Wonderland

  She walked Wonderland’s CEO out the door of the administrative building and down to her unmarked amid a flurry of whispers and stares. Once she had Bianca secured in the backseat, she called Donnie Ambrose on her cell phone.

  “I’ve arrested Bianca Bishop,” she said. “And I’m on my way back to the department with her right now.”

  “Holy shit.” The detective almost choked on whatever he was eating. “Are you out of your mind? Does Earl know?”

  “Haven’t talked to him. Listen, I need you to come to Wonderland immediately and bring someone else in.”

  “Who?”

  “Oscar Trejo,” Vanessa said. “I’d have done it myself, but I only have one pair of handcuffs.”

  Recipient(s): All Wonderland Staff

  Sender: Nick Bishop

  Subject: Reminder About Sexual Harassment Policy

  Dear Wonder Worker,

  The concept of sexual harassment is a tricky one, and while all of you were required during your orientation to watch a video on the subject, here is how the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission defines it:

  Sexual harassment includes unwelcome sexual advances, requests for sexual favors, and other verbal or physical harassment of a sexual nature.

  We at Wonderland have taken it one step further. As defined in the Employee Handbook, sexual harassment is any type of behavior that makes another person feel uncomfortable. This includes sexual jokes or innuendo, unwanted flattery, comments made about one’s physical appearance (whether positive or negative), and touching of any kind for which the other person has not given consent.

  If any of the above has happened to you, please report it to your supervisor immediately. We’re always striving for a happy, healthy, professional work environment. That’s the Wonderland Way!

  Yours sincerely,

  Nick Bishop

  Owner, Wonderland Amusement Park, Inc.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The creepy janitor was hovering just outside Ava’s dressing room door inside the Clown Museum. She felt trapped, and she couldn’t call anyone to come rescue her. The park’s Wi-Fi didn’t work inside the museum, and the cell signal, even on a good day, was nonexistent. Maybe when Xander showed up later, he could give Carlos Jones the evil eye, and the janitor would stop staring at her once and for all.

  Yes, Ava had finally decided to forgive Xander. Earlier that morning, she’d received a long, heartfelt text from him about how sorry he was for how things went down. Because of their age difference, it wasn’t right for them to be more than friends, but their friendship was important to him, and he missed her. Things with the “other person” had cooled, and while he was disappointed, it was probably for the best.

  She had texted him back immediately, and a few texts later, they had made up. She didn’t ask what had happened with Bianca Bishop; she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. What she did know was that she was looking forward to seeing her friend again. Xander had invited her to a bonfire party at the beach that started at 8 p.m., and Anne-Marie had agreed to let her off early.

  Ava hadn’t told her mom she was going. No way would her mom be cool with her hanging out at the beach with an eighteen-year-old—at night, no less—so she’d said she was working till close and sleeping at Katya’s afterward. She didn’t feel good about the lie, but it was no different than what Ava had been doing most of the week anyway. Her mom was so wrapped up with work she seemed almost grateful her daughter wasn’t at home alone. John-John would once again be spending the night at his friend Jaden’s house, whose parents were aware that Vanessa Castro was Seaside’s deputy chief, and who were happy to help out.

  Vanessa Castro, Mom of the Year, queen of passing her kids off to other people. When she was younger, Ava had hated it. She’d hated being stuck at people’s houses when her dad was deployed and her mom was working, but now that she was fourteen, it kind of worked in her favor.

  A creak outside her dressing room door caused her to freeze, and she cocked her ear toward the hallway once again. The door opened and Ava jumped, but it was only Anne-Marie.

  “Kristie’s sick,” her manager said. “She picked up a bug and went home with massive diarrhea.”

  “Um, TMI.” Gross though it was, Ava’s heart sank. She already knew where this was going.

  “I’m going to need you to work your full shift after all.” Anne-Marie gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry. But the bonfire goes till midnight, right? If you get out of here right at ten, you’ll make it with plenty of time for s’mores.”

