Dangers on a Train, Reed Ferguson Private Investigator Mysteries: Book 20

Sample Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

It all started with an envelope.

I was on the D line light-rail headed south out of downtown Denver to meet a client at the Englewood station. I had just wrapped up an easy case, where I’d followed my client’s cheating wife and confirmed his suspicions. I sent him the electronic evidence, and he wanted to meet me in person to thank me. A check would’ve sufficed, but I didn’t want to burn a bridge, so I was meeting him at a coffee shop.

The train stopped at the Alameda station, and I moved into the aisle to make way for a stocky man in a suit. I was jostled by someone else who was trying to get off, and I shifted again so that more people could exit. I don’t ride the light-rail often, but my car was in the shop, and my wife, Willie, was at work. She’s an admissions nurse in the ER at St. Joseph’s Hospital, and we were going to meet later for dinner.

Willie and I have a condo in the Uptown neighborhood, walking distance from downtown, so I’d hoofed it to a light-rail station to catch the train. I hadn’t planned on the rush-hour crowd, though. Every car was packed. Sardines in a can came to mind.

A high-pitched beep sounded, and the doors closed. The train jerked, and I gripped the hold bar a little harder to keep my balance. The train pulled away from the station and picked up speed. I glanced around. People filled all the available seats, many reading, some on their phones. Some low conversations filled the air. I found myself glad I didn’t have a regular nine-to-five job. Nothing wrong with it, it just wasn’t for me. I love being a private investigator, love the flexibility, the odd hours, and the adventure. Or, as my mother perceives it, the danger. She always worries about the danger.

As if my thoughts had summoned her, a voice said, “Oh, it’s not always easy to know what to do.” It was Humphrey Bogart, playing Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon, my ringtone.

I’m a devoted and long-time Humphrey Bogart fan. I yearn to be as cool as he was in all the film noir movies he starred in: High Sierra, In a Lonely Place, and of course my favorites, The Big Sleep and aforementioned Maltese Falcon. I even used the name “Humphrey” for a stray kitten that I’d found. I pulled the phone from my pocket and answered.

“Hello, Mother,” I said softly so I wouldn’t disturb others on the train.

“Reed, dear, how are you?”

“I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Why are you talking so softly?”

“I’m on the light-rail.”

“Oh, that’s what those noises are. Are you okay?” My mother constantly worried that I might get hurt on the job. I didn’t see that changing, although she seemed reconciled – finally – to my being a private investigator. “You get yourself into some of the craziest situations.” She was off and running, and I could barely get a word in.

“Would you and Willie like to come visit? We haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’d like that,” I said, “but how about we wait until the fall? It’s got to be broiling hot there right now.”

“That’s true.” She then launched into a detailed weather report.

I shifted, and as I did so, I noticed an envelope fall to the floor at my feet. I did a delicate act of holding the phone to my ear as I squatted down to get it, my face suddenly planted on the side of a woman’s computer bag. I retrieved the envelope and straightened up, then looked around to see who had dropped it. As we pulled into the Broadway station, I held the phone and the envelope in my hand. My mother was talking, but I wasn’t paying attention. I noticed a young man with bluish hair perched on the edge of a seat by the light-rail doors. He wore khaki shorts and a red T-shirt, and clutched a gray backpack to his chest. He stared at me, then at the envelope, then back to me. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and a look of sheer terror was on his face. The train stopped and the doors slid open. I tried to edge past the stocky guy who blocked me from the young man.

“Is this yours?” I asked the kid.

“What?” Mother asked.

“Yes,” the kid said. “I mean, no.” He suddenly stood up and bolted out the door.

“Hey!” I said.

“Reed, what’s going on?”

“I need to call you back,” I said to her, then shoved the phone in my pocket.

