The Last Answer in the Depot

Niall locked the front gate of the tram depot at seven. The old trams stood in two long rows. Their green paint shone under the dusty lamps. He loved the depot best at this hour.

"Wait," called Dalma. "I am not done yet."

Dalma was new. She worked on Tram 12 with a tiny pot of gold paint. That evening she painted the number on the front.

"The lights go off at eight," said Niall. "They are on a timer."

"Then I will be quick."

Niall sighed and sat on a box. He did not like paint. He liked puzzles. He took a folded crossword from his pocket. He read the first clue.

Suddenly Dalma gave a small cry. Her brush fell from her hand. It rolled under the tram. It dropped into the pit between the rails.

"I will get it," she said.

"Be careful. It is dark down there."

Dalma climbed down with her phone light. Niall heard her steps on the stone floor. Then he heard nothing for a long minute.

"Niall," she said. Her voice was low and strange. "Come down here."

He went down the steps. The pit was narrow and cold. It smelled of oil and old dust. Dalma pointed her light at the bottom of the tram.

A small metal box hung under the driver's platform. Two thick straps held it in place. On the front was a lock with four letter wheels. A yellow card hung from the handle on a piece of string.

"Someone hid this," said Dalma.

"Someone hid it a long time ago." Niall took the card. "Look. It is a crossword."

The card was old, and the ink was pale. Someone cut the crossword from a newspaper. Then they filled it in by hand. Every word was filled in except one. On the back were ten words in neat writing.

"Finish me. The answer opens the box. You have one try."

"It is a treasure hunt," whispered Dalma.

"It is a puzzle," said Niall. But his heart beat fast.

They carried the box up to the platform of Tram 12. The cab lamp was still on. Niall sat on the driver's stool with the card on his knee. Dalma held the light.

"The old clues are easy," he said. "Tram things. Rail, wheel, pole, ticket."

"What is the empty one?"

"Fourteen across." He read it out loud. "Ring in the cab. Four letters."

"Bell," said Dalma at once.

"No. Call."

Dalma looked at him. "Call?"

"A ring is a call on the phone. It is four letters."

"Niall, this is a tram. There was no phone in the cab."

"The driver could call the depot."

"The driver rang a bell. Everybody knows that."

"Not everybody," said Niall. His voice was tight. "A ring can be a call. I know words. It is my hobby."

Dalma folded her arms. "And I know trams. It is my job."

For a minute neither of them spoke. The depot was very quiet. A clock on the wall ticked. It was five to eight.

"We should stop," said Dalma at last. "We are both tired."

"We should finish." Niall held the card closer to the lamp. His eyes ran along the row of boxes. "Wait. Wait a moment."

"What?"

"I did not look at the crossing word." He put his finger on a clue. "Nine down. Fruit like an apple. Four letters. Somebody wrote it in already."

"Pear," said Dalma.

"P, E, A, R. And fourteen across crosses it at the second letter." He looked up. "The second letter is E."

Dalma waited. Then her mouth opened.

"Call has an A," said Niall slowly. "Bell has an E."

"So it is bell."

"It is bell." Niall started to laugh. "I thought about phones all day. I forgot the whole tram."

"A good driver rings a bell," said Dalma. She smiled now. "I am sorry I was rude."

"I am sorry I did not listen."

At that moment, the clock struck eight. The depot lights clicked off one by one. The long rows of trams were lost in the dark. Only the cab lamp and Dalma's phone still glowed.

"Quickly," said Niall.

He turned the four wheels of the lock. B. E. L. L. Dalma held her breath. The lock gave a soft click, and the lid came up.

Inside lay an old key, a photograph and a folded note. The photograph showed a young woman in a driver's coat. She stood in front of Tram 12 and laughed. Her hand held the bell rope.

Dalma unfolded the note. The writing was neat and blue.

"To the person who finishes my puzzle. Thank you for caring about my old tram. Keep the key. It opens this tram's cab. Ring the bell once for luck. It likes to be heard."

Niall looked at Dalma. Dalma looked at the little bell above the driver's window. The rope hung down in the cab lamp's light. It was thin and old, and it did not move.

"You do it," said Niall.

"No. You found the answer."

"We found it together."

Dalma took the rope in her fingers. She pulled it down, gently, once.

"Ding."