Final Ride

by Nic Saint

  “Yes, I do. It’s a conscience thing, Mia. This maniac is going to strike again, and the next dead body is going to be on my head if I don’t quit now.”

  “Or you can help us catch the guy and stop him from hurting anyone else.”

  It was my ‘be part of the solution, not the problem’ speech. It wasn’t working.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Put Dylan in charge, will you? He’s a good kid.”

  “He’s not you.”

  He gave me a half-hearted smile, then surprised me by taking me into a bear hug. “Take care,” he breathed into my ear. “It’s been great knowing you.”

  He abruptly turned around and pushed through the door. Light spilled into the stairwell and when he looked back to give me a brief wave, I thought I could see tears blinking in the big man’s eyes. “Take care, Leo,” I whispered.

  Had this just happened? Had my head of security just quit while Charleneland was facing its biggest threat yet? It sure looked that way to me.

  I looked up when Blane appeared next to me, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Wow,” he said. “I did not expect that.”

  “Neither did I. Leo is family, Blane. Why would he leave us in the lurch?”

  “Beats me, Mia.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. Why did this suddenly feel like the end of an era?

  Maybe because it was.

  Chapter 21

  We were tooling along the road that led from Charleneland to the town of Sapsucker, Blane behind the wheel of his dinged-up squad car and me slumped in the passenger seat. We were on our way to Steve Geyser’s parents—not exactly the kind of visit I was particularly looking forward to.

  Even though the murder of Steve and the sabotage of the rollercoaster seemed connected, for now we were treating them as separate incidents. So Blane and I had a murder to solve, and my dad and his team, along with Dylan and the rest of my department, had a park to protect from a person or persons unknown, capable of wreaking havoc on our precious infrastructure.

  “So do you think Steve was an accidental casualty or the victim of a targeted shooting?” I asked.

  “Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” asked Blane, his face creased into a frown, not unlike mine.

  “I’d put money on the two incidents being connected. I mean, we both heard what Garrett said. He could just as easily have shot an innocent bystander—or a fake cactus. Seems to me Steve wasn’t the intended victim.”

  “We don’t know that, Mia.”

  Which is why we were driving into Sapsucker to figure out who would have wanted Steve Geyser dead and why.

  We arrived at the outskirts of Sapsucker, a dusty town in Southern California and Charleneland’s closest neighbor. Blane parked his car across the street from a nice suburban two-story beige house. It had an actual picket fence, neatly manicured front lawn, and a red mailbox with yellow flag.

  “Oh, Blane,” I said, faced with this perfect sample of suburbia. “I don’t know about this.” I suddenly dreaded going in and facing Steve’s grief-stricken folks.

  “Yeah, this is not my favorite part of the job either,” he confessed. He turned to me and took my hand in his. “Look, they know what happened. Two officers came by this morning. What we can offer them is the assurance that we’re doing everything in our power to catch whoever is responsible.”

  I gave him a weak smile. In the face of these people’s grief, my hesitation was shameful—cowardly, even—so I decided to pull myself together.

  “Okay.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Let’s just get this over with.”

  We walked up to the front door and Blane pressed his finger on the bell. A woman with rigid platinum hair and red-rimmed eyes opened the door, followed by a man with coarse features and an unruly mop of gray hair.

  Blane stepped forward. “Mr. and Mrs. Geyser? Detective Blane Jamison. Sapsucker police. And this is Mia Rugg—head of security at Charleneland. May we come in for a moment?”

  At the mention of my name, Mrs. Geyser’s eyes snapped to mine. Her expression grew hostile. “Rugg? You one of the Ruggs that run that park?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “And I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Her upper lip curled into a snarl. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here. My son is dead because of you. Head of security? So why didn’t you keep my boy safe? Tell me that!”

  “I’m—I’m very sorry,” I stammered, feeling completely out of my depth.

  She shook her head. “I’m going to sue you—you and that stupid park of yours. I’m going to sue your whole damn family!”

