It Happened on a Train Read online

  IT HAPPENED ON A TRAIN

  Read all the Brixton Brothers Mysteries:

  #1 The Case of the Case of Mistaken Identity

  #2 The Ghostwriter Secret

  SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020 www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people,

  or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents

  are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or

  locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2011 by Mac Barnett

  Illustrations copyright © 2011 by Adam Rex

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Book design by Lizzy Bromley

  The text for this book is set in Souvenir.

  The illustrations for this book were rendered digitally with a Wacom tablet and Photoshop CS3.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  0911 FFG

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Barnett, Mac.

  It happened on a train / Mac Barnett; illustrations by Adam Rex. — 1st ed.

  p. cm. — (Brixton Brothers)

  Summary: Seventh-grader Steve Brixton finds himself pulled back into sleuthing when, during

  a train trip down the California coast, he uncovers a mystery involving a fleet of priceless

  automobiles, an assassin, and a private rail car.

  ISBN 978-1-4169-7819-0 (hardcover)

  [1. Railroad trains—Fiction. 2. Robbers and outlaws—Fiction. 3. California—Fiction. 4. Mystery

  and detective stories. 5. Humorous stories.] I. Rex, Adam, ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.B26615It 2011

  [Fic]—dc22

  2011009114

  ISBN 978-1-4424-2313-8 (eBook)

  Contents

  I: THE END

  II: A MYSTERIOUS SIGHTING

  III: POINT PANIC

  IV: SHARK ATTACK

  V: AN UNDERWATER CONSPIRACY

  VI: TOO MANY DANAS

  VII: A DISASTER AT HOME

  VIII: 503 IN PROGRESS

  IX: A SLEUTHING TRICK

  X: COLLISION COURSE!

  XI: RACING TO THE STATION

  XII: A CURIOUS OCCURRENCE

  XIII: THE PHANTOM CAR

  XIV: AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTER

  XV: ALL ABOARD!

  XVI: AMBUSH AT TURRIS SENEX

  XVII: MEET CLAIRE MARRINER

  XVIII: THE GIRL VANISHES

  XIX: A DESPERATE SEARCH

  XX: ENLISTING A CHUM

  XXI: BACK IN THE GAME

  XXII: PLAN OF ACTION

  XXIII: THIS WAY FOR DANGER

  XXIV: THE SECRET PANEL

  XXV: CAPTURED!

  XXVI: A STRANGE CAR

  XXVII: SURROUNDED BY MYSTERIES

  XXVIII: PROFESSIONAL CURIOSITY

  XXIX: ONE OF TWO OF A KIND

  XXX: PHOEBUS

  XXXI: LUXURY … AND DANGER!

  XXXII: TRAPPED!

  XXXIII: DEADLY HEAT

  XXXIV: OUT OF THE FRYING PAN …

  XXXV: A SINISTER FIGURE

  XXXVI: THE MAN IN THE MASK

  XXXVII: HOT PURSUIT

  XXXVIII: OUT OF TIME

  XXXIX: PITCH-BLACK

  XL: THE GOON VANISHES

  XLI: A DARING RESCUE

  XLII: FULL STEAM AHEAD

  XLIII: SOUTHPAW

  XLIV: THE HOUND WITH TWO TAILS

  XLV: WATCHING THE DETECTIVE

  XLVI: THREATS

  XLVII: CLAIRE RETURNS

  XLVIII: FIGHT!

  XLIX: RENDEZVOUS AT UNION STATION

  L: THE WOODEN HORSE

  LI: STOLEN

  LII: IN THE LAIR

  LIII: A BOLD PLAN

  LIV: THE MAN UNMASKED

  LV: KIDNAPPED

  LVI: A LOVE STORY

  LVII: A REUNION

  LVIII: AMBUSH!

  LIX: THE WAY OF THE WIZARD

  LX: ESCAPE!

  LXI: COUNTERFEIT!

