It was all Patrick’s fault.
Even thinking about him now, she still felt that familiar tingle. Patrick Voss had been her first love, an eighteen-year-old golden boy with hair the color of beach sand and eyes like the sky just before twilight. She’d fallen deeply in love with Patrick when she was only seventeen. They’d worked together at the park, and they’d had big plans for their lives. Even though Uncle Nick disapproved of her having such a serious relationship at that age, she hadn’t cared. Patrick had promised to take her away from Seaside. Patrick had promised her a new life.
But Patrick had broken that promise. And then he’d broken her heart. And then he’d done the worst thing of all: he’d tried to leave Wonderland. He’d tried to leave Seaside. Without her.
It was nineteen years later, and the thought still made her want to smash something. Because she still wasn’t over it. Because she still couldn’t let him go.
• • •
When Uncle Nick had first bought Wonderland, Bianca hadn’t been the least bit interested in working there. It was a stupid amusement park, and she had more important things to keep herself busy. She was midway through her senior year of high school and had just received her early acceptance letter to Stanford in the fall. Not only was she going to her first-choice school—of course she was going to her first-choice school—she also had a scholarship. It wasn’t an academic scholarship, because realistically, she was smart, but not brilliant. It was for athletics, but it was exactly what she’d been working for her whole life.
Bianca had been a competitive tennis player.
She had dreams of winning a grand slam one day, but realistically knew it might never happen. She was a very good player—competitive, determined, and utterly focused—but as her coaches liked to remind her, she lacked that X factor, that extra amount of god-given talent that separated the good players from the great ones. You were born with it or you weren’t, and Bianca knew there was no point in deluding herself that any amount of hard work or dedication—both of which she had in spades—would make up for it. She’d never win Wimbledon or the U.S. Open. She’d never be a Steffi Graf or a Martina Navratilova.
But that was okay. She was good enough to get a scholarship to Stanford, and good enough to maybe spend a few years on the ATP tour after she graduated, playing tournaments and traveling the world. The Olympics were a given. And when she was done with tennis, she’d go to graduate school. For law. Or business. She had it all planned out.
Tennis was Bianca’s ticket out of Seaside.
But then she’d gotten injured over spring break of her senior year of high school. Bianca had gone horseback riding at a ranch in Raymond, something she’d done a hundred times, and the horse—the same horse she’d ridden a hundred times—was startled by a low-flying plane. He bucked her off. She’d hit the ground badly, at an awkward angle, and had felt something in her back break.
Lying on the ground as she waited for someone to come help her, she felt true terror for the first time in her life. Her fear, in that moment, outweighed the pain.
Three surgeries followed. After the third one, due to her age and her exceptional physical health, her doctors were confident she would walk normally again. Her tennis career, however, was over. Her back would not be able to withstand the rigors of six-hour practice sessions and two hours of strength and cardio training every day. So it was goodbye, Stanford. Hello, Puget Sound State University.
And hello, Wonderland.
Uncle Nick had always looked out for Bianca. He was the one she’d first played tennis with when she was little, the one who’d encouraged her to follow her dreams. When her father left Bianca and her mother, it was Uncle Nick who’d stepped into the father role. Uncle Nick was who she called when her mom was too drunk to drive her to tennis practice. Uncle Nick took over her guardianship when her mom died of cirrhosis after Bianca’s sixteenth birthday. Uncle Nick was always there.
So when he suggested she come work at the park for the summer to get her mind off tennis, she agreed. Bianca had never been into amusement parks, but she knew she needed something to keep her busy while she worked on accepting that her dreams would never materialize, and that her life would never be the same.
“It’s going to be fun,” Uncle Nick had said to her, just after her high school graduation. “You’re my niece, so you can set your own hours, choose your own gigs. You can basically write your own ticket at the park until school starts. It’ll be good for you, B. I promise.”
And he’d been right. It was good for her. It was exactly what she needed.
Her first summer at Wonderland had been the first time Bianca had ever felt like a regular teenager. For the first time since she was a little kid, she didn’t have a grueling schedule. No more 6 a.m. tennis practices, no more strict diet, no more having to choose between homework and sleep. No more high pressure from tournaments. No more coaches yelling at her.
She could just . . . be.
And then she met Patrick—tall, blond, and impossibly handsome. They’d taken one look at each other and had fallen in love the way only two teenagers could. It was movie love, all angst and passion and arguing and laughter and whispers in his dorm room in the afternoons when his roommate was working at the park. Before Patrick, she’d never even kissed a guy, but a week after they met, he’d already taken her virginity. It had been the greatest night of her life—she didn’t think it was possible to feel so close, so connected, to another human being. They couldn’t get enough of each other.
Together, they made plans. Patrick was also attending PSSU in the fall. They would both live on campus during freshman year, and then in their sophomore year, they would move in together, get a little apartment in Seattle’s University District. Patrick would study hard and write songs and play guitar and perform in coffeehouses. Bianca would study hard and teach tennis and prepare for law school. They made plans. All kinds of Big Plans.
Stanford had never seemed so blessedly far away.
