Wonderland (13 page)

Nick understood that part of the park’s appeal was its retro vibe, therefore many of the attractions that had been part of the original World of Wonder were still here. The Tiny Tom Donuts hut, for instance. The sign looked exactly the same as it had back in 1985, with the neon cat dancing while holding a doughnut in its paw. Every other year the wires would short out and an electrician would be called in to repair it, but it was still here. The Hot Diggity hot dog stand, the Merry Go-Round, Adventure Mountain, the Puppet Theater, the House of Horrors, the Giant Octopus, the Clown Museum—these were all attractions that had been at the park since the beginning, since Oscar had been a fourteen-year-old Wonder Worker himself, since he’d survived Jack Shaw.

Nick could never really explain to Oscar why he had wanted to revive this place, though the two men had talked about it a couple of times. And Oscar could never really explain why he had agreed to work for his friend. But now, much older and wiser, it all made sense why the two of them had been drawn back to Seaside’s World of Wonder.

Working here every day, the place where so many awful, terrible things had happened to him, allowed Oscar to feel in control. It was, in a weird but effective way, a very empowering thing to be back at the place where as a teenager he’d felt so helpless. Working at the new Wonderland, for him and for Nick, and maybe even for Glenn Hovey, was like the ultimate fuck-you to Jack Shaw. A way of showing the dead pedophile—and the rest of the world—that he was just fine.
Fuck you, you couldn’
t break me. Fuck you, I’m not damaged. Fuck you, I’m second-in-command of the Pacific Northwest’s largest amusement park, and so how do you like that, you pathetic, disgusting sonofabitch?

But now it was time to move on. He’d been thinking about it for a while now. Even Nick had gotten to a point where he’d wanted to leave. Now Oscar did, too, though he had no intention of leaving the park under the same circumstances Nick had. Bianca had been furious.

There was an old bar and grill on the beach that had been empty for a while. Owning his own business had always been Oscar’s dream. As if on cue, his cell phone rang.

“Oz, it’s Wendy Kerse from Seaside Credit Union,” the woman on the other end said. “I just realized there’s a couple of forms I forgot to have you sign when you were here a few days ago. Are you able to come in today?”

“I can come around noon, if that works,” Oscar said. “Thanks, Wendy.”

He hung up and exhaled. Buying the restaurant was the riskiest thing he’d ever done. It needed a complete renovation to get it where he wanted it to be, and he knew next to nothing about running a restaurant. But still, he could envision how it would be once it was all finished. Live music on the weekends. Cuban pulled-pork sandwiches. Mojitos. Fresh seafood. Tapas at happy hour. He already had a name for the place. He would call it El Mago. The Wizard. Because he was Oz, of course.

He was daring to imagine a different life, and it was scary as hell.

He already knew what Bianca would say when he told her. She would say, “Stay.” She would say, “Don’t leave me.” She would say, “I can’t run this place without you, Oz.” Things she’d been saying to him for years already, and they had worked. He hadn’t been able to walk away. Because he had loved her. He still loved her.

But he was beginning to realize that love was overrated. Love made you do stupid things. Awful things. Terrible things. Things you knew were very, very wrong. Even when the person you loved didn’t love you back.

Fuck,
especially
when the person you loved didn’t love you back.

SEVENTEEN

T
he television in the living room was a bit loud, but Vanessa wasn’t about to tell Ava to turn it down. Things had been so tense between them lately, and all she wanted was to try and keep things peaceful as best she could. They had barely spoken since their big fight, and Vanessa had no idea how Ava was feeling these days. She didn’t have a clue whether her daughter liked her job at Wonderland, whether she was making any friends, whether things were getting better for her in Seaside. Forcing Ava to talk was a bad idea. All Vanessa could do was hope her daughter would come to her when she was ready.

She had a lot to keep her busy in the meantime. With Blake Dozier officially declared a missing person, she now had three missing persons cases, and it was three too many, as far as she was concerned. Mind you, Aiden Cole’s status was now technically a homicide. Her conversation with David Cole had gone as well as could be expected, but it was always difficult to hear a grown man cry.

“Thank you,” he’d said, his voice thick. “I appreciate you letting me know.”

“I really didn’t do anything,” Vanessa said, which was true. The body had just shown up. “But if there’s anything you need, any questions I can answer for you, please call me anytime, day or night. It’s still an active investigation, and I’ll keep you updated as often as I can.”

“Is it true . . .” There was a hitch in David Cole’s voice. “Is it true that his face . . . his face was eaten . . .”

“Your son died quickly, Mr. Cole.” Vanessa spoke as gently as she could. “When he was struck, it was with such great force that he was likely knocked unconscious immediately. He would not have felt or been aware of anything after that.”

She cursed the Wonder Worker who’d posted the picture of #HomelessHarry on Twitter in the first place. They’d tracked him down and he’d been fired, according to Donnie, but the damage that he’d done to Aiden Cole’s father could never be undone. David Cole had probably been following the Homeless Harry case with interest, as everyone else had, and to learn that the dead body was actually his missing son had to be a nightmare. She could only hope that he hadn’t seen the actual photo.

