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Anna nods.
“How much did that cost?”
“Everything I had,” Anna says. “This is a private journey. Arranged by me for my special guests.”
“So, it’s a party?” Reggie says.
“Not in the least.”
Reggie, now seemingly more uncertain than ever, tugs his shirt collar and gives one last look at the corpse on the floor. “Well, I’m sorry to barge in like this. If you all don’t mind, I’ll just go back to coach and stay there until we reach Chicago.”
He stands and makes for the door again. This time, Anna is ready for it and blocks his escape. Reggie is part of this now, whether he wants to be or not. She certainly can’t have him bopping around the empty train on his own.
“I’m afraid that’s no longer an option, Reggie.”
“Listen,” he says. “Whatever’s going on here, I don’t want any part of it. I’m just an insurance salesman from Lansdale. Unlike you, I’m not standing around doing nothing while there’s a dead man in the car. Now, it’s time you start answering some of my questions, starting with whoyouare and what the hell is going on here.”
Anna realizes she has no choice but to tell Reggie the truth. Innocent bystander or not, he deserves to know as much as everyone else onboard.
“My name is Anna Matheson.”
“Matheson?”
Anna’s not surprised the name rings a bell. Even twelve years later, her father remains infamous throughout America.
“Daughter of Arthur Matheson,” she says before giving him a truncated version of who she is, who the others are, why they’re all on an empty train barreling toward Chicago, and why it’s unlikely to stop until they get there.
Reggie listens intently, every so often repeating a key word, as if trying to underscore its importance in his mind. “Framed.” “Conspiracy.” “Justice.” When Anna finishes, he points to Seamus and says, “So he’s with you?”
“Yes.”
“And the others are…?”
“Guilty,” Anna says.
“Not me,” Dante announces from behind the bar. “I want to make that clear.”
“Nor me,” adds Lapsford, a lie Reggie doesn’t acknowledge because he’s too busy taking fleeting glances at Judd Dodge’s corpse.
“How did he die?” he says.
“He was murdered,” Anna says, seeing no reason to shield the stranger from something he’s already surmised.
Reggie lets that sink in a moment before asking the inevitable follow-up question. “Did you do it?”
“If I say no, will you believe me?”
“Not sure.”
Anna can’t help but smile. The man might be lying about everything else, but at least she knows he’s being honest about that. “Well, please believe me when I say I did not murder him. But someone in this car did.”
Reggie looks around the lounge, aghast. “Why?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out.”
“Was—” Reggie gulps. “Was he one of the people who—”
“Yes,” Anna says, less to spare him from speaking the obvious end of the sentence than to prevent her from hearing it. “But I didn’t want him dead. You must believe me about that, too, since many of the others in this car don’t.”