  “Calm down, honey,” said her husband. He gave me an apologetic look. “Krystle is taking the news very hard—especially since we’re completely in the dark here.” He turned to Blane. “Can you tell us what happened, Detective? Your colleagues were a little fuzzy on the details. They told us Steve was in an accident but couldn’t tell us what kind of accident, exactly.”

  “May we come in for a minute? There’s something you need to know.”

  Mrs. Geyser put her hand on her heart. “Oh, God. I can’t take this.”

  Her husband ushered us into the house and into the living room, which was spacious and cozy, with cream-colored leather couches and a glass coffee table that held a collection of yearbooks. One was open to pictures of Steve playing guitar on a school stage. He looked very young. Barely in his teens.

  We sat down, and I swallowed, my throat like parchment. I’d never faced the parents of a kid killed on my watch before, and by God I hoped it would never happen again. Steve’s parents sat looking at us anxiously, Krystle Geyser wringing her hands until her husband gripped them and held them in his.

  “Steve was murdered,” I explained, seeing no reason to postpone the inevitable.

  Mrs. Geyser uttered a soft sob.

  “Murdered?” asked Steve’s dad, incredulous. “What do you mean?”

  In a few words, Blane explained what had happened, his voice gentle and soothing. He’d done this before, I could tell, and listening to him was like balm to my own frayed nerves.

  Krystle Geyser broke into tears, and had to be comforted by her husband. Finally, she spoke up. “Steve talked about Garrett. Said he was a great kid. I believe his story. He would never shoot Steve on purpose. No one would.”

  “He was beloved,” her husband said in a low voice. “Steve was a prankster—voted class clown—but he was beloved,” he insisted, as if in defense of his boy.

  “We’re going to find whoever did this,” I said softly. “I promise. We’re going to find the person responsible and he’s going to be punished for what he did to Steve.”

  “Steve loved Charleneland,” said Krystle. “When he was accepted for a job there he was over the moon. He loved being part of the magic of the place. And of course he was a born entertainer. He was happy when he could make other people happy.” She fixed me with a desperate look. “You fix this. My boy died on your watch. You make sure that whoever did this is caught.”

  She broke down again, and my heart ached for these people. Maybe Leo was right. Maybe we should close down the park. As long as this maniac was on the loose, it occurred to me that no one was safe.

  And when he struck again—if he struck again… it was on our heads.

  Chapter 22

  We caught up with Verity Shackles at the Shake ’n Quake burger place at the Sapsucker Mall, which is located in a newly-zoned semi-industrial area on the edge of town. The mall isn’t just popular with the locals, but also with people visiting Charleneland and staying in one of the town’s hotels.

  Verity was serving a strawberry shake to a greasy-haired customer when we arrived. She turned her sapphire eyes on us. “What can I get you folks?”

  Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a single strand dangling across lovely features. I could only imagine how she and Steve would have looked together. Picture perfect.

  Blane held up his badge. “Can
we talk to you for a moment, Miss Shackles?”

  Her face fell and she cut a quick glance at her boss, a sour-faced woman in her mid-fifties. When she caught sight of Blane’s badge, she gave us a dirty look, then nodded to Verity and took over behind the counter.

  We took a table in a quiet corner of the burger place, and Verity sat down with a slightly crestfallen look on her face. “This is about Steve, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Blane.

  She nodded. “I already know about what happened. Heck, everybody does. I’ve seen the video. It’s so awful. Just plain awful.”

  “Hold on—what video?” I asked, alarmed.

  She furrowed her smooth brow. “The video of Garrett shooting Steve. At first I thought it was a joke, but then Garrett sent me a text.”

  I shared a quick look with Blane. Of course. In this day and age of ubiquitous cell phones, it was no surprise that the scene had been filmed. What surprised me was the lack of emotions from Steve’s girlfriend. She seemed to consider the matter on par with having a bad hair day.

  “You and Steve—had you been seeing each other long?” I asked.