“Why did they think he was homeless?” David Cole asked. “Do you think Aiden spent the last three years starving on the streets of some city somewhere? Why didn’t he just come home?”

“I don’t have the answers to that, Mr. Cole,” Vanessa said. “But I promise you, I will find out who did this. I am so incredibly sorry for your loss.”

“Did you know that I’ve kept his room exactly the same? I don’t drink orange juice, but Aiden likes it, and I still buy it every couple of weeks in case he comes home . . . and now I know he’s not coming home . . .” David Cole broke down, sobbing, and a moment later, the phone disconnected.

Vanessa had lost a husband, but never a child, and the grief David Cole was feeling was unfathomable.

The case files for Aiden, Tyler, and Blake were spread out in front of her, and Vanessa stared at them all, trying to make sense of them. They’d all been Wonder Workers when they’d gone missing. They were all eighteen. They were all white. While on the surface it might seem like they had a lot in common, they didn’t really, because most of the population of Seaside was Caucasian. And the overwhelming majority of Wonder Workers were under the age of twenty-one.

What was the goddamned
connection
?

Donnie Ambrose had offered to help her go over the cases, but she’d been taking up too much of his time lately, and there were other major crimes for the detective to work on. He’d made her promise to call him if she got stuck on something, and in the meantime, he’d continue to do what he could to find Blake Dozier, and also Glenn Hovey.

Vanessa had found herself irritated with Earl Schultz’s press conference, in which he’d so cleverly exonerated Wonderland of any responsibility concerning both Aiden Cole and Blake Dozier. No evidence of foul play on park premises? Maybe that was technically true, but that didn’t mean that Wonderland didn’t have
everything
to do with what happened to them. Which Vanessa believed in her gut they did. She’d complained about it to Donnie over the phone earlier, who at this point was the only person she trusted.

“You’re preaching to the choir, Deputy,” the detective had said after she’d spent ten minutes ranting. “I get it. I’ve never liked the special treatment Wonderland gets, but it’s not going to change. Not on Earl’s watch, anyway. When he retires, maybe Seaside PD won’t be so aligned with the park’s agenda, but until then—”

“We toe the company line.”

“Yeah.” Donnie lowered his voice then. “Just watch who you bitch about it to, though, okay? You’re all right with me, but remember, all ears lead back to Earl.”

“Not an issue because nobody else really talks to me,” Vanessa said dryly, but she knew he was right. “But thanks for the reminder.”

Tanner Wilkins’s son stared out at her from a picture that appeared to be his senior class photo from high school. He looked like a much younger, skinnier version of his dad. Dark blond hair, same bright blue eyes, and six four, according to the summary notes, which made him the same height as his father, minus forty or so pounds of muscle. He’d been eighteen at the time of his disappearance, three months shy of his nineteenth birthday. His file contained the usual: the official police report, brief statements from a half dozen Wonderland people including Oscar Trejo and the elusive security guard Glenn Hovey, and interviews with his parents, Tanner and Beth Wilkins. There was also a note that a copy of Tyler’s file had been sent to retired Seattle police detective-turned-private investigator Jerry Isaac, whom Tanner had hired a few months after his son had gone missing. Tyler’s file was as painfully thin as Aiden’s was.

Vanessa checked the clock. It was only 8 p.m., not late at all. She reached for her cell phone and scrolled through it until she found the number she was looking for.

He answered on the second ring, his familiar voice deep and hoarse. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, and she could almost see his grin from two hundred miles away. “Miz Vanessa Castro. How the hell are you, honey?”

Vanessa smiled at the sound of his voice, immediately conjuring an image of former Seattle PD detective Jerry Isaac in her mind. Tall and impossibly skinny, his skin the color of dark chocolate, Jerry had an easy smile that went on for days. A few years back, Jerry’s voice had no rasp, and it had instead been a rich baritone that could have gotten him hired as a movie announcer if he’d ever wanted to switch careers. A serial killer had slashed his throat, and his vocal cords had never been the same, though he sounded much better now than the last time they’d spoken.

“I’m doing well,” she said warmly, happy just to be talking to him again. “You probably heard that I’m in Seaside. Traded in the big city for a small town.”

“Seaside? You left SPD? No, I hadn’t heard.” Jerry’s surprise was obvious. “Last I saw you was when?”

“John’s funeral.”

“Ah shit.” There was a pause. “Of course. I’m sorry, sweetie. That was stupid of me. You doing okay?”

“Hanging in.” It was her stock answer. Had they been face-to-face over lunch, she might have delved into more detail with Jerry, who would probably understand what she was going through more than most people. She didn’t want to get distracted from why she’d called, though. “How are you?”

“Hanging in.” The smile in Jerry’s voice carried through the phone. “So you’re in Seaside, huh?”

“You don’t watch the news?” She found herself holding her breath.

