by Nic Saint
But while the press were still here, Maya decided to use them to her advantage. So she’d quickly changed places with the regular three o’clock performer, a singing clown, and had arranged for a short, twenty-minute show.
“You’ll do fine,” I said.
“How is the audience? Is the arena packed?”
“Um… not exactly,” I admitted. Seats were filling up, but it was slow going. And most of the attendants were kids with their moms and dads, fully expecting a singing clown, so they mightn’t appreciate a tiny singer like my sister with a lot of cleavage on display, as per her image.
“Take lots of pictures, you two,” she admonished us. “This is going to be the moment that launched my career. I can feel it.”
“I thought your career had been launched a long time ago?” Marisa asked with a frown.
“Yeah, where else would you get half a million followers on Instagram?” I added.
She gave us a sheepish look in the vanity mirror. “I may have paid a click farm to supply me with those huge numbers.”
“A click farm? What’s a click farm?” I asked.
Marisa, the hacker in our family, said, “A bunch of fake accounts getting clicked on in some shady shop in Bangladesh or China to supply you with likes or follows. It’s not exactly kosher, Maya. In fact it’s just plain wrong.”
“I know,” she sighed, checking her eyeliner. “But how else am I going to catch up to the big names? They’ve got millions of followers. I only had a hundred, and most of them were family and friends.”
“I never followed you,” I said.
“I may have created an account in your name,” she said, “and followed myself. And I may have done the same for the aunts.”
“The aunts!” Marisa cried. “They don’t even have a computer!”
The aunts were in a nursing home, and probably had never even seen a computer.
“That’s what makes it so perfect!” Maya exclaimed. “This way they can still participate, and contribute to my success. I’m sure they’d love it.”
“If they knew about it,” I said.
“Or understood what it is you’ve done,” Marisa grumbled.
“It’s not like it’s helped me any,” Maya said sadly. “I’m still not famous, even though I have half a million followers.”
“So that porny stuff you post, nobody actually gets to see it?” Marisa asked.
“It’s not porny stuff! It’s art! And of course somebody sees it. Like… Carl, and… Mike and… you guys.”
“Your ex-boyfriends? That’s just weird!” Marisa cried.
“They seem to like it. They always share my posts with all of their friends.”
“Gah,” I said. “This is even worse than I thought.”
“We still keep in touch,” Maya said. “We broke up amicably.”
“Just… stop it already, will you?” I asked. “Just do your shows and focus on the singing. Forget about all that social media crap. Nobody cares how many followers you have.”
“I care,” said Maya with a pout.
“That’s because you’re way insecure,” said Marisa. “Your self-esteem shouldn’t be wrapped up in how many strangers click on one of your posts. That’s just bullshit.”
“You’re jealous,” said Maya, “that you don’t have as many fans as I have.”
“You don’t have any fans!” Marisa cried. “Just a bunch of old boyfriends and their horny buddies and thousands of bots in some Chinese click farm!”
“Well, at least I have those bots!” she said, and would have stomped her foot if she hadn’t been wearing heels.
“And how are my beautiful girls doing?” Dad’s voice suddenly sounded at the door. “Oh, don’t you look gorgeous, honey,” he said when he caught sight of Maya.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she said. “At least someone in this family is supportive and doesn’t try to bring me down.”
“I’m not trying to bring you down,” said Marisa. “I’m just pointing out the fact that you’re not as popular as you think you are.”
“See what I’m dealing with here?” Maya asked. “They’re just jealous.”
“Of course they are, honey,” Dad said, who’d learned a long time ago never to try and break up a fight between the three of us. “So are you ready for your show? The arena is packed and… ai.”
He’d suddenly gripped his chest, and we all looked up in alarm. His face was even grayer than that morning, and I could see beads of sweat on his brow.
“Dad?” I asked as I raced up to him.
“I’m fine,” he gasped, but then his face contorted in a grimace of pain. “Oh, God! No, I’m not.”
And then he tumbled down, collapsing to the floor, still grasping his chest.
“Call an ambulance!” I cried. “Now!”
Chapter 26
We were all sitting in the waiting room at Sapsucker’s Santa Anna Hospital, anxiously hoping for some news from the doctors. An ambulance had taken Dad away, the EMTs working on him before they transferred him to a stretcher. It looked pretty serious, and Maya, Marisa and I had been in tears as we watched on, helplessly. Mom had been called and Charlene, and it looked like today might be one of those rare days that Charlene missed a concert, as she wasn’t budging from her seat.
“This is all my fault,” she said. “If I hadn’t pushed him with this whole Phoenix thing, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“No, it’s my fault,” Maya interrupted her. “If I hadn’t nagged him about my career…” She burst into a fresh bout of crying.
“It’s my fault,” Mom said. She was pressing a Kleenex to her eyes. “I should have seen the signs. He was having trouble breathing lately, and got tired a lot quicker. And this morning when we got up he complained of chest pains.” She shook her head. “I should have called an ambulance right then and there.”
