by Mac Barnett
“My book!” said Claire, hopping up from the sofa. “Thanks, Steve!”
“A gallant gesture,” said the man.
Steve blushed.
The man frowned. “But also the reason I was reluctant to let you leave the car, Miss Marriner. Too much back and forth is bound to attract attention to our little sanctuary.” He cheered again. “Ah, well. I suppose fate has delivered you boys here.”
“Where is here?” Dana asked. It was a very good question.
CHAPTER XXVII
SURROUNDED BY MYSTERIES
“WELL, YOU SEE, that’s a bit of a secret. ‘Here’ is the observation room of the personal car of J. Nicholas Vanderdraak and Alice Vanderdraak. Who is me. And my wife. It is us. This is our private car. We own it.”
“What do you mean, you own it?” Steve said.
Alice Vanderdraak, the woman with the cello, smiled. She had a very pretty smile. Beautiful, even, although Steve never really felt comfortable using the word “beautiful.” “It’s our own private car. She’s called the Medea.”
“Built from parts salvaged from the finest cars of the railroad’s golden age: Pullmans, Budds—”
He said these names like everyone had heard of them. Steve hadn’t.
“—and disguised to look like a modern car from the outside.”
“Wow,” said Dana, looking around. “This is pretty first-class.”
“I call it ‘best class.’ And it’s the only way to travel.”
“Yeah,” said Steve. “Business class was pretty underwhelming.”
“The decline of train travel,” said J. Nicholas Vanderdraak, “is one of the great tragedies of the last century.”
“Totally! That’s what I’ve been thinking,” said Steve. He thought Claire laughed a little, but he didn’t see what was funny.
A man at least twenty years older than J. Nicholas Vanderdraak entered the compartment through an entranceway at the rear. He was dressed in a wool suit and a blue cap, and he carried some sort of tiny xylophone in his right hand. After clearing his throat, he removed a little mallet from his right pocket and played four clear notes. “We’ll be serving lunch in ten minutes,” the old man said.
“Thank you, O’Rourke,” said J. Nicholas Vanderdraak. “Boys, would you like to join us?”
“Yeah,” said Steve. “Thanks, um, uh …”
What should Steve call him? J.? Or Nicholas? Or J. Nicholas?
“Please, Steve, call me Mr. Vanderdraak.”
“Thanks, Mr. Vanderdraak.”
“Do you need to check in with your parents?” Alice Vanderdraak asked.
“We’re not traveling with our parents,” Steve said. “We’re traveling with Rick. And I told him we’d be gone for a bit.”
“Then let’s eat!” Mrs. Vanderdraak said. “The dining room is behind us.”
There was a warm and ticklish feeling in Steve’s stomach. Steve was hungry, and pleasant aromas were wafting through the car—that was part of the tingle. But Steve’s stomach knew that there was excitement afoot. A private detective hired by an eccentric, rich couple, talk of car thieves, an ace private train car—something strange was going on, and Steve wanted to know more. He could always feel a good mystery in his gut. But there was something else making Steve feel a little giddy. And even if he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, it didn’t take a supersleuth to deduce that he was glad to be having lunch with Claire Marriner.
CHAPTER XXVIII
PROFESSIONAL CURIOSITY
“AND THEN THESE BRITISH WARSHIPS would just like block off the fjords, but then these Icelandic fishing-boat captains would charge out of the harbor at full speed. And the captains would get on their radios and be like, ‘We’ll just ram you if you don’t get out of the way,’ and the battleships would move at the last minute.”
Dana was explaining the Cod Wars to everyone at the table, when Iceland and Britain fought over who had the right to harvest disgusting fish from the Arctic Ocean or something. They were seated in high-backed chairs, Mr. and Mrs. Vanderdraak on one side of the table, Steve, Dana, and Claire on the other. Steve had claimed the seat by the window without thinking, and was both peeved and relieved when Dana, and not Claire, sat next to him. It was a complicated mix of emotions, and Steve decided the best way to deal with it was to ignore Claire for the rest of lunch.
