Murder on the Boardwalk

by Lee Strauss

  Rosa used the ten minutes to select a yellow and brown package of peanut M&M’s and a bottle of Coca Cola.

  A cheerless lady at the cash register announced, “That’ll be twenty cents.”

  Rosa fetched two dimes from her purse and placed them on the counter. One of the first things she’d done after arriving in Santa Bonita was to take the British pound notes she’d brought along and exchange them at the bank for American dollars.

  She had eaten half the M&M’s when Don Welks, with his long-legged gait, strolled toward her. Rosa twisted the top of the bag and shoved it into her purse.

  “Let’s make this quick, okay,” Don Welks said without preamble.

  “What were you and Mr. Boyd arguing about?”

  Don shoved his large fists into the pockets of his pants, the hems uncuffed and barely reaching his ankles.

  “I don’t see why it matters?”

  “It makes you a suspect, Mr. Welks. If you don’t talk to me, I can promise you that you’ll soon be talking to the police.”

  Don Welks whipped out one hand and held out his oversized palm. “All right, all right.” His shoulders slumped as if he’d lost all his fight and he leaned up against the Bel Air, a transgression Rosa could forgive, especially since it wasn’t her vehicle.

  “I did something stupid, okay?”

  “Was Mr. Boyd blackmailing you?” Rosa stared at the man with compassion. Blackmail was a common motive, and unfortunately made murderers out of perfectly nice people.

  Don grabbed the back of his neck, his expression collapsing with a sense of grief. “I shouldn’t have married Joyce.”

  Rosa thought of the reason behind Joyce’s doctor’s visit. “You don’t love her anymore?”

  “No, that’s not it. I love her too much! But I don’t deserve her. I should’ve listened to her father. He said, he said, if I really loved her I should let her go, let her live the life she was born to live.”

  “What did you do, Mr. Welks? What was Victor Boyd holding over you?”

  “I don’t have a lot of money, Miss Reed. You can tell that by the kind of job I have. I wanted to do better. I spent two years in community college.”

  Rosa hoped it wasn’t to study anything involving electricity.

  “It’s where I met Joyce,” Don continued. “She was a Kilbourne and didn’t need a job to make money. She was there to have fun and meet boys. Unfortunately, she met me.”

  “And the two of you fell in love.”

  Don glanced over at Rosa. “Yes. Passionately. And—I take full responsibility for this—she got pregnant.”

  Rosa hadn’t been aware of a child. Don hurried to fill in the blanks.

  “Mr. Kilbourne was furious, of course, and immediately made plans for Joyce to be sent away to have the baby, give it up, and come back to her life here like nothing had happened. That, and I had to promise to leave town. Joyce doesn’t know this, but he offered me five thousand dollars to step out of her life.

  “But Joyce would have none of that idea. She insisted that we marry. How could I say no? I loved her and she was carrying my child.

  “Mr. Kilbourne is the kind of man who is used to getting his own way. He told Joyce if she went through with the wedding, she’d be cut off from the Kilbourne fortune, her and the baby.”

  Don pinched his eyes shut as he finished the story. “We got married, spent three days at Long Beach on our honeymoon. Two weeks later, Joyce lost the baby.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Rosa said sincerely. She waited, hoping Don would get back to her original question and finally answer it. She was rewarded.

  “One day at the store, a customer dropped his wallet. He’d taken off his jacket and it had fallen out of the pocket without him noticing. Next thing I know, the wallet’s sitting on the floor and the man’s disappeared around the corner. I immediately picked it up, and I meant to give it back right away, but when I had it in my hands—well, we were short on rent that month. Instead of running after the man, I dropped it into my apron.”

  “And Victor Boyd saw this?”

  Don nodded heavily. “I’d taken the cash out of the wallet and mailed the wallet back to the address on the owner’s driver’s license. A week later, Victor Boyd stops me in this parking lot and asks me what I did with the wallet. I tried to deny any wrong, but Victor knew what I did; any accusation, true or false, would ruin my reputation and get me fired. Worse, he threatened to tell Joyce.”