“I didn’t realize a job change was newsworthy,” Jerry said with a laugh, but it was kind, and Vanessa found herself relaxing. “Not that it matters to me. I stopped watching the news a long time ago. There’s never anything good in there. Too much horribly depressing shit going on in the world.”

“That’s funny, coming from a homicide detective.”

“
Former
homicide detective. Been retired now for almost eight years.”

“Miss it?”

“Not even a little bit.” He cleared his throat. “But I’m assuming you didn’t call to talk about that. What can I do for you, pretty lady?”

Ordinarily Vanessa hated being called pet names like “honey,” “sweetie,” or “pretty lady,” but coming from Jerry, it never came across as condescending or offensive. Jerry Isaac had been one of her training officers when Vanessa started out, and though he’d had a reputation back then for being a ladies’ man, he’d treated Vanessa more like a daughter than anything else.

“I’m looking at an old case in Seaside and your name came up,” she said. “As a PI, not a police detective.”

“Seaside case of mine?” Jerry paused. “Then you must be calling about Tanner Wilkins’s boy, Tyler. Damn. That was a long time ago. One of my first cases when I went into business for myself. Spent a lot of time in Seaside. Don’t tell me you found him.”

“I wish,” Vanessa said. “Unfortunately, he’s still missing. I actually met Tanner regarding a different matter, and the subject of his son came up. I promised him I’d take another look.”

Jerry let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know that you should have done that, honey. The case was dry back then. It would be dust by now.”

“You’re probably right, but here’s the thing. A boy, same age as Tyler, also went missing three years ago. Aiden Cole. Also eighteen at the time of his disappearance, also worked for Wonderland, also went missing at the end of the summer. Well, he just turned up. A John Doe was discovered at Wonderland, and lo and behold, it’s Aiden Cole.”

“Shee-it. Aiden Cole is Homeless Harry?”

“I thought you just said you didn’t watch the news.”

“Saw the hashtag on Twitter,” Jerry said. “How’d he die again?”

“Blunt-force trauma. ME thinks maybe a baseball bat. Dead for six days, maybe longer, before his body turned up at Wonderland.”

Jerry emitted a low whistle. “Three years missing only to go out like that.”

“Seaside is a small town, Jerry. Two missing boys felt like a lot to me. But now it’s three. A kid named Blake Dozier’s disappeared now, too.”

“The Wonder Wheel Kid,” Jerry said. “Saw that hashtag, too. What are your theories?”

“Don’t have any.” Vanessa sighed again. “What I do know is Ava’s working at the park now, and I can’t lie, working on this is making me more than a little concerned for her safety.”

“Aw, I’m sure you have nothing to be concerned about,” Jerry said. “Wonderland is a huge place. It has, what, something like a thousand employees during the summer?”

“Closer to twelve hundred, I think.”

“The odds of anything happening to Miss Ava are no worse than if she worked anywhere else. But you’re a mom, and a cop, so I get it. Three missing boys, and one turns up dead . . .” His voice trailed off.

“What is it?”

“Actually, make that
four
missing boys.”

“What
?”
she said again.

Jerry’s voice was grim. “Three years after Tyler went missing, I got a call from Tanner. A kid named . . . what was it again . . . Kyle something? Disappeared. His case was a bit strange. He worked for Wonderland, primary gig was in the Bandstand. He disappeared in the middle of a concert.”

The Bandstand was the amphitheater inside Wonderland. Every summer they had a concert series, usually bands that hadn’t made it to the big time yet, or bands that had made it to the big time, but twenty years ago.

“Go on.”

“Some band was playing, can’t remember who now. Something went faulty and there was an electrical fire backstage, and one of the band members was injured. He didn’t die, suffered some burns and whatnot, but with all the chaos, the concert was shut down immediately. That was the last night Kyle was seen. Last anyone could remember was that he was backstage, working. And then just like that, gone.”

“Did he cause what happened with the wiring?”

“No, I don’t believe so. I don’t think he had anything to do with getting the stage ready; he was more like a gopher to the bands that came through, getting them water and food and such. I only mentioned it because the last time Kyle was seen was just before the commotion erupted. Anyway, when a couple days went by and the kid didn’t turn up, Tanner called me, even though we hadn’t spoken in a few years. He thought it was too coincidental that Kyle went missing, too. He thought the park might be involved somehow.”

“So did you look into it?”

“I couldn’t,” Jerry said. “I wasn’t working for a while back then, if you remember.”

“Oh, right.” Vanessa immediately felt like a prize idiot. Now who was the one who was stupid? Five years ago, Jerry was fighting for his life in the hospital. “Shit.”

“Oh, stop.” Her friend’s tone was dismissive. “Feels like a lifetime ago. Anyway, when I had the conversation with Tanner, I was home from the hospital, but not in a great place. At the time, I thought Tanner was reaching. Both his son and Kyle were eighteen, old enough to take off if they wanted to, and the idea of an amusement park causing their disappearances was just too big a theory to try and prove. But now there’s two more, for a total of four. I don’t know, maybe Tanner was on to something.”