by Amie Denman
The girl and her mother wore matching purple T-shirts, a wise move for keeping track of each other in the crowd. It was a Wednesday afternoon in mid-July, the height of the tourist season. It was also Caroline’s twenty-first birthday, but she didn’t mind being at work. Her parents were coming all the way from their new home in Arizona on the weekend and taking her out to a nice dinner with her brother and Evie.
As she watched the little girl and her mother walk away hand in hand, Caroline smiled, remembering the year she and her mother wore matching dresses for Easter.
Mel Preston whacked a bolt into place on one of the mechanical arms of the ride. The head of maintenance, he was married to June Hamilton, which technically made him an in-law. She leaned over the fence surrounding the ride and spoke just loudly enough over the general cacophony of Starlight Point for him to hear her.
“Think you can fix it?”
“Trying,” Mel said. He used the sleeve of his blue uniform shirt to wipe sweat from his brow. The midday sun was brutal as it bounced off the white concrete.
“Can I help?”
“Toss me a bolt from that bag.”
Caroline shoved her hand into a heavy bag filled with bolts and pulled several out. “Does it matter which one?”
“Need a grade eight,” he said. He sat back on his haunches while he waited for her to sort out the right bolt. “Lot of pressure and tension on this beam.”
“So one marked five won’t work?”
“It might work for a while, but I wouldn’t trust it for this.”
The grade five bolt in George Dupont’s pocket tormented her. Did that bolt come from the Loose Cannon? If so, why had he picked it up? Did it have anything to do with how he died?
Someone tapped Caroline on the shoulder and she whirled around. It was a teenager holding a large green alligator he’d probably won from one of the game booths.
“Is this ride going to open today?” the boy asked. He leaned to the side and looked around Caroline just as they both heard a loud clanking sound followed by Mel saying, “Dangit.”
“I picked a lousy day to come here,” the kid muttered as he slouched off.
“You’ve worked here a long time, haven’t you?” Caroline asked, turning back to Mel.
“Thirteen years.”
“Are there some guys who’ve been here even longer?”
Caroline wanted to ask specifically who might have been here in the summer of 1985, but she doubted Mel would know that and she didn’t want to have to explain her reason for asking.
“Sure.”
“They must feel a lot of loyalty to Starlight Point,” she said.
“We all do,” Mel said. He glanced up from his job, hammer in hand. “Don’t we?”
“Of course,” Caroline answered quickly. And she did. But if she had to make a choice between protecting Starlight Point or revealing evidence, she knew what she would do. Justice was more important than business.
Was it more important than family and relationships? She considered the question as she watched people walk by. An older couple moved slowly past. A teenaged couple with their arms around each other’s waists. A family with two little boys wearing red T-shirts with construction trucks on them.
The maintenance man who died was someone’s son. And the girl who was thrown from the Loose Cannon was someone’s daughter—her neighbors’—and they’d never had the closure and justice they deserved.
Several hours later, Caroline clocked out and headed for the post office in downtown Bayside. Her parents were coming in a few days, but she knew her mother would also mail a card—something pretty with a nice verse about her birthday. Her mother also tended to underline phrases she thought particularly appropriate; it was her way to personalize standard greeting cards from the store.
But along with the purple envelope sparkling with glitter stuffed into her mailbox was a large brown envelope with a return address of the offices of the State of Michigan.
It had been over six weeks, and Caroline had nearly given up on getting copies of the official report from the agency that inspected amusement park rides back in the 1980s. The department of commerce had converted to computers sometime in the past three decades, but the documents she wanted predated the modernization. It had been a long wait.
“Happy birthday to me,” she said to herself. Back at her dorm, she climbed the stairs to her room, two at a time, eager to change her clothes and settle in to read the lengthy report. Perhaps it would contain the answers she’d been waiting for. Would there be details about the construction of the ride? Maybe a clue about the grade of the bolts used or an explanation why the murdered man had a broken grade five bolt in his pocket?
When she got to the third floor of her dorm, she both heard and felt loud music coming from the room across the hall. The three boys who lived there worked nights emptying the dumpsters and cleaning the restrooms, and they usually slept all morning. It was a lousy job, and she couldn’t blame them for wanting to enjoy their afternoons and evenings.
However, their speakers shook the floor and rattled her ears. There was no way she could read a detailed report with that racket. She let herself into her room, changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and opened the birthday card from her mother.
There were butterflies and flowers in watercolor with a lengthy poem about the blessings of daughters. Her mother had underlined the words loving, beautiful, smart and joy. If her mother knew how close Caroline was to marching down the hallway and letting the person playing that loud music know how she felt, she might’ve chosen some different adjectives.
Instead of picking a fight with the night-shift boys, Caroline headed outside. The July day was still hot, but she knew of a picnic table near the marina where a shade tree combined with the lake breeze would provide all the comfort she needed as she settled in to read.
