Until The Ride Stops. Amie Denman

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СКАЧАТЬ in the 1980s.”

      Did she sound defensive?

      “I’ll have to come find you if I ever need a history lesson on Starlight Point,” Matt said.

      Caroline shifted her gaze to the side, refusing to meet his eyes.

      Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to find a giant man in a black uniform.

      “Is this guy bothering you?” the man asked Caroline.

      “No,” she said. “He was asking directions.” She turned and pointed to the tree that concealed the entrance gate into the construction site. “That’s where you want to go.”

      She walked away, leaving Matt with the giant police officer.

      “Guess you ought to move along,” the man said. “Before she comes back and finds you hanging around.”

      Matt let himself through the gate, shoved his hard hat on and went back to work. He considered opening a conversation with Caroline—or anyone—about the Loose Cannon. His stepfather brushing him off had been out of character. It made Matt wonder if there was more to the brief story in the family archive of things-we-don’t-talk-about. Considering his stepfamily’s connection to that ride, he was tempted to find out how much Caroline knew, just to be on the safe side.

      Right now, he had work to do. This project would make or break Bayside Construction. And in the process, it would determine the fate of the people he loved most.

      * * *

      CAROLINE CLOCKED OUT, changed out of her uniform and headed for the filing cabinets in the corner of her chief’s office.

      Some of her friends from the rides and foods departments were meeting up to play volleyball and picnic on the beach. Wasn’t the wide swath of sand in front of the Lake Breeze Hotel much more inviting than musty old files?

      But she had a mission. Impress her boss and get his recommendation for the limited police academy class beginning in September. Just as important, she wanted answers about the Loose Cannon roller coaster.

      She’d heard the rumors last summer, and she’d been curious about what had caused the accident. Then a few weeks ago, she’d discovered that the reclusive older couple who lived down the street from her parents had lost their daughter to the accident, but they’d never gotten any answers. The scars were so deep and wide, they’d moved away from Bayside to Yorkville where Caroline had grown up.

      Caroline knew what it was like to lose someone senselessly. Perhaps that’s why the quiet Knights had finally shared their story with her.

      She’d known them for years, stopping by their porch on her paper route, shoveling their sidewalk in the winter. She remembered walking past their house on the way to school one spring day when she was in sixth grade. Mrs. Knight had stood on the porch and stared at her sadly but kindly. “You remind me of my daughter,” she’d said.

      Caroline had always wondered where the daughter was, expecting her to appear out of nowhere when she dropped off misdirected mail or stopped by with cinnamon bread her mother made on snowy days.

      But Jenny Knight had died, her death on the Loose Cannon ruled accidental. It was hard to believe a life could be erased like a chalk drawing with no one to blame.

      Somewhere in these rusty filing cabinets, there could be answers. But to find them, she’d have to spend hours scanning all the files.

      “Are you sure you want to do this on your own time?” the police chief asked. “We could work it into your shift and cover you out on the midway.”

      She shook her head. “It’s good experience.”

      Chief Bert Walker sat in a roller chair and used his heels to shove the chair back and forth. “Raking leaves is good experience, but I still pay the neighbor kid to do it so I don’t have to. This is a lousy job.”

      Caroline sent him a quick smile and opened the second drawer of the cabinet on the far left. Folders with dates ranging from 1974–1978 filled the drawer.

      “Should I throw these away after I scan them?” she asked.

      Walker shrugged. “Seems like it would be safe to do that, but you never know when someone’s going to want to see the real thing. And these are actual public and criminal records.”

      Caroline’s heart thumped in her chest. “Do people request old records very often?”

      “No. Big city departments, maybe. But not here, not in years. Especially not records from before you were born.”

      She pulled out the first folder in the drawer and turned on the scanner. “Am I going to find anything interesting in here?”

      The chief rolled back and forth in his chair, watching as she carefully laid papers inside the marked area on the scanner glass. She closed the lid, pressed a button and a blue streak of light slid out.

      “Probably not,” Walker said. “In my career here, I’ve only seen a few things that would make it onto the evening news.”

      “Such as?”

      “Rash of car thefts in the 1990s, right from the parking lot. People stole cars and stereos.”

      “Pretty bold.”

      “They were,” the chief agreed. “That’s why we have the tower in the parking lot. Used to be the worst job sitting in that tower watching the cars.”

      “Worse than scanning all these files?”

      “Tough call.” He leaned back in his chair. “We also had some fights over the years, some of them ugly like the one last summer, but you already knew about that one ’cause you were there. Employee theft from cash registers,” he continued, “thefts in the dorms or the hotel. But quiet for the most part. I’ve had years’ worth of petty stuff and general peace.”

      “When was your first summer?” Caroline asked.

      “1985.”

      Her heart flipped again. “You’ve been the chief that long?”

      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 СКАЧАТЬ