Luggage Tag 52 at Alder Junction
At Alder Junction station, a brown leather case had sat on the lost-and-found shelf for six days. Tamsin, who helped her mother at the ticket desk after school, decided to find its owner. The only label was a paper tag with the number 52 and nothing else.
Station rules said a lost case could be opened to look for a name. With her mother watching, Tamsin lifted the lid. Inside lay a folded blue sweater, a thick book about knots, and a pinch of gritty sand in one corner. A ferry ticket stub was tucked in the book as a bookmark.
"Sand," said Tamsin. "So the owner has been to a beach." She turned over the stub. It showed a picture of a ship and the words Pebble Harbor.
Her mother tapped the book. "People who work on boats need to know their knots," she said.
Tamsin looked up the number of the Pebble Harbor ferry office and called. A friendly voice answered. "Tag 52?" it said. "Mr. Oyelaran has asked about that case every day. He works on the ferry, and he left it on the afternoon train."
The next morning, Mr. Oyelaran came to the desk and thanked her. "Sand, a stub, and a book of knots," he said when she told him how she had worked it out. "You should be a detective."