Strangers on a Train (5 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Unpleasant Surprises

MY HEART POUNDED AS I CREPT CLOSER
to the
stuffed bear. Fred appeared to be doing most of the talking. But he was keeping his
voice too low for me to hear what he was saying.

“Nancy! Hey, Nancy! Over here!” a voice yelled loudly, cutting
through the din of the souvenir shop.

I glanced back over my shoulder, wincing. It was Wendy the blogger. She
was rushing toward me, clutching her laptop under one arm as she used the other to wave
vigorously at me.

Biting back a groan of dismay, I quickly turned toward Fred and the
busboy. But they were gone.

By then Wendy had reached me. “Hey, girl,” she said
breathlessly. “What's up? Shopping for some new shades?” She
grinned.

“Huh?” Glancing down at the nearest table, I realized it was
filled with garish novelty sunglasses. “No, just looking around.” I sneaked
another glance around the store, but Fred was nowhere in sight. Had he skedaddled when
he'd heard Wendy's bellowing and realized I was watching him? If so, what
did that mean? Did he know I was investigating, or was he just trying not to let anyone
see him talking to the fired busboy?

“Cool.” Wendy grabbed a pair of moose-print socks off another
table. “Wow, some of this stuff is tacky.”

I wasn't sure she had much room to talk, given her usual crazy
thrift-shop style. But I was less concerned with her fashion choices than with her
position on my suspect list. Deciding to try to salvage the situation with a little
subtle interrogation, I gave her a friendly smile.

“So what are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought
everyone was still down the street learning to be gold panners.”

“Oh.” Wendy tossed the socks back on the table. “Nah, I
did a gold-panning thing like that in ­California once and it was kind of lame, so
I decided to save my pennies this time.”

“Oh?” Was it my imagination, or had she briefly grimaced when
she'd said the part about saving her pennies?

“Yeah. Figured I'd skip it and see if I could find something a
little more interesting to share with my readers.”

“So have you found anything yet?” I asked.

She grinned, waggling a finger in my face. “­Nuh-uh, not
telling!” she singsonged. “You'll just have to check out my blog to
find out.”

“Guess I'll have to do that,” I said politely.

“Really?” she said eagerly. “Cool! Tell all your friends
to go there too, okay? Because so far, this trip isn't exactly driving zillions of
hits to the blog. I knew I should've done the Elvis pilgrimage to Graceland this
time instead.”

Interesting. So her blog, Wendy's Wanderings, wasn't exactly
setting the Internet on fire these days. Was that suspicious? I wasn't sure,
though I supposed it did make Wendy's theoretical motive even stronger.

Before I could come up with any more questions, Wendy's eyes lit up.
“Whoa, check that out!” she exclaimed, racing toward a nearby table full of
earrings. I didn't understand why she was so excited until I read the sign, which
explained that the earrings were made of moose droppings. Wendy pulled a camera out of
her pocket and snapped a few photos. “That's so going on the blog,”
she murmured gleefully.

As she started digging through the earrings, I decided to take the
opportunity to exit stage right. “See you later,” I said, hurrying off
before she could answer.

Once I was back out on the street, I texted Becca to see if she was
available to meet with me. She texted back almost immediately, saying she was free for a
few minutes if I could meet her back on the ship.

Soon I was hurrying into a snack bar on one of the
Arctic Star
's middle decks. Becca was sitting at a table with her
laptop open in front of her. She glanced up when I came in and waved me over. A handsome
young man was bustling around behind the counter, but otherwise the place was a ghost
town. Actually, the whole ship was all but deserted. Other than the employees
who'd swiped my ID and checked me in, the only person I'd seen since
boarding was a maid vacuuming one of the hallways.

“Hi,” I said, sitting down across from Becca. “You know,
this ship is kind of creepy when it's empty.” My words echoed in the almost
deserted snack bar.

“I know what you mean. The ship feels different without passengers.
Kind of peaceful, and yes, maybe a little creepy.” Becca snapped her laptop
shut.

Meanwhile, the young bartender had just come around from behind the
counter. He was carrying a pair of tall, frosty glasses of iced tea.

“There you go, ladies,” he said, setting the drinks down in
front of us. “Anything else?”

“Thanks, Omar.” Becca smiled at him. “And yes, actually,
could you do me a favor? Marcelo's up in his office, and I know he'd love a
cup of coffee. Would you mind bringing him one?”

“Sure thing.”

As the young man hurried out, coffee cup in hand, Becca winked at me.
“Okay, now we can talk freely. At least until he gets back.”

I grinned. “Nicely done. I didn't realize you had such a
talent for misdirection and deception. Have you ever considered leaving the cruise
industry and going into undercover work?”

Becca chuckled, but soon her face went serious again. “So what did
you want to talk about, Nancy? Are we any closer to figuring out who helped that robber
get onboard?”

“I don't know.” I took a sip of my iced tea. “But
I have a question for you. What do you know about the busboy who got fired this
morning?”

“John Sanchez?” Becca nodded. “How did you know about
that?”

I explained about the scene I'd witnessed on the dock. “So now
I'm wondering if there's a connection,” I finished.

