Jonny didn’t answer right away. He just struck a match on the toe of his shoe and lit a Lucky like he was auditioning for a cigarette ad. The smoke curled around his head like a noose waiting for the right neck. He looked out the window as the bus lurched forward, Van Nuys shrinking behind them like a bad alibi. But as Boris beheld the uncomfortable expression on the faces of the other passengers at their arrival, the little pug knew that the presence of a famous detective team wasn’t welcome. All of the travelers seemed out of place for the journey ahead: a sexy Hollywood movie star who brought six months’ worth of luggage for a three-hour bus tour, a washed-up pitcher in the majors who was trying to squeeze out one last season in the Barstow Winter Rookie League, a gorgeous heiress who every newspaper in the country was looking for since she disappeared to elope with the fortune hunter her billionaire father hated. Everyone on the bus had two things in common; a backstory which made their presence implausible and a noticeable shudder when they saw Jonny and Boris take their seats.
The only one who seemed happy that they were there was the obnoxious and mysterious bigshot that everyone on the bus had a grudge against. One look at him and it was Boris’ turn to shudder. He turned to Jonny and whispered, “there’s going to be a murder on this bus today…and they’re going to expect US to solve it.”