Envelope under her arm, she practically trotted to the picnic table and was delighted to find it empty. She wished she’d remembered a drink or a snack, but it would have to wait. Caroline slid her finger under the flap of the envelope and opened it. The weight of the package told her there were dozens of pages inside.
Dozens. Typed on a typewriter. Plus pictures and some handwritten notes. This would take hours to read. It was like a time capsule of record-keeping from another age. The pictures and pages were photocopied, so the quality was a disappointment. But Caroline still had hope the reports would be a revelation—if the inspector had done his job. She wondered if the reports she wrote this summer would ever be read with anticipation in the future.
The first page was a cover page, nothing but details about the contents of the file and location of the reports from the office in the state capital. Caroline shuffled that page to the bottom of the stack and prepared to read. The next page was a narrative, entirely filled with typed text.
“Are you spending your birthday doing paperwork?”
Caroline jumped at the voice behind her and swung around, the papers clutched tight in one hand.
“Easy,” Matt said, both hands up. “I should probably know better than to sneak up on a police officer.”
“You shouldn’t be able to sneak up on a police officer,” Caroline said. Her pulse beat in her throat.
Matt jerked his head toward the amusement park entrance. “All that noise covered my footsteps.” He walked around the picnic table where he could face her and swung one leg over the bench. He’d clearly just come from the construction site. He wore a button-down cotton shirt, jeans and work boots.
Caroline shoved the papers back into the brown envelope and laid it face down on the table. Matt’s eyes dipped to the envelope and returned to her face.
“Top secret?” he asked.
“Just something I’m studying. How is Jackson?”
“Better. He only needed surgery on
one leg, and there were no internal injuries.”
“He was lucky,” Caroline said quietly.
“Like your brother said, the ground was soft so when the truck went over him...well, it could’ve been worse.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to come back to work?”
He nodded. “We hope. But it’ll be a while.”
“And how is the man who was driving the truck?”
“Babcock,” Matt said. “He’s pretty shaken up. He went over to Jackson’s house and mowed the lawn. He’s also taking care of Jackson’s dog while he’s in the hospital because his wife’s there with him all the time.”
“That’s a nice gesture.”
“I think it makes him feel better to help out. Accidents on construction sites happen, and they’re almost as bad for the person who causes it as the guy who’s the victim. It’s something we talk about a lot. We have mandatory safety training, but nothing reminds you of how fast something can happen like an actual accident.”
Matt laid both forearms on the table and leaned toward her. Caroline noticed dust in his hair. His eyes were green. Kind. He truly cared about the men who worked for him. Cared about doing the job right. Were all construction companies run like his? Was his uncle’s?
Too bad all men weren’t like him. Conscientious, hardworking, tall and muscular, ready with a quick smile.
What was she thinking?
She’d had a serious plan for the summer when she’d arrived at Starlight Point, and it didn’t include romance. But if she were going to have a summer romance...
“I have a problem,” Matt said, interrupting her thoughts.
“A legal problem?” she asked, a little breathlessly. She hoped her thoughts didn’t show on her face. “Something missing from your site or vehicle damage or...something?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Oh.”
“And I hoped you’d help me out.”
“I’m not hiding a picnic basket under this table,” Caroline said.
“Do you have dinner plans?”
Caroline hadn’t made plans for dinner. And if she had she would’ve cancelled them when she discovered the state report in her mail. Her fingers drummed lightly on the envelope as she considered her answer. She decided to go with the truth.
“No,” she admitted. “My brother is working overtime, and my parents aren’t coming until the weekend.”
“I hate to see you eating alone.”
“Because it’s my birthday?”
“That’s not the only reason,” he said. He leaned closer and Caroline wasn’t sure if she should lean away or toward him. She felt her lips curve in a smile at the irresistible man in front of her.
“Have dinner with me. Please,” he said. “If you don’t want to get in my loud truck—which is a mess right now anyway—we can eat right here at the marina restaurant.”
Caroline hesitated, her fingers flipping the corner of the envelope. She’d waited six weeks. Another hour or two seemed unbearable. But then again, she’d already waited six weeks. What would a few more hours matter?
“You’re not planning to tell the wait staff it’s my birthday, are you? I hate it when they gather around the table clapping and singing.”
“I promise I won’t,” he said, laughing. “I always feel sorry for the waiters when that happens. They can’t enjoy it, and it probably just puts them behind on their work.”
Why does he have to be so perfect?
“Then I’d love to have dinner with you.”
“Great. Thanks.”
She picked up her envelope and stood. Should she take it back to her dorm or just tuck it under her arm as if it weren’t terribly important?
“I hope we don’t have to wait for a table,” Matt commented as he untangled his long legs from the picnic table. “I’m starving.”
Well, that settled it. She turned away from the dorms and walked alongside Matt across the parking lot to the marina restaurant. Part of a major renovation the previous summer, the marina restaurant and docks still looked new. It was nearly six o’clock, and the sky was still bright. Beautiful boats were tied up in long rows.
