Shadows on the Train Read Online Free PDF Page B

laugh echoed up to us. “I’m looking for my glasses. I dropped them somewhere when I finished Dinah’s piano lesson earlier today.”
    I spotted a sealed plastic bag. Even through the cobwebs I could read the typewritten label. Michael Galloway: Effects .
    I reached, and then I hesitated.
    â€œYou sure you want to see them, Dinah?” Talbot asked quietly.
    I heaved a big breath. “Yeah. Yeah, we have to.”
    But once Talbot placed the bag in my hands, I hesitated again. I wasn’t at all sure I wouldn’t break into a blubberfest on opening the bag. So, putting off the moment, I strolled to the window to shout my own hello down to Mrs. Chewbley.
    â€œI’ve been practicing a lot,” I assured her.
    â€œUm…great,” she said, hunched over our lawn. “Is your mother home, Dinah?”
    â€œNo, she’s working,” I replied.
    â€œOh, right. I forgot.” Mrs. Chewbley laughed. She began prattling about her forgetfulness.
    Life being short, I was about to smile politely and withdraw from the window. Then, to Mrs. Chewbley’s left, two of the cedar trees bunched at the side of our garden wriggled. Amid their branches, a face appeared.
    A man’s face, staring coldly, speculatively, at our house.
    I recognized his bowl haircut. The man who’d been following Ardle!

Chapter Five
    Bowl Cut's Hair-Raising Entrance
    â€œHey you!” I yelled indignantly. “Whaddya want?”
    Talbot gave me a nudge. “That’s not the nicest way to talk to Mrs. Chewbley.”
    â€œ No , him!” I pointed at the bowl-cut man.
    Two things happened simultaneously. Bowl Cut’s face, round and white like a dinner plate, withdrew into the branches. And I jarred Pantelli’s outstretched hand so that he dropped his magnifying glass. Down, down it toppled to boink! Mrs. Chewbley on the head. She collapsed on some fallen horse chestnut leaves.
    We all raced downstairs, me clutching Dad’s effects, and Pantelli moaning about how his expensive magnifying glasses kept getting broken around me. (His last magnifying glass had cracked when we were sleuthing the month before, in North Vancouver.)
    This one, however, was crack-free. Disentangling it from her bird’s nest bun, Mrs. Chewbley chuckled weakly. “Lucky I have so much thick, unkempt hair. It acts as padding.”
    We helped her to her feet and into the Galloway living room. “I’ll make you some tea,” I offered. Tea was the Galloway cure for everything.
    Talbot then charged back out to investigate whether Bowl Cut really was an intruder or just a Dubuque friend or relative with a strange fondness for cedar trees.
    I left Pantelli inspecting Mrs. Chewbley’s scalp through his magnifying glass. “No injury,” he reported, “but have you considered using Head and Shoulders?”
    I put the kettle on with tons of water because I wanted time to go through the plastic bag. With hands that shook only slightly, I removed Dad’s folded clothes, including the red and black flannel shirt I used to love rubbing my cheek against. I stroked the shirt for a moment, and then I laid all his clothes and his shoes on the kitchen counter.
    The kitchen was very quiet. Through the open window, on a hint of a breeze, the leaves of the Japanese cherry out back fluttered and whispered.
    Dad, I thought. And for an instant I could see him: warm grin, black eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
    The leaves stopped fluttering, and Dad faded. It was hot and still again.
    I made myself think practically. Ardle, and whoever was after him, weren’t interested in Dad’s clothes. The eighty grand, in whatever form, had to be among the other things in the bag.
    I found a black leather wallet with some bills, coins and credit cards inside. Gleaming through a plastic casing was a photo of our family in front of the Pacific National Exhibition’s wooden roller coaster. The one Dad and I