Deadly Ride Page 5

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Why?”

  Byron looked puzzled. “Why am I sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because I covered those buttons, sir,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “You did what?”

  “My predecessor? Mike Ridge? When he taught me how to operate the ride he said if I ever touched one of those buttons there would be hell to pay. So he kept them taped up—to make sure he didn’t touch them by accident. But I did him one better. I found a bunch of those old Big Mac styrofoam covers and taped them over the buttons.” He gave the cop a look of triumph. “So you see, sir. There’s no way I could have touched Mrs. Reckitt’s button.”

  “I’m not sure this is according to regulations, Byron,” I began, but when he gave me a look of surprise, I quickly added, “Though maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s better to keep them covered up to avoid any accidents.”

  “Don’t think I won’t check, Byron,” said Blane. “Cause I will.”

  “I hope you do, sir,” said Byron solemnly. “I want my name cleared.”

  “Your name will be cleared,” I promised him. “In fact it already is.”

  “So what do you think happened, Byron?” Blane asked.

  Byron shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea, sir. None.”

  “Do you think it might have been a malfunction?”

  The operator darted a hesitant look in my direction.

  “Speak freely, Byron,” I said. “It’s important we figure out what happened so we can make sure it will never happen again.”

  “It must have been a malfunction, sir. There’s no other explanation.”

  Blane nodded and closed his notebook. There was another explanation, but it was obvious he didn’t want to share it with Byron. People gossip, and if Blane shared his theory with Byron it would be all over the park in a matter of hours. Better to keep this under wraps until we could determine what was going on.

  As we stepped away from the break room, where now half a dozen operators and cast members were enjoying a well-deserved break, I said, “My dad is checking the ride now. Maybe we should go over and see if he’s found something?”

  “Your dad is…”

  “He’s the head engineer. He and his crew make sure the rides and attractions run smoothly at all times.”

  “Must be a heck of a responsibility. With so many moving parts.”

  “It is. It’s a huge job, but he loves it. He’s a technical guy, so this is pretty much his dream job.”

  “Your whole family works at Charleneland?”

  I took a deep breath. “Yes, we do. I’m in charge of security, along with Leo—Luitpold. Mom does personnel and administration, and my sisters Marisa and Maya handle marketing, IT, bookkeeping and entertainment.”

  “And Charlene?”

  I smiled. “Charlene does… whatever Charlene wants. She’s the star. The main attraction.”

  “Is it true that she does a show every day and has never missed one in all the years the park has been open?”

  “Well, she takes her days off, of course, but basically, yes. Charlene opened the park in 1993 and she hasn’t missed a show since then. It’s an amazing feat when you think about it.”

  “Wow,” he said. “So she must have done thousands of shows.”

  “A couple more years and she’ll have done ten thousand shows.”

  “That’s seriously impressive. Talk about a residence.”

  “She hopes to continue the streak until she reaches the ten thousandth show. And we’re all hoping she will. It’ll be a big day for the park when she does.”

  “And what about you?” Blane asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Did you inherit your grandmother’s musical talent?”

  I laughed. Loudly. “Not exactly.”

  He also laughed. “I take it you’re not very musical.”

  “Nope. Can’t even carry a tune, actually. We only have one other musical prodigy in the family and that’s my younger sister Maya, actually.”

  “She sings?”

  “She does, and very well. She’s working on her first album, and hopes to make a career out of this.”

  “I’ll bet she’s dying to get out of this place and make her mark, huh?”

  I was silent for a few beats. “Yes, she is.”

  He’d noticed my reluctance. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, it’s just that… we’d hate to see Maya go. She’s still so young, and the music business is a tough business. It’s not like it was when Charlene started out.”

  “And you’d have to find someone to replace her in Charleneland.”

  “There’s that, too,” I admitted. “Though we could always find someone.”

  We walked side by side in silence for a while. This was so weird. Here was this cop I’d never met before, and I was telling him stuff I’d never told anyone. My folks had always drummed it into us never to talk about family business with anyone. With a big business like Charleneland and a big star like Charlene there were always people with an unhealthy interest in our family, and it was imperative to keep them at bay. And here I’d told Blane all that stuff about Maya.

  “You know, I loved to come out here as a kid,” he said suddenly.

  “You did?”

  “Sure. Most families went to Disneyland or one of the other big places, but we loved to come to Charleneland. I actually grew up in Sapsucker, so maybe that’s why.” He shook his head. “Actually that’s not the reason. This is just such a family-oriented place. Not as commercial as some of the others. And the price has always been right, so that must have played a role,” he added with a chuckle.

  “Yes, we try to keep it reasonably priced,” I said.

  “I think you’re doing a pretty amazing job overall,” he said, taking me completely by surprise. “And I’d hate for something to happen to this place.”

  “Detective Jamison. If you keep this up I just might be forced to like you.”

  “Of course you will,” he said. “I mean,” he added, holding out his hands, palms raised. “What’s not to like?”

  It sounded like such an arrogant statement, but was delivered with such boyish charm and such a cheeky grin that I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Chapter 8

  We arrived at the Haunted Ride and I led Blane inside. My dad and a few of his mechanics were going over the car, actually taking the entire thing apart, looking for what might have caused the terrible incident.

