Chapter 15
The Flam Railway station looks like it was plucked straight from a tourism brochure about quaint European train travel. The red wooden building with its charming gingerbread trim could double as Santa’s Norwegian headquarters during the off-season.
Inside, ancient wooden benches gleam with the polished patina that comes from a century of tourist posteriors, and the station master sports a mustache so impressive it probably has its own passport.
Our little production crew creates a stir among the regular tourists, who seem unsure whether to photograph the fjords or the camera-wielding entourage following two overdressed women through a train station.
Harper and I are positioned at the front of our group, with Bess, Nettie, Tinsley, and Elodie arranged behind us like backup singers waiting for their cue.
“Remember,” Boomer instructs, hovering at my elbow. “This is supposed to be a bonding moment between the calculating analyst and the relatable everywoman. Try to find common ground. Preferably while arguing dramatically about something trivial.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I mutter, eyeing Harper, who is currently documenting the precise time of our train’s departure in her ever-present notebook. Finding common ground with Harper Bailey seems about as likely as finding a beach umbrella at the North Pole.
“The grade is pretty steep for a train, and most of the tunnels were carved by hand. It’s impressive.” Harper informs me as we board. “We’ll pass through twenty tunnels, most of which were excavated by hand.”
“Fascinating,” I reply, wondering if she swallowed a guidebook for breakfast. “Do you always memorize transport statistics before your morning coffee?” I’m teasing, but I know for a fact it makes for good television.
“Knowledge is power,” she says without a hint of irony. “Madison never understood that. She thought social capital was the only currency worth accumulating.”
I perk up at the mention of our deceased castmate. “You and Madison weren’t close, then?”
“We had different methodologies,” Harper says cryptically, sliding into a window seat with perfect posture.
I take the seat beside her, while our entourage distributes itself throughout the carriage.
Bess and Nettie claim seats directly behind us, and their expressions suggest they’re prepared for a double feature of entertainment—the spectacular Norwegian scenery outside and whatever drama unfolds between Harper and me inside.
Speaking of the inside, it’s flocked with red velvet and laden with mahogany tables, and looks every bit like the perfect place to set a mystery. I’m not sure Ransom would approve. But as long as I don’t come back with a dead body, I’m sure he’ll be happy.
The train whistle blows, and with a gentle lurch, we begin our ascent into the mountains.
Through the window, the quaint village of Flam recedes as the fjord stretches out like a blue-green ribbon against the rocky landscape.
The view is so stunning it almost distracts me from the fact that I’m trapped in a train car with a woman who treats human interaction like a scientific experiment gone wrong.
“So,” I begin casually as the cameras zoom in closer, “what exactly are you always writing in that notebook?”
Harper’s pen pauses mid-stroke with the leather menace in her hand. “Observations.”
“Oh? About...?”
“Everything.” She turns a page, revealing columns of what appear to be times, dates, and cryptic notations. “I find that patterns emerge when you pay attention.”
Marlie’s ghost materializes in the empty seat across from us, her ’80s power suit clashing magnificently with the traditional Norwegian decor of the train car.
“She’s hiding something,” Marlie declares, peering over at Harper’s notebook. “Look at the way she shields the page when she writes. Classic guilty behavior. I used that exact gesture in season twenty-four when Victoria was keeping a secret ledger of her enemies.”
I try not to react to Marlie’s commentary as the train climbs higher, curving around the mountainside to reveal views that make even Harper pause her pen strokes.
Waterfalls cascade down sheer rocks as the mist creates rainbows that hang in the air like nature’s special effects department showing off.
“Wow, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I try again.
“I suppose it’s aesthetically pleasing,” Harper concedes. “Although the economic impact of tourism on these isolated communities creates a fascinating dependency dynamic.”
I can’t help but make a face at her response. It’s like the woman was programmed instead of birthed.
Nettie whispers to Bess from behind, “Is she always this much fun at parties? Because I’d rather drink antifreeze.”
Bess titters, and believe me, I’m tempted, too. “She probably schedules her smiles two weeks in advance.”
I stifle a laugh and notice that Harper’s notes have taken on a more structured format. She’s creating what looks like a timeline, with names I recognize—Val, Beth, Dirk, even my own—scattered throughout.
