Dead Ringers: Volumes 1-3

by Darlene Gardner

  A girl’s gotta have her fun.

  The Hurricane’s a bigger deal at the Midway Beach carnival than the Wild Mouse, but it’s pretty lame as far as coasters go. No cobra rolls or diving loops or inline twists. It’s not the biggest, tallest or fastest coaster around. But it is a relic, one of only twenty or so original wooden coasters still operating in the country.

  And any coaster is better than every other carnival ride.

  “Wait up, Jade!” Becky hurries to catch up to me. The carnival’s not open yet so there’s no music or crowd noise, only the sound of her tennis shoes slapping on the cement. She reaches me between the Bottle Ring Toss and the Tip the Cat game.

  I shove aside a memory of Roxy’s cat wagging its tail and jumping up to lick me. “Hey, Becks. What’s up?

  “I was hoping to see you.” Becky smiles so widely, I’m reminded of the clown’s painted lips. I thrust that memory aside, too. “I was pretty sure you volunteered for the test run.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. Especially since I’m gonna beat you out for the last car.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that.” Becky grins wider. “I’m little, but I’m quick.”

  For as long as the two of us have been riding coasters together, we’ve competed for the honor of bringing up the rear. We could double up—and we have, when the coaster’s crowded—but it’s more fun to try to beat each other out. Especially since I win almost all the time.

  Becky may be quick, but coasters are more my thing than hers.

  “I’ve got something to tell you.” The words burst from Becky. “Something exciting.”

  “What is it?” I’m a little hurt that she didn’t at least text me with the big news. What’s the use of technology if not to spread news as it’s happening?

  “You’ve gotta guess.” She giggles and tosses her long, blond hair. “Except you’ll never guess. Not in a million, trillion years.”

  “You hooked up with Porter McRoy.”

  She thrusts out her lower lip. If she wanted to break the news, she shouldn’t have asked me to guess. “What gave it away?”

  Really? We’ve known each other since kindergarten, and she still hasn’t figured out I can always tell what she’s thinking? “You mean, besides your extreme giddiness?”

  Her smile turns sheepish. “Yeah, besides that.”

  “I saw you kissing him.”

  Becky makes a sound of pleasure and runs her fingers over her lips. “Oh, my gosh, Jade. He is such a good kisser. I mean, he’s so good he should give other guys lessons. Wait. That came out wrong. I don’t want Porter kissing other guys, not that there’s anything wrong with that. Although I guess I’d rather have him kiss a guy than another girl. Unless, of course—”

  Time to interrupt before she twists herself into an even bigger verbal knot. “So why did you change your mind about making the first move?”

  “I didn’t make the first move!” Becky protests.

  Yeah, right. Since she set her sights on Porter a few weeks ago, she’s been obsessed with getting him to notice her. “Then how did it happen?”

  “We bumped into each other after the bomb threat.” Her face glows even though the sun has disappeared behind some clouds. “Literally. Porter was all apologetic, grabbing me so I wouldn’t fall and saying how sorry he was.”

  “And you took him making sure you didn’t wipe out as showing an interest.” It’s not a question.

  “Can you blame me? I’ve only got till the end of August before I head off to college. Sure, I asked if he wanted to get together sometime.”

  “Who suggested this morning? You or him?”

  “I did.” Becky’s blue eyes narrow. “Hey, how did you know that? And, what did you mean, you saw me kiss him? Where did you see me kiss him?”

  Not my smartest comment of the morning. I avoid her eyes. “Around.”

  “We only kissed the one time. I mean, it’s not exactly prime kissing time when the sun’s up. We haven’t spent any time together at night yet.”

  “I can understand that.” I walk faster, unwilling to get into this with her. She’s so small she’s taking three steps to my every two.

  “Will you stop, Jade?” Becky implores. “Please.”

  I stop. We’re beside the game where customers shoot a water gun into the mouth of a fish to win a cheap stuffed animal. I brace myself for the question I know is coming.