  LXII: THE WOODEN HORSE, TAKE TWO

  LXIII: STOWAWAYS

  LXIV: TROUBLE ON THE BEACH

  LXV: SEASIDE SET-TO

  LXVI: DESTRUCTO

  LXVII: A FINAL RIDDLE

  LXVIII: UP THE ARROYO

  LXIX: THE START OF SOMETHING

  IT HAPPENED ON A TRAIN

  CHAPTER I

  THE END

  IT WAS WEDNESDAY EVENING, a.k.a. trash night. Steve Brixton, seventh grader, formerly of the Brixton Brothers Detective Agency, plodded along his driveway, dragging a maroon bin behind him. The bin’s wheels rumbled and popped as they rolled over pebbles on the blacktop. This week the Brixton family’s bin was very full. The lid would not close tightly; it bounced up and down, making an irregular, slow clapping sound. And the trash was heavy—Steve could feel the can’s weight in his elbow, and he kept switching the arm he used to drag it: right, then left, and back again. He sighed. Tonight was a particularly difficult trash night, and that’s because the garbage bin contained fifty-nine shiny, red-backed books: a complete set of the Bailey Brothers Mysteries, a series of detective novels that until a week and a half ago had been Steve’s favorite books of all time.

  Steve pulled the bin down off the curb. It hit the street hard, and its lid bounced open like a clam’s shell, revealing the can’s contents. Steve stood underneath a streetlamp. Its orange bulb flickered and hummed, even though the sun was just now setting and there was still plenty of light in the sky.

  There they were, neatly stacked in a cardboard box atop a week’s worth of kitchen scraps and dental floss: Bailey Brothers #1 to #58, and of course The Bailey Brothers’ Detective Handbook, which was jam-packed with Shawn and Kevin Bailey’s Real Crime-Solving Tips and Tricks. (Shawn and Kevin Bailey, as pretty much everybody knows, were the sons of world-famous detective Harris Bailey and the heroes of the Bailey Brothers books—they had their own crime lab and fixed their own cars and were basically the acest sleuths around.) The handbook had chapters full of things every serious gumshoe would need to know: stuff like “Tailing Baddies,” “Making Your Own Blowgun,” and “Modus Operandi, Portrait Parlé, and Other Funny Foreign Phrases for the American Sleuth.”

  Steve stood and stared at his books. He looked around. Identical maroon bins stood like sentries outside every home on the street. The neighborhood was quiet. Assured that he was alone, Steve reached out and picked up a book: Bailey Brothers #15: The Phantom of Liar’s Bluff, which started like this:

  CHAPTER II

  A MYSTERIOUS SIGHTING

  “Dad sure is busy with his new case,” mused fair-haired Kevin Bailey as he piloted their sedan along the twists and turns of Bayside Road.

  “I wonder if he’ll let us help out with the sleuthing when he gets back from the Yukon,” wondered his younger brother, Shawn, who had dark hair and was a better football player but slightly less handsome.

  “Say, fellows, all this talk of work is making me hungry!” whined the Baileys’ stout chum Ernest Plumly, as he nibbled on a hoagie in the backseat.


  “I would change the subject,” needled Kevin, “but I’m having trouble thinking of a subject that doesn’t make you hungry.”

  Shawn and Kevin broke into hearty, good-natured laughter. Ernest, who was almost as well known for his voracious appetite as he was for his loyalty to the Baileys, grinned ruefully. “You fellows can kid me all you want. It’s all right. I’ve got this sandwich to keep me company. I call it the Ernest: shredded lettuce, chopped pickles, smoked ham, roast beef, tomatoes, horseradish, and the secret ingredient: five kinds of mustard.”

  “Just try not to get any crumbs on the upholstery,” joked Kevin. He floored the accelerator, and the sedan tore around a blind curve. The boys spent much of their spare time souping up their Tucker Torpedo, and it was the finest car in Benson Bay. The roar of its engine belied the boys’ affectionate nickname for the car: the Jalopy.

  The car rounded another curve, and the Baileys’ boathouse appeared.

  “There are the girls!” shouted Kevin. “Lay on the horn, why don’t you!”

  Cissie Merritt and Hannah Fenway waved excitedly when they heard the Jalopy’s horn. Kevin often dated pretty, vivacious Cissie. Hannah, Cissie’s quiet and doe-eyed best friend, was Shawn’s favorite girl in Benson Bay (and the neighboring towns of Kelly Bay and Bayshore, too). The girls were both dressed in bathing suits and carried picnic baskets under their arms, ready for a day aboard the Baileys’ speedboat, The Deducer IV. The first three Deducers had all been spectacularly wrecked in the Baileys’ previous crime-solving exploits.