The dining compartment was very peach. The walls were peach and the chairs were peach and there was an arrangement of odorless peach flowers on the center of the table. Steve wondered whether the flowers were real. He tugged at a petal. They were real. The petal came off in his hand. Steve looked up to see whether anyone was watching him. Mrs. Vanderdraak was, but she smiled and winked at Steve as he pulled his hand back and dropped the petal under the table.
“So these cod captains are like big-time war heroes in Iceland,” Dana was saying. Mr. Vanderdraak and Claire were engrossed in his story. Steve was bored. He rested his elbows on the white tablecloth and stared at the blur of shrubs and trees rushing by. He’d heard about the Cod Wars at least five times already, plus all this talk of fish was ruining Steve’s appetite.
“Well, all this talk of fish is making me hungry,” said Mr. Vanderdraak. “Let’s order.”
He raised his hand, and the old man O’Rourke shuffled over with menus.
“Oh, and we have a children’s menu, don’t we, O’Rourke?”
“Yes, Mr. V.,” said the old man. He produced a small menu shaped like a rabbit. The bunny on the cover was dressed in a tie and suspenders and smiled shyly. It held a crudely painted sign that said CHILDREN’S MENU. Steve was horrified. The menu reminded him of terrible books about romping animals and endless Easter brunches with his grandma.
“J., honey, I think everybody is old enough to order from the regular menu.”
“Yes, the regular menu’s fine, Mr. Vanderdraak,” Claire said.
Mr. Vanderdraak smiled apologetically. “Of course.”
Mrs. Vanderdraak put her hand on her husband’s. “J. hasn’t spent much time around kids.” She smiled and added, “But he’s a kid at heart.”
Mr. Vanderdraak squeezed her hand. “Oh, Apple,” he said.
Steve felt uncomfortable but couldn’t really explain why. So he just looked down at his menu:
Luncheon Menu
ORANGE and GRAPEFRUIT SUPREME
HEARTS of CELERY
QUEEN OLIVES
CHEF’S COMBINATION SALAD
CLEAR OXTAIL SOUP with SHERRY
or
CONSOMMé EN TASSE, HOT or JELLIED
HALVED AVOCADO with
SWEET CORN and TOMATOES
or
SPICED WATERMELON CUBES
MARINATED HERRING in SOUR CREAM
POACHED MEDALLION of SALMON,
SAUCE HOLLANDAISE
ROAST RIBS of PRIME BEE AU JUS
CHARCOAL BROILED SIRLOIN STEAK
FRIED YOUNG CHICKEN, MARYLAND
VANILLA ICE CREAM with POUND CAKE
MAPLE NUT SUNDAE
BAKED APPLES with CREAM
LAYER CAKE
CHERRY PIE
Mr. Vanderdraak held a small pencil and a slip of paper. “We order a bit differently on a train,” he explained. “I fill out this card, and it’s delivered to the kitchen. Ladies?”
“I’ll have the salad and the chicken,” Mrs. Vanderdraak said.
“Um,” said Claire, “can I have the avocado and the watermelon cubes?”
“Of course,” said Mr. Vanderdraak, writing.
Claire looked at Steve. “I’m a vegetarian,” she said. Steve nodded. Why had she looked at him?
“I’ll have the olives and the roast beef,” Dana said.
“And how about you?” Mr. Vanderdraak said. “Your choice, Young Master …”
“Brixton,” said Steve. He got flustered and ordered the maple nut sundae and the cherry pie.
Mr. Vanderdraak raised his eyebrows and smiled. “You know, I think I’ll have the same.”
&nbs
p; O’Rourke took their order and disappeared through a door at the back of the compartment.
“I think you’ll enjoy our meal. O’Rourke is a fantastic cook.”
“Where’s the kitchen?” Steve asked.
“Behind us. And behind that is our drawing room, and behind that the vault,” Mrs. Vanderdraak said.
“The vault?” Steve asked.
Mr. Vanderdraak smiled. “That’s just what we call it. We’ve temporarily converted the guest bedroom into a small cargo space. It’s a safe way to transport precious property—nobody robs trains these days.”
O’Rourke returned and set the table. The plates and cups and bowls all had the same red pattern:
“Cool dragon,” Dana said.
“Yes,” said Mr. Vanderdraak.
