Until The Ride Stops

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 Police 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.