Thrill Squeaker

by Christy Barritt

  I would freak out.

  I turned over in bed and let the scent of bacon tease my taste buds. Someone was making breakfast. They were making bacon for breakfast.

  This day couldn’t be all bad. Not when it started with bacon. Besides, Riley would be arriving soon, and I couldn’t wait to see him.

  My stomach growled, so I climbed out of bed and got dressed. When I walked into the kitchen area, Nate was at the stove, and he looked as cheerful as ever. He was wearing jeans and a red-and-black flannel shirt. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his hair looked damp, like he’d just gotten out of the shower.

  What was the word I’d heard used before to describe his look? Ah, yes, I remembered—lumbersexual. That word seemed appropriate here since he was essentially a well-groomed lumberjack.

  “Good morning!” he called merrily, glancing over his shoulder from the stove.

  “Good morning.” I glanced around. “Where’s Chad?”

  “He ran into town to grab some supplies. He said he’ll be back in an hour.” He flipped the stove off. “Speaking of which, I’m running to the office today. There’s some kind of retirement-fund crisis I have to deal with. People get so bent out of shape over stuff like that—it’s like their future depends on it.”

  This guy could not be for real. I lifted up a quick prayer for anyone who had ever invested money with him. They were going to need all the help they could get.

  “I figured you and Chad could handle yourselves. Seamus and Braxton are on their way—”

  “Who’s Seamus?”

  “Oh, sorry. He’s someone I brought in to help with roofing. He’s a local.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Anyway, I did fix a diggity doggone good breakfast for you.” He handed me a paper plate full of food. “Yes, that’s right. For you. No one ever said I didn’t treat my employees right. Drop the mic.”

  I stared at the bacon and eggs, unsure how to interpret his gesture. “That was nice of you. Thank you.”

  “It’s the least I can do after my embarrassing slip-up yesterday. You know?”

  I was about to say “thank you,” grateful that we could make amends, when Nate continued.

  “You know—when I said onward, ho, and you thought I was referring to—”

  My jaw flexed. “I did not think that.”

  He stared at me and then smiled slowly. “Right.”

  He said the word with that woodpecker cadence, one that made it clear he thought I was not very bright.

  I decided to ignore him and instead I began gulping down the breakfast—including plenty of coffee. It was just that kind of morning. I hadn’t finished when Nate grabbed his leather jacket and said goodbye.

  As soon as I finished eating, I tossed my plate, put the silverware in the sink, and stepped outside to get a look at this place in the daylight. The air outside felt chilly—probably in the fifties, but the brisk wind that swept across the mountainside made it seem at least ten degrees cooler. Nate had mentioned something yesterday about a cold front coming this way that would make it feel more like December than September. At least the sun shone brightly overhead and the sky looked cloudless beyond the canopy of branches above me.

  Maybe I expected things to look less overwhelming with the bright sun illuminating the area.

  It didn’t. In fact, the darkness last night had concealed a lot of the flaws in the buildings across the street. Seeing them reminded me of how much work we had to get done.

  While I waited for Chad, I stepped around the side of the cabin. As I rounded the corner toward the woods, I spotted the stream, trickling over gentle rocks. I sucked in a breath at the pure beauty in front of me. The scene looked exquisite and serene.

  As I turned to head back to the cabin, something on the ground caught my eye.

  It was a gigantic footprint, right outside my bedroom window. Not a normal footprint, though. Gone were any treads from a tennis shoe or boot. No, it was a bare foot. A big, bulky imprint with knobby toe marks topped off with sharp, pointy claws.

  I swallowed hard.

  It wasn’t Bigfoot. It couldn’t be.

  But what else would have left a footprint that looked like that?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I spent most of the week doing demolition and trash removal on these cabins.” Chad rubbed a wall that had been freshly plastered. “The foundations of these buildings seem solid, and Seamus is going to work on the roofs. Meanwhile, Braxton is slowly working cabin-by-cabin on electric. We’re keeping the wood floors, but they’ll need to be sanded down . . .”