  “It’s okay,” Ava said. “I’ll stay. Is that janitor still out there? He was hovering outside the door when I first got here.”

  “I didn’t see him. He’s still bothering you?”

  Ava raised an eyebrow. “I actually asked my mom to run his name through the police database. So yes, it’s safe to say he creeps me out.”

  “What did she find?”

  “Nothing came up. But it doesn’t make him any less creepy.”

  “Just keep ignoring him,” Anne-Marie said. “By the way, I’m splitting right at nine thirty to pick up my mother-in-law from the airport, so you’re on your own for closing. I’ll check with the ticket booth before I leave, though. If there are no more guests coming through, you can head out.”

  “So I’ll be alone after nine thirty?” Ava frowned, thinking about Carlos Jones.

  “Absolutely not. The girls at the front will know you’re back here. They won’t leave without you.”

  “My friend Xander was supposed to meet me here at eight to go to the bonfire,” Ava said. “If you see him, can you tell him to come back right at nine thirty for me?”

  “Ooh, that tall drink of water?” Anne-Marie winked. “You got it.”

  Ava finished applying her makeup at the small vanity table, and then removed her clothes quickly, keeping an eye out for any sign of Carlos Jones lingering outside the door. The dressing room, just an unused supply closet, was small but functional enough. A row of costumes hung from pegs along one wall, and an extrawide full-length mirror was bolted to the other. She grabbed the yellow doll dress labeled “Ava” and slipped it on. Though it fit snugly and was always itchy, she rather liked the way she looked in it—bosomy and ultrafeminine—neither of which she felt when she wore her regular clothes.

  She stood in front of the mirror and adjusted the dress until it fit exactly right. She then pulled her wig on, fluffing the ringlets so they hung in perfect spirals. The low-heel shoes—yellow satin to match the dress—were a size too big, but that was better than being a size too small, and at least she didn’t have to walk much in them.

  Stepping back, she was pleased with her appearance. She had tried something new with her makeup, and her porcelain doll face appeared as if it had old cracks in it. The effect, when combined with the wig and dress, was eerie and perfect.

  She left the dressing room and closed the door firmly behind her. Making her way down the darkened hallway—everything in the Clown Museum was dark or dim, which was part of the ambience—she entered the black room of the Dollhouse and assumed her place on the pedestal.

  “You look very pretty,” a voice said from across the room.

  Again, she jumped. Carlos Jones was staring at her, and just like the last time, she hadn’t heard him come in. Why was nobody ever around when the janitor was here? His eyes looked like two shiny black holes in the middle of his face, and though he was short, the width of his broad shoulders spanned the doorway.

  “I wasn’t going for pretty,” Ava said in a sharp voice. “I was going for strange and disturbing. But thanks, I guess.”

  “You’re welcome.” The janitor appeared oblivious to her sarcasm. The yellow lightbulb over his head made his face look sallow and shiny. “So how do you like working here?”

  “I like it fine,” Ava said. He was walking closer to her. She was stand
ing on her pedestal, with nowhere to go. “The light’s going to turn on any minute. You should go.”

  “Usually they hire sixteen-year-olds for Elm Street gigs,” Carlos Jones said, stroking his goatee. It was the most words he’d ever said to her at once. “But you look a little younger than that. You’ve got that little girl look about you still.”

  “Maybe that’s because I’m dressed up like a porcelain doll,” Ava said. “Now please go away so I can work.”

  “I heard your supervisor say she’s leaving early. I’ll make sure to keep an eye on you.”

  Ava fought back a shudder. “That’s not necessary. My boyfriend and my mother are coming to pick me up after my shift. You might have heard, my mom is the deputy chief of police of Seaside.” She said this last part as loudly and clearly as she dared.

  “My mom is dead, remember?” Carlos Jones stretched out his neck and pointed to his rose tattoo. “I keep this here to remind me of her always.”

  The light above his head turned yellow. Ava made a point to look up at it.

  “I guess I’ll let get you to work,” he said. He was out the door just in time for the next guests to pass through.