  “Six weeks,” she said, smoothing her apron.

  “Is it true that you and Steve had a big fight the other night?” asked Blane.

  She nodded. “Sure. Garrett told you about that, didn’t he?”

  “He also said you guys made up?” I asked.

  “Well, we did. It wasn’t a biggie. Steve wanted to spend the money he made at Charleneland on a car. I told him that we should go away together before he went off to college. Maybe Paris or Rome. He said he wasn’t about to spend his hard-earned money on some dumb trip. So I broke up with him.” She shrugged. “But then he apologized and we made up. And made out—” She grinned, not a care in the world.

  “Aren’t you… sad that Steve’s gone?” I asked, not able to keep my tongue.

  She fixed me with a curious look. “We weren’t serious or anything. The only reason I hooked up with him was because he got me and my friends into Charleneland for free. I was going to break up with him in September.”

  Oh, the frivolity of youth, I thought wryly, and from the look on Blane’s face I could tell he was thinking the same thing.

  “So he got you into Charleneland for free, huh?” I asked

  “Sure. Me and my squad have been hanging out there all summer. Way cool.” She studied her nails, which were buffed to perfection. “Too bad he’s gone. And there’s no way we’re paying full price. That place is so expensive.”

  A thought occurred to me. “Did you guys meet up at the Rusty Spur?”

  She frowned. “Are you kidding me? That dingy shack? Steve said it was ready for demolition. No, our favorite hangout is Futureland. They serve the best drinks in the entire park. And they’ve got the cutest guys working there.”

  “But too expensive, right?”

  She gave me a cheeky grin. “Steve got us all the vouchers we needed. So we got to eat and drink for free.”

  “Too bad his vouchers couldn’t get you to Paris and back.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know, right? And it’s not as if he couldn’t afford to go. He made a ton at the park.”

  “A ton?” I wasn’t up to date on the particulars of cast salaries, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t ‘a ton.’

  “Oh, sure. He got me and my posse in for free, and threw in those vouchers, too. But everyone else had to pay. Steve made a killing.”

  I stared at the teenager. “He sold tickets to Charleneland to his friends?”

  “Not just his friends. He had this website? You could buy a ticket at a ten percent discount—and vouchers, too. Only since he got them for free, he sold them at a hundred percent profit. He bragged about it, like, all the time.”

  My jaw worked, and the sympathy I’d felt for Steve took a nosedive.

  “Did he run the website all by himself?” asked Blane. “I mean, he wasn’t a computer whiz or anything, right?”

  Verity laughed. “’Steve? A computer whiz? No way! He was the smooth talker. The salesman. No, the site was set up by his best friend. Scott Davies.”

  “Scott Davies,” Blane repeated, making a mental note.

  “The two of them were going to take over the world,” said Verity. “Like Mark Zuckerberg and those hunky swimmers? The Winklevoss twins?”

  “Not swimmers. Olympic rowers,” I corrected her.

  “Whatever. Only they had the biggest blowout last week. Like, screaming.”

  Both Blane and I shuffled forward on our chairs. “Blowout?”

  “Yeah. Something about money. Steve wouldn’t tell me. He just said him and Scott were done, and from now on he was keeping the money. Which would have been great, if only he hadn’t wasted it on that stupid car.” She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “And now he’s gotten himself killed. What a loser.”

  Chapter 23

  The squad car made its way to the other side of town, Blane behind the wheel again. “So what do you think? Should we arrest the guy on the spot? Or give him the benefit of the doubt?” he asked.

  “I’d say arrest him on the spot, but then I’m prejudiced.”

  “As you should be.” He thumped the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “I can’t believe anyone would do that. Stealing tickets and vouchers.”

  “There have been rumors about this swirling around for some time. But so far we didn’t have any hard proof.”

  “Well, you have now,” he said, gesturing to my phone, where I’d just called up freetickets.com and seen the scam with my own eyes.

