No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7

by Barton, Sara M.

  “Have many people been robbed on the auto train?”

  “Miss, I’ve been working this route for almost ten years. The only episode I can remember was the time the lady with Parkinson’s supposedly opened the window and fell out. And if you ask me, that wasn’t what happened. I still think it wasn’t an accident. Was it murder or suicide? I don’t know, but people just don’t fall out of a train window.” He looked at me sincerely, no doubt thinking that the story was reassuring. If anything, he had just guaranteed I would spend a sleepless night. The only thing missing from this trip was an exotic locale and a domesticated version of Hercule Poirot. Welcome to “Murder on the Amtrak Express”.

  The dining car was filled with people chattering and silverware clanging against china. Robert signaled the wait staff.

  “Miss Dunham has just had a very upsetting experience. She was robbed when the lights went out. Make sure she’s looked after and call me when she’s ready to go back to her seat,” he told a kindly older woman in uniform.

  “Oh, honey,” her silken voice drawled. She noticed the bandaged scratch on my forehead. “How terrible for you! Come with me and I’ll find you a nice seat with a good group. My name is Bonnie, by the way.”

  She led me to a table near the middle of the dining car and sat me down next to an elderly man and a young couple. Once they heard about the incident, they offered their sympathies. I found myself appreciating their comforting words and advice.

  “I don’t think you should be alone tonight,” said Meredith, a third-grade schoolteacher. “They should have someone stay with you and make sure you’re okay. After all, you shouldn’t have to worry about your safety on a train.”

  “You’re missing the bigger picture,” her husband, Scott, a young accountant, told her. “What if Kelsey isn’t going to be the only victim? What if there’s someone on the train planning to rob other passengers?”

  “We should keep watch,” Ernie decided. “That’s what we used to do in the service when we rode the train. You didn’t want to get rolled by one of the other guys while you were sleeping, so you took turns with your buddies.”

  “You got rolled on the train?” Meredith was appalled.

  “Sure. Guys will be guys,” Ernie responded. “We really can be an uncivilized bunch. What car are you in, Kelsey?”

  I told them, relieved to hear they were seated at the opposite end of my car. At least I wouldn’t be completely alone. The next hour passed pleasantly enough as we exchanged stories. By the time my ice cream arrived, my faith in my fellow human beings was returning.

  When Robert returned to collect me, he had a wide grin on his face. We watched him navigate the aisle to where we sat.

  “Miss Dunham, look what was just found!” In his arms was my purse. My tablemates cheered.

  “Oh,” I cried, relief flooding over me. “Thank you so much!”

  As I examined the contents, spreading everything across the table, I sent up a grateful prayer. It was all here — my wallet, still containing my money and credit cards, and my laptop, although I noticed the flashing light on the side. Someone had turned it on. Maybe he decided not to take it because I had added a security password. I checked my makeup case, even though I was pretty sure the thief hadn’t stolen my mascara or lip gloss. I was feeling pretty good until I realized there was something missing.

  “My keys!” The keys to my Arlington condo, my own 2006 Mazda, and even Uncle Jack’s spare keys for the blue Camry were gone. “Damn!”

  “Why would someone want your keys?” Bonnie asked, her voice full of concern. “It’s not like the guy can just walk through the train and get into your car while we’re en route.”

  “It does seem strange,” said Horace, another member of the dining car staff. “At least you know the guy can’t get off the train until Florence.”

  “And we can have the security people meet us there,” Robert added helpfully.

  “Why would anyone want to get into Uncle Jack’s car?” I wondered out loud.

  “Are you carrying anything valuable?” Meredith asked. I thought about that.

  “Just my suitcases, a couple of art prints, and a papier-mâché gecko.“

  “Gecko?” Horace’s face lit up. “Oh, I love those little critters.”

  “That little insurance guy is adorable,” Bonnie concurred. “I love his British accent.”

  “Did you leave the gecko in the back of the car?” Scott wanted to know. “Maybe someone saw it when you were getting ready to board.”

