By the second summer, Seaside was a changed town. To handle the increase in summer tourism, several bed-and-breakfasts had opened up in Seaside, along with two new motels. Several new restaurants popped up, too. Isabel Trejo, a longtime housekeeper at the White Oaks Inn, had finally been promoted to head of housekeeping. A new housing complex just off the main strip was proposed, and there was talk that the mayor was meeting with developers to renovate the downtown area. There were rumors of a cineplex. Earl Schultz had just been promoted to deputy chief, and there was finally money to hire additional police officers. Crime rates went down. Life in Seaside was good.
And then it wasn’t.
The rumors started to swirl. A fourteen-year-old kid named Danny Moskowitz had gotten wasted at a party near the end of summer and had drunkenly told his friends that Jack Shaw, Seaside’s most important resident and the owner of World of Wonder, had sexually assaulted him inside a dungeon underneath the park.
Of course nobody believed him. The story was ludicrous. Danny was a known partier and drug user, a kid from a broken home who had been seen on more than one occasion following Jack Shaw around like a puppy. The idea that Jack Shaw would do such a thing was too ridiculous and insulting to even entertain. And a dungeon? Seriously? What was Danny smoking?
When his friends—all employees of the park, and all fiercely loyal to World of Wonder and Jack Shaw—accused him of lying, Danny recanted immediately. He claimed that he must have been drunk and high, that of course nothing had ever happened, and he admitted to having a substance abuse problem for which he needed serious help. A few days later, he left the park to enter rehab, though nobody knew which one.
But then a few weeks later, fifteen-year-old Peter Allred made similar accusations. He’d supposedly freaked out in the middle of having sex with his girlfriend. He, too, claimed that there was a tunnel under the Clown Museum that led to a dungeon where horrible things had happened to him. His girlfriend believed him. She told her older brother about it (minus the sex part, of course), who just happened to be a rookie police officer in the Seaside Police Department. Her brother brought it to the attention of his superiors. They’d laughed at him. Then the brother—Officer Carl Weiss, who would retire as deputy chief of Seaside PD some thirty years later—laughed, too. Because it was crazy, right?
Except that it wasn’t. And Oz knew that it wasn’t because he’d been down in the dungeon, too. Jack Shaw, his boss, his friend, had gotten him drunk, and then lured him into the dungeon under the guise of showing Oz the underground tunnel he’d built, that only a handful of people knew existed, telling him that it was a cool, secret place to hang out. He’d plied Oz with drugs, first offering him marijuana, and then giving him stronger stuff, all of which had rendered him useless, unable to fight off the man he thought of as a mentor and father figure. Unable to tell him no, that he didn’t want it, to please stop.
Or had he wanted it? Had he asked for it? It was all so confusing. Oz loved Jack, after all. Everyone did. He’d trusted Jack, the man who told him every day how important he was to the park, how valued he was, and how he couldn’t imagine the place without him. Oz would have done anything for Jack.
And so it was easy for Oz to tell himself it wasn’t abuse. And when it happened again, it was easy to pretend he was sleeping. That he was completely unaware he was being touched. That he didn’t know he was being filmed. The alcohol and drugs made it all hazy, anyway. It was easier to tell himself that maybe he’d allowed it to happen, because the alternative was simply horrifying. Because when he’d asked Jack about it later, Shaw had expressed genuine surprise.
“I thought we were on the same page,” he’d said to Oz. “I thought you liked it. I think you’re amazing. And don’t worry, the tape is just for us. We can watch it whenever you want to. But think hard before you tell anyone about us, okay? I would hate for people to misunderstand what happened. If they think you didn’t want it to happen, that I somehow coerced you, which we both know isn’t true, then they would absolutely want to see the tape. And you wouldn’t want anyone else to watch it, would you? The things that you did? After all, you’re a star athlete, and nobody would want to know this side of you. But don’t worry, I certainly won’t tell anyone. It can stay our little secret.”