As they approached the entrance to the restaurant, Caroline was happy to find there was no line snaking out the front door. A good sign. Matt held the door for her and they entered the cool restaurant.
He put a hand on her back as they followed the waitress to a table by the windows. Despite the air-conditioned blast on her skin, Caroline knew it was Matt’s touch that brought out goose bumps on her arms. Although she’d taken him down in self-defense class and then given him an impulsive hug just yesterday, it was the first time he’d touched her as if they were a couple, and something about it felt very right.
* * *
“DO YOU HAVE a birthday tradition at your house?” Matt asked after he’d decided a well-done steak would be worth the wait and Caroline had echoed his order. With a side of fries and a plate of appetizers on the way, he imagined he’d survive. His stomach was one concern. The beautiful woman across the table from him was another.
Caroline shrugged and smiled. “I usually have dinner with strangers I lure in by looking lonely.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
Caroline raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe not for someone with your skills.” He sipped his iced tea and enjoyed the cool liquid going down his hot, dusty throat. “And I’m not a stranger,” Matt said.
Caroline’s smile faded and Matt felt as if he were a museum object being scrutinized by a graduate student. Would she get out her notebook or fingerprint kit? When Caroline tucked her hair behind her ears and her smile returned, Matt felt as if he’d been chosen for a special collection.
“No, you’re not a stranger. I know quite a lot about you.”
And did she like what she knew? More important, how would she feel about the things she didn’t know?
“Give me the list while we wait. It’ll take my mind off my stomach.”
Caroline counted off each fact using the fingers of her left hand as if she were doing math problems in the air. “I know where you work, what you drive and what you usually wear. I’ve seen this shirt,” she said, pointing at his favorite but threadbare blue button-down, “at least three times this summer.”
“Is that bad?”
“No,” she said. “It’s a good sign. It proves you know how to do laundry. Or you’re hiding a wife or girlfriend at home who does it for you.”
Matt laughed. “No wife. No girlfriend.”
“I didn’t think so. She would probably have thrown that shirt in the trash.”
Matt glanced down. Was it really so bad? “Go on with your list. I’m not sure if I should feel flattered or judged right now.”
“I know your brother, and I’ve met your stepfather. You appear to have their trust, but more important, the Hamilton family seems to put a lot of faith in you.”
“Is that a big deal?”
“Not really. They seem to like my brother, too, and he’s far from perfect.”
“I can assure you I’m far from perfect.”
Caroline picked up her soda. Matt had considered insisting on buying her a drink for her twenty-first birthday, but he didn’t question her choice.
“Tell me something imperfect about yourself,” she said.
Where do I start? “Do you have all night?”
“I’m serious,” Caroline said. “People who seem too perfect are usually hiding something. What are you hiding?”
Matt felt the blood drain from his face and pool in his empty belly. He considered making light of her question and joking his way past it, but he doubted his ability to fool Caroline. And she deserved better.
“I am hiding something,” he said.
&nb
sp; Caroline’s eyes shifted to the envelope on the seat next to her. What was she so intent on reading that she hadn’t even noticed him walking up behind her a few minutes ago? Did it have anything to do with her investigation of the Loose Cannon? All summer long, he’d been flirting with the line between friend or foe when it came to Caroline, and that line had become so blurry he no longer knew what to do about it. Except tell the truth.
“My father is a criminal.”
Caroline’s eyes widened, but she looked more interested than surprised.
“He’s serving a long prison sentence for embezzlement.”
A plate of appetizers arrived and the waitress set down smaller plates and a stack of napkins. Matt and Caroline each helped themselves to boneless wings, onion rings and potato skins.
“I used to visit him sometimes,” Matt said. “But I haven’t in a while. Maybe that makes me a bad son.”
Caroline’s mouth was open as if she was formulating a list of questions she wanted to ask. Matt steeled himself for the interrogation. It was his own fault for bringing it up.
“Did your mother and your brother go to visit him, too?”
That was what she wanted to know? It was strangely personal, far less businesslike than he might have expected.
Matt remembered the first time they’d gone as a family, and heat rolled up his neck and face. It had been humiliating, waiting with other families visiting a loved one in prison. He remembered sitting there and thinking he wasn’t like them. They were tainted, somehow, by having a criminal in the family. And then he’d seen his own father—the man who’d taught him to ride a bike and who’d cut down the family Christmas tree every year—in prison orange.
And he realized he wasn’t any better than the other sad and desperate families. Matt had gone back on his own several times. Once when he’d first gotten a driver’s license. Again when he’d graduated from high school. And a third time when he’d finished his master’s degree.
Each time he passed one of life’s milestones, he tried to share it with his father. And each time it had been a bitter reminder that his father’s life was an endless stream of days that were exactly the same. There were no milestones for him, only long days creeping closer to the end of his sentence.