  “I’m so glad we’re finally getting to have this picnic,” sang Cissie. “Our last day out was interrupted by that case you two cracked.” She was referring to the time Shawn and Kevin busted a gang of carnies and criminal clowns and learned The Secret Behind the Fun House Mirror.

  “Thanks for not being sore at having to reschedule,” offered Shawn, unpacking the trunk. “We’ll make it up to you gals on the water. Kevin may be a leadfoot behind the Jalopy, but wait till you see the tricks I can get up to in The Deducer.”

  The youths laughed together.

  “I’m just excited to try out my new present from my dad,” beamed Ernest. Mr. Plumly was a prominent lawyer in Benson Bay.

  “What did he give you?” asked Shawn.

  “I’ll give you two sleuths a hint. They’re perfect for bird watching.”

  Ernest pulled a pair of high-powered binoculars out of his satchel.

  Shawn and Kevin whistled appreciatively. “That sure is a swell pair of glasses,” Kevin commented.

  Ernest held the binoculars up to his eyes and peered at the cliffs in the distance. “I can see all the way across to Liar’s Bluff from here.”

  “Say, when do we get a turn, Mr. Audubon?” Hannah smiled. Ernest didn’t say anything. He slowly lowered the binoculars, and his friends noticed that his usually ruddy face had gone pale. “What’s the matter, chum?” Kevin queried. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I think I just did!

  “Steve’s reading was interrupted by squealing brakes. A dented silver station wagon had stopped a few feet from his trash bin. A voice Steve had never heard before shouted, “There you are! I’ve been looking for you.”

  CHAPTER III

  POINT PANIC

  THE DRIVER’S FACE was gradually revealed as the wagon’s grimy passenger-side window descended. Steve guessed he was in his late twenties. He had straight black hair and bright red sunglasses, even though it was dusk. A surfboard was tied to the roof of his car.

  Steve’s old instincts awoke somewhere near his belly.

  Who wore sunglasses at this hour? Criminals, that’s who. Also guys who tried too hard to look cool.

  Steve looked back toward his house. If this guy tried anything funny, Steve could sprint to his front door in eight seconds. The man was probably harmless, but even a retired sleuth needed to be cautious. He took a closer look at the man’s face, just in case he needed to give a description to the cops later. There was a streak of gray, weird for a guy that young, running back from his forehead. A sunburn was peeling near his temples, revealing bright pink skin underneath. And on his left cheek, just below the sunglasses, was a small birthmark in the shape of a pentagon.

  The Bailey Brothers’ Detective Handbook, which was now somewhere in Steve’s trash, has some interesting things to say about birthmarks.

  Sometimes successful sleuthing requires some amateur dermatology! The Baileys always pay attention to birthmarks. Red, black, or blue, birthmarks are often the key to cracking a case! Remember Bailey Brothers #26: The Clue of the Rune in the Ruins, when Shawn and Kevin unmasked a grave robber posing as the archaeologist Dr. David Franks after noticing the impostor lacked Franks’s strawberry-shaped birthmark? It was ace! Of course, birthmarks are also a handy way to identify villainous Masters of Disguise, who often forget to conceal them. In fact many famous criminals have had interesting birthmarks! Here are just a few of the Baileys’ favorite examples:

  AL CAPONE

  Right Thigh Big Island of Hawaii

  BILLY THE KID

  Left Sole Tartan of the MacDonald Clan of Lochmaddy

  BONNIE PARKER

  Right Shoulder Butterfly, or a Child Crying Because His Dad Forgot His Birthday

  “Hey,” said the man with the pentagonal birthmark. “Aren’t you Steve Brixton?”

  “Yeah,” said Steve.

  The man looked pleased. “Nice! I was coming to see you! You’re the famous detective, right?”

  Steve shook his head. “I was. Now I’m retired. I just take out the trash for money.”

  The guy’s jaw was slack. His hair hung lankly. “Oh.”