  ”Steve must have known someone in sales,” I said. “No way we comped him so many tickets.”

  “What’s the system?”

  “Everyone who works at Charleneland gets five tickets they can distribute freely to family and friends. They also get a book of vouchers. Most workers use them for lunch and dinner.” I shook my head. “But this guy must have gotten his hands on dozens of vouchers and tickets. Maybe even hundreds.”

  “This goes beyond a teenager doling out a couple of stolen tickets to his buddies,” said Blane. “This is criminal behavior.”

  I turned to him. “So you think this is related to Steve’s death in some way?”

  “Could be,” he admitted. “If this Scott Davies got greedy and saw his nice little income stream cut off by Steve’s decision to go into business for himself, he might have decided to take him out.”

  “Take him out. That sounds like this was a mob hit or something.”

  We were both quiet, thinking about Steve Geyser and the hidden undercurrents of his life. Maybe that was what teenagers were into these days? Trying to make money on the side to pay for their expensive hobbies? When I was growing up we didn’t have smartphones or tablets or money for cars. Even though we weren’t poor, Mom and Dad always made sure we had both feet on solid ground and didn’t grow too big for our britches.

  “Do you think Leo will ever come back?” Blane asked, changing the subject.

  “I hope so. Charleneland isn’t the same without him. He’s family. Family doesn’t walk out on family.”

  He gave me a quick sideways glance. “He pretty much blew his chances with Charlene now, huh?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe this will make her respect him more. I’ve never seen him refuse her anything before. He usually does whatever she asks.”

  “I don’t get it. So here’s this guy who’s had a crush on your grandmother for—how long now?”

  “Since Charleneland opened—1993.”

  He shook his head. “This guy’s been pining for Charlene for over two decades. And never a word? An invitation to take her out? Nothing?”

  “Nothing. He says that employees and management don’t mix. He’s real old-fashioned that way. Though I think it’s just an excuse. I think deep down he’s just nervous she’ll turn him down and for things to get awkward.”

  “And would she? Turn him down?”

  I thought about this. “I’m
not sure. Charlene is unpredictable. If you’d asked me a couple of years ago, I’d have said Leo didn’t stand a chance. Before she hit seventy, she was too busy with her boy toys, trying to hold back time. Now? She might be ready for a great guy like Leo. Share their golden years.”

  He laughed. “Golden years. I’ll bet you wouldn’t say that to her face.”

  I smiled. “No. Never mention age to Charlene. She will kill you with a glance. Or sick her dogs on you.”

  Blane gulped at the memory of Terri and Ceci.

  “Oh, come on, Blane. They’re two tiny yappers. The cutest dogs in the world!”

  “Have you seen those teeth, though?” He shivered. “Sharp. Like piranha.”

  “I can’t believe a guy like you would be afraid of two sweet puppies.”

  He shrugged. “Once bitten…”

  “So you were bitten?” I’d speculated about this with my sisters. Marisa thought Blane was simply scared of all animals. Zoophobia. Maya thought he was faking it. Making himself look more interesting to make an impression on me. Though what kind of impression a man afraid of two Corgis can possibly hope to make was beyond me. Me? I thought it was childhood trauma.

  “Yeah. When I was four or thereabouts. My aunt’s dog—a giant Dalmatian—put its paws on my shoulders. I toppled over. We were face to face. I can still feel his drool dripping onto my face. I was scared stiff. Unable to move. I really thought he was going to chew my head off. But then my uncle dragged him off me. Later he actually bit my aunt on the arm. She needed a dozen stitches. They had the dog put down then.” He shivered again. “So excuse me if I’m not too fond of your grandmother’s furry companions.”

  “No, I get that. It must have been a terrifying experience.”

  He looked over, and when he caught my smile, he rolled his eyes. “Okay, I know, I know. It looks bad.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “The big, bad cop. Afraid of two tiny balls of fur.”

  “Don’t worry, Detective Jamison. I’ll protect you.”

  “Oh, Christ.”