“All the old trains had their own china patterns. The Great Northern had a ram, the Santa Fe California had a poppy—those of us with private cars keep the tradition alive.”
“You mean more rich people have cars like these?” Steve asked.
“Oh, sure,” said Mrs. Vanderdraak. “Next time you’re on a train trip, take a look at the back car,” said Mr. Vanderdraak, chuckling. “You never know when some millionaire’s hitched on to your engine.”
“I don’t really ride trains that often,” said Steve.
Dana was still looking at the china pattern. “This is really cool. I’m reading this series right now called—”
Steve interrupted. “Claire, why isn’t your uncle having lunch with us?”
“He’s working,” Claire said.
“Working?” said Steve. “Yeah, he’s—”
“I’m employing Mr. Marriner to look after something of mine,” said Mr. Vanderdraak.
“Your car?” said Steve.
Mr. Vanderdraak looked alarmed. “How did you know that?”
“You guys were talking about car thieves earlier.”
“Very astute,” said Mr. Vanderdraak, looking Steve over. “Wait a second. You said your name was Brixton? Steve Brixton?”
“Yes,” said Steve.
“I’ve heard of you! You’re the private detective!” Steve looked triumphantly at Claire. She rolled her eyes.
“I’m friends with Victor Fairview,” Mr. Vanderdraak continued. “Alice, this is the detective who recovered Victor’s diamond.”
“That’s right,” Steve said. “Oh, yes! That was brilliant!” said Mrs. Vanderdraak.
This conversation was getting good. It was hard not to look at Claire again, just to rub it in.
“If we had known you’d be aboard, we wouldn’t have needed to hire Mr. Marriner,” Mr. Vanderdraak said. “I’m joking, of course,” he added. “No offense to your uncle.”
“None taken.” Claire shrugged.
“Well, anyway,” said Steve, “I’m semiretired.”
“What does that even mean?” Claire asked.
“Seriously,” Dana muttered.
“But just out of professional curiosity,” Steve said, emphasizing the word “professional” and ignoring Dana and Claire as they rolled their eyes at the same time, “why have you hired a private detective?”
“Well,” said Mr. Vanderdraak, “something very strange has been going on.”
CHAPTER XXIX
ONE OF TWO OF A KIND
“YOU SEE,” Mr. Vanderdraak continued, “I have been having a problem with my cars. Automobiles, I mean—not this train car. Do you know anything about cars?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Steve.
Dana looked at him sharply. Steve did not know anything about cars, and Dana knew it.
“Well, I’m crazy about them,” Vanderdraak said. “Have been since I was your age: Automobiles were my first love. Not the junk they make these days,” he added quickly. “Classics. I have one of the finest private collections in the country, actually. But my problem is that my cars keep getting stolen.”
“Our cars, J.,” said Mrs. Vanderdraak.
“Yes, Apple,” he said, cupping her hand. “Our cars keep getting stolen. Of course,” he said, “Alice didn’t know anything about cars before we were married.”
“But I’m learning,” she said.
“Yes. Well. We’ve had six cars stolen from us in the last five years. To have loved and lost … ,” Vanderdraak said with a sad chuckle. “I’ve lost two Shelbys, a 2CV, a Tucker, a Bel Air, and a Tucker ’48 sedan.”
“The Tucker Torpedo!” Steve rose in his chair. “That’s the kind of car the Bailey Brothers drive!”
This sentence represented the entirety of Steve’s knowledge about cars.
Mr. Vanderdraak looked pleased. “A Bailey Brothers fan! Now there’s a lad after my own heart. Those were my favorites when I was a boy. What’s your favorite?”
“Um, probably The Mysterious Lasso.”
“Ah, Bailey Brothers number nine. A masterpiece. But I like number eleven, The Hidden Hideout, best.”
This guy knew his stuff.
“Were you aware,” Mr. Vanderdraak said, leaning over the table, “that the author, MacArthur Bart, doesn’t even exist? It’s just a pseudonym! The books were all written by ghostwriters.”
Steve felt a pang in his chest. “Yeah, I heard that.”
Mr. Vanderdraak chuckled. “I think it took me years to recover from that little bit of unwelcome news.”
