by Amie Denman
He laughed. “No. I started out just like you. Nonbond without a gun for a few summers, then the academy, then bonded officer for a few years before I moved up the chain.”
“Wasn’t 1985 the year of the accident on the Loose Cannon?” she asked, trying for a casual tone. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for, a chance to bring up the old case with someone who was there. Who better than a police officer?
The chief spun his chair around so she couldn’t see his face when he said, “Yes.”
“And you were a nonbond?”
“I was.”
He completed the spin and met her eyes. “That was a real shame.”
“The accident?”
“All of it,” he said.
“Were you part of the investigation?”
He shook his head. “No. I was low man in the pecking order. And ride accident falls under the state anyway. They came out and did the inspection, wrote it up.”
“Did they find out what caused the accident?”
He scratched his head.
She waited.
Jenny Knight’s parents had already told her it was ruled as undetermined. But Caroline didn’t want to show her hand. She was more interested in hearing what he knew.
“It was an accident, they said. Sometimes you never know exactly what goes on.”
Caroline slid the paper off the scanner, replaced it in the folder and put it back in the drawer. She took out the next folder, marked February 1974, and began scanning the thin file of documents.
Chief Walker got up abruptly and his chair rolled into the wall with a solid clunk. “Happened a long time ago.”
Caroline finished the February folder quickly. Not much action in the winter.
“The Loose Cannon was in the same place the new ride’s going, wasn’t it?” she asked, as if she were just killing time with conversation. “It’ll be nice to have something fun there instead of just concrete and benches.”
The chief grunted. “You seem awfully interested in this,” he said.
She smiled at him, trying to make her curiosity seem innocent. “I want to be an investigator someday. I have to practice asking questions.”
“And learn when it’s best to stop,” the chief said. He shuffled out to the dispatcher’s desk, said something to the officer on duty and left the station.
Caroline watched him leave and wondered how many questions she should risk asking. Was he right about learning when to stop? Or was he issuing a warning?
CHAPTER THREE
TRAFFIC DUTY. Not her favorite. There was no shade on the Point Bridge. There was no end in sight to the line of cars flowing across the bridge for a Saturday in the park. And why couldn’t people understand how to follow the orange traffic cones? Was it rocket science?
Last summer, she’d watched her partner bounce off the hood of a car whose driver wasn’t paying attention. That was an experience she’d never forget. Or repeat.
Caroline kept her eyes on the incoming cars, their drivers distracted by digging through purses and wallets for the parking fee or for their season pass. One more hour and she could hand this job to someone else and take up her post along the midway where she usually guarded the construction zone. A shade tree with her name on it was waiting for her.
A heavy-duty pickup truck, loud diesel engine rumbling, pulled up in front of Caroline’s post near the tollbooth. The driver cut the engine. What was he doing? There was a line of cars a mile long behind him and he was blocking an entire lane.
She tried to give him the move-it-along look she’d been practicing, but bright morning sun reflected off his window and she couldn’t see his face.
The window slid down a moment later and Matt Dunbar rested his elbow on the frame.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked. “I can’t work unless I know you’re outside my construction fence keeping me safe.”
“I don’t always work in that zone,” she said. “Nobody likes traffic duty, so we have to take turns.” She approached his truck so she wouldn’t have to shout over the traffic noise. “You have to move along. You’re blocking a lane.”
Matt drew his eyebrows together, erasing his easy smile. “Seems dangerous out here with unpredictable drivers. You don’t know what they’re thinking.”
Caroline crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head.
“I know,” he said. “Like me.” He reached onto the floor of his truck and picked up an orange hard hat. “At least put this on, just in case.”
Caroline had already noticed Matt was wearing his safety yellow hard hat with Dunbar written in black marker on the side.
“I never go anywhere without mine,” he said. “Grocery shopping, golf course, piano lessons. I tell you, it’s a dangerous world.”
Caroline did not want to smile. She was supposed to be threatening him with the letter of the law if he didn’t get his giant truck out of the way. But he amused her, even if she did wonder what was under the surface of his ready smile.
“You take piano lessons?” she asked.
“No, but if I did, it would be dangerous. Probably need ear protection, too.”
Cars behind him started honking. The noise swelled into a chorus. The tollbooth supervisor poked his head out and gave Caroline a questioning look.
“You have to move your truck,” Caroline repeated.
“I know. I have work to do.”
“Then what are you doing idling here?”
“Just saying hello. I respect your diligence in guarding my project.”
“That’s my job,” Caroline said.
“I know. But you seem really dedicated. And I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate it.” He took off his hard hat and ran his fingers through his short blond hair. His usual easy smile disappeared and a worry line creased his forehead. “I have a lot riding on it.”
Of course he did. It was a multimillion-dollar venture. But something about his tone made Caroline wonder how deep his personal stakes went.