“Are you documenting the cruise?” I ask, trying to catch a glimpse of more details.
Harper closes the notebook with a snap. “In a manner of speaking.”
The train enters a tunnel, plunging us momentarily into darkness before emerging onto a spectacular mountain plateau.
A waterfall thunders past, so close it seems we could touch it through the window.
And for the love of all things good, I pray Nettie doesn’t attempt it.
I would really love for her to get back to the ship with all of her limbs intact.
“The Kjosfossen waterfall,” Harper identifies without consulting a guide. “Traditionally believed to be home to the Huldra, a seductive forest creature who lures men to their doom.”
“Sounds like a guy I dated in college,” I quip.
It sounds like Tinsley, but I keep that quip to myself.
The corner of Harper’s mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but more like a distant cousin. It’s progress, I suppose.
As we climb higher, the landscape becomes increasingly dramatic.
The mountains close in on both sides, their peaks disappearing into low-hanging clouds.
Evergreen forests cling to impossible angles on the slopes, and waterfalls appear around every bend, crashing down rock faces in white torrents.
Passengers ooh and aah at each new vista, while camera crews scramble to capture both the scenery and our reactions to it.
“Cut!” Boomer shouts as we reach a particularly scenic stretch. “This is boring. Where’s the conflict? Harper, say something judgmental about Trixie’s life choices. Trixie, get defensive.”
“I’m not particularly interested in Trixie’s life choices,” Harper says coolly.
“And I’m surprisingly unbothered by Harper’s lack of interest,” I add.
Boomer looks like he might cry. “Work with me, people! This is reality television, not a scenic railway documentary!”
“Perhaps if you provided more structured parameters for our interaction,” Harper suggests, “the results would be more to your liking.”
“Just argue about something!” Boomer pleads before retreating to confer with his team of camera operators.
“He’s not very good at his job, is he?” Harper points out once he’s out of earshot.
“He’s much better at capturing existing drama than creating it,” I agree.
“Hmm.” Harper makes another note in her book.
“For heaven’s sake,” Marlie exclaims, floating up to hover near the ceiling of the train. “This is painful to watch. Ask her about Madison’s secrets! Ask about the other wives! Do something before I die of boredom—which, considering I’m already dead, would be quite the accomplishment.”
The train begins to slow as we approach the top station at Myrdal. Passengers prepare to disembark, some to connect to other trains, others to explore the mountain hiking trails.
“We’re taking a side excursion to the Stegastein Viewpoint,” Boomer announces, appearing at our seats. “The bus is waiting outside the station. It’s a glass platform that juts out from the mountain. It’s perfect for dramatic confrontations with vertigo-inducing backgrounds.”
“How subtle,” I mutter.
The train comes to a complete stop, and Harper stands abruptly. “I need to make a call. I’ll meet you at the bus.”
She walks swiftly to the far end of the platform with her phone already at her ear, turning her back to ensure privacy. I quickly follow her out, pretending to be fascinated by a nearby souvenir stand while straining to hear snippets of her conversation.
“...found the evidence... yes, on the USB... recordings of all of them... no, she doesn’t suspect... meeting at the viewpoint...”
Harper returns looking slightly flushed, tucking her phone into her designer handbag. “Ready for the bus?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The journey to the Stegastein Viewpoint takes us along winding mountain roads that would make a roller coaster engineer jealous. Our minibus climbs ever higher, revealing panoramic views of the fjord below that seem almost unreal in their perfection.
When we finally arrive, the viewpoint lives up to its reputation. A glass-floored platform extends from the mountainside like an architect’s dare, offering an unobstructed view of the Aurlandsfjord many jarring miles below. The drop is so sheer it makes my stomach do somersaults just looking at it.
I step to the left of the glass platform and peer over the edge for one insane second.
“Geez!” I gasp as I take a full step back. My ears are ringing, and the ground below seems to be pulsating up and down.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Harper says, stepping onto the glass platform without hesitation. “The engineers designed it to create the illusion of floating in mid-air.”
“The illusion is working a little too well,” I reply, cautiously joining her while trying not to look directly down.
Oh my word. I’ve never been more afraid in my life to take another step. And all the while I envision the glass beneath my feet crackling like ice and the two of us plunging to our deaths.