by Amie Denman
If they ate at the burger-and-fry stand on the midway, it would be casual. Friendly. Just coworkers eating for survival. It would also be short-lived as the restaurant workers were probably already looking forward to cleaning their grills and going home. She could buy him a quick meal, make conversation for thirty-seven minutes and send him packing. It was a safe choice.
However, there was also a very good chance one of her colleagues would walk by and see her sharing a meal with Matt. She wanted the other police officers to see her as all business, no vulnerability. They might ask questions she didn’t want to answer.
On the other hand, if they left the Point...in a car...and went to a place that served food and beer...
That sounded like a date.
Maybe if she drove her police-auction car she’d feel less vulnerable.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” she said decisively.
“Great. I’ll drive.”
“That’s okay. We can take my car. I may even let you try out the spotlight since I owe you and all.”
Matt paused midstep. “I have to confess something, and I’m asking for mercy in advance.”
“Do you have a problem riding in a former police car?” Caroline kept her tone light but wondered if Matt had lingering distrust of police officers after what happened to his father. Would she ever know him well enough to ask about the day his dad went to jail?
“No,” Matt said. “It’s about my truck.”
“Don’t tell me your truck is illegally parked somewhere and you have to move it.”
“How the heck did you guess that?”
“I’m an officer of the law. It’s my job to sniff out crime.”
Matt laughed. “I’ll buy dessert if you’ll look the other way when you see my truck is parked in the reserved restaurant spaces in the marina lot. I was desperate to find a spot because I didn’t want to be late to class.”
“No way,” Caroline said, shaking her head. “You’re getting a ticket. And then you’re driving on our date.”
Caroline was almost certain her heart stopped. Why did she open her big mouth and use the word date?
They were walking past the kiddie rides on the midway. Only a few of the old-fashioned cars were on the track, and streetlights shone brightly causing the rustling leaves on the old cottonwoods to cast shadows on the ground.
Matt waved to a little boy driving past. The boy took one hand off the wheel for a quick wave and then got back to the serious work of driving his mom around the track.
“I’ll take that deal,” Matt said.
“I was only kidding.”
He stopped directly under a streetlight and Caroline could see his expression. Usually jovial, Matt looked serious.
“About which part?”
“The ticket,” Caroline said quickly, not wanting to discuss the date word she’d tossed into the conversation. “The restaurant is closed anyway this late at night.”
They continued walking toward the marina gate, sharing the wide concrete midway with hundreds of park guests who were staying until the lights went out on the coasters. Matt’s hand brushed Caroline’s as they moved aside for a group of teenagers. When the group had gone by and the midway opened up, Matt continued to walk so close to Caroline she felt his shirt touch her bare upper arm.
They exited the park and crossed the Outer Loop road. Caroline’s dorm and assigned parking space were only a dozen yards off, but she turned away from them and walked side by side with Matt toward his truck.
“Just give me a minute,” Matt said when he clicked his doors unlocked. “I don’t usually have passengers.”
He opened the passenger side door and picked up a first aid kit, a pair of safety glasses, a hammer and a flashlight and deposited them in a bin in the bed of his truck. He returned and took a heavy orange traffic cone off the floor, tossed it in the bed and then took a roll of shop towels out of the glove box.
“It’s probably clean, but you never know,” he said as he scrubbed the vinyl seat with a thick blue towel.
“These aren’t my finest clothes,” Caroline said. She considered asking for ten minutes so she could dash over to her dorm room and change into something nicer than black pants and a black T-shirt with the Starlight Point Police Department logo on the chest. It was not exactly a date outfit.
Matt wore jeans and a green T-shirt. His shirt had Bayside Construction and his name embroidered over the chest pocket. On the back, it said Safety First in large white letters.
They looked like two people just leaving work and having a friendly burger together. Caroline resolved not to change her clothes. It was easier to keep the night casual while wearing casual clothing.
“Ready,” Matt said. He held the door open while she got in and then he closed it.
Caroline had five seconds to process the inside of his truck while he circled around to his door. Industrial vinyl seats. Dusty dashboard, probably from construction sites. Matt seemed like the kind of guy who would keep the windows rolled down most of the time. The smell was industrial without being offensive. The seat belt worked.
Matt slid in next to her and put his key in the ignition. The only thing between them on the vinyl seat was a clipboard with a hard hat on top. She didn’t have to inspect the hat. She knew it said Dunbar in black marker on the side.
“You should tell me where we’re going before I start the engine. It’s loud. Sorry.”
“Do you have a favorite place for burgers?”
“I’m a big fan of the Big Bayside Burger they serve at the Pony Express.”
The Pony Express was, technically, a restaurant. Located just past the other end of the Point Bridge, the establishment also offered an arcade and bowling alley. One of Caroline’s police colleagues who happened to have twin sons had recently told her about a children’s birthday party he’d endured there—complete with pizza, game tokens and bumper bowling.