But toward the end of the summer, Patrick started pulling away. At first she didn’t think anything of it. Sure, he’d canceled a couple of dates, and there had been a couple of times when Bianca had stopped by his dorm after her shift and he hadn’t been there. But then he stopped returning her calls, and his roommate would always be vague about where he was. When they did speak, their conversations were shorter, more rushed. When she saw him, he was distant. Preoccupied. Distracted.
Still, she wasn’t overly concerned. Why would she be? They were in love. So when he finally broke up with her in August, two weeks before college was supposed to start, she honestly hadn’t seen it coming.
“Have you met someone else?” she’d asked him, struggling not to cry. They were standing outside the Tiny Tom Donuts hut in the center of the Avenue. It was the end of the night and the park had just closed, and whatever doughnuts weren’t sold, the Wonder Workers could eat for free. There was always a bit of a crowd, and Bianca pulled him aside so nobody could eavesdrop. “Is there another girl?”
“It’s nothing like that,” he answered, staring at his feet. “It’s just . . . it all feels so serious, B. You and me, I mean. And we’re starting college in a couple of weeks. You don’t really want to go to college being in a serious relationship, do you? Don’t you want to meet other guys?”
“Other guys?” What the hell was he talking about? “No, of course not. There’s nobody else for me but you. I love you, Patrick. You mean everything to me. And you love me, too.”
“I care about you a lot.” His smile didn’t quite touch his eyes. “You’re a cool girl, and I hope we stay friends. But I just want to go to school and have fun, you know? I want to pledge a fraternity. See if I can put a band together. College will be hard enough without throwing a relationship into the mix, too. You understand, right? I think it’s better this way, for both of us.”
She didn’t understand. She didn’t
understand at all.
And he’d been lying when he said it had nothing to do with other girls. Two weeks later, after the end-of-summer Hawaiian luau party where he’d avoided her and had kept himself surrounded by all his friends, she’d waited for him outside his dormitory. She needed to talk to him alone, about something very, very important. When the employee shuttle pulled up, she took a deep breath and stepped forward. But he hadn’t gotten off the shuttle by himself. He’d gotten off the shuttle with a girl.
Bianca only knew her by reputation. Her name was Connie Shepherd, and she was a year older. She had deep red hair that looked vibrant even in the dark, which made girls like Bianca—whose natural hair color fell somewhere between light brown and dark blond depending on the season—feel plain. She was gorgeous, confident, and not the least bit socially awkward like Bianca often was. Connie was a natural flirt, and all the boys liked being around her, though Bianca didn’t think Patrick had ever paid much attention to her before.
Well, he was noticing Connie now. After they stepped off the shuttle together, he took the redhead by the hand and kissed her. Then he pulled her into his dorm building, laughing. And while Bianca couldn’t see what happened next, she could picture it, their naked bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and writhing. Patrick kissing Connie all over, doing things with his tongue that he’d done to Bianca, things that made her feel special, things you would only do to someone you really loved. And he was probably telling Connie that he loved her, that she was the only one he loved, and they were probably going to lay in bed all night, making Big Plans.
Bianca had never been one to fly off the handle. Her coaches had always praised her ability to stay focused and calm in tough situations, which had won her a lot of match points, and was probably her biggest strength as a tennis player. Rarely did she lose because of nerves. Anger—when she felt it, which wasn’t often—always began as a slow burn. First there was a little spark, and then there’d be a flame, and if the flame burned long enough, there would be rage.
Pure, white-hot, unfiltered, unapologetic rage.
Bianca had missed a menstrual period and had just taken a pregnancy test that morning after a stealth trip to a pharmacy in a neighboring town; she didn’t want anyone she knew to see her. The test came out positive, and the baby was Patrick’s. Of course it was. She’d never been with anyone else.
Her plan had been to go to Patrick’s dorm and tell him the news in person. She had no idea how he’d feel about it—she didn’t know yet how she felt about—but she’d been certain Patrick would take her in his arms and tell her that they were in it together, and that everything was going to be all right. He would hold her and stroke her hair and assure her that she wasn’t alone, that he loved her, and that he would always love her.
But that was before she’d found out about that slut Connie Shepherd. Oh, how Bianca hated her.
Two mornings later, Connie Shepherd, age eighteen, was found dead in the woods two miles east of Wonderland. There was a trail near the Falls River where Connie liked to run in the mornings before work. Her body had been spotted by a fellow jogger later that morning, right where the river washed into the bay. After a brief investigation and citing lack of evidence, Earl Schultz, the deputy chief of Seaside PD, concluded that Connie had likely tripped on the trail and had fallen down the bank into the river and drowned. There was a huge gash just above her knee and another one on her temple, both consistent with a fall, but whatever evidence there might have been to suggest foul play had been washed away by the water. Connie Shepherd’s death was ruled an accident.
A week after the funeral, Uncle Nick arranged for Bianca’s abortion. He knew the father was Patrick, and he knew that Patrick had left her for Connie, and that Connie was now dead. But he never asked Bianca about any of it. He simply accompanied her to the appointment, paid the bill, and brought her back to the park, where she recuperated in his apartment inside the administrative building.