  Don checked his watch then pushed away from the Bel Air. “You officially know more about me than my wife, Miss Reed.”

  As he started to walk away, Rosa called, “Mr. Welks, the course you were taking in college, did it happen to be electrical engineering?”

  Don Welks slowly nodded. “Yes, Miss Reed. But I didn’t kill Victor Boyd.”

  14

  The funfair was once again open for business, and Rosa made an impromptu stop. Strolling along the boardwalk, she noted that the place was busy though the ambiance was relaxed. People took turns on the rides, which had shorter lines than in the evening. It was obvious by their casual attire, that some fairgoers had strolled in from the beach when in the mood for cotton candy. In the background, ongoing carnival music played, interrupted occasionally by carnies calling, “Step right up!” All the fanfare blended into an air of muted excitement.

  Her initial search for Mr. Henderson appeared futile, when all she found at the fairground’s office was a lopsided sign hanging from the door handle that read, “Back in 30 Minutes”.

  Rosa returned to the roller coaster, which was still surrounded by rope, and several “Closed for Maintenance” signs. People approached the roller coaster and let out moans of disappointment.

  From there, Rosa made her way to The Flying Machine—the ride Jimmy had operated the night before, when Victor died. She was happy to see this ride was operational, even if it wasn’t Jimmy at the controls this time. Instead, a lean man in his mid-thirties was busy letting a new batch of little riders onto the small planes. She called to him as soon as his ride was up and running.

  “Have you seen Mr. Henderson, the fair manager?”

  “Huh?” The attendant turned to face Rosa. His dark hair was unruly, and he wore a few days’ worth of scruff on his chin. “Uh, yeah. Maybe ten minutes ago. He came by here with a cop interviewing all the carnies who worked yesterday.”

  Rosa’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of Miguel somewhere nearby. “Any idea which way they went?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe the Ferris wheel.” The man returned to his controls.

  Rosa hesitated. Did she risk being seen by Miguel? He’d been rather clear that he no longer needed nor wanted her on this case. If he found out she was still nosing about in what was clearly not her business, he might—what? What was the worst that could happen? He’d threaten to not talk to her? Not share clues?

  She was about to step in with a mom and her young son carrying a red balloon, passing in front of her, as awkward as that might have been, when Miguel seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He inexplicably looked in her direction and caught her eye.

  His eyes narrowed as she lifted her hand halfway and weakly wiggled her fingers.

  “Rosa!” Miguel called out, his expression returning to neutral. Mr. Henderson, walking with him, grimaced further at seeing her.

  Once the distance between them closed, Miguel said, “Should I ask why you’re here?”

  “Uh, I actually had a hankering for some cotton candy.”

  Miguel’s lips twitched. “Hankering? Have you been to see Dr. Rayburn?”

  Rosa blushed at being caught out at using a term more common in the south, but before she could protest, Mr. Henderson loudly grumbled, “I gotta get back to work.”

  Miguel remained diplomatic. “Thank you for your help this morning, Mr. Henderson. I appreciate it.”

  Mr. Henderson didn’t acknowledge the gratitude and instead strode toward his office. Rosa held her childish urge to stick out her tongue at the rude
man and closed the gap between herself and Miguel.

  She dared to ask, “What did you find out this morning?”

  Miguel paused, and for a moment Rosa thought he wasn’t going to say, but then he said, “I’ve cleared Mr. Henderson from our list of suspects.”

  Rosa raised an eyebrow. “How so? The man had motive and certainly the means to do it.”

  “Mr. Henderson doesn’t much care for any of his employees and says he had no reason to pick on Victor Boyd in particular. He thinks they’re all a lazy bunch of ne’er-do-wells and would love to hire just one guy who didn’t try to clock out early or clock in late, or swipe extra change from a customer.”

  “But if you’ll recall,” Rosa pressed, “Mr. Thompson said Mr. Henderson was afraid of Mr. Boyd.”

  Miguel lifted a shoulder. “It’s a case of ‘he said, he said’. No evidence to support it. And even if the manager had reason to fear Victor Boyd, it doesn’t mean he killed him.”

