Murder on the Disoriented Express by Emily Lloyd-Jones Read Free Book Online

shut it.” But there’s no heat to her words. “Fine. You’ve got a point. But…but are you sure?”
    No. Not at all.
    “Yes.”
      
    They stand in the children’s car. It’s dinnertime and all the kids are probably eating with their families. The discarded toys seem to stare at Alan and he glances away. The only sounds are the curtains rustling as the train takes another turn.
    “You did text her, right?” asks Alan.
    Ciere nods. “Told her to meet us here in five minutes. Which means we should probably get into position.”
    She shakes herself, like a runner getting ready for a hard sprint. Alan takes several steps backward, to the middle of the carriage.
    Ciere’s face clouds with concentration and she raises a hand toward him.
    The teenage boy known as Alan blurs out of existence. He grows taller, broader, and his dark hair goes red, his coppery skin turns pale. In a fraction of a second, none other than a dead man stands in the train car. Shaw glances at himself in a window, chancing a look at his own reflection.
    “That is weird,” says Alan.
    “Try to sound older,” says Ciere, with a wince. “I just hope she and Shaw haven’t talked much. Maybe try to sound hoarse—say you’ve got allergies or something.” Still looking pained, she steps up to a wall and presses herself to it. She closes her eyes and her outline fades. Her body seems to take on the color and texture of the wall, and she vanishes.
    Now all that’s left to do is wait.
    Alan paces back and forth a few steps, trying to look important and confident. The way Shaw looked when Alan first saw him in the dining car. The briefcase rests on the floor, propped up against a dollhouse. Fear pulses through him with every heartbeat. So many things could go wrong with this plan. Rover could not show up. Rover could show up armed. Rover might know Shaw’s voice well enough to discern that Alan is an imposter. Or—
    The door glides open. Alan’s throat feels tight as Rover steps inside.
    Alan stands a little straighter.
    Rover takes one step and then another. “I hope you have some explanation,” she says stiffly. “There was someone from another family on the train. Your security’s been compromised.”
    Alan opens his mouth. For a moment, he’s sure nothing will come out. “We didn’t know,” he says. He keeps his voice low, hoping against hope she won’t suspect. “Please assure your people that we are not doing business with anyone else.” He holds out a hand, palm out, gesturing at the briefcase.
    Rover’s gaze alights on it. “What’s this?”
    “We promised a secure transport,” says Alan. He tries to imbue his words with as much arrogance as possible, to cover the fact that he has no idea what the real Shaw promised. “And as we were unable to hold up our end of the bargain, at least this once, we are offering a full refund.” He hesitates, then adds, “As a gesture of goodwill.”
    Rover makes no attempt to hide her suspicion. She steps forward, kneeling before the briefcase. She stares at the broken lock for a moment.
    Alan thinks quickly, trying to come up with some explanation. But— I lost the key; someone broke it; I fell on it —all sound ridiculous. All he can do is hope the lure of the money is enough to smooth over any awkward questions.
    Rover yanks the case open, fingers trailing over the broken lock. But then she sees the money—all laid out in even little stacks. A quick series of emotions cross her face—suspicion, greed, followed by a desire to bring this conversation to an end.
    Rover carefully picks up the briefcase and nods once at Alan, as if he’s done her some kind of favor. “I’ll remember this,” she says, and walks to the doors. She gives him one last look before the doors glide open and she strides through them.
    “I’m sure you will,” Alan says to the empty car. Well, visibly empty. Ciere snorts somewhere to his right.
    Alan begins to shake; he’s not sure how long he can remain