Everyone on This Train Is a Suspect

I considered the crumpled front of the Land Cruiser, nose to tail with a speeding train, the wind whipping past as I hunched on the bonnet. The Ghan sheltered me from much of the wind’s noise, so I could just hear Andy over the chaos. “It’s not a great time,” I said. “If I’m honest.”

“I’ll be quick. It’s about Margaret.”

A car horn beeped, and I saw Lisa’s exasperated and incredulous expression, two hands thrown up in the universal gesture for What the hell?

“Who’s Margaret?”

“The robbery I’m working.”

“I thought you said her name was Poppy.”

“No. I said she sold poppies.”

“You didn’t. I told you that specifics are important here, Andy.”

Lisa beeped again, long and slow. I held up a finger. Her mouth formed a word that’s not fit for print. Turns out Andy’s actually quite important. I told you that’s a thing in these kinds of books: two disparate cases coming together.

“Jesus, Andy. You and I are working the same case.”

“Huh? You’ve got a case?”

“Couple of murders.”

Andy tsked in annoyance. “You’ve always got to have one better, don’t you?”

I ignored that. “Your robbery. You think it’s a junkie, right?”

“Yeah! That’s what I wanted to tell you. Break-ins are like a thing in the flower industry. Because some of the plants, you know, they have opium in them. Which is basically heroin. You can boil it out.”

“Poppies,” I said.

“No, her name’s not Poppy. I told you, it’s Margaret.”

“Poppies have opium in them, Andy.”

“Yes, that’s what I was saying. It’s this place’s specialty—” He dropped out, then came back on. “Weird, huh? What’s this got to do with your murders?”

“I think your thief is my killer.”

“Bit of a leap?”

I looked at the smoking deck, where I’d have to jump. “Tell me about it.”

“No way.” Andy’s enthusiasm accelerated from slow dawn to shouting. “Did I solve it for you? Did I?”

He hadn’t. I already had most of it worked out after my chat with Lisa, but I was in a generous mood. Maybe it was the adrenaline. And he had given me a great clue last night. So I said, “Yeah, Andy. You solved it.”

“Yes! That’s going on the websi—” He cut out.

Lisa beeped again, this time two sharp bursts—bip-bip—and I turned my attention back to the train in front. The noise of the wind was even less now. Lisa honked again, I assumed to hurry me up. The gap between the bonnet and the railing wobbled but stayed small. This was my chance.

I stood up, strode across the hood and jumped.

I overcooked it.

I had expected my jump to take a half second longer given the speed, but I crashed into the railing immediately. Stunned, I slid a little before I found purchase on the fencing, clutching it tightly while I caught my breath. The wind buffeted me less here; it was quieter. I actually laughed. A spasmodic response to surviving. Who’d have thought, when I started this journey, that I’d be hanging off the back of a speeding train? Now all I had to do was pull myself over the railing.

I didn’t dare look down, as I didn’t think I could stomach seeing the ground blur past, but I shot a look back at the Land Cruiser, expecting it to have peeled off in a cloud of dust, Lisa and the manuscript for Life, Death and Whiskey free.

The Land Cruiser was still behind the train. But that wasn’t the most surprising part. The most surprising thing was that Lisa was no longer in the driver’s seat. Neither was she clambering over the bonnet. She was standing beside the car, in the dirt.

Wait. Standing?

I looked down. The ground was there all right, but it wasn’t moving.

So much for clinging to a high-speed train. No wonder my jump had slammed me into the railing, that the wind had lessened. Lisa’s beeps had been telling me not to jump, that the train was coming to a stop. I must have made the jump when we were at walking pace. Now here I was, clinging on for dear life, and the Ghan was completely stationary.

Sheepishly, I clambered over onto the smoking deck. Lisa grabbed a satchel from the backseat and followed.

The back door opened, and Aaron stepped out. “What the hell are you two doing out here?” he asked.

To both my surprise and his, I hugged him. “Thank you. Thank you. You stopped for us.”

“What is that on the tracks?” He looked at the Land Cruiser, aghast. “What were you doing?”

“We were trying to get back on.”

“Back on?”

“That’s not why you stopped?” Lisa said. “You didn’t see Ernest go all Tom Cruise?”

“What in blazes are you talking about? I didn’t stop for you.” He took a second to properly absorb my appearance: bug-splattered cheeks; dirt-caked chin; wind-whipped hair. He took in the Land Cruiser again and his jaw dropped as if on a hinge.

“You had to stop?” I hoped someone else hadn’t died. “Why?”

“Cows on the tracks.” He shook his head in disbelief. “It’s not a bloody action movie.”

Chapter 31.5

I’m about to solve it.

Well, I’ve already solved it. I’m about to explain it to everyone. Like Royce tried to. Except I’ll get it right.