In addition to the family-friendly end of the facility, the Pony Express was also locally known for its bar where patrons could imbibe while enjoying offtrack horse betting. Gambling seemed risky enough without adding alcohol, but the state laws had loosened considerably in the past few years.
“I’ve never been there,” she said. “But I’ll take your word for it.”
Matt was right about his truck. As he accelerated out of the parking lot, he observed the speed limit and the hand signals of the traffic employee, but the diesel engine still roared and discouraged conversation.
“The air conditioning doesn’t work,” Matt said, “but I could roll down my window if you’re too warm.”
It was a balmy summer night, but thousands of insects swirled under the street lamps on the bridge.
“I’d risk a bug in the eye if you want,” Matt said.
“No way. You’re driving, and I think you’ve suffered enough tonight. I’m fine.”
“You’re quiet.”
“What?” Caroline shouted, exaggerating the word and putting a hand behind one ear.
Matt laughed and gave up talking until they pulled into the Pony Express parking lot. Caroline opened her door at the same time Matt did, eliminating the question of whether or not he would have come around and opened it for her. She didn’t need to test him. And she was certainly capable of handling the job herself.
“Does it bug the cop in you that there’s gambling here?” Matt asked as they walked toward the entrance. The door was overshadowed by a colorful neon sign shaped like a field of racing horses.
Caroline shrugged. “It’s stupid but legal, just like a lot of other things.”
Matt held open the restaurant’s door. “Eating heavy fried food late at night probably falls into that category, too.”
“I’ll take that chance.”
They found a table between the b
ar and the bowling alley and opened their laminated menus. A waitress wearing a Pony Express T-shirt and khaki shorts stopped by their table.
“Start you off with something from the bar?” she asked.
Caroline was tempted to order a beer just to see if they would check her identification, but she suppressed her police persona. She was here to say thank you to Matt for volunteering at her self-defense course. Maybe if she was very nice to him, he’d come back for the next nine nights. She glanced up and met his eyes. Was he wondering what he should order?
“Lemonade for me,” Caroline said.
“Make that two,” Matt added.
The waitress left, promising to return in a few minutes to take their orders.
“I wouldn’t care if you had a beer,” Caroline said. “You’d be under the limit if you had just one.”
Matt lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “Maybe I’ll wait and have one with you next week. Which day is your birthday?”
“July 12. The day after I finish the STRIPE classes.”
“I remember my twenty-first birthday. My friends wanted me to do things I’d either fail to remember or live to regret the rest of my life.”
“And did you?”
He shook his head. “It was exam week at the end of my junior year. I was taking extra classes—extra hard classes—so I could eventually graduate early. And there was no way I could risk a hangover.”
“So you stayed home and studied.”
He nodded. “My friends weren’t impressed, but they weren’t the ones paying my tuition. My stepfather has been very generous to me and Lucas, but he has a right to expect we won’t abuse it.”
“I believe I saw your stepfather on the media cruise.”
“He was there, yes.”
“And he owns Bayside Construction?”
Caroline already knew the answer to the question. Despite her resolve to back off on the construction angle of the Loose Cannon, she wanted to see what Matt would say.
“Ready to order?” the waitress asked as she set down two glasses of lemonade.
Matt waited for Caroline to order first, and she selected a chicken-and-fries basket. She was not surprised when he ordered the Big Bayside Burger, a double-stacked sandwich with bacon and barbecue sauce. Caroline imagined how many calories a man on a construction site burned off every day.
“Yes,” Matt said as soon as the waitress left. “Bruce owns the company. I believe you heard what the reporter said on the cruise. He bought it from his brother after the failure of the Loose Cannon.”
Matt stated the situation matter-of-factly and left Caroline nothing to ask. If he had anything to hide, it certainly didn’t look that way.
“We don’t talk about it much in our family,” he added.
“Why not?”
Matt sipped his drink and set it carefully on the cardboard coaster. She could practically see him weighing his words. She wished she could take the question back.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” Matt said. “But it seems to me that every family has something they just don’t talk about.”
Caroline had her fingers around her lemonade glass, but she didn’t pick it up to drink. It already felt as if she had swallowed an ice cube that chilled her all the way down. She knew far too well what it was like to avoid a painful family topic.
* * *
MATT HAD SEEN Caroline’s determined expression, her humorous expression and her everyday I’m-serious-about-my-job expression. But he had not seen the look he now saw on her face.
Her fair skin had paled at least two shades, she looked down instead of meeting his eyes, and he would swear he saw her lip tremble. What had happened? Was it the mention of family skeletons in the closet? He had to change the subject.
“So tell me about your classes. Criminal justice major, right?”
Caroline nodded. “I finished my bachelor’s degree in just three years, and now I’m ready to start using it.”
“I can understand that. I thought I’d never finish college and actually start work.”
“You have a master’s?”
“Yes. University of Michigan. Bachelor’s in engineering, master’s in construction engineering.”
