Strangers on a Train (13 page)

“Smuggling ring?” I echoed. “Um, no. What smuggling ring?”

“Seriously? That's not why you're here?” Wendy looked suspicious. Then she shrugged. “Look, I'll show you.”

She grabbed the laptop and started typing. A moment later she shoved it over to me again.

Another search result was up on the screen. This time, all the links had to do with smuggling. Specifically, smuggling animal parts, like tusks, teeth, and bones of rare or endangered species.

“Wow,” I said. “Check this out, George.”

We skimmed a few of the articles, many of which talked about the latest international smuggling ring, which the authorities had so far been unable to bust. I felt a growing sense of excitement as I read. Was this the puzzle piece I'd been looking for?

“Well, here's a motive for us,” George said, clearly thinking the same thing. “What if someone's been smuggling rare Alaskan animal parts into Vancouver on cruise ships? It says right here that Vancouver's a big hub for that sort of thing.”

“Wait,” Wendy broke in. “You think whoever's doing this is someone from our ship? Crazy!”

“Maybe. And this would explain the weird, musty smell coming from that box last night.” I couldn't help shuddering at the thought that the box might have been full of animal bones and such. “The trouble is, how do we prove it? We don't know who that figure in the hoodie was. And we don't even have the box as evidence.”

Just then I noticed a security guard hurrying toward us. He was a different guy from the one last night.

“Nancy Drew?” he said. “Hi. Hank filled me in on your situation during shift change this morning. I just wanted to let you know that the local police are on the case. We'll keep you posted. In the meantime, just holler if you need anything. My name's John.” He pointed to his name tag.

“Thanks, John.” I stared at his name tag, and suddenly the final puzzle piece clicked into place in my head. A grin spread over my face. “Thank you very, very much!”

“What are you looking so happy about all of a sudden?” George asked as the guard hurried away.

“I think I know how to find out who I followed into the woods last night,” I said. “Maybe even how to solve the entire case—
if
it's not too late.”

“Really?” Wendy exclaimed. “How can I help?”

“Can you go online and find out someone's cell phone number?” I asked. “Even if it's a super-common name—like Fred Smith?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Final Surprise

“AMAZING, NANCY,” GEORGE SAID. “I CAN'T
believe you figured things out just from some security guy's name tag.”

We were sitting in the lobby of the lodge with Bess, Alan, and Wendy. The police were still there. They were dragging Scott toward the door, though he wasn't going easily. He was sputtering with anger and calling the cops every name in the book. It was getting close to time for the buses to leave for the park, and a lot of our fellow
Arctic Star
passengers were in the lobby, watching the show.

“Well,
I
can't believe Scott was our culprit all along,” Bess said. “I figured he was off the hook, since we knew he couldn't have planted that note in Nancy's bag.”

“I still don't understand exactly what happened,” Alan complained. “Anyone care to fill me in?”

“Scott was the hooded person I followed into the woods last night,” I told him. “He was going to meet his contact at that shed. He needed to confirm that the contact had brought the box of illegal stuff—and probably also needed to pay him for it, of course. Then Scott could smuggle the box onto the
Arctic Star
and pass it off to someone else when he got back to Vancouver.”

“So was Scott the one who shot at you?” George asked.

“I don't think so,” I replied. “That was the contact. It seems Scott had already left the shed area by the time I got there. See, he was planning to leave the box in the shed until we were all off touring Denali today. Then he'd have plenty of time to go get it and hide it somewhere.” I shrugged. “He was already back at the lodge—and had removed that hoodie—by the time he heard the shots. He was doubling back to see what was going on when I stumbled into him.”

“Then what happened to the box?” Alan wondered.

“Like I said, Scott's contact took those shots at me. I guess he heard me crashing around in the woods and hid to see what was going on.” I grimaced. “Once he scared me off, he must've moved the box to a different hiding place, which is why the security guard didn't see it. But the police found it when they searched Scott's room just now.”

“Wow.” Bess shook her head. “Wait—but you still haven't told us how you figured out it was Scott.”

“That's where Fred Smith came in.” I traded a smile with Wendy. “See, the security guard who came to update me this morning was named John. That reminded me that I've been hearing that name a lot lately.”

“So?” Alan looked confused. “John's a pretty common name.”

I smiled. “Right. That's why it took so long for me to put two and two together. John Sanchez is the name of the busboy who got fired—and framed, according to Fred Smith.” I shrugged. “John is also the name of one of the people I overheard arguing in the kitchen our first night on the ship.”