  After Steve Brixton’s first case, The Case of the Case of Mistaken Identity, Steve’s picture had been in several newspapers. Soon after, Steve opened his own detective agency, just like the Bailey Brothers, and things went terrifically. Until his second case. Steve uncovered The Ghostwriter Secret and learned that MacArthur Bart, his hero and the author of the Bailey Brothers books, was a criminal mastermind—who even tried to kill Steve. It was a thrilling but ultimately disorienting adventure. Steve was done with private detection. He’d shuttered his agency and started doing chores for ten dollars a week. It wasn’t glamorous work, and it paid terribly.

  “Why’d you retire?” the man in the car asked.

  “It’s a long story, but the short version is that nobody likes being lied to.”

  The man looked confused, probably because there was no way he could know what Steve was talking about. Still, Steve had liked the way the sentence sounded.

  The man brushed his hair out of his eyes, and it fell right back down. “I’m thinking maybe I could convince you to come back and solve one last case?”

  “Sorry,” said Steve. “I’m out for good.”

  “I think it’s an interesting one.”

  “Nope.”

  The man looked at a scrap of paper in his hand. “You worked for the Brixton Brothers Detective Agency, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “So what about your brother? Is he still a detective?”

  “I’m an only child.”

  “Then why is it called—”

  “It just sounds cooler, okay?”

  “Chill, chill, little man. Look, how much did you charge, you know, back when you were a detective?”

  “Two hundred dollars a day, plus expenses.”

  “I’ll double it.”

  “Nope.”

  The man in the car seemed disappointed. This was obviously not how he had expected things to go. “Well you can still listen to me, right? I mean, I could tell you about what’s going on?”

  Steve shrugged. “It’s a free country.”

  The man was encouraged. “Awesome. Okay, Steve—”

  “Wait—what’s your name?”

  “Oh, sorry. I’m Danimal.”

  “Danimal?”

  “Yeah, you know, short for Dan.”

  “You mean
long for Dan.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  Danimal was unfazed. “Okay, listen to this. So you know how Mímulo has been closed lately?”

  “Yeah,” Steve said. “The sharks, right?”

  Mímulo Point was a popular surf break about fifteen minutes south of Ocean Park. A few weeks ago a longboarder had spotted a great white shark. More fins had been spotted since, and the area was closed to surfing and swimming. The local news shows had started calling Mímulo “Point Panic.”

  “Yeah. Sharks. It’s brutal, ’cause Mímulo’s my favorite spot.”

  Steve nodded. “Okay.”

  “But here’s the thing—the thing is, I’m not actually scared of sharks. I mean, I wasn’t. Because they don’t really attack humans, right? I mean, I’ve got a buddy, a really smart guy, and he’s always saying, ‘Sharks don’t attack humans unless they think they’re seals,’ right?”

  “Sure,” said Steve. Steve hated fish. And sharks were the worst fish. Fish eyes never changed, and looking at a fish—whether that fish was swimming in the Ocean Park Aquarium or lying on a bed of ice at some fancy buffet table—made you feel like you didn’t exist. But a shark—especially a great white—would eat you, even while it refused to acknowledge your existence, gazewise.

  “So what I did was, I customized my wet suit with like these green and orange patches on it. Right? So now I don’t look like a seal out there, when I’m sitting in the lineup.”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, so last night was a full moon, and I figured nobody’d be watching the beach at night, and plus the swell was super nice, and I wasn’t afraid of sharks, and so, well, I paddled out at Mímulo.”

  “What?”

  Danimal was looking at Steve but not really seeing him. His voice softened. “And I was attacked, man. By a great white.”

  CHAPTER IV

  SHARK ATTACK

  “No!”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. I’d had a couple really good rides, and I was just sitting out there, right? It’s peaceful, glassy; it’s perfect. And the moon was right overhead. Just perfect. So quiet. And then suddenly—wham!—my board gets ripped out from under me. It was insane. Before I know it, I’m underwater and something’s tugging—like, yanking—at my leash. And I’m getting dragged down hard, right? So this whole time I’m trying to get to my ankle strap, so I can release the board, but I’m freaking out, and the shark is just dragging that board down like a tombstone, and I’m just taking in mouthfuls of water, and—”