A faint smile returned to Caroline’s face and erased the odd look he’d seen a few moments ago. “So you get the hard jobs and that’s why you wander around at night.”
“I’m willing to take on the tough jobs. It’s what I always wanted. Even with a degree, though, I wish I knew as much as my stepdad. He has a lifetime of experience. So did my uncle.”
“Did?”
“My uncle passed away over the winter.”
Matt could have sworn he saw Caroline adding up that information and placing it in a category in her brain.
“Does Bruce have any other children? Any stepbrothers or sisters who might want to take over his business?”
“No. Just me and Lucas to carry on the family legacy.”
“Maybe you could share it, like your stepfather and his brother did.”
Matt wondered whether Caroline was asking because she was interested in getting to know him or because she wanted to know more about whatever happened on the Loose Cannon thirty years ago. She certainly loved to ask questions, but he didn’t know how much he wanted to answer.
“They never shared it,” Matt said flatly.
“I wonder if I could talk to your stepfather sometime,” Caroline said. “I’ve read about the Loose Cannon roller coaster, and I’d love to talk to someone who was there at the time.”
“He wasn’t there.”
“But his brother was. Maybe—”
“No,” Matt cut her off. “Like I said, it’s a painful topic in our family and my stepfather isn’t in the best of health.”
“Haven’t you ever wondered why no one wants to talk about it?”
Matt took a deep breath. He had no intention of answering that question, even if he knew what to say.
Yes, he’d wondered. He’d even heard the rumors about the maintenance man who died later that night. He’d heard speculation that it was murder committed by the father of the dead girl, but the man had been cleared at the time. As far as Matt knew, there was never any evidence it was even a murder. It was a tainted, messy affair all around.
“Our food’s here,” he said, relieved to see the waitress approaching with two red plastic baskets of steaming food. He was starving, having skipped dinner to finish setting some steel beams. He waited while Caroline squirted half a bottle of ketchup on her fries and chicken strips.
She glanced up and caught him staring. “I love ketchup,” she said with a grin.
“So you do have a weakness. I wondered.”
“I have plenty of those,” she said.
“Aside from doughnuts with maple frosting and a dogged thirst for justice, what else do you have a weakness for?”
Caroline paused, french fry in hand. “My thirst for justice isn’t a weakness.”
“Sorry. I have a dogged belief in the laws of engineering, but it can be a pain being such a worrier. I thought maybe you had the same problem.”
“I don’t.”
“No matter what it takes to make someone face his punishment, even if there’s collateral damage, you’d do it.”
“Of course. What’s the alternative?”
Matt took a big bite of his sandwich, glad it would take him a long time to chew so he didn’t have to come up with an answer.
He knew what it was like to be collateral damage from someone else’s crime. Caroline couldn’t possibly know about his father’s imprisonment, but it wouldn’t matter if she did. He imagined her stoically leading his dad to court in handcuffs, righteous in her mission to uphold the law.
What would she think of him if she f
ound out he was the son of a man doing time? More important, why was she so sure there were secrets left to be found about a roller coaster three decades in the past?
“What’s your weakness?” Caroline asked.
I’m a desperate man, he thought. Desperate to make this project work, desperate to forget about my childhood, desperate to secure my future and that of my family. What could that desperation make me do? How far will I go to achieve those goals?
Caroline laughed and Matt looked up sharply. “You look like I just asked you to rob a bank and you’re trying to think of a way to turn me down,” she said.
“I wouldn’t rob a bank.” He said it casually, but he wondered what she would think if she knew his father had committed a similar crime.
“Me, neither,” she said. “Too much paperwork.”
Matt smiled and rolled his shoulders, trying to shrug off his serious thoughts. He was having a late-night dinner with a lovely and interesting woman. When was the last time he’d done that? Too long ago.
“You know,” Caroline said, “you’re one of the few people I know who can manage to smile and still look worried.” She pointed with her index finger. “You get a little line right between your eyebrows, and it always makes me wonder what you’re thinking about.”
“Do you ever turn off your investigator light?” he asked.
“No.”
“You were probably the kid who got to the bottom of stolen lunches and missing pairs of scissors in school.”
She smiled. “Always. I even set up a camera in the backyard one summer to see what animal was living under my parents’ shed.”
“Groundhog?”
She wrinkled her nose, and it made her look quirky and vulnerable. “Worse. It was a skunk.”
“And you caught him on camera?”
“Sadly, no. Our family dog sniffed him out. My brother let him out after dark one night and we heard all kinds of yipping from the backyard. Scott opened the back door without thinking and the dog came barreling in.”
“Did he get sprayed?”
Caroline nodded. “Right in the face. And he rolled all over the living room carpet to try to get the smell out. My mother washed that dog with everything you can imagine. Tomato soup, dish soap, expensive shampoo from the vet. He was a lab with thick fur, and you could still smell it on him six months later.”