“If you appreciate my work, you can get moving so I won’t get fired,” she said.
“I’ll make sure you get doughnuts tomorrow. And I’ll bring some for your giant bodyguard, too.”
Matt smiled. Started his truck. And rolled away with the window still down. He waved a moment later, letting her know he saw her watching him pull away.
“He’s not my bodyguard,” she said, even though she was the only one within earshot.
She’d known Matt Dunbar for only a week, but already he mystified her. And confounded her. This summer was about two things: getting to the bottom of a mysterious death and getting into the police academy. Wasting her time chatting up construction engineers was not on her agenda.
Last night, she’d visited the records request website for the state department that handled inspection of amusement park rides. It was a long shot, but she’d hoped the records would be online. They weren’t. Instead, there was a form to complete with a promise of receiving the records via post in four to six weeks.
Four to six weeks. It was the end of May now, so it would easily be the Fourth of July before anything appeared in the post office box she’d rented in downtown Bayside. Waiting was an eternity, but she planned to fill the time by asking questions.
Caroline took out her frustration on the line of cars backed up on the Point Bridge, directing them into lanes with snappy, uncompromising movements. A man put on his turn signal, trying to move over to a lane he thought was better. Caroline stared him down until he sheepishly turned off the signal and fell into line.
When her tour of traffic duty was over, Caroline hitched a ride in the yellow traffic pickup truck to the front gate. She showed her employee badge at the turnstile on the far right, even though her black Starlight Point Polic
e Department uniform probably made it unnecessary. Rules were rules.
She walked toward the old-fashioned carousel near the front gate. With its hand-painted horses, authentic organ music and brightly lit canopy, it had welcomed guests for decades.
After she passed the carousel, Caroline could see all the way down the midway to the spot where it divided into two paths. One would take guests past roller coasters and a swath of family rides. It also included a gate leading to the long, sandy beach and the historic Lake Breeze Hotel, which had reopened this season with a spectacular renovation. The brainchild of her new sister-in-law, Evie Hamilton, the century-old hotel had retained all its history while being upgraded with modern conveniences.
Instead of following the path to the beachfront hotel, Caroline took the left branch, which led past the construction zone for the new ride. That walkway eventually became the Western Trail, winding under shade trees and by a gristmill, blacksmith’s shop and the other historic attractions that made up the Wonderful West. In the far back of the park, both paths met near the Western train station, the Starlight Saloon and a shooting gallery.
Although Caroline enjoyed walking the Western Trail—it was the quietest place in the park—she had only thirty minutes for lunch before she would relieve the police officer by the construction fence. She headed for the station, where a peanut butter sandwich, an apple and an indulgent chocolate cupcake waited for her.
The cable cars overhead cast shadows on the concrete midway. Flowers spilled from planter boxes. The sound of roller coaster trains clacking up hills mixed with the screams of riders going down hills.
She loved it. Loved the smell of funnel cakes and the sound of the waves on the beach. Almost as much as she loved wearing a badge.
Caroline waved to a few friends on her way down the midway. Last summer, she’d met people who worked the food stands and rides, and many of them were back again this year, working their way through college.
Her college days were behind her, though, now that she had satisfied her parents’ number one requirement: a bachelor’s degree. After achieving that, she was free to do whatever she wanted.
Scott had used his fire science degree to catapult him to leadership on a local fire department and now as the chief at the Starlight Point Fire Department. She planned to use her criminal justice degree to accelerate to the top of the class at the police academy.
A petite blonde girl stepped out from the caricature stand and waved to Caroline. “Come over, we’re having a slow day,” she said.
Like most of the teenagers who worked at the booth, Agnes was an art student. Her job was to persuade visitors to slow down, have a seat in the shade and wait while their picture was drawn. Caroline had seen the cartoonish drawings many times, such as a woman with a big smile holding a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush. A man wearing a chef’s hat and holding frying pans in both hands. A little girl wearing ballet slippers with musical notes swirling around her head.
Caroline wondered what her caricature would look like. Would she be depicted as a dog sniffing out crimes? A big stern face at the wheel of a police car? She smiled at her friend and said, “I’m on lunch right now.”
“Good. Sit down and I’ll draw you.”
Caroline laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on, why not? It only takes a minute for me to get the outlines of your face, and then you can come see the finished product later.”
Caroline hesitated. She was in uniform. If guests saw a police officer sitting for a portrait, they would either think this was the safest amusement park in the world or the most lackadaisical.
“Maybe later,” she said. As she spoke, she noticed a framed caricature on the wall. An example made to entice customers, it was fully colored and remarkably well-done. The man in the picture was wearing a yellow hard hat and driving a dump truck. A big blue and green ball representing the planet Earth was in the bed of the truck.
“That’s a really good one,” Agnes said, noticing Caroline’s stare. “Done by one of my friends this year. I think it’s his brother in the picture.”