“If I hadn’t been going on and on about adding an extra layer of security around our computer network,” said Marisa. “But no, I had to push him.”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” I said. “These things just happen.” When a howl of protest rose up, I said, “They do! I mean, this whole business with the murder put a lot of pressure on Dad, but his heart would have given him trouble sooner or later. And actually it’s a good thing that it did when we were all there. Imagine if this had happened when he was testing one of our roller coasters. Or down in the arena basement. He could have collapsed and nobody would have known about it.”
Mom, Charlene, Maya and Marisa broke into fresh wails of crying as they envisioned this worst-case scenario. Yeah, I definitely know how to lighten the mood.
I got up to get myself a soda and bumped into Blane, who was getting himself a cup of coffee from the machine in the hallway. “Hey, Mia,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my dad,” I said. “He’s had a heart attack.”
He looked shocked. “Oh, man. And how is he?”
“We don’t know yet,” I said. “He’s in surgery.”
“Oh, Mia, that’s just terrible. I’m so, so sorry.”
And before I knew it, I was in his arms and sobbing against his chest, making big, wet spots on his spotless white shirt. “I’m sorry,” I said when I finally managed to get myself under control again. “Now I’ve gone and ruined your nice clean shirt!”
“That’s all right,” he said with a warm smile. “It wasn’t so clean anyway. In fact it’s the same shirt I was wearing this morning.”
“Good thing you use deo on your pits,” I said between two sobs.
He laughed. “Good for you, you mean.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Look, I hope your dad will be fine. Want me to sit with you guys?”
“No, that’s okay. We’re all just being miserable and waiting.”
“Well, I could be miserable and waiting, too.”
I looked at him through teary eyes. “You know you are a very nice man, Blane Jamison.”
“Thanks. I t
ry to be. Especially to women who’ve got dibs on me.”
In spite of my tears, I had to laugh. He took out a Kleenex and handed it to me. “I’m not feeling so hot myself, to be honest,” he confessed.
I blew my nose forcefully. “Why is that?”
“I just had a talk with Anscom Rider.”
“Oh, I forgot about that. How is he?”
“He pulled through. Turns out he tried to kill himself not because he knew we were coming for him, but because his company is on the verge of bankruptcy and his investors are coming for him. He lost them millions of dollars and they’re not too happy. Said he made some wrong decisions that ended up costing him his business.”
“So why did he come to Charleneland?”
“He came here to end his life, basically. Said he’d decided to jump from one of the roller coasters, make it look like an accident so his wife could collect life insurance, but failed.”
“Because he didn’t know where the button was.”
“No, he did not. So he took another look at his policy and saw there was a suicide clause and finally just decided to end it all and not burden his family anymore.”
“Poor guy. So are you keeping an eye on him?”
“His family is here now. They know what happened. I don’t think he’ll do it again. I think he finally realized he’s got too much to live for. He’s got two little girls, five and seven, so…” His voice trailed off as he took a sip of coffee.
“So he’s not our guy.”
“He’s not our guy, I’m pretty sure about it.”
“So who is?”
He shrugged. “Beats me, partner. Your guess is as good as mine.”
“My money is on Sophronia or Sebastiane.”
“And mine is on Morrison. Teenager like that? Just broke up with his girlfriend? He could have acted out. Did something unspeakable in a fit of rage.”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t look a killer to me.”
“That’s the problem. None of them do.”
“And none of them had any connection to the victim.”
“Worst part is that they’re all going home tomorrow. And once they do, we may never find out what happened on that ride.”
We started down the corridor, and Blane put his arm around me. “Let’s be sad and desperate together, shall we? It kinda lightens the load.”
“That ever work for you?”
“No, but I’m willing to give it another try.”
We sat there for another hour before the head of the surgical team came out to meet us. Turned out my dad would live to see another day. His heart had conked out when three of his arteries had clogged up. Three bypasses would make sure this wouldn’t happen again. At least not in the near future. He would have to stay for a while, though, to recover.
We all broke down in tears again, only this time they were tears of joy, and Charlene ended up giving the surgeon three kisses and a hug, and then spontaneously broke into a moving rendition of her greatest hit, My Heart is a Pump that Pumps Only for You (Boom Boom). It was very appropriate, though when she tried to repeat the performance in my dad’s room the nurses shut her down. Whether this was because they weren’t fans or because of my father’s condition I don’t know, but I was sure glad they did.
Chapter 27
I was staring out the slatted window, watching the moon rise in the sky. Blane had gone home, and Mom and the others had gone down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. I wasn’t hungry. The room was cloaked in darkness, except for the little lights on some complicated-looking device that kept track of Dad’s heartbeat. So far so good, if the little spikes were anything to go by.
My dad stirred and I looked up in alarm. I placed my hand on his arm. “Dad?”
He moaned and opened his eyes. “Where am I?” he muttered, then blinked and focused on me. “Mia? Is that you?”
I nodded, overcome with emotion. He was going to be fine. “Yeah,” I said hoarsely. “It’s me.”
“So where am I?” he asked again, looking around. “And why do I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus?”