In the fall, Bianca opted to stay at Wonderland, the place where she felt the most safe. She never attended Puget Sound State University, or any college, for that matter.
And neither had Patrick.
• • •
Bianca poured herself a glass of red wine and waited for the knock on her apartment door she knew would come. The thought of Patrick, even after all these years, filled her with a mix of emotions that was still confusing, emotions that only quieted down when she was with someone new. She had never loved anybody like she loved Patrick, and it was easy to pretend it was him she was making love to here in the apartment, with Wonderland just down below. The other boys, all carefully chosen, helped fill the empty space Patrick had left, and for the short time those relationships lasted, she felt almost whole again.
As she did right now, with Xander Cameron. It hadn’t taken long to seduce him. It never did. Eighteen-year-olds had their drawbacks, but a voracious appetite for sex was not one of them.
It was sunset, and Wonderland was alive, the lights glittering like fallen stars. The windows of the admin building were soundproofed, so Bianca couldn’t hear the carnival music blaring or the happy screams of little children or the whooshing and whirring of the roller coasters. Looking out the window was like watching a movie with the sound off. Even with no lights on inside the apartment, it was bright, the glow from Wonderland casting moving colors and shapes on the white walls. The spectacular lights could be seen easily from the freeway, and they worked better than any billboard, their bright gleam promising passersby fun and excitement and joy. The Wonder Wheel at the very north end of the midway rotated slowly, and she watched it thoughtfully.
Bianca was no stranger to thoughts of suicide; she’d seriously considered killing herself twice before. The first time was after she was told her tennis career was over. The second was after she’d aborted her baby—and to this day, she still couldn’t decide which experience was more painful. If she ever contemplated suicide a third time, she knew exactly how she’d do it.
She’d take a ride on the Wonder Wheel until her chair reached the top, and then take a big swan dive. It was 150 feet from the highest point of the wheel to the concrete, and death would certainly be quick. Bianca wondered if she would actually hear herself smack the pavement in the few milliseconds before she died, and believed that if she did, the sound would be quite satisfying.
A light knock behind her ended that thought, and she turned away from the window. She licked her lips in anticipation of everything that would happen once she opened her apartment door, and she took one last sip of wine in preparation.
She greeted her guest with a welcoming smile. It wasn’t Xander, her current lover. But that was all right; she hadn’t been expecting him.
“Come on in, Oz,” she said.
THIRTY
Donnie Ambrose was waiting when Vanessa arrived back at the department. She had a lot to tell the young detective, but for now, it could wait.
“They’re in interview room three,” Donnie said.
“They?”
“Glenn Hovey and his mother. She insisted on being with him.” He made a face. “I already want to strangle her. She’s like a little yappy dog you just want to kick, but can’t.”
“Do your best to restrain yourself.” Vanessa’s tone was dry. “I’m surprised he hasn’t hired a lawyer. Let’s hope he doesn’t ask for one. How did Nate make out with the ID cards we found?”
“He ran the nineteen names we didn’t recognize through the Missing Persons Database; nothing came up. He checked for death certificates; nothing there, either. Obviously, this doesn’t prove they’re all alive and well—he’d have to look into each one more thoroughly to verify they’re okay—but so far it looks like just the five are dead, including Jack Shaw.” Donnie looked disappointed. “I was so sure we had him.”
“We still do,” Vanessa said. “Five of the twenty-four are dead, and Hovey was in possess
ion of their cards. Maybe the others were intended victims; I can work with that. Now, don’t keep me in suspense. How’d it go at Wonderland?”
“Bianca Bishop wasn’t at the park.” Donnie followed her down the hallway. “Receptionist said she was out, didn’t know where, but I got the feeling that even if she knew, she wouldn’t tell me. I went to Bianca’s house, she wasn’t home. I obviously didn’t have a warrant so I couldn’t search.”
“What about the apartment that’s right in the admin building?” Vanessa gave him a look. “You should have told me about that, by the way.”
“I assumed you knew.” Donnie looked surprised. “It’s not a secret, it’s sort of common knowledge.”
“For who? People who’ve spent their whole lives in Seaside and who’ve worked at the park for years?”
“Point taken.”
“Well, don’t feel bad. Oscar Trejo didn’t mention it to me, either,” Vanessa said. “I asked him point blank if there was anyone else at the park the morning the Wonder Wheel Kid climbed it, and he said no.”
“He could have been telling the truth. Just because the Dragon Lady has an apartment there doesn’t mean she was there that night.”
“You knew what her nickname is, too?”
Donnie grinned and ducked, pretending as if she was about to hit him. “Sorry. Again, common knowledge for everybody but you.”
She rolled her eyes.
“By the way, Earl called, looking for you. Wants an update on everything, says he feels like he’s being kept out of the loop. I told him you’d call him when you could.”
Vanessa sighed. That’s because Earl was being kept out of the loop; it wasn’t an accident. “What was his mood?”
“Distracted. Stressing over the development deal, apparently he got into it with Tanner Wilkins at the city council meeting earlier because Tanner won’t sell his property on Clove. Plus the gala thing is tonight.”