“Is his last name Dunbar?”
Agnes tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“I’ve met him.”
“Then maybe you can tell me why he’s got the whole world in his truck. I asked Lucas, but he just shrugged and said you had to know the guy.”
Interesting. Matt had a younger brother who was an artist. And the artist chose to depict Matt like this.
“I...uh...don’t actually know him,” Caroline said. “We’ve just met a few times. Sorry I can’t help you. I better grab my lunch before break’s over.”
“Come back and I’ll do your portrait when you’re not wearing that ugly uniform,” Agnes said. “I’m going to draw you in a red evening gown. With a badge and gun, of course.”
When Caroline finished her lunch and took up guard duty, the hours ticked by. Slowly. There were no heavy machinery noises from the other side of the fence. Probably because it was Saturday, she thought. For all she knew, Matt had stayed for less than an hour and was now home catching up on whatever was on his DVR. She wondered where he lived. Did he have a house in Bayside? Had he lived there all his life?
What did she know about the guy? He was a construction engineer entrusted with a massive project. Jack Hamilton seemed to like him. He had broad shoulders, a smile that lit his eyes and a line around his head from wearing a hard hat.
Caroline shifted from foot to foot. Heat curled the hairs that escaped her long ponytail and stuck to her neck.
She made up sarcastic answers to the summer’s number one question, even though she forbade herself to ever use them. What are they building, you ask?
A funeral home and crematorium.
A baseball diamond.
A track for camel racing.
She watched the Scrambler flash and swirl across the midway. Counted the number of ice cream cones passing her by. Watched children skip along beside their parents.
And tried to put Matt out of her mind so she could focus on her summer goal: figure out what happened that night on the Loose Cannon back in 1985.
* * *
MATT SAT ON the tailgate of his pickup, waiting for his stepfather to stop by the construction site after closing the office for the day. While he swung his legs, taking the weight off his tired feet, he thought about Caroline.
He found her interesting. She guarded his construction zone, an invaluable ally making sure no one got in to vandalize or slow down their work with a moment of misplaced curiosity. He liked having her outside the fence with her look of determination.
But he also wondered why she was so quick with the information about the Loose Cannon and then so evasive when he questioned her. No matter how much she intrigued him, nothing was more important than securing Bruce Corbin’s trust by making sure his family never had another failure like the one long buried.
Matt knew his stepfather believed in him. Bruce hadn’t been forced to give Matt the job of construction engineer; there were other choices. But this job was also a test. Could someone with only a few years of on-the-job experience complete such a massive project? Was a master’s degree in construction engineering a substitute for age and experience?
Bruce Corbin drove through the open gate and Matt shoved it closed and locked it behind his stepfather’s truck.
Looking every one of his sixty-five years, Bruce climbed slowly out of his truck. His face was deeply lined from years of working outdoors. Since his brother John’s death over the winter, Bruce seemed to have aged ten more years.
“Looking good, Matt,” Bruce said, his voice raspy.
He leaned heavily on his truck, took a deep breath that moved his entire chest and gestured toward the construction area. Mounds of dirt. Holes ten feet
deep. Dump trucks. Earthmoving machinery.
It was a mess.
“I love the smell of dirt,” Bruce said. “It’s the smell of something getting done.”
“Most people would think we’re not getting much done.”
“Most people don’t know diddly about building something this big.”
Do I know diddly about building something this big?
Matt leaned against the truck next to his stepdad. “It’s been slow work digging out concrete footers from the previous construction on the site.” He watched his stepfather’s face, then added, “Big footers.”
“I know what you’re talking about,” Bruce said. “It was that roller coaster my brother’s company built. I knew they were there when I bid this job.”
Although he was tempted to ask about the taboo subject, Matt saw the grief in Bruce’s expression and didn’t press him. Bruce’s congestive heart failure took more and more out of him every day, and Matt knew his mother was worried.
“We’ll have them all out in a few more days.”
“Good.”
“So we’re still on track with the project,” Matt said. “It would help, though, if some of the old blueprints were still around.”
Bruce shook his head. He drew another long breath. “Destroyed. All of them. Years ago.”
“It’s a little ironic,” Matt said, his voice quiet. “Digging up something Uncle John built and putting something new in its place.”
He was taking a huge risk. The Loose Cannon was a shadowy topic in their family, something he’d realized in subtle ways in the twelve years his mother had been married to Bruce.
The ride was a failure, but it wasn’t the construction company’s fault. Starlight Point had decided to dismantle the ride after only one season, and his uncle’s company got the contract to tear down something they’d just built. It had, according to whispered family stories, broken his uncle’s spirit and caused him to sell the company to his brother. A boon for Bruce Corbin, but Matt suspected his uncle had never been the same since. John moved thirty miles away and started a small home renovation company with a few trusted employees.