  I joined him as he was seated on the floor, surrounded by nuts and bolts and car parts, his hands greasy and his face covered in streaks of black.

  I crouched down next to him. “So? What do you think, Dad?”

  He rubbed his nose, leaving it looking like a black nubbin. “Hell if I know. There seems to be nothing wrong with the damn thing.”

  “Is it possible the harness released by itself?”

  “Let me show you something,” he said, reaching over and picking up what looked like part of the restraint mechanism. “This is what causes the lock to spring open, see. This little hooky thing right here. But before it can do that, someone has to manually toggle the safety. It’s made this way to prevent accidents like this from happening.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “There’s no way this restraint released by accident. Just not possible. The only way was if someone pressed this button and toggled the safety, and then unhooked the release button and shoved up the harness.”

  “So Byron couldn’t have done it?”

  “Byron could have pushed the button to switch off the safety, but then the person in the chair still would have had to manually hit this release thingy right here. And the only person who could have done that was sitting in this car.”

  I nodded, sitting back on my haunches. “So there’s no way Mrs. Reckitt could have accidentally hit a switch.”

  “Honey, she would h
ave had to hit two switches, and the chances of that happening are slim to none.”

  “I’d say they’re non-existent,” said Blane, who stood watching us.

  Dad looked up. “And who are you?”

  “Detective Blane Jamison. I’m working this case with your daughter, sir.”

  Dad gave me a look of surprise. “So now it’s a police matter, huh?”

  “I’m afraid it is, sir,” said Blane. “Like you said, this was no accident.”

  Dad gave Blane a look of appraisal. “If it wasn’t an accident, then what was it, Detective?”

  Blane nodded. “Murder, sir.”

  “Or suicide,” I said.

  Dad scratched his scalp, making his dirty blond hair even dirtier. “Murder or suicide. I don’t think I like the sound of either one of those.”

  “You said it yourself, Dad. There was no malfunction.”

  “None.”

  “So that only leaves one possibility. The harness was released either by the victim, or by someone else.”

  “Someone else,” he said. “But then it had to be someone who knew how to work this harness. Which means this was cold-blooded murder, not a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. But how did they know Mrs. Reckitt was going to be on this ride?”

  “They could have been following her,” Blane said. “In your opinion, do the restraints on these rides all operate on the same mechanism?”

  “With some variations, pretty much.”

  “So maybe the murderer was simply hoping the victim would get on one of these rides, and when the opportunity arose he took his chance?”

  “Sounds awfully risky, son,” said Dad. “What if the opportunity never came?”

  “Then they might have killed her anyway,” Blane said simply.

  “Or she might have killed herself,” I said, clinging to this theory as my last hope. Suicide was a horrible possibility but still better for Charleneland than murder.

  “Suicide, huh?” asked Dad, rubbing his chin. “Well, I’m sure she must have had her reasons, but being chucked from this ride at sixty-six miles per hour, which is the speed this ride reaches when it plummets into the Pit of Doom, is not a great way to go. Though I guess it is kinda original.”

  “Personally, I don’t believe in suicide, sir,” said Blane.

  “No, I don’t either, son,” said Dad. “Life is too precious, and whatever your problems are, I’m sure there’s other ways to solve them than to kill yourself.”

  “No, I mean, I don’t believe Doctor Reckitt killed herself. You see…” He hesitated, licking his lips.

  I could see he was dying to share our discovery about the person that had crawled in next to Mrs. Reckitt, but he didn’t want to jeopardize the investigation. “My dad won’t tell anyone,” I told Blane. “Will you, Dad?”

  “Of course not. Who am I going to tell? I’m not on Instabook like Maya.”

  “Instagram.”

  “Whatever. You can tell me, son. Who knows, maybe I can help. I mean, dammit, I want to help. If this was murder, they also struck at Charleneland, trying to destroy us. And I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “All right,” said Blane, crouching down next to us. He lowered his voice so the mechanics couldn’t overhear us. “We watched the footage from the security cameras, and in the middle of the ride someone got up out of their seat and got into the seat next to Doctor Reckitt. After the car passed through the Pit of Doom and the doctor was dead, they returned to their own seat, as if nothing happened.”

  “My God,” Dad exclaimed. “That’s murder plain and simple, son!”

  “Yes, it is, sir,” said Blane, giving me a look that said ‘I told you so.’

  “I still think we should look into the suicide theory,” I said stubbornly.

  “And we will,” he said. “Doctor Reckitt’s sister is flying in, so we’ll have the opportunity to interview her as well. Find out what the doctor’s state of mind was.”

  “You keep mentioning she was a doctor,” said Dad. “Doctor of what?”

  “Mrs. Reckitt was a voice doctor, Dad,” I said.

  “A what?”

  “A laryngologist,” said Blane. “She specialized in diagnosing vocal cord issues. She mainly treated singers who were suffering from voice issues. Singers who lost their voices or who had cysts or polyps or nodules on their vocal cords.” When I gave him a startled look, he added, “What? Cops can google.”