  “I only paid forty bucks for it,” I told the group. “It’s hardly worth stealing. And it’s packed in a carton in the trunk of my car, out of sight, with all my other stuff.”

  “Well, then,” Horace reasoned, “maybe this was just a random act of stupidity, a crime of opportunity.”

  “If robbery was the only motive, why not take the laptop? It’s easy enough to pawn something like that. It just doesn’t make a whole lot of sense,” Robert insisted.

  “Where was my pocketbook found?” Suddenly that seemed important.

  “In the stairwell. One of the other passengers found it and handed it to Doc.”

  “So no one saw anything.”

  “Nope.” Robert looked uncomfortable. I realized he was hoping the finding of my purse meant this could all be put behind me, but for me, it just brought more questions because I had no answers.

  “Well,” I responded with a bright smile, “at least I got my purse back. I have my wallet and my laptop. Thank heavens for that.”

  “Who knows,” Ernie added. “Maybe those keys will turn up, too.”

  We headed back to the passenger car en masse, my three companions and Robert. Once Meredith, Scott and Ernie were settled in their seats, Robert accompanied me to mine. The other passengers in my section were already starting to dose. The little old lady with the hot pink metal cane was softly snoring, her head resting on a pillow in a green-striped pillowcase and her legs enveloped in a colorful knitted afghan. The other elderly lady was reading.The man with the smoldering eyes was reclining in his seat, the black briefcase still in his lap. I couldn’t see those amber irises beneath the closed lids, but for some reason, I got the impression he was wide awake. Maybe it was that his hands seemed to tensely grip the handle of the case.

  “The call button is over here,” Robert told me in a hushed tone, pointing to the wall. “The porter and I will take turns checking on you throughout the night. Feel free to holler if you need help.”

  As he turned and headed out of the passenger car, I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. And then I remembered Meredith, Scott, and Ernie. I thought I could count on them to quickly come to my rescue quicker than the train employees.

  I tried to sleep, but I was too restless. I kept thinking about the hands that grabbed me as I came out of the restroom. I didn’t think it was an accident. I just didn’t know why he went after me. With my eyes closed, I went back over the events of the last six hours. There must be something I was missing, something I didn’t know, but what?

  About midnight, Ernie came to check on me. I heard a muffled noise and started, my eyes instantly open.

  “Just me, kid. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he whispered.

  “Thanks,” I nodded, grateful that he cared enough to keep an eye on me.

  “Any time.” As he turned to go, I spotted Meredith’s hand waving to me. Scott’s head was on her shoulder as he slept. “My relief. We’re taking two hour shifts. She’s up next.”

  I finally did nod off about twenty minutes later, my purse tucked under my seat. About three, I woke up briefly, looked around me, and closed my eyes again, falling back into dreams that were ethereal. In one, I was floating up by the ceiling of the train, looking down on my body as I sat in the seat. I could see a dark shadow in the corner, but I couldn’t tell if it was man or beast. I only knew it didn’t belong there.

  At quarter to seven, I bolted upright in my seat as something brushed against my leg. It was the
tote bag of my seatmate with the hot pink cane.

  “I’m sorry,” she told me. “My leg is dragging today. It’s hard to sleep in that seat.”

  Recovering from the sudden awakening, I shook myself with deliberate effort and mustered a smile.

  “I know what you mean,” I told her. “I’m a little stiff myself.”

  “You were having bad dreams last night, dear?” she asked me. “I don’t mean to pry, but you seemed frightened.”

  “Someone grabbed me last night when the lights went out. My purse was stolen.” Now, in daylight, the terror seemed to dissipate. In less than two hours, I would be back on the road, far away from last night’s attack. I would be headed to St. Michaels to save my job.

  “That’s terrible,” the elderly woman declared. “You poor thing! No wonder you had nightmares.”

  I waited my turn in line for the restroom, with my toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. Once inside, I splashed cold water on my face before brushing my teeth. I sat down on the toilet just in time to be jolted by an unusual trembling of the train as it unexpectedly lurched, brakes screaming.

  “What the….” I was beginning to feel cursed. It seemed like every time I used the restroom, something unusual happened. This time I hit the tiny sink with my knee as I nearly slid off the seat. “Damn!”