  “Were you at Hunter Prescott’s house this morning?” Becky demands.

  “Maybe.” Brilliant comeback. Do I know how to deflect suspicion or what?

  “If you saw me there, why didn’t I see you?”

  I’m even less sure how to answer that one so go with defiance. “Maybe we didn’t want to be seen.”

  “We? Who were you with? Please tell me it wasn’t Max Harper.” Becky covers her mouth with one hand. Really? Does she have to be so dramatic? She’s not a DQ Twin. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  I blow air out through my nose. “I don’t understand what you have against Max.”

  “He’s a stranger who told you a bunch of crazy stuff! How can you trust him? If he said you’d get a million dollars if you pressed a button on a box, would you do it?”

  I can’t even bother to roll my eyes. “Not if it meant someone I didn’t know would die. We saw that movie together, remember? Besides, Max doesn’t have a box.”

  “He has a wild story. Did you even check him out?”

  She’s the one who suggested I call the North Carolina police to make sure Max was telling the truth about going missing earlier this year. “Yeah, I did. Turns out he’s a giant alien cockroach, like Vincent D’Onofrio.”

  Becky has such excellent taste in film, I don’t have to explain. She scowls. “Not funny, Jade. You know I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t be. Max checks out. That’s more than I can say for some other people in town.”

  “Who are you talking about? Hunter?” I can almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. “Were you and Max watching Hunter’s house?”

  “Forget I said anything.”

  “Why would you do that? Because somebody poisoned him? What’s going on, Jade? Don’t tell me you think the poisoning is connected to those missing memories of yours.”

  “I said to forget it.” I resume walking toward the coaster with Becky almost stepping on my heels.

  “Why should I forget it? I’m your best friend, Jade. Who else will tell you that you haven’t been thinking straight since February?”

  “Seems to me my best friend should have believed me when I told her what happened.”

  “You don’t know what happened,” Becky counters. “You can’t remember.”

  I speed up, easily putting distance between us. The Hurricane is in sight, its half-mile of wooden track winding and bending. Since the wooden coaster is by far the most popular ride at the carnival, workmen have spent the last three or four off-seasons updating it one section at a time, replacing the deteriorating wood with new planks and beams.

  In past years, the renovation work was suspended once the season began. This summer, though, the workers were so close to finishing the entire project they kept at it while the rest of the carnival rides opened. The new and improved Hurricane is supposed to debut tomorrow.

  About a dozen people, most dressed in the orange T-shirts that mark them as carnival workers, are in the loading area. One of them is Max. No surprise there. During the drive back from Jennifer Bigelow’s house, we’d discovered we were both participating in the test run. He’d offered to take me to work. I’d passed so I could ride my bike and clear the head Becky thinks is massively screwed up. Where does she get off telling me that, anyway? I speed up, increasing the distance between us as I hurry up the ramp.

  Roxy is in front of the group, gesturing with her beefy arms. Two of my co-workers catch my attention and flap their fingers on the down low, the traditional yak-yak-yak gesture. I approach from the side closest to the passenger train, getting inside position in order
to claim the last car before anyone else.

  “You’re late,” Roxy barks at me.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “As I was saying,” she continues, once again addressing the group, “this year we replaced all three of our sixteen-passenger trains.”

  Max edges away from the group to stand next to me, thankfully on the side opposite the train in the loading area. I’d elbow him aside in a heartbeat to get that last car. He smells great, like warm sunshine and fresh shampoo. He winks at me.

  “We’ll run two of the trains empty and man the third,” Roxy says.

  Becky, her breath coming in huffs and puffs, finally reaches us. She stands on my other side, nearer our prized last car. Roxy doesn’t scold her, but says something or other about the rehab work resulting in faster trains.

  “I’m sorry,” Becky whispers.

  I keep my eyes straight ahead, but the last car is in my peripheral vision. I’m even more determined to beat Becky out now.

  “Did you hear me?” Becky whispers.