In the back of Steve’s mind he felt the itch of unfinished business.
Just then O’Rourke arrived with a heavy silver platter filled with food. He took away the empty plate in front of Steve and three of his four forks, replacing them with a piece of pie and a silver dish full of ice cream. Steve didn’t know which to try first, so he put some ice cream on the pie and ate it. It was delicious.
Mr. Vanderdraak talked while the others ate.
“But anyway, we are currently returning from Monterey,” said Mr. Vanderdraak, “where I have just acquired the most valuable car in my collection, a 1932 Packard Twin Six Sport Phoebus. I’ve owned a lot of fine cars, but this one, well, she’s special.”
Steve had never heard of this car, but it felt like a good moment to whistle appreciatively. Since Steve couldn’t whistle, it came out more as an amazed sigh.
“Only two were built, and now I own one of them.”
“Where’s the other one?” Dana asked.
Yes, that was the question! That must be the reason Vanderdraak had hired Claire’s uncle. They were embarking on a search for the other Packard Whatever Whatever Phoebus—the missing twin, separated at birth—a search that would take them across the world!
“The other car is owned by a collector in Rhode Island,” Vanderdraak said.
Steve slumped.
“But the important thing is that one of them is right here. In this train car. That’s what we’ve got in the vault. We’re taking it back home. The last robbery occurred when the car was being transported via truck to our estate. The train, I figure, will be safer. But given the fact that I have lately been targeted by a particularly efficient gang of car thieves,” Vanderdraak said, “and since the police have been absolutely no help”—Steve nodded sympathetically—“the insurance company insisted that I hire a detective to protect the vehicle. Mr. Marriner apparently specializes in auto theft and comes highly recommended as a consummate professional—which is why I was surprised when he asked to bring along his niece.”
“My school’s on spring break and he couldn’t find a babysitter,” Claire said, looking at Steve. She sounded defensive and annoyed, and Steve wanted to tell her she didn’t have to explain herself to him, but he looked down at his plate instead.
“Well,” Vanderdraak continued, “it’s been quite an exciting journey so far. The police stopped the train at Santa Lucia—apparently an informant had tipped them off to a pair of notorious car thieves operating in the vicinity. They searched the train. But they found nothing.”
“I was wondering what was going on,” Steve said. “We were waiting at that station.”
“Didn’t see this man
, did you?” Vanderdraak pulled out a sheet of paper from his breast pocket. “They have a mug shot of one of the thieves—the other man is unknown.”
Steve studied the paper:
“No,” Steve said, studying the picture closely. Dana leaned over and stared at it too.
“Look at that birthmark,” Steve told his chum. “It’s shaped like a triceratops.”
“You mean that?” Dana said.
“That looks like an eagle.”
“No,” said Steve. “There are his two horns, and that’s his third horn.”
“That looks like wings and a beak.”
“Anyway,” said Vanderdraak, taking the paper and returning it to his pocket. “I’m comforted that you haven’t seen him. You know, it’s a shame you’re semi-retired, Steve. You could have been a backup pair of eyes for Mr. Marriner.”
“My uncle doesn’t need another set of eyes,” Claire said.
“I’ll take the case,” said Steve.
Everybody at the table looked stunned. Especially Dana.
“You retired,” Dana said.
“Ridiculous,” Claire muttered.
“I don’t think we need two detectives, do you, dear?” said Mrs. Vanderdraak.
“I don’t know, Apple, could be—”
“I’ll do it for free,” Steve said. “In exchange for passage on the Medea.”
“Accepted,” Vanderdraak said, grinning widely.
“Great,” said Steve.
“Tell you what, as soon as you boys clean your plates, how’d you like to see one of the most expensive automobiles in the world?”
CHAPTER XXX
PHOEBUS
“SO HERE’S THE KITCHEN,” said Mr. Vanderdraak, leading them back to the rear of the car. They walked in a line: Mr. Vanderdraak, Dana, Steve, and Claire. Mrs. Vanderdraak had stayed in the observation room and was playing the cello—the deep strains echoed in the tiny kitchen where they now stood. “A bit small, but I think you’ll agree that O’Rourke here makes good use—”