  I tried not to tune him out as he talked about floors, and subcontractors, and roofs. I was itching to get started on these floors. What could be a better way to spend my day than sanding them down? I could actually think of a million things I’d rather be doing. But Chad was counting on me.

  “There’s also a landscaping crew coming in,” Chad said. “The walkways have to be safe. Fences have to be put up around certain areas to keep visitors out. A specialized crew will be working on getting rid of the Ferris wheel.”

  I grabbed some safety goggles from a tub of supplies we’d hauled inside. “This is a big job, Chad. Bigger than a week.”

  “I’m trying to conquer this place bite by bite.” He gave up on his obsession over the plaster and moved on to examine part of the baseboard. “I can stay longer if I have to. Hey—if those renovators on TV can flip a house in a weekend, I can turn this place around in a week, right? The most important thing is: one, it’s safe here, and, two, we get as many cabins as possible ready to be rented.”

  He sounded nearly frantic. I’d never seen my friend like this. I needed to do whatever I could to calm him down. “I’ve got the floors covered. I should be able to knock out sanding them all today. Then I’ll come in and clean them, so they’ll be ready to be sealed. After that, we can work on new doors and windows.”

  “The window crew is coming later next week.”

  I nodded. “Great. It sounds like everything is on schedule then.”

  I thought that would wrap up our conversation and allow me to get started, but Chad was pacing now and staring at his clipboard. I was slightly overwhelmed at all of his jabbering, but I didn’t mention it to my friend.

  “I’ve got this covered here, Chad. Really. I have five hours until the rest of the gang arrives. I can do it.”

  He stared at me a moment and then nodded. “I’m going to check on Braxton and see how the electric is coming. I keep telling Nate he needs to think about overhead lights for the outdoors, especially since people will be here at night.”

  Chad’s brain was still shooting all over the place. I grabbed a mask and raised the handle of the orbital sander, ready to get busy. Except I wasn’t. I wanted to talk about the murder and this place’s history—really, anything but renovating.

  “I still don’t know how Nate can afford to do this,” I said, trying to sound casual and not obsessive compulsive. But curiosity had always gotten the best of me.

  Chad shrugged and randomly began measuring the doorframe. “I don’t know this for certain, but I heard some locals have invested in the place. That would explain some things.”

  My stomach sank. “You mean people have invested in this place instead of, let’s say, retirement funds? That sounds risky.”

  He snapped his measuring tape shut. “People trust Nate with their money. That’s his job. He’s got a way of influencing people.”

  “Good for him.” I couldn’t imagine it was good for his clients, but I could be wrong. Maybe he was a lot smarter than I gave him credit for.

  “So you found a big footprint outside your window, huh?”

  Ah hah! I was hoping Chad might give his full attention to my earlier discovery. He’d been so preoccupied with talking to some subs that he’d hardly acknowledged me when I first told him.

  “It was right outside of my bedroom window.” I shuddered. Based on the placement of the footprint, it was almost like someone had
been staring inside at me last night while I slept. The thought wasn’t comforting.

  “Wood knocking, a figure rushing through the underbrush, and a large footprint.” He shook his head, lingering in the doorway a moment. “It’s not looking good.”

  I cut a sharp glance at him, trying to read my friend. “You really don’t believe in Bigfoot, do you?”

  He shrugged, looking as laidback as ever. “I can’t say I do. I can’t say I don’t. We’ll see if that changes over the next week.” In his spookiest voice, he added, “They live among us.”

  I scowled. “Very funny. The next thing you’re going to tell me is that Bigfoot murdered the man we found yesterday.”

  “All I can say is this: the truth is out there.”

  I plugged in the sander. Maybe it was time for this conversation to be over.

  Because no one was going to make a believer out of me. Bigfoot was a myth—and that was all.