  “It doesn’t mean he didn’t,” Rosa returned, feeling the heat of stubbornness spreading across her chest. “He had means, motive, and opportunity.”

  “When I interviewed Mr. Henderson, he said Victor had taken charge of his ride and didn’t put up with troublemaking patrons,” Miguel said. “It was a necessary quality for someone operating the roller coaster. If Mr. Henderson had been ready to fire anyone, he said it would have been Jimmy, who was always letting kids ride who were smaller than the height requirement or other things that Mr. Henderson felt put his fair at risk.”

  This meant that Jimmy Thompson had stretched the truth to his favor, which wasn’t at all surprising. Rosa had learned it was human nature to do so, especially when one felt threatened.

  Miguel gave Rosa a meaningful look. “Mr. Henderson says he’s not going to let Jimmy go until everything has settled down with the investigation—but he will fire him, eventually.”

  “This doesn’t completely clear Mr. Henderson,” Rosa said.

  Miguel conceded with another shrug.

  They arrived at the roller coaster, and Miguel stopped just outside the rope. “Actually, I don’t think Mr. Henderson had the means to do it.”

  Rosa wrinkled her forehead at this. Miguel lifted the rope for her to duck under, and he followed her to the other side.

  After opening the gate to the control platform, he instructed Rosa, “Go on. Step up.”

  Rosa hesitated. Someone had died of electrocution in this very spot last night, after all. But she trusted Miguel and his electrician that all had been restored to working order. She stepped up and then turned to him in question.

  “Now, bend down as though you’re going to remove the lower panel like my electrician did earlier.”

  Smoothing the back of her skirt tightly to avoid flashing Miguel, something she’d rather not, she followed his instructions. Miguel, ever the gentleman, stepped back so his line of sight didn’t inadvertently line up.

  “Okay,” she said. “What now?”

  “Picture Mr. Henderson trying to accomplish the position you’re in now. Or actually, don’t bother picturing it, because it couldn’t happen. When I asked him to do the same thing, he didn’t fit. There’s no way he could have squeezed himself into the bottom half of the control platform to manipulate the electrical wires—especially with the gate closed, which he’d need to have done or else someone would’ve seen him.”

  Rosa’s mind flashed to the Steak and Shake restaurant. “One too many hamburgers and milkshakes?”

  She was rewarded with a single dimple.

  “When I asked Mr. Henderson to get in that position, he got a cramp in his leg so painful he had to lie on a bench for ten minutes. He couldn’t have done it without help nor in the short time he would have had while Victor had stepped away.”

  If Mr. Henderson couldn’t fit for being too rotund, Don Welks’ height would likely create the same obstacle.

  “I’ve also cleared the carnie named Skip Stevens. He was taking tickets on the roller coaster, and the patrons loading the cars had a clear view of him. He connected me with two of them just during the time we were talking today. Finding a dead body shook up the kid. He said it took everything he had to come to work this morning. He didn’t want anything to do with the rides and asked Mr. Henderson if he could sell popcorn.”

  Rosa stepped down from the platform, mentally checking Mr. Henderson, Don Welks, and Skip Stevens from her list of suspects.

  “Where’s Deputy Diego?” Miguel asked once they were both outside the yellow rope again.

  “I’m afraid I had to relieve him of his badge, due to his earlier bout of bad behavior.”

  Miguel nodded with a smirk. “I see. Do you plan on reinstating him?”

  “Probably. It was only his first offence.”

  “Good, because I’m not sure we can solve this case without him.”

  Rosa let the word we ring in her head for a moment before adding, “I’ll let him know you said that.”

  “You don’t think it will go to his head?”

  Miguel and his dimples were trying to lighten things up, but Rosa could only think about how they’d circled back to square one.

  15

  Rosa wrinkled her nose. “You’re back to looking for a needle in the haystack of a thousand people who visited the boardwalk last night?”

  “Not necessarily,” Miguel said. “Mr. Henderson mentioned a carnie who’s working this afternoon that was here yesterday. A Gary McCooey,” he said, motioning his chin towards a huge building. “He runs the tilt-a-whirl.”

