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William Billingsway had been working for Amtrak for 16 years, but he had never had a trip like tonight's. The well-known designer, Wendy Kim, did not want him touching her shoulder bag, but some of the contents had spilled out, including a ball of slinky yarn. It had rolled around the train car, ensnaring the feet and ankles of several passengers, who's struggling only made it worse. It had rolled right past the lifeless body of a possibly murdered and apparently very famous singer and mandolin player, George Jordan. Thinking to himself that it was true what they said about full moons, Bill lifted both hands in mock surrender. "I won't touch your bag, Ms. Kim, if you don't want me to. I just thought if we had the other end of this mess, it might be easier to untangle."

Wendy visibly relaxed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just so used to guarding it. Your crack about industrial spies was too close for comfort. I am working on a new design - a hand-knitted one. It's OK. Go ahead." She started to reach for the bag.

"No it's not," Joe Wordsworth interrupted. "He has no authority to search your bag. He's not a policeman, and even if he was, he would need a search warrant."

Professor Gray absently rubbed one of his suede elbow patches and said, "At the very least, it could be an invasion of privacy."

"Sir, I do not want to search her bag, or invade her privacy. But I do want to get everyone untangled. Perhaps we can go from the other end. Someone grab it, and the rest of you, try to stay in one place and carefully undo yourselves."

The passengers obeyed the order, and started working methodically. The redhead knelt down to deal with the yarn that was caught in her shoe buckle. "There, got it." As she started to stand, she came face to face with Professor Gray. "Say, I think I know you . . . Yes! It was at the mandolin camp. Remember? One time I dropped my pick, and when I was looking for it on the ground, you almost tripped over me! You were writing melodies, and, hey, . . . wait. You knew him, too. George Jordan. Didn't you do a workshop together?"

"No. You must be mistaking me for someone else."

The perky redhead did not give up. "No, I don't think so." She closed her eyes, as if trying to see something in her mind, then opened them and looked right at Joe Wordsworth. "Oh, this is amazing. You were there too! Both of you were there! I knew when I saw you two playing cards, that I had seen you both before, but didn't remember where."

Ethel Collins had been listening intently. "You were playing cards. I remember you calling out ÔGin' just before the tunnel, and the blackout. And you, dear," she turned to Tami Jordan, "you walked in the door just before . . . ah-choo! That's sneeze number three. Why look, dear, there's something on your dress . . it's pepper! No wonder. But where did it come from?"

Tami continued here silence with a shrug, then put her head down on her arm on the small table.

Progress was being made in the yarn untangling. Wendy had taken over re-rolling the shiny stuff into a ball, the other end of which was still mysteriously hidden in her bag. She started to put it away, then changed her mind. "Oh, what the heck. You all might as well see my new design . . .Ta-da!" She pulled out the front of a very lacy, multi-colored camisole. The top of the tiny garment was partially attached to a long, very skinny steel needle. But some stitches were dangerously loose.

"Oh, no." Wendy looked at the dangling stitches. "Where's my other needle?" She started to dig frantically in her bag, pulling out graph paper, make-up, scissors and a Milky Way. Frustrated, she said, "Oh, I'll just dump it all out."

"No."Professor Gray stared at her. "Don't. . . . I mean, we just got this mess undone, you wouldn't want to lose your yarn again."Wendy Kim stopped for a moment. She stared back at the professor, then looked at Joe. "Don't be ridiculous." She started to pick up her bag, but Joe grabbed it.

"Don't."

Bill reached in the pocket of his Amtrak uniform and pulled out a small vial. "Is this what you are afraid we'd see? It rolled out of her bag earlier, with the yarn."

Wendy's jaw dropped. "Joe! what did you do? You told me it was just going to be a joke. Just flirt with him, and pretend to fall into him so his wife would see, but, Joe . . . what did you do?"

Bill looked at Wendy, then at Joe. "You two know each other, I presume?"

Wendy's eyes were starting to tear up. "I've known him since first grade. He was going to be a famous poet, but that didn't happen. Then he started writing lyrics, always dreaming of having a hit song. That didn't happen. For some time now, he's been my gardner."

Bill looked at the vial. "Not an organic gardner, I'd guess."

For a moment everyone was quiet. They seemed to be trying to sort it out in their minds as they half listened to the sound of the train on the rails. A blackout. A vial of poison. A very sharp needle. As the train went around a curve, Ethel pointed to the floor. "There's your other knitting needle." She started to reach for it, but the foot of Professor Gray landed on the needle, trapping it. He then picked it up gingerly, being careful to avoid the sharp end.

"We should have known better. Stupid of us to involve another female." He held the needle like a miniature, delicate sword, and pointed it at the widow of the famous George Jordan. "You can cut the grieving act, now, Tami."

Tami said nothing.

"Grieving act?" said Ethel. "Of, course, the pepper!" She then explained, "I heard that actors sometimes put pepper in their eyes to make them cry. You were just pretending all along."

Bill was attempting to make sense of what had happened. "So, you four were all in it together? Why?"

Professor Gray sighed. "Just the three of us, really. Wendy didn't know what we were doing. And the bartender doesn't count. He just took a bribe to cause the blackout. The little redhead was on the right track, so to speak. We were at that mandolin camp years ago. I was writing melodies, and Joe was doing lyrics. We had a really good song, but we were so excited that we made a really big mistake. We played it for Jordan. He stole it, but we could never prove it was ours. It was his first big hit, and he made millions after that. But he wouldn't give us a cent."

"You two wrote I'll Take The Thorns If You'll Be My Rose?"

Finally, Tami spoke. "It's true. They wrote it. George admitted it to me. Just before he told me that he was going to leave me. I would have been left with nothing, thanks to his lawyers and a pre-nup I stupidly signed. He treated me like dirt, and he was going to leave me with nothing."

Bill looked at his pocket watch. "This has been a long night, but we're almost there. The train will stop soon, but I can't stop myself from saying this: for some of you, this is the end of the line."

THE END