out of here.”
They went up to the next sleeping compartment and looked back. The doors opened and the group came in, slightly larger now. The performers headed for the next sleeper car. The group followed, picking up new members along the way. The performers walked faster; the crowd stayed with them. Preston hit a button and the automatic doors opened to the next car.
They were practically running when they reached the dining car. They turned around. The door in the back of the compartment opened, and in they came.
“Who the hell
“What do they want from us?” said Andy.
Another voice: “There you are!”
They turned. It was their agent, Tanner Lebos, sitting at one of the tables with Ralph Krunkleton.
“Get over here!” Tanner bellowed, making an exaggerated waving gesture.
They approached the table. The crowd followed.
“I got your scripts right here…” Tanner’s hand felt around next to the table but only found air. “Hold a sec.”
Tanner stuck his head under the table, then came back up. “The scripts! They’re gone!”
“Maybe you left them back in the sleeping car?” said Ralph.
“No, I’m sure,” said Tanner. “I always know where that thing is — it’s my favorite briefcase.” Then Tanner started talking to himself, reenacting recent events. “Okay, I sat down, turned and put the briefcase right there, opened the newspaper…”
“There’s got to be a simple explanation,” said Ralph.
“No chance,” said Tanner. “Something bizarre has happened. This is a real puzzle.”
“Kind of like a mystery?” said Krunkleton.
Tanner glared. “Not now, Ralph.” He went back to recreating his morning. “Then I reached for the salt…”
An Amtrak porter walked through the sleeping compartment, knocking on doors. “Tickets. Check your tickets…”
He knocked on the number seven berth. “Tickets…”
“It’s unlocked.”
The porter opened the door and saw Serge sitting on the top bunk, legs dangling over the side, a conductor’s hat on his head and an electric control box in his hands. On the floor, a miniature train chugged around a small oval of track.
“I need to check your ticket.”
Serge pointed at the train. “It’s coming around.”
The porter bent over and plucked the ticket sticking out of the logging car as it went past his feet. He looked it over — “Thank you” — and stuck the ticket back in the logging car on its next pass. “Having a nice trip?”
Serge nodded without looking up from his controls. “Me ride big choo-choo.”
“That’s nice,” said the porter, closing Serge’s door.
Back in the dining car, tables began filling up. Waiters set ice-water glasses on the linen and flipped open order pads. “Poached salmon or prime rib?”
“What are we going to do without scripts?” asked Frankie. “Look — they’re already arriving.”
“I got it,” said Tanner. “You all have regular acts, right?”
They nodded.
“Do ’em,” he said. “That’ll hold us till tomorrow. We’ll find the scripts and write it all in as back story.”
Plates of fish and beef arrived. People buttered rolls. Preston and the others claimed the big rounded booth at the front of the car. When most of the people were finished eating, Tanner stood and tapped a glass of water with a spoon.