  I finished up as the train rolled slowly to a stop. As I leaned over the sink to wash my hands, there was a deafening explosion and the world seemed to shatter into a thousand fragments. I covered my head as the tiny window beside me disintegrated into an airborne shower of glass that tinkled merrily as it fell to the floor. My eyes stared at the gaping hole where the window was only seconds ago. I tentatively peeked out, afraid of what I would see. There were men with weapons, their faces obscured by black bacalavas, dressed in combat fatigues. I could hear screaming in the corridors.

  “Oh, dear God,” I heard myself say above the din. “Am I dreaming?”

  A head appeared in the place where the window used to be. All I could see of the man behind the mask was his tan skin and brown eyes. He glowered at me.

  “For God’s sake, duck down and stay the hell out of sight! And keep that door locked!” he commanded me. “Now!”

  I dropped to my knees on the glass-covered floor, quivering as I forced myself to lean up against the exterior wall. I could hear voices outside, shouting. A couple of shots added punctuation to the tension that filled the air. Were we being robbed? Was this a hold-up?

  I stayed there as the minutes ticked on, the sound of panicked voices outside in the corridor. There was shouting and crying, too, but it seemed to fade quickly. And then a hushed silence crept in like fog, blanketing the sound of the terrified passengers. I wondered if anyone had been killed in the mayhem. From far away came the shrill peal of sirens racing to the scene, and for a few moments, I could hear sporadic gunfire.

  Ten minutes later, a tiny coiled cord was threaded through the gaping hole where the window once was. I shivered as I watched it turn this way and that.

  “All clear!” shouted a voice. Seconds later, I heard a key in the lock of the restroom door and it popped open. A man all in black stood there, his weapon pointed at me.

  “Stand up, show me your hands!” As I started to rise, I lost my balance and fell back against the wall. Reaching out to block my fall, I leaned against the smooth metal wall. “Hands! Show me your hands!”

  “Don’t shoot me!” I cried. “Please!”

  Chapter Four —

  A second head appeared in the doorway.

  “Put your hands on top of your head and slowly come out here,” said a female voice. I felt hands steer me. “I’m going to pat you down, so just relax. Okay?”

  I nodded. My knees were cramped from my effort to camouflage myself in the restroom and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to remain upright much longer. I could feel my heart pound inside my chest as I stood with my fingers locked together on top of my head. Hands moved over every inch of my body. It felt like I had little mice crawling on me, and when those hands reached my crotch, I involuntarily twitched.

  “Relax,” a deep voice demanded. Easier said than done. I looked up and realized I was surrounded by what appeared to be an army of Ninjas, and they were all carrying very large weapons. “Kelsey Dunham?”

  I tried to say something, but my voice wasn’t working.

  “Are you Kelsey Dunham?” the figure in black asked me again. This time I nodded. “Come with me.”

  I was led down the corridor and through the next three passenger trains. Some people were chattering loudly, excitedly. A few were quietly sobbing. A handful of children were standing on their seats to catch a glimpse of the uniformed force. I felt myself propelled along by a fist in my back.

  “Just keep moving!” I had little choice but to obey. There were lots of people standing around the train. Some had vests that said “Homeland Security.” There were also uniformed Virginia state troopers and a couple of representatives from local police forces.

  “We’re exiting the train,” said another voice. “Be careful when you step down, okay?”

  A couple more ninjas stood on the ground and reached up for me. I found myself standing beside the tracks in the middle of nowhere, with a group of people dressed in black. All I could think of was that I was about to be carted off, never to be seen again. And this idea seemed to bear fruit when an all-terrain vehicle scooted through the brush and arrived in rush.

  “This her?” said the driver to one of his colleagues.

  “Yes,” said the female.

  “Hop on,” the driver demanded. I froze in my tracks. There was no way I was going to voluntarily get on the back of that thing. “Hurry up!”

  Hands shoved me, pulled me, pushed me into place as I struggled.

  “Hold on,” the driver told me as he took off in a spray of gravel. “Cover your face!”