“You had a heart attack, Dad,” I said. “But you’re okay now.”
“A heart attack? You don’t say.” He raised his hand and glanced at the IV drip. “Oh, looks like you’re right, honey. They’ve gone and stuck a bunch of needles in me, huh?”
“And three bypasses,” I said, biting my lip.
“Three, no less. Ain’t this my lucky day.” He laughed but stopped and grimaced. “Dang. Feels like someone’s been going at me with a chainsaw.” Then he sobered. “Oh. I guess they have.”
“I’m so glad you’re okay, Daddy,” I said, squeezing his arm.
“Of course I’m fine. Your dad is made of sterner stuff, honey. A little thing like a gunked-up artery won’t wear me down.”
“Three gunked-up arteries.”
“Well, that just serves me right for putting butter on my toast.”
“And on your pancakes and your sandwiches.”
“Yeah, I guess that party’s over now.”
“Yes, the doctor told us you’re going to have to follow a strict diet from now on.”
“So what’s the verdict? When am I going home?”
“Not for another couple of days. And you’ll have to take it easy for another couple of weeks.”
“Weeks! But I have a ton of work.”
I shook my head decidedly. “We’ll find a replacement. You’re not doing any work until you’re completely recovered.”
“That’s too bad.” He glanced at me. “So how was Maya’s concert?”
“Concert? Dad! There was no concert!”
“Oh. All because of my little mishap, huh?”
“You almost died,” I said. “That was no little mishap.”
He gave me a weak smile. “I’m glad you were there when it happened. I’m sure I have you to thank for still being, well, around, I guess.”
I nodded, wiping away my tears. “You sure scared the crap out of us.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he said with a grimace. “Hey, at least you got to finish your first big case, huh? You caught that killer.”
“I didn’t,” I said, and explained to him about Anscom Rider.
“So the guy is in the same hospital as me, huh? That’s kinda weird.”
“The worst part is that they’re all going home tomorrow. I failed, Dad. I promised Colleen Reckitt I’d catch her sister’s killer and I failed.” I wiped my eyes.
“Hey. Kiddo,” he said softly. I looked up and he placed his hand on my cheek. “You didn’t fail. You’re going to find that killer, I’m sure of it. You’re smart. You’re tenacious. And you’ve got Hot Cop to help you out.”
I laughed, in spite of myself. “His name is Blane Jamison, Dad, not Hot Cop.”
“I know that. But he’s still hot and he’s still a cop.” He grimaced. “Scratch that. That’s the meds talking. What are they giving me? I’ve never felt so great.”
“Three new arteries in your heart will do that. You must have been suffering for a while.”
“Yeah, I did have trouble getting up the stairs and stuff. I just figured that was old age.”
“Soon you’ll be skipping up those stairs.”
“Where is Hot Cop, by the way?”
“He was here, waiting with us. He’s gone home now.”
“He’s a keeper, honey. You mark my words. That kid’s a keeper.”
“I think that’s the meds talking again. You better get some rest.”
“No, I’m pretty sure that’s me. I like him. He’s a good guy.”
“Sure, Dad. Now stop talking and get some rest.”
“No, I mean it. Mia Jamison. It’s got a nice ring to it.”
“If you don’t get some rest I’ll be forced to sing ‘My Heart is a Pump that Pumps Only for You.’”
“Oh, God. You would torture an invalid? Where’s your heart, kiddo?”
“My heart is a pump that pumps only for you
. Boom boom. Boom boom.”
“Please! Stop!”
“It pumps and it pumps and it pumps for two. Boom boom. Boom boom.”
“I can’t take this anymore!”
“And when it pumps I don’t feel so blue. Boom boom. Boom boom.”
“The horror! The horror!”
I laughed and gave my dad a kiss on his cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”
“And I love you, pumpkin. But don’t ever sing that song again.”
“If you promise never to have a heart attack again.”
“I promise, but only if you promise to go on a date with Hot Cop.”
“God,” I said, giving him a gentle slap. “You’re impossible.”
Chapter 28
It was two o’clock in the morning and I was still on my laptop, googling the six suspects of the Haunted Ride murder case. Tomorrow they were all going home, one of them a killer, and there was nothing I could do about it.
There was a knock on my door and Maya stuck her head in. “I can’t sleep,” she said. “Can I sleep with you?”
“Sure, come in.”
I powered down my laptop and closed it. Dad might think I was able to solve this case, but I didn’t share his confidence. I yawned and stretched and walked over to the bed. Maya was already lying in the middle.
“Scoot over,” I said. “This is my bed.”
“I wanna be in the middle,” she said.
“In the middle of what? It’s just the two of us.”
Just then, there was another knock at the door, and this time Marisa came in. “I can’t sleep,” she lamented. “Can I sleep—Hey, what are you doing here?”
“See? I told you I wanted to be in the middle,” said Maya.
“Hop in,” I told Marisa, and she did.
“Maybe we should ask Mom to join us?” Maya suggested once we were all nice and comfy under the comforter. The days might be warm but the nights were still chilly.