  As they headed to the ride, Rosa explained how Marjorie had mentioned Gary. “Hopefully we can get my friends off the suspect list,” she said.

  “Agreed. I feel like I’m getting different stories from the workers about the animosity between employees. I’m interested to hear what Mr. McCooey says about how Victor got on with his colleagues.” He glanced down at Rosa. “You went to school with the guy. What’s your take on why everyone hated Victor Boyd so much?”

  Rosa thought back to that hazy time in her life. “I don’t think he was always the mean bully everyone remembers now,” Rosa replied. “I have vague memories of Victor with a genuine smile on his face and having fun with the rest of the students. But that was wartime and situations could change in an instant.”

  Miguel added quietly, “And people.”

  Rosa’s throat almost closed out at the implication. She had changed. They both had changed.

  “Um, yes,” she managed to mutter. Pressing on, she continued, “Several students I knew during those days had lost parents or loved ones as a result of the fighting. There were times when it felt like every day at school someone would be sobbing at their desk, or their desk would simply be empty. But with Victor, it was different. After his dad was killed, he turned into a terror overnight. It was as though Victor blamed the other students for his father’s death.”

  “His father died?” Miguel asked as they neared the tilt-a-whirl building. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes. Why? The accident made front-page headlines.”

  Miguel shook his head. “It’s just . . . when I broke the news to Victor’s parents, they mentioned that they hadn’t heard from their son in years. They showed me a family photo of when Victor was a small child standing next to his younger sister. I’m pretty sure the father in the photograph was the same man I spoke to.”

  “Could he have been his stepdad?” Rosa asked. “Perhaps the two men looked alike.”

  “They both go by the name Boyd. Sanchez would’ve found out by now if they weren’t related.”

  After entering the unlit building that housed the tilt-a-whirl, Miguel and Rosa paused, their eyes adjusting to the darkness that was in juxtaposition with the flashing neon lights. The carnie Rosa assumed was Mr. McCooey had just loaded a new batch of riders. Several seashell-shaped cars spun in circles on their tracks, all the while weaving around one another in a way that evoked fear, or at the very least, adrenaline, in Rosa’s
veins, especially as they gained speed. However, she thought with a slight smile, a trip on a carnival ride wasn’t much different from driving through London with her mother at the wheel. Rosa’s experience with Gloria’s driving wasn’t much better.

  Mr. McCooey’s eyes darted in several directions when he saw them approach the platform.

  “Police?” he said.

  Rosa clucked her tongue. Some people had a sixth sense when it came to the law.

  “It’s okay, Mr. McCooey,” Miguel said, “I’m Detective Belmonte from the Santa Bonita Police Department, and this is WPC Reed from the London Metropolitan Police.”

  Mr. McCooey’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on that we need international police involved?”

  “I’m simply consulting,” Rosa said smoothly, then asked, “Did you hear anything about what happened to Victor Boyd last night?”

  Mr. McCooey let out a low whistle, and for the first time, Rosa noticed the large gap between his teeth. With hair greased and combed into a sloppy fringe—the fashionable duckbill—he crossed large biceps across his chest, his T-shirt untucking from one side of his work jeans, which tapered to narrow cuffs at his ankles.

  “Yeah, everyone’s talking about it,” Mr. McCooey said. “Someone knocked him off?”

  “Who’s everyone?” Miguel asked.

  “All the carnies. We talk. Anything happens ’round here, we all know about it.”

  “How well did you know Victor Boyd?” Rosa asked.

  “As much as I know anyone at this place. He did his job; I did mine. A bunch of us went for a beer after closing sometimes, but can’t say I ever had a conversation with the guy.”

  “So, you two were on friendly terms?” Miguel confirmed.

  Another gap-toothed whistle. “I guess. Same as anyone.”

  “Same as Jimmy Thompson or Skip Stevens?” Those were the only other carnies Rosa knew by name.

  “Ha!” Mr. McCooey sneered. “Skip, sure, but that little twerp Jimmy? Nope, he ain’t like the rest of us.”

  Rosa shared a look with Miguel. More than a little animosity there, aimed at someone other than their victim.