  Since she couldn’t make any physical movements, Ava’s sigh of relief was all in her head.

  • • •

  At 9:30 p.m., one of the ticket booth girls came back to tell her there were no more guests coming through for the night. They would be locking up the Clown Museum early. That sounded good to Ava, and she bolted back to the dressing room to change.

  She was pulling off her doll wig when the door to the dressing room suddenly slammed shut. Startled, Ava turned around, but she was still alone.

  “What the hell?” she said out loud, and it was then that she heard the door to the old supply closet being locked. And it was being locked the only way a supply closet door could be.

  From the outside.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Mother’s guilt was a very real thing. Ava had asked to sleep over again at Katya’s house, and Vanessa had said yes automatically without even thinking about it. John-John was sleeping over at a friend’s house again, too, officially making her the worst parent in the world. When this was all over, she was switching to day shifts, turning her phone off in the evenings, and spending some serious time with her kids, doing whatever they wanted to do.

  But until then, it was back to work.

  Earl Schultz was currently attending the gala fund-raiser for Seaside Hospital he’d been stressing about for the past while, where he was no doubt rubbing elbows with Mayor Greenberg, the city entire council, Carl Weiss and Melanie Stratton-Weiss, three retired Seahawks players, and the rest of Seaside’s elite. Bianca Bishop and Oscar Trejo had probably intended to go as well, but with both of them in separate interview rooms at Seaside PD, neither were going anywhere anytime soon. Vanessa’s invitation must have gotten lost in the mail, though she wouldn’t have attended even if she had been invited. Tickets were five hundred a plate.

  Bianca Bishop had called for an attorney, but her lawyer was currently attending the gala as well and could not be reached. Oscar had also called a lawyer, who, according to Donnie, was the only criminal defense attorney within fifty miles of Seaside available on such short notice. Apparently Oscar had been reluctant to hire her, but felt he had no choice.

  “Oz was pretty upset you didn’t talk to him first, Deputy,” Donnie said as they stood outside the interview rooms. “He seemed to take it personally that you didn’t give him the heads up, acted like you guys had become friends.”

  “We’re not friends.”

  “Listen, do you want me to sit in on the interrogations?” Donnie asked. “Because I’d be happy to if you need someone to play good cop/bad cop with. But Bianca’s not going to talk until her lawyer gets here, and I get the feeling Oz might open up to you more if I wasn’t there. But obviously, it’s your call. I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

  Vanessa glanced at the young detective, and for the first time noticed how tired he looked. Despite his upbeat demeanor, he had circles under his eyes and three days’ worth of stubble on his face. Christ, she’d been working him to the bone since she arrived in Seaside, and he’d never once complained. She knew she got tunnel vision when she was working, but this was bordering on ridiculous. Everybody fell victim to Vanessa when she was on a mission—first her kids, then Jerry, and now Donnie, the only real friend she had in Seaside.

  “Go home,” she said. “Get some sleep. You’re right, Oscar might talk more if it’s just me. And Bianca’s not going anywhere.”

  “You sure?”

  “That’s an order. Glenn Hovey all squared away for the night?”

  “He’s in county, yeah. Bail hearing’s tomorrow.”

  “Good. Tomorrow we get to charge him with the murder of Jack Shaw as well.” She updated him quickly. “The bodies just keep piling up, don’t they? Now get out of here.”

  He left with a tired smile, saying to call him if there was anything she needed.

  As she headed toward the first interview room, she sent Ava a text. Just a reminder to let me know when you get to Katya’s. You know the drill. Love you.

  She waited. Nothing. And then the text message—normally encased in a blue-colored bubble signifying the text had gone through—turned green. This meant that either Ava’s phone was off—and it was never allowed to be off when Ava wasn’t with her mom, a condition of having a phone in the first place—or she was somewhere with no cell signal or Wi-Fi.

  Vanessa frowned. If she didn’t hear back from Ava after she finished questioning Oscar, maybe she’d have one of the officers drive by Katya’s house to make sure the girls were all right.