  “Yeah,” I reply in a soft voice, still not looking at her. “I heard you.”

  “That’s all you need to know about the new Hurricane,” Roxy hollers. “Pick a car and have fun.”

  Before I can sprint for my prize, Becky steps in front of me, getting inside position. No way can I reach the last car before her without knocking her down. I’m angry, but not that angry. Just before getting in, Becky turns to face me. “You really won’t accept my apology?”

  I shake my head. The more I think about it, the more it bugs me that Becky accepts Roxy’s story over mine.

  Becky steps back. “Go ahead. Take the last car. I’ll sit with Lori.”

  Lori’s a rising high school sophomore, one of the youngest and meekest employees at the carnival. A quick glance reveals she’s in the middle of the passenger train, boring territory.

  “Say what?”

  “Maybe that’ll convince you how sorry I am,” Becky says.

  Before I can think of what to say, Becky abandons her position. “Hey, Lori,” she calls. “Move over.”

  If I don’t grab the last car, someone else will. I slide inside the new and freshly painted car, and guilt immediately descends on me. Becky had the last car fair and square yet I’m sitting in it.

  “What was that all about?” Max stands next to the car, his brown hair blowing in the ocean breeze, his eyes shaded by dark sunglasses.

  I’m not up for explaining how I’m too petty to accept that my friend’s worried about me. “Getting the last car.”

  “Don’t ask me to share it with you.”

  That hadn’t occurred to me. “Why not?”

  He settles in the next-to-last car and slips his sunglasses in the neck of his T-shirt before turning to face me. “It’s too scary.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Wish I was.” Max shrugs, a small smile playing about the corners of his mouth. “Did you hear the dummies they used to test ride a coaster in Germany came back with missing arms and legs?”

  “Now you’re trying to scare me!”

  “It’s the truth,” he says. “Knowing that, any self-respecting girlfriend would sit next to her boyfriend. You know, so they could get decapitated together.”

  “You said the dummies were missing arms and legs, not heads!”

  “There’s a first time for everything.” He slides over, then lowers his voice. “What do you say?”

  A few of our co-workers are turned around, watching us. Yeah, that’s right. The gossip should be all over the carnival by now that Max and I are into each other. People will expect us to act that way. Besides, why should I get to ride in the last car instead of Becky?

  “Everybody, lock your lap bars.” Roxy is at the controls, her hands poised on the starting mechanism. “Then we’ll take off.”

  “Wait, Max!” I tell him as he’s about to follow her directions.

  As everyone besides Max pulls down their lap bars, I unbuckle my seat beat and get out of the last car. Max moves over in his car to make room for me, and I slide in beside him. The entire left side of my body instantly warms as I fasten my seatbelt and he pulls down the bar.

  “Now we’re ready,” I call to Roxy.

  Max puts his arm around me, drawing me closer. “That’s more like it.”

  The coaster starts moving. Max’s breathing is normal. He’s not trembling. He seems completely at ease. I narrow my eyes. “You’re not really afraid of coasters, are you?”

  “No,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “But saying so got you where I want you.”

  I should be annoyed with him for lying to me, but it feels so good sitting next to him that I can’t drum up any anger. Even Roxy’s scowl as we pass her at the controls can’t put a dent in my good mood. Once I make up with Becky, everything will be fine.

  Okay, maybe not.

  Since striking out with Adair, Max and I haven’t made any headway on figuring out who else’s body the Black Widow might be inhabiting. Max hasn’t been able to find Leanne Livingstone for a second time, either.

  I won’t let that ruin the roller coaster ride, though. Not when I’ve been looking forward to it for days.

  The first half of the track has plenty of twists and turns but not much difference in elevation between peaks and valleys. The cars used to rattle back and forth on the tracks, the fit on the steel rails worsening with each passing year.

  “The ride’s smoother.” I raise my voice so Max can hear above the wind rushing in our ears. Exhilaration rockets through me. We’re starting the ascent leading to the steepest drop.