  * * *

  I stretched my back muscles as I pulled my goggles off. I’d somehow managed to finish three cabins in five hours. I’d used the orbital sander to strip all the finish off the wood floors, and then a hand held sander to get the edges. Since the cabins were empty and little prep work had to be done, I’d breezed through the job.

  But right now, I looked like a grungy mess. A mixture of dirt and powder-like sawdust covered every surface of my skin and hair and clothes. I wished I had time to change or freshen up, but it would be an act in futility since I had more work to do.

  Everyone was set to arrive any time now, and I knew they’d have trouble reaching both Chad and me on our cells. I needed some fresh air, and I wanted to see how everything was going up in the Bermuda Triangle. Apparently, a crew had arrived this morning to begin demolition on the Ferris wheel.

  I started up the solitary path leading to the park’s entrance. In the distance, I spotted the yellow crime scene tape from yesterday. My thoughts went back to the dead body. Had the autopsy already been done? What had Marion found?

  We’d been in this general area when Nate had called the police yesterday, I realized. Out of curiosity, I pulled out my phone and raised it in the air.

  Still no signal.

  I continued to hold it high, desperately searching for a sign of life outside of this old graveyard of an amusement park. Having no contact with the outside world was a bit unnerving, and I didn’t like it. At least I had the radio now. Chad had dropped one by as he was supervising tasks throughout the park, just in case I needed to get in touch.

  Finally, as I crested the hill, one bar appeared on my screen. Immediately, a message popped onto my screen.

  Marion had called me.

  My curiosity spiked. Why would she be calling?

  I paused, afraid to move for fear I’d go out of range again before calling Marion back.

  “Gabby, thanks for the callback,” Marion said. “I was hoping I’d hear from you. Listen, while you’re in town, I wanted to invite you over for dinner one night. It would be nice to catch up.”

  Catching up with an old colleague? That sounded perfect. “That’s nice of you. I’d love to.”

  “I hoped you would say that. How about Wednesday evening?”

  I had to work on Monday and Thursday, and as long as I met Marion after daytime work hours, I couldn’t see where it would be a problem. “As far as I know, I have no plans.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll text you my address. Feel free to bring a friend with you, if you’d like.”

  “I appreciate that.” I paused, trying to find my words before the opportunity slipped by. “By the way, did you do the autopsy yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. I found it very interesting. The boy—I call him a boy, but he was twenty-one, and his name was Caleb Kidwell—he was strangled.”

  “Strangled?” My free hand went to my throat as my muscles tightened. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed that simply by looking at him. Of course, he was wearing a high collared puffy vest, so his throat was concealed.”

  “Not only that, but he was strangled by hand—by very large hands,” she said.

  My pulse spiked. The large hands were just a coincidence. They had nothing to do with the very large footprint I’d found outside my window. I might have trouble convincing Chad of that, however.

  “It gets stranger,” Marion continued. “There was a death at the park nearly twenty years ago. I pulled up the records. This other man was murdered the same way—strangled from behind. Even the size of the hands match.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  I suddenly didn’t like standing still on this path in the middle of the woods by myself. My skin rose. What if someone was out there watching me? I shivered, my gaze scanning the trees. Bigfoot figures stared back at me, but I didn’t see anyone else.

  Chills raced up and down my spine. Two nearly identical murders nearly twenty years apart. One ended up closing down the park, and the other occurred right before the park reopened.

  “That’s . . . eerie,” I finally said to Marion.

  “You can say that again. It looks like we could have a copycat killer here in the county. That’s a first for this area. When people hear . . . well, no one will be sleeping at night.”

  “Including me. Thanks for sharing that.”

  “By the way, I told the chief about you and your work. Told him he could trust you. I consider you one of my colleagues still, whether it’s official or not.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “I mean it, Gabby. You should also keep your eyes open. I don’t know what’s going on out there at Mythical Falls, but it doesn’t sound good. Be careful.”