I looked out the doors. The kid had swung his backpack over one shoulder and was racing away from the train. “Excuse me,” I said as I pushed past the stocky man. He mumbled something as he tried to make way for me. I headed for the door, and the alarm beeped again, indicating the doors were about to close. I started down the train steps as the doors started to shut. On me. I put out an arm, and a door slammed into it. Then a sensor stopped the doors. They opened again, but not before the jostling caused me to lose my balance and stumble out onto the sidewalk. I’m sure my landing was not graceful, no more than a five-point-two, if exiting a train were an Olympic event. Someone on the train muttered something, and someone else asked me if I was okay. I stood up and rubbed my forearm. The doors closed, and the train moved down the line. I ignored looks from strangers as I searched for the young man with the bluish hair. He was already at the parking lot. I hollered one more time and ran toward him, holding up the envelope. He glanced furtively over his shoulder, then hopped into a waiting car. I sped up, but the car, a white sedan, was pulling away from the curb. I caught a glimpse of the license plate, but couldn’t make out all the numbers.

“How do you like that?” I muttered to no one. The early June sun beat down on me as I brushed off my khakis, which I noticed now had a hole in the left knee. And my left knee was hurting a little. Perfect.

I stared at the envelope for a moment and wondered if I should open it. I looked over my shoulder. It sure seemed as if the envelope belonged to that kid. It must not have been very important to him. Unless it wasn’t his. I almost threw it in the trash, then instead shoved it in my pocket and walked back toward the rails. It was almost five o’clock, and even though another train would be coming in less than ten minutes, I was going to be late for my meeting with my client. I got in line and while I waited for the next train, I texted him that I was delayed. Then I looked around. A woman in front of me was furiously texting on her phone. In the next line, a man wearing a Yankees baseball cap was staring at me. I tipped my head, and he returned a curt nod. He had inky black eyes that were nothing but cold and hollow, and stubble on his chin. I glanced down, suddenly self-conscious. Did I have dirt on me? Nope, nothing but the tear in the knee of my khakis. I glanced back at him. He was now staring toward the mountains.

The next train came, and I waited for several people to exit, then got on. It wasn’t quite as crowded, but I still had to stand. I grabbed a hold bar, braced myself, and we were soon rumbling south. A few people jostled me here and there, and the man with the Yankees cap stood nearby. I wondered if we knew each other, but I couldn’t place him. He took off his cap, brushed back stringy dark hair, then donned the cap again. We soon stopped at the Englewood station, and he elbowed past me. Rude. I let him get off, then exited and walked to Nixon’s Coffeehouse near the Englewood City Center. I met my client, who insisted on buying me a cup of coffee, and then he proceeded to tell me that he was going to divorce his wife. He spent the next fifteen minutes telling me how I had saved him from years of a horrible marriage, and by the time I was able to gracefully make an exit, I couldn’t wait to meet Willie for dinner and tell her how much I loved her. She and I get along well, and she supports my chosen profession. In the short time we’ve been married, we had weathered plenty of ups and downs, mostly due to my career, and I couldn’t imagine life without her.

I hurried back to the light-rail, this time taking a train north back toward the city. Most people at this time of day would be leaving downtown, so I had plenty of choice seats. I sat down away from the doors, and we headed north. I glanced around and noticed a man with a baseball cap sitting several rows up from me. Was that the same man I’d seen on the southbound train? I leaned into the aisle for a better look. His head was down, as if he was looking at his phone. Then my phone buzzed, and I pulled it from my pocket. It was Willie, texting me that she was on her way to the restaurant. I let her know that I would be there soon. As I put my phone back, I felt the envelope. I’d forgotten about it. And I’d forgotten to call my mother back. So I did that, and we chatted for a few minutes. She told me again that she wanted us to plan a trip to see them in Florida. I promised I would talk to Willie about that, and then we said good-bye.

I smiled, then pulled the envelope out and looked at it. It was sealed, with no writing on it. Was it something important? I glanced around. No one was watching me. Then I laughed to myself. It’s not as if I’d done anything wrong. Should I open it? I looked out the window at the buildings near the tracks, then finally shrugged and tore open the envelope. Inside was a folded piece of paper. I pulled it out and unfolded it. It was a picture of a room, with a couch sitting underneath a window. In front of the couch, someone lay on the floor, staring at the camera. Based on the figure’s bulk and short hair, I assumed it was a man. As I looked closer, I thought I saw something on the carpet near his head.

Blood.

 

This was my favorite case Reed ever solved. I loved the twist and turns. The beginning was very interesting and sucked me right in! ~Reader review