No, Oz had no plans to tell anyone. He would rather have died before letting anyone else watch the tape. The embarrassment, the humiliation . . . it would all be too great. Jack was right, nobody would understand. Not his coworkers, not his high school friends, not his teammates.
So he’d never said anything. And for a while, he’d let it continue. The perks of being Jack’s favorite were too great. He got paid more. He got all the best gigs. He could pick his own schedule. His baseball team got new uniforms, bats, and balls. The other kids deferred to Oz, and nobody ever wanted to piss him off, because he was important to Jack, and to the park.
So maybe certain things happened in the dungeon. Maybe it wasn’t really okay. Who would believe him without proof? Who would believe that he didn’t consent? Oz was fifteen when it started, old enough to know better, old enough to make it stop if he’d really wanted to.
And old enough not to want anybody to ever find out what was going on.
And hey, it wasn’t like he was ever sober when it happened. He was drunk and high every single time, anyway. Most of the time, it felt like a bad dream.
Except it wasn’t.
TWENTY
Glenn Hovey was officially MIA. Even his mother sounded a little worried.
“This isn’t like Glenny,” Sherry Hovey said when Vanessa stopped by the house again. “He missed one of my doctor’s appointments so I had to ask Margie from next door to drive me. She’s got terrible eyesight. She almost ran into a utility pole.”
“Did you want to file a missing persons report?” Vanessa asked. “It’s been a few days. I’m sure you’re concerned.”
Sherry Hovey hesitated. “Well, I don’t think we need to get all in a tizzy about it. Glenny’s always come back before.”
The security guard, who was officially a person of interest in the Homeless Harry case, had never been away from work for this long. Donnie had put officers Nate Essex, Pete Warwick, and Claire Moran in rotation stakeout shifts outside the Hovey residence, but so far the man hadn’t shown up. Vanessa liked Nate and Pete well enough and felt kind of sorry for them that they’d gotten stuck with such a boring assignment, but Claire was still on her shit list for her attitude problem on Vanessa’s first day.
It was clear to her now that there were very few people at Seaside PD who were unbiased. Everyone in the department seemed overly protective of Wonderland, and other than her conversations with Donnie Ambrose behind closed doors, she’d never heard a single person disparage the park in any way. That wasn’t normal. Even now, with four missing boys, one of whom had turned up dead with his face eaten off, nobody seemed willing to say anything negative about Wonderland.
Even her daughter was beginning to drink the Kool-Aid, as Donnie had once put it. Ava was over the moon about her transfer to Elm Street, and as far as the fourteen-year-old was concerned, Wonderland was the next best thing to a One Direction concert.
“It happened just like that, Mom,” her daughter said, snapping her fingers. “I got the email this morning. I must have made a good impression on Bianca Bishop. That’s the CEO,” she added, as if Vanessa didn’t know. “I can’t wait to tell Katya and McKenzie. And you want to know what the best part is?”
“What?”
“No more purple uniform.” Ava’s eyes were alight with triumph. “Elm Streeters wear all black, and the T-shirts have a white clown face on the front. I mean, I would wear the T-shirt anyway. It’s, like, a genuinely cool shirt.”
“That’s amazing, honey.” Vanessa was delighted for her daughter, even though she suspected Oscar might have played a hand in this. But that was best kept to herself, because Ava was
finally speaking to her again. “Who’s Katya?”
“My friend from work.” Ava was practically bouncing, high on excitement and teenage hormones. “She starts at Seaside Academy in September, too. She’s sleeping over tonight, by the way. Her shift ends the same time as mine, so you can pick us both up. You’ll like her. Her parents are Russian, and they’re even stricter than you are. They only said she could sleep over because Katya told them you’re the deputy chief.” She paused. “Who would have thought your job would actually be a good thing for my social life?”