  Her warning sent another round of chills up my spine.

  Just as I hung up, I spotted three figures at the top of the hill in the distance. My heart leaped with joy. Riley was here!

  It was hard to miss his tall, lean frame as well as his dark hair, blue eyes, and easy smile. He carried himself with confidence but also kindness and compassion. We’d been through so many struggles to get to the point where we were now.

  I started toward him, a little skip in my step, until I was close enough to throw my arms around his neck. At his familiar scent—leathery and pleasant—I already felt calmer. “You’re here.”

  “Good to see you too.” He chuckled before squeezing tighter.

  As I reluctantly stepped back, Clarice pulled me into an exuberant hug and squealed, “Gabby!”

  I froze in surprise and awkwardly patted her back. “Clarice . . .”

  “What? I thought you greeted everyone so enthusiastically.” She blinked, appearing totally sincere in her assessment.

  Clarice looked like she’d be more comfortable on a runway during fashion week than here helping us with construction. But, for some reason, she liked working with Chad and me. She was blonde and lithe and loved brand-name clothing. At the moment, she was wearing thong sandals, a long cardigan, and layered necklaces. Sometimes she came across as slightly airheaded, but at heart she was an asset to the team.

  “Of course. I’m glad to see all of you.” I glanced around, noticing not everyone was here. “Speaking of which: where are Sierra and little Reef?”

  “Reef has an ear infection.” Chad’s earlier excitement was obviously gone, and his voice sounded dull. “She’s going to try to come later in the week, if he’s feeling better.”

  I frowned. “Poor little thing.”

  I loved Reef. He stirred some kind of motherly instinct in me and made me yearn for things that I’d never yearned for before. It was a strange thing, an emotion that somehow bridged the gap for me between youth and being an adult. Though I’d been working for years, I’d always felt like, at heart, I was a teenager. But the longing for family and stability made me feel like I was ready for the next step in my life—a feeling foreign to me until recently.

  Riley rested an arm around my waist and glanced around. “It looks like we have our work cut out for us.”

  “You don’t even know the half of it,�
�� I mumbled.

  “Listen, I need to check on the Ferris wheel crew. Walk with me.” Chad snapped back to the task at hand. “Plus, it will give you all a chance to see more of the place. Gabby and I were cut off yesterday before we finished.”

  “Cut off by what?” Clarice asked, her eyes widening.

  Chad and I exchanged a glance.

  “We’ll tell you about it later,” I finally said. “For now, let’s take a tour. We’re in for an experience we’ll never forget.”

  We walked toward the Bermuda Triangle. Though I’d seen part of this area, I hadn’t gone beyond the entrance, and I wasn’t sure what I expected to see here. Lost things, I supposed. Amelia Earhart? Maybe. Ships that had disappeared? Sure. Gold treasure? In my dreams.

  What I saw horrified me even more.

  There were clowns. Everywhere.

  “Gabby?” Riley asked.

  He grabbed me before I could run away.

  Clowns—creepy clowns—probably made with cement just like the Bigfoots were—had been placed strategically around the area. Behind light poles. Peering around buildings. Sitting on benches.

  Their macabre faces also had missing eyes and ears. Wherever I looked, they were watching me. Even the one-eyed ones.

  I forced my gaze away. In the distance, I spotted a half-sunken ship, a crashed jet, and a unicorn. Bronze plates around the area shared “facts” about the Bermuda Triangle.

  “I hate clowns,” I whispered, unable to pull my eyes away from them.

  “You do?” Riley said.

  I nodded, sweat sprinkled over my forehead. “I always have. I try not to share that with many people. But it’s true. I went to a circus one time as a child, and that was all it took. I never wanted to see another clown again for the rest of my life.”

  “We’ve known each other all this time, and I had no idea. I guess there’s always something new to learn. That’s one more thing to love about you. I know you’ll surprise me for the rest of my life.”