“I almost forgot about that,” George said. “I always figured that was just a red herring, since it seemed so random.”

“Yeah, I wasn't too sure myself,” I said. “But I realized that the John from that argument could've been John the busboy. And that maybe someone was threatening him because he'd stumbled on to something incriminating.”

Bess's eyes widened. “I get it!” she exclaimed. “Everyone says John the busboy is super honest, right? He found out about what Scott was doing, so Scott framed him to get him fired.”

“Not at first,” I said. “I guess Scott thought his threats were enough to keep John quiet for a while. But when Vince and Lacey got arrested and security was ­tightened—and especially after the jewelry store got robbed—he decided it was safer to just get him out of the picture.”

“So Scott was involved in the jewelry store thing, too?” Wendy asked.

“Uh-huh. The police already got him to fess us to that. He loaned his ship ID to one of his sleazy friends—probably one of the guys I saw him meeting with in Ketchikan. The guy was only supposed to pick up something from Scott's cabin, but on his way out I guess he decided the jewelry store looked like easy pickings.”

“Wow,” George said. “But wait. I still don't get how you knew Scott was behind all this.”

“I didn't,” I admitted. “Like I was saying, that's where Fred Smith came in. He was trying to help John the busboy, so I figured he was our best bet to get John to tell us who threatened him in the kitchen that day.”

“Scott?” Alan guessed.

I nodded. “Scott was the one who framed him. He also threatened his friends and family, so John was too scared to go to the police even after he got fired. But Fred talked him into telling him the truth.”

“Cool.” Wendy looked impressed. “So the case is closed.” She leaned over and poked me. “Don't forget, you promised I could break the news on my blog. Exclusive interview, right?”

I hesitated. I wasn't thrilled about having this story splashed all over Wendy's travel blog, especially after seeing all the information about me out there on the Internet already. Still, Wendy had provided a key clue in solving the case. Maybe I owed her that scoop.

“Um, sure,” I said uncertainly. “But can we do it later? It looks like the bus is here.” I pointed to the large bus pulling to a stop outside.

George jumped to her feet. “Come on, let's go get in line.”

We were waiting to board the bus when Tatjana found us. “I just finished talking with the police,” she told me. “I thought you'd like to know that Scott is agreeing to make a full confession about the smuggling business.” She pursed her lips and shook her head disapprovingly. “I still can't believe he's a criminal!”

“But he confessed to everything?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Almost everything. He realized he'd get off easier if he ratted out the rest of the smuggling ring. He also confessed to planting those drugs to get John Sanchez fired. And to giving that Troy ­Anderson fellow his security card to get him on the ship.” She smirked. “He was pretty angry that the guy robbed the jewelry store on his way out, since he blames that for getting him busted.”

“He didn't know that Nancy was on the case.” George clapped me on the back. “She always gets her man!”

“Hmm.” Tatjana didn't look too impressed by that. “Anyway, it seems he was also responsible for some funny business Becca was worried about before the cruise. Probably to distract her from his real mission.”

I nodded, thinking back over the various troubling little incidents Becca had told me about, checking those off my mental list. “What about the falling moose antler, and the glass on my seat?” I asked. “Oh, and the note in my suitcase—we know he couldn't have done that himself, but if he got someone else to do it . . .”

I trailed off. Tatjana was shaking her head. “I don't know anything about any of that. Scott claims he had no idea you were investigating him. He had no reason to try to hurt you.” She glanced at her watch. “Excuse me. I need to start getting things organized.”

She hurried off. “Never mind, Nancy,” Bess said. “I know you like to tie up all the loose ends, but those things are no big deal.”

“She's right,” George added. “We knew all along that the fallen moose could've been an accident.”

“On my seat? By the window?” That didn't seem super likely to me. “And what about the note in my suitcase?”

George glanced over at Tobias, who was waiting with his parents a few yards away. “Maybe that was a prank,” she said, nodding toward him. “You-know-who's cabin is right next to ours, and we all know he's a bit, uh, exuberant.”

There was no more time to discuss it as Tatjana, Hiro, and the bus driver starting herding us all onto the bus. I realized there were a few other loose ends we hadn't discussed—like my fall into the creek in Ketchikan, our canceled reservation, even the crazy ­laundry mix-up. I couldn't help wondering if there was yet another culprit still out there—maybe Max? But no, he probably couldn't have pushed me off that walkway, and he definitely couldn't have planted the glass. . . .

My phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. It was Becca texting me with a description of the jewelry thief. “Too bad I didn't think to ask that question earlier,” I murmured as I scanned the message.

“Huh?” George glanced over at me. She'd snagged the window seat yet again.

“I asked Becca to find out what the jewelry thief looks like,” I said, showing her the text. “She just heard back from the cops, who described him as an average-size white male in his mid-thirties with a large scar bisecting his face. Just like one of the guys I saw with Scott in Ketchikan.”

“Whoa. If we'd known that earlier . . . ,” George began.

I nodded, staring at the phone's little screen. “I know.”

Hiro was walking up the aisle, checking names off a list. He paused by our seats and grinned. “Better get all your calls and texts in now,” he said, gesturing toward my phone. “Won't be much cell coverage out in the park.”

“So I've heard.” I smiled back, then tucked my phone away. “But that's okay. I'm sure we'll have better things to do than chat on the phone.”

As the bus pulled away from the lodge, I did my best to shake off those last few doubts. Maybe my friends were right. We'd solved two separate cases already. What were a few minor loose ends, anyway?

It wasn't too hard to put the case out of my mind as we entered Denali National Park. Three smaller buses were lined up, waiting for us. They looked like school buses that had been painted green. Tatjana had already divided our group into three, and we all headed for our assigned buses. My friends and I ended up on the first to depart.

As we trundled off down the road, I glanced around at my fellow passengers. The ABCs and a few other acquaintances from the ship were onboard, along with Tatjana. However, Hiro, Wendy, Tobias and his family, and others were on the other two buses.

Within minutes, the visitor center had disappeared behind us, and we were surrounded by wilderness as far as the eye could see. A great greenish-yellow plain stretched out on either side of the road, and we almost immediately spotted a herd of caribou grazing in the distance. Farther off were gorgeous snowcapped mountains, including Mount McKinley, which our guide, a chipper young woman, told us most Alaskans referred to by its original native name, Denali. She also told us that the park covered around six million acres, and that the road we were on was the only one in the entire place.

We were kept busy for the next couple of hours admiring the scenery and spotting wildlife. The bus stopped a few times so we could get out and take ­pictures—of Dall sheep high up on a cliff, a family of grizzly bears in the valley below the road, and a particularly scenic overpass.

The bus had paused to let a moose cross the road when my phone rang. George was taking pictures through the front windscreen, but she looked over at me in surprise. “Hey, you still have a signal! Who is it?” she asked.

“Don't know.” I checked the readout. “Oh, it's Ned! Wonder why he's calling instead of texting?”

Bess smiled. “Duh. He probably misses hearing your voice.”

I stuck out my tongue at her as I picked up the call. “Ned!” I exclaimed. “I miss you. How are you? What time is it there?”

“Nancy?” His voice sounded fuzzy and very far away. Glancing at the readout, I saw that I barely had one bar's worth of reception.

“Ned? I can hardly hear you. I'm in the middle of Denali National Park, and—”

“Nancy, listen,” he cut me off. “I checked into this Alan guy like you asked, and I—”

BZZZ.
The line went dead.

“Ned?” I said.

“Dropped?” George asked.

“Yeah. No surprise, I guess.” I shrugged, not wanting to mention what he'd said, since Alan and Bess were in the seat right behind us. “Guess I'll call him back when we get back to the lodge.”

I couldn't help wondering what Ned had found out about Alan. Was it good news or bad news?

George was still taking pictures of the moose, which seemed to be taking its time ambling across the road. “Good thing Tobias isn't on our bus,” she said. “He'd probably want to get out and say hello.”

“Be nice,” Bess said, leaning forward from her seat. “That kid knows a lot about animals. He probably knows moose can be dangerous.”

I glanced back to see if the other buses had caught up to ours yet. But there was no sign of them. “Looks like Mr. Moose is moving on,” I said. “He might be gone before Tobias's bus gets here.”

The tour continued. Our guide used the moose's appearance to warn us once more about keeping a safe distance from the animals, especially the larger and more dangerous ones. Alan raised his hand.

“My girlfriend claims moose are more dangerous than grizzly bears,” he said with a grin. “True or false?”

“Depends how you look at it,” the guide responded. “It's true that people have been hurt and killed by both species. Moose aren't normally as aggressive as bears, though females with young can be quite protective. But due to their numbers and large size . . .”