Page 40 of Lethal Danger

“Did you tell the police?”

“Yeah.” Jaden straightened from testing the boat. “But I’d already cleaned all the boats out before I found the…” He stepped back to the controls to cycle the next boat through. “You know. And they couldn’t tell which boat the guy had fallen out of, so it didn’t really matter.”

Unless the four cans meant four people had crammed into one boat? Or three had gone in and somehow moved Sam—maybe already dead—into the ride from a side door? But they wouldn’t have staff access. The staff doors were locked from the inside, too.

And that would mean three killers instead of one. If there’d even been a killing at all.

“Thanks, Jaden. You’ve been a big help.”

“Enough to get me into one of your books? Maybe a character with my name?” He grinned at Hawthorne.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Hawthorne smiled back, but the expression faded quickly as he left Jaden and headed to the Safety Center to get his assignment for the morning. From Jaden’s information, it wasn’t a stretch for Sam’s death to have been an accident. Sounded like plenty of people stood up when they shouldn’t and disobeyed ride rules. The beer cans meant people also consumed alcohol while on the ride. That was consistent with the alcohol content in Sam’s blood and the theory he was tipsy from its effects.

Maybe Sam was merely a victim of bad choices and foolish behavior.

But Hawthorne wouldn’t want to tell Rebekah that conclusion.

And then there was the odd finding of the superfluous number of beer cans in one boat. Maybe meant nothing. And Hawthorne didn’t know what it meant if anything at all. But any anomaly was reason to keep digging.

Hawthorne’s feet seemed to pick up speed of their own accord as he neared the Safety Center. He wasn’t late—his shift didn’t start for another ten minutes—but he didn’t have to solve the mystery of the eagerness speeding his pulse. He’d seen Jazz listed on the duty roster for this morning.

Hopefully, he could finally ask her to be the model for the heroine of his new series. He felt a little odd already writing about her without her permission. But it was fiction. And he was having so much fun with her character that he didn’t want to consider what he’d do if she said no.

He’d simply have to turn on the charm or try bribery or something—because he needed Jazz Lamont in his next series.

Thirteen

“Aunt Joan?” The title slipped out before Jazz thought, thumping her knuckles gently against the frame of the General Manager’s open office door. Jazz hadn’t been allowed to use the title Aunt Joan at the fair when she’d spent her summers there.

But she’d been a child then. Hopefully, Aunt Joan didn’t think it was too unprofessional now. Unless she still didn’t want to own Jazz as family in public—the motive Jazz had always suspected was truly behind her insistence Jazz call her Mrs. Cracklen instead.

Aunt Joan looked up from her desk and waved Jazz in with a raised hand and an expression Jazz didn’t like the look of. Even grimmer than usual. Though given the events of the last two days, that wasn’t surprising.

Starting right in with pointed questions about the sabotage didn’t seem like the best idea anymore. Jazz opened with a gentler question. “How are you doing?”

Aunt Joan arched an eyebrow at Jazz before returning her gaze to the screen of her desktop computer and typing furiously. “I’m not going to give in, if that’s what you mean.”

Jazz’s belly clenched. “Have you received threats?” She stepped into the office, Flash following calmly by her side. They stopped next to the chair that stood facing the desk as her aunt threw them a distracted glance.

“Threats? No, not yet. Unless you count the wretched sabotage. But the way things are going, I wouldn’t be surprised if threats are next.”

Jazz blinked at her aunt, the woman still staring at the computer screen as she typed. Then what was she talking about giving in to?

Aunt Joan looked up. “I assume you saw the article in the Gazette this morning.”

Jazz shook her head. She did check the news briefly every morning, but the Minneapolis Gazette wasn’t one of her regular sources.

“They’re suggesting—in light of the evidence that the accidents were intentional sabotage—that the fair should be closed.”

Jazz sucked in a breath.

Aunt Joan’s gaze went to Jazz, looking directly at her for the first time since she’d entered the office.

“You wouldn’t shut it down, would you?” Tension coiled behind Jazz’s ribs.

“Of course not.” Aunt Joan’s answer came without hesitation. “There are far too many livelihoods at stake. People don’t realize that.” Her eyes shifted slightly like she was scanning Jazz’s face. “I’d forgotten how fond you were of the fair. Do you still enjoy it?”

“I love it.” Jazz gripped the back of the chair beside her with one hand. “I’d never want anything to happen to this place. It’s home.”

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