  “She was pretty famous,” I told my dad. “She was treating Phoenix.”

  “Oh, God. Not that doodlebag. I saw her traipsing around this morning. What did she want now?”

  “She thinks Charlene killed Doctor Reckitt to sabotage her career.”

  “Of course she does. Whenever something bad happens to Phoenix, she’s always sure Charlene is behind it,” said Dad. “Like that time she had that skin cancer growth removed from her nose? She blamed Charlene for causing it.”

  “She blamed Charlene for UV radiation?” asked Blane with a grin.

  “She said Charlene had concocted a device and had installed it on the roof of Phoenix’s neighbor’s house. A device that directed cancerous rays straight into Phoenix’s garden, causing her skin to develop melanomas. The woman is nuts.”

  “She is a little eccentric,” I agreed.

  “So you’re handling this investigation with my daughter, huh?” asked Dad, getting up and wiping his hands on his coveralls.

  “That’s right, sir. She and I are cooperating on this.”

  “Well, I sure hope you catch whoever is responsible.”

  “I’m sure we will,” said Blane pleasantly.

  “You remind me of a guy I once knew,” said Dad. “Great friend of mine. Very handsome. Wonderful character. How old did you say you were, son?”

  Blane looked a little puzzled. “Um, twenty-eight, sir.”

  “Twenty-eight. That’s a great age. I got married when I was twenty-eight. To Mia’s mom. Best thing I ever did. Better marry young, son. That way you can enjoy a long and happy family life.” He directed a keen look at Blane’s hands. “Not married, huh? Girlfriend?”

  “Um, no, sir. I mean, there was a girl for a while but work kinda got in the way and now she’s in New York, and I’m here, so…”

  “Work got in the way, huh?” He slapped the cop on the shoulder. “See, the trick is to work in the same area as your girl. That way you can see plenty of each other and work will never get in the way.” He gave me a wink at this, totally ignoring my looks of shocked exasperation.

  “Don’t listen to my dad,” I said quickly. “He’s just making conversation.”

  “Well, I’m sure it’s been a pleasure, sir,” said Blane, looking a little out of his depth. “And now I’m afraid we must be going.”

  “Mia doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Dad said, clamping his fingers on Blane’s arm like a vice. “She had a boyfriend but that’s finished now. And good riddance, too. Guy was a total tool, if you ask me. Nasty piece of work.”

  “Right, sir,” said Blane, trying in vain to release his arm from Dad’s grip.

  “Dad,” I said, reddening. “I’m right here!”

  “I know you are, honey,” said Dad. He released Blane’s arm abruptly, and the cop stumbled straight into me. I almost fell, but his lightning-fast reflexes had him break my fall when he deftly caught me.

  “Now that’s the kind of guy I like,” said Dad with an approving grin.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Blane, also reddening slightly.

  He restored me to perpendicularity and then let go.

  “Thank you, Detective,” I said a little stiffly.

  I hadn’t been wrong. The guy was built like a tank—a very agile and flexible tank—and his arms had wrapped around me like iron bands—if iron bands can be tender and make you feel totally safe and protected.

  I darted a quick look at him and caught his gaze. Then we both quickly looked away again. Dad laughed. He seemed to think the whole thing a hoot.

  Just a
t that moment my phone chimed and I plucked it from my pocket. Saved by the bell. “Yes, Leo,” I said.

  “We’ve got the list, Mia. And you better hurry back because two of the people on it are on a day pass. We managed to track them down and they’re on their way over here right now.”

  “We’re coming,” I said, and disconnected.

  Blane arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “Luitpold?”

  I nodded. “Our first two interviewees are waiting.”

  “Then let’s go,” he said.

  Dad waved us off. “Have fun, you two.”

  I ignored him. This was a murder investigation now. And as far as I knew that wasn’t much fun at all. Especially since the future of Charleneland hung in the balance.

  Chapter 9

  “It seems like you get a lot of exercise in this place,” Blane said as we set foot for the entrance again. “Don’t you have underground passageways or something? Like they have in Disneyland?”

  “Well, Disneyland is a lot bigger,” I told him. “And they’ve got a lot more money. This is just a small family park. So no fancy tunnels.”

  “As a kid I thought it was the greatest thing,” he said. “And I’m sure these kids think exactly the same thing as I did back then. For them it doesn’t matter how big or fancy the park is. It’s the experience that counts, and the great atmosphere, and you’ve got that covered in spades.”

  He just kept lobbing compliments my way. And here I’d figured he was some obnoxious ogre when I first laid eyes on him. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I thought he was handsome as hell. Until he opened his mouth. Which just goes to show you can’t always go by first impressions.

  “When I was a kid I thought this was all perfectly natural,” I said. “I mean, I literally grew up here, so for me Charleneland was always home. It was only when I reached school age that I discovered not everybody had a grandmother who sang on stage every afternoon, and lived in an amusement park.”

  “I’ll bet you were real popular with the other kids.”

  “We all were, my sisters and I. The other kids hoped we’d invite them to birthday parties and slumber parties, or get them free passes.”

  “You must have had a lot of friends.”