  The next thing I knew, we were flying through the brush. I could feel the prickers slapping against my skin as we went. It was pure torture. For the next five minutes, I buried my face in a stranger’s back, my arms wrapped tightly around his firm, muscular waist. The ATV bounced all over the rough track like a gasoline-powered bronco driven by a modern-day cowboy. At last we came to a clearing, and there stood a caravan of military-looking vehicles. A group of people in street clothes were waiting for us. As the ATV rolled to a stop, an older man stepped forward.

  “Ms. Dunham, I’m Special Agent-in-Charge Dirk Devry of the DEA. Sorry for all this subterfuge. We have a serious situation. Come with me and we’ll get you some medical attention.”

  A couple of people in street clothes helped me get off the ATM. As I found my legs again and tried to remember how to walk, the driver took off his mask and ran a hand through his brown, shaggy hair. I looked up to see the palest pair of blue eyes I had ever seen. They were almost the color of frost on a window and they were staring at me. I was mesmerized as I stood there.

  “You two want to get a room or can we get on with this?” a voice behind me asked. A scowl came over the face of the ATV driver and those eyes disappeared from view as he turned his attention to his machine.

  “Shut up, Chen,” he growled. “The lady’s just been through hell.”

  “Sir Lancelot to the rescue,” laughed a good-looking Asian man. He seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to rile up his colleague.

  “Knock it off, you animals,” said their leader. “You’ll have to excuse those two, Ms. Dunham. They were separated at birth. Their mother was a wolverine. God only knows who the father was.”

  There was an ambulance waiting nearby. Chen led me over and introduced me as the victim of the attack on the train last night. The attendants sat me down on a bench in the back of the emergency vehicle to examine my injuries. Careful fingers probed. I winced as they located a tiny shard of glass stuck in my knee and then another.

  “We’ve got embedded glass, but it looks superficial. Slight concussion, probably from last night. Lots of scrat
ches. She’ll live.”

  “Why do you know my name?” I asked Agent Devry. Not how, but why. I couldn’t imagine any reason for the DEA to care about me. I’m a law-abiding citizen, a real stand-up kind of girl. The fact that I was surrounded by government agents charged with fighting a war on illicit drugs made me extremely nervous and not just a little determined to know what made them so interested in me. Agent Devry’s eyes widened as he watched my reaction and then he seemed to nod his approval.

  “I can see you’re quick on your feet, Ms. Dunham. You remember that gecko you bought at the art gallery.”

  “Yes.” I waited, curious about what that had to do with what happened on the auto train.

  “The store employee gave you the wrong package. Or rather, he gave you a package, but not the one containing your gecko.”

  “I don’t understand,” I replied.

  “There was another man in the gallery at the time, a Mr. Cañizo. Do you remember him?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “He was in the shop to collect a package also, and the shop employee happened to be one of our undercover people. Diego put Mr. Cañizo’s heroin into your package, and your gecko into his, before he fled. It didn’t take Mr. Cañizo long to figure out what happened. He actually thinks you and Diego are working in cahoots and that your purchase of the gecko was just a ruse. He sent his men to follow you on the auto train and to get the heroin back. He also plans to kill Diego when he finds him.”

  “That can’t be good.” Even as I uttered those words, I knew how dumb they sounded. But I was still in shock from the discovery that I had gotten mixed up in a drug battle.

  “But why did Diego put the package containing heroin in my car?”

  “He was desperate. We’ve spent the last two years trying to take down Mr. Cañizo’s organization. He needed to buy time, so he deliberately screwed up the packages. As soon as he got back to the shop, he told his boss, Raul, that he had made a mistake. But Cañizo already knew the packages had been switched, and he tried to kill Diego, who got away. We brought him in for safekeeping, but now Cañizo thinks you and Diego are looking to hook up and sell that heroin. He sent his men to the train to collect it. We stopped the train with the intention of interrupting their plan. The passengers think this was a possible terror attack and that we’re part of a response by Homeland Security, since it happened on Amtrak. We’d prefer to let them believe that’s true.”