With everything at home much better, Vanessa decided it was best not to complicate her life further by adding a man to the mix. Oscar Trejo had called earlier, politely inquiring about Wonderland’s security hard drive, which was still in Seaside PD’s possession. Vanessa debated whether to email him or call him back. Email would be a lot less intimate, but a phone call seemed more professional.
Oscar answered on the first ring, and without preamble, she politely informed him that they needed to hang on to the hard drive as her detective was still combing through it. The security footage hadn’t been helpful in the Homeless Harry case—which was why she’d originally asked for it—but she did need it for the Wonder Wheel Kid case. Blake Dozier was officially a missing person, and the park was the last place he was seen anywhere. Oscar said he understood and asked how the investigations were going. She replied that it was too soon to tell. Then the conversation changed.
“I want to see you again,” Oscar blurted.
She closed her eyes. “We already discussed this—”
“Let’s discuss it again,” he said. “I want to see you. Have dinner with me. We’ll eat, talk, not get drunk, get to know each other.”
“I have a lot of baggage, Oz. More than you can handle.”
“You need to let me decide what I can and can’t handle,” Oscar said. “You don’t think I have baggage? Who doesn’t?”
“The Wonder Wheel Kid is an active case. It would be . . . inappropriate of me to spend time with you. On a personal level, I mean.”
“Am I suspect in his disappearance now?”
“Of course not,” she said, caught off guard. “You were with me the night he climbed the wheel.”
“Then why is it inappropriate?”
“Because . . .” Vanessa couldn’t seem to come up with a good reason. “It just is.”
“Vanessa—”
“I’m sorry, Oz.” She hung up before she could change her mind.
The best way to get Oscar Trejo out of her head was to throw herself into her work. If she was using her job as an excuse not to get involved with him, then she’d damn well better do her job, even though it was her day off and she was at home. She turned her attention to Kyle Grimmie, the kid that her old friend Jerry had told her about on the phone the other night. Kyle had gone missing during a concert at Wonderland’s Bandstand, three years after Tyler Wilkins, and two years before Blake Dozier.
According to the case file, a band called The Philosopher Kings had been playing that night, and the last time anyone could remember seeing Kyle was shortly before the commotion caused by the electrical fire backstage. His belongings, normally stored in a locker inside the staff lounge, were gone. This suggested—much like Aiden and Tyler—that Kyle had left town of his own accord. Carl Weiss had conducted a few short interviews with the people who’d worked with Kyle that night, but no leads had surfaced.
Was that because there were no leads? Or because former deputy chief Carl Weiss had done yet another piss-poor job investigating this boy’s disappearance? She had thought about speaking to him before, but had always gotten sidetracked. She couldn’t put it off any longer. This was getting ridiculous.
Vanessa was working all four cases simultaneously, and had spent most of the last day making calls to Wonder Workers who’d known Blake, Aiden, Kyle, and Tyler. So far nothing had panned out. It was hard enough tracking down employees who’d left Seaside long ago, and when she was able to get one on the phone, they either couldn’t seem to remember much, or there was simply not much to remember.
For obvious reasons, retired police officers didn’t have publicly listed phone numbers, but Carl Weiss’s contact information was easy enough to access once Vanessa logged into Seaside PD’s system from her home laptop. A few seconds later, the phone was ringing, and she prepared herself to finally hear the voice of the man whose name was on three of the four cases she was currently looking into.
To her disappointment, the former deputy chief of Seaside wasn’t home. But his wife was, and she cheerfully informed Vanessa that her husband was in Cabo San Lucas with two of his fishing buddies. It was their annual boys’ trip, and he wouldn’t be home for another few days.
“Would you care to leave a message?” Mrs. Weiss asked. “I assume this has something to do with Homeless Harry? That was Carl’s case, you know. Aiden Cole’s father called Carl all the time about the slow progress. But there just wasn’t any information—it was like he upped and vanished. Poof. Gone. Then all of a sudden he turns up at the park and he’s all mauled? By some animal? I can’t even imagine. How did his father take the news? I’m sure he was—”
“Thank you, ma’am. I won’t keep you. I’ll try calling your husband again in few days.”