Becca shook her head. “That wasn't very professional,”
she said with a sigh. “Chuck must have been too upset to wait until they were back
onboard. I know he thinks of his entire staff as family.”

“Chuck?” I echoed.

“Sanchez's boss,” Becca explained. “He got an
anonymous tip this morning advising him to check the guy's locker. When he did, he
found the drugs hidden under a spare apron.”

“An anonymous tip?”

“Yeah, apparently someone e-mailed him from one of the public
computers in the ship's Internet café,” Becca said. “The message
wasn't signed. Why? Do you think any of this is connected with the
case?”

“I'm not sure yet.” I tucked the info away to think
about later. I knew we might not have much time before the bartender came back, and I
wanted to ask her all my questions. “I also wanted to talk to you about Scott
again. You know—the shore excursions guy. You said he's got a good rep in
the industry, but how well do you really know him?”

Becca shrugged. “Not that well. I never met him before he got hired
here. All I know is he used to work for Happy Seas Cruises, and his old boss put in a
good word for him with Captain Peterson. Why? Has Scott done something suspicious? You
asked about him before, right?”

“Maybe. I don't know. Sort of.” The more time passed
after the incident on the train, the more I doubted my own reaction. Was I grasping at
straws by treating Scott as a viable suspect?

“Okay.” Becca checked her watch, then glanced toward the door.
“But listen, Omar will be back any second, and I want to talk to you about
something.”

“What is it?” I asked, a little distracted by my own
thoughts.

“It's Tatjana. She's been acting, well, kind of strange
lately.”

Instantly I snapped back to attention. Even though Tatjana had been on the
original suspect list, I hadn't been thinking much about her lately, mostly
because my suspicions of her were based on the way she seemed to keep turning up
whenever I was discussing the case with Becca. Which really wasn't all that
suspicious, given that Becca was her boss.

“What do mean, acting strange?” I asked.

Becca twirled her straw in her iced tea, her expression troubled.
“It's probably nothing. It's just that she hasn't been answering
calls or texts right away lately. And a couple of times I haven't been able to
find her where she was supposed to be—it's like she just disappears now and
then. It's not quite enough to put my finger on,
but . . .”

“Okay. I'll look into it,” I said. “As a matter of
fact, Tatjana is—”

I cut myself off as I heard rushing footsteps. Glancing at the door, I
expected to see Omar returning. Instead I saw that Hiro had just burst in, red-faced and
breathless.

“Hi,” he said, looking startled to see us there. “That
is, um . . .”

“What are you doing here?” Becca blurted out.

I was surprised to see him too. “I thought you were herding kids at
the gold-panning place,” I said with a smile.

“That wrapped up a few minutes ago.” Hiro returned my smile,
though it looked a bit forced. “The passengers are on their own for the rest of
the afternoon. Even the little kids.”

Becca stood up. “Excuse me,” she said, looking strangely
uncomfortable. “I just remembered I'm supposed to take care of something
before the passengers get back. I'd better go. Talk to you later,
Nancy.”

“Wait,” I said. “I—”

It was too late. She was gone. And Becca had never answered my text about
Hiro.

I glanced at Hiro, who was shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking
as agitated as one of the hyper little kids he was paid to entertain. Maybe this was
another opportunity for some impromptu interrogation.

“Were you looking for Omar or something?” I asked. “He
should be right back, if you want to sit down and wait.”

“Oh!” Hiro glanced at me with that same forced smile.
“That's okay. I was just looking for, um, someone else. Thanks,
though.”

With that, he darted out the door. I shrugged. Oh well, so much for that.
But what was up with Becca? Her behavior reminded me that this wasn't the first
time she'd reacted oddly to seeing Hiro. What was that all about?

My phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. It was George calling.

“Where are you? Never mind, don't tell me—just get over
to the ice cream parlor near the gold-panning place pronto,” she hissed.
“Alan's driving us crazy asking where you are, and we're running out
of excuses. Bess can only distract him for so long by fluttering her eyelashes and
laughing at his lame jokes.”

I sighed, all thoughts of snooping around the nearly empty ship fleeing my
mind. “Be right there,” I promised.

“Do we really have to change for dinner?” George complained
as we walked down the carpeted hallway toward our suite a few hours later.
“I'm starved. And if we don't get there soon, Babs will snarf all the
rolls.”

“Yes, we do,” Bess told her. “We've been walking
around all day in summer weather, and we all could use a shower and some fresh
clothes.” She wrinkled her nose. “Plus I think you spilled half the gold
dust you panned down your shirt.”

“Really?” George plucked at her T-shirt, trying to get a look
at it.

I, for one, was looking forward to showering and changing. After I'd
rejoined my friends at the ice cream parlor, we'd spent an hour or so wandering
around seeing the sights. Then we'd returned to the ship, where Alan had insisted
on finding a spot on one of the upper decks so we could watch the ship pull away from
­Skagway. By now we were all sunburned and hungry.

Bess reached for the door, but it opened before she could touch the knob.
Our butler, Max, stood in the doorway, grinning at us. He was short and wiry, with thick
blond hair, dancing blue eyes, and seemingly boundless energy. Upon first meeting him,
he'd reminded me of a golden retriever in human form, and my impression
hadn't changed since.