  Oscar and his lawyer were waiting in the interview room when she entered. She’d seen the lawyer’s name on the sign-in sheet, but nothing could have prepared her for Jane Cartwright.

  Tall, six three in ballet flats, Oscar’s lawyer was built like a champion swimmer. Somewhere in her forties, she was sheathed in a long cream-colored summer dress, a pink cardigan draped over her well-defined shoulders. Pale blond hair framed a square-jawed face made softer by expertly applied makeup. Jane Cartwright stretched out a hand, and glossy pink lips parted into a smile as they shook hands. Her grip was gentle, but her fingers were twice the size of Vanessa’s.

  “Jane Cartwright,” the lawyer said in a husky voice. On the phone it would be very difficult to tell right off the bat which gender was speaking. “Nice to meet you, Deputy Chief Castro.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.” Vanessa made an effort not to show how caught off guard she was. She tried to catch Oscar’s eye, but he refused to make eye contact with her.

  “I would have thought Seaside’s new deputy would have been at the gala tonight,” Jane said. “Everyone else seems to be.”

  “I wasn’t invited,” Vanessa said.

  “Neither was I.”

  They exchanged a smile.

  “So what are the charges, Deputy?” The lawyer folded her large hands on the table. “My client wasn’t clear on that.”

  “He isn’t being charged with anything,” Vanessa said. “I have some questions, is all.”

  “So it’s a fact-finding mission,” Jane said. “Regarding what, exactly?”

  “Homeless Harry and the Wonder Wheel Kid.”

  The lawyer let out a laugh that sounded like a bark. Her hands flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just . . . that sounded like a movie title. You know, like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? Homeless Harry and the Wonder Wheel Kid, where the moral of the story is, ‘Be nice to everyone, kids, even if they’re different than you.’ Sorry, it’s not funny, but . . .” She covered another laugh. “Sorry, I can’t help it.”

  Vanessa laughed, too. She couldn’t help it, either. Jane Cartwright’s giggles were infectious.

  Oscar, however,
failed to see the humor and glared at his lawyer. “Really? I’m paying you two hundred dollars an hour so you can joke around with the jilted lover who arrested me?”

  “I didn’t arrest you,” Vanessa said. And ouch, she thought. Jilted lover?

  Jane Cartwright finally got her giggles under control. “You two have a personal relationship? You didn’t mention that,” she said to Oscar.

  “Had,” he said. “As in past tense. As in, it tends to kill the mood when the girl you like sends her detective flunky to your workplace to haul you in for questioning.”

  “Yes, but that has nothing to do with why we’re here,” Vanessa said. She found herself wishing she’d had Donnie stay. It might have balanced things out in the end. “I have questions, is all.”

  “Go ahead and ask them,” Jane said. “But Mr. Trejo doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t feel comfortable, or if I instruct him not to.”

  “For Christ’s sake, call me Oz,” Oscar snapped at his lawyer. “Last I saw you, your name was James.”

  “All righty,” Vanessa said, giving Oscar a stern look. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

  He sat up straighter and crossed his arms.

  “I have reason to believe that Glenn Hovey, a longtime employee at Wonderland, killed at least four teenage Wonder Workers.” Vanessa never took her eyes off Oscar’s face. “Blake Dozier, Aiden Cole, Kyle Grimmie, and Tyler Wilkins. There may be nineteen more potential victims; we’re still working on verifying that.” She said this last part with a perfectly straight face; Nate Essex’s preliminary check had showed they were all alive.

  “Nineteen?” Oscar blinked. “Are you joking?”

  “Am I laughing?” Vanessa said.

  “And Oz can help with this how?” Jane asked.

  “We also have reason to believe that Bianca Bishop, Wonderland’s CEO, conspired with Glenn Hovey to kill those boys,” Vanessa said. “If not conspired, then she told him to kill them, or perhaps implied that he should, or, at the very least, she was completely aware he was doing it and said nothing.”