“We should have lunch sometime,” Mrs. Weiss said. “Are you a member of the Seaside Racquet Club? I play tennis there twice a week, and the café makes wonderful lettuce wraps if you’re doing the low-carb thing. You’re new in Seaside, aren’t you? It’s important you get acquainted with the right people. Did you receive a welcome package when you moved in?”
“I did not, ma’am, no,” Vanessa said.
“Now, see, that’s exactly why I stepped down as the head of the welcoming committee, because no one seems committed to doing their job.” On the other end, Mrs. Weiss clucked. “I also have a weekly mah-jongg group if you’re into—”
“Oh, my other phone is ringing,” Vanessa said, which of course it wasn’t. “It was wonderful talking to you, Mrs. Weiss. I’m sure we’ll speak again.” She disconnected quickly.
She needed a break. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to put the files away for a bit and actually use her day off as a day off. For the first time in a long time, she had nowhere to go and nowhere to be. John-John was at day camp. Ava was working her first shift somewhere on Elm Street. It might be nice to go out and do something normal. Go shopping. Grab coffee. Get a pedicure. Or call Oscar Trejo back, tell him she’d changed her mind, and that she was up for a little afternoon delight if he was.
The doorbell rang, and her crazy thought evaporated. “Saved by the bell,” she said to herself with a small laugh.
She padded to the door to see who it was. This time of the afternoon, it was probably a delivery. Maybe Jerry’s file had finally arrived. She pulled back the sheer curtain to peer out the window, and let out a squeal of delight.
The man standing on her porch was skinny, six four, with a short, neatly trimmed Afro. His arm was raised as if he’d been about to ring the doorbell again. Their eyes met, and a grin spread over his face, white teeth bright against his dark complexion. She flung open the door and threw herself at him.
“Didn’t think you were going to answer the door,” Jerry Isaac said in his hoarse baritone, laughing. “My next stop was the beach.”
Vanessa pulled back to look at her friend. She hadn’t seen him in six months, and the former Seattle PD detective looked really good. For the first time in years, he wasn’t wearing a turtleneck. The scar at his throat, exposed by the loose T-shirt he was wearing, was still visible, but it had faded to a flat, slightly pink line.
“Am I dreaming?” She was unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I said I’d FedEx Tyler Wilkins’s file to you.” He lifted up an old file folder. “Consider me FedEx, pretty lady.?
??
She hugged him again. “God, am I glad you’re here,” she said. “I was about to do something really stupid, and you just saved me.”
“I’m not even going to ask.”
“Come in,” she said. “I’ve got food, I’ve got drinks, we can sit and talk and catch up—”
“Slow down,” he said, laughing. “I’m here all week, honey. Decided I deserved a little beach time and so I’ve got me a room at the White Oaks Inn. They had a last-minute cancellation and I called at exactly the right time.”
“White Oaks Inn?” She gave Jerry her best dirty look. “What, my house isn’t good enough for you? Cancel it. You can take John-John’s room and he can bunk in the living room. He likes doing that, anyway.”
“I do that, people will say we’re in love.” Jerry grinned at her. “Hell, even I know how fast rumors spread in Seaside and I don’t even live here. Honey, I’m fine with the inn. It’s walking distance to the beach, and from what I remember, they do a mean sausage and waffles in the morning.” He patted his nonexistent stomach. “That should help fatten me up.”
“Well, at least come in and let me make you some lunch.”
“I was thinking we could go out. I thought I’d stop by the Devil’s Dukes, say hello to Tanner. Why don’t you come with? I’m sure he’d love to see you.” There was a gleam in Jerry’s eye.
“Love to see me?” Vanessa reached for her purse. “Are you being sarcastic? Both times I’ve seen that man, he’s yelled at me.”