  “Here we go!” I yell, grinning at Max. “You better hold on!”

  He takes his arm from around me and fastens his hands securely around the bar. Although the coaster’s track doesn’t reach anywhere near the height of its all-steel counterparts, my guess is the peak is at about fifty-five or sixty feet. The drop is straight down.

  We get closer and closer to the top. My pulse quickens. It feels like liquid excitement slides through my veins. The front car is almost at the peak when the air fills with a loud, groaning sound.

  Something mechanical.

  Something wrong.

  The front car is at the precipice, but the noise is louder now, like machinery screaming in protest. I think about the crash-test dummies Max told me about, the ones without arms and legs. I edge closer to him, trying to take reassurance from his nearness.

  Nothing happens for a sliver of a second. Then there’s a snap so loud my ears ring. I wait for our car to detach from the rest of the train. Instead the last car plunges backward, down the steep length of track.

  Max and I turn to look over our shoulders at the runaway car. It veers crazily off course and jumps the track, crashing into a heap of splintered wood a second before our car rounds the top of the hill and plunges after the others.

  Some of the other girls, and at least one of the guys, are screaming.

  I’m too numb to do more than whimper.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  By the next morning, I’ve seen the last car on the passenger train crash at least a half-dozen times. Not on the news or a YouTube video. In my dreams. Each time the car plunged backward down the tracks and into oblivion, the horror of what could have happened jarred me awake.

  An accident, Roxy called it before she went about carnival business as usual.

  I don’t believe that.

  I think Roxy figured out I’d be in the last car and tried to kill me.

  It’s a miracle Suri slept through my gasps. She moved into my bedroom yesterday to make way for Uncle Landon.

  “Ja-ade.” Suri sits up in the other twin bed. She wears pink shorty pajamas decorated with red hearts. “Are you awake?”

  I flop from one side to the other to face her. “I am now.”

  “Then I can do this!” Suri hops out of bed on her tiny bare feet and spreads her arms wide. “Good morning, world.”

  She skips over to the window an
d pulls up the blind. “Good morning, sky. Good morning, birds. Good morning, sun.”

  Our mother used to wake us that way when we were younger.

  My head hurts. If Suri acts this perky every day, she might have more to fear from me than Roxy. But it’s not my sister’s fault she’s happy. I want her to be happy. “You’re in a good mood this morning.”

  “Uncle Landon’s taking me and Julian to the water park today!” She rushes out of the room like it’s time to go right this minute. I check the alarm clock. It’s only nine o’clock.

  I lie in bed for another five minutes until I summon the energy to roust myself and pull on shorts and a T-shirt. I emerge from my bedroom rubbing grit from my eyes.

  “Jade, I’m glad I caught you.” Mom heads down the hall in a pale pink blouse that’s partially untucked and a gray suit that washes out her skin. She sounds okay, though, her speech neither too fast nor too slow. “I’ve got something for you.”

  A purse is slung over her shoulder. She slides it down her arm, opens it and withdraws a sealed envelope with my name scrawled on it. She holds it out to me. “It’s from your father.”

  “He’s not my father.” I don’t know who that is, thanks to her. Every time I’ve brought up the subject, she changes it. The last time I asked about my biological dad, she told me I was better off not knowing. As though he was the worst kind of monster. Like Hannibal Lecter bad.

  “Take the letter, Jade.” Her hand shakes the slightest bit.

  I grab the letter and shove it in the pocket of my shorts. Going along with her makes more sense than refusing and risking another of her meltdowns. Nothing says I have to read the letter. I haven’t read any of the others he’s sent.

  “He was disappointed you didn’t visit with us.” Over Mom’s right shoulder is the family picture where the five of us are smiling stupidly, with no idea of what’s coming. “He wants to talk to you next time he calls.”

  In his dreams.

  Which probably don’t involve roller coaster car crashes.

  I won’t tell my mother about that, either. Who knows what kind of dark tunnel that would lead her down? She already thinks people are out to get me.