“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, why would you? What business would it be of yours to know who my patients are?”
“It just seems like quite a coincidence,” I said.
Sturgess shook his head condescendingly. “Promise Falls is not that big a place. It’s hardly shocking that I could end up treating two families with a connection. Oh, look.”
Aunt Agnes was striding down the hall, her husband, Gill, a few steps behind her. Her eyes landed on me and she offered up one of her rare smiles.
“David,” she said, giving me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “Have you been in to see Marla?”
“I have. She seems . . . good. Tired, but good.”
Gill joined his wife at her side, extended a hand. “Dave, good to see you.”
I nodded. “Uncle Gill,” I said.
Jack Sturgess spoke up. “Your nephew and I were just having a nice chat. David here has expressed his intention to make some inquiries into the circumstances of the day’s events, and I suspect he’s decided to do this without consulting either of you.”
“Is that true?” Gill asked.
“Well, what I was thinking—”
Agnes said, “What do you mean, inquiries?”
I raised a cautious hand. “I just want to do whatever I can to help Marla. The police may already’ve made up their minds about what happened, but maybe if I ask a few questions, I might be able to turn up something that would make them think twice.”
I braced myself for a verbal assault. I figured that even if Agnes accepted that my intentions were honorable, she was such a control freak she wouldn’t want anyone doing anything for a member of her family without her direct supervision.
So when she reached for my hand, squeezed it, and said, “Oh, thank you, David, thank you so much,” I was caught off guard.
“Yes,” Gill said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Anything you can do, we’d be most grateful.”
I glanced at Dr. Jack Sturgess. He did not look happy.
THIRTY-TWO
BARRY Duckworth was beginning to think he would never get home.
He was in his car, headed in that direction, still trying to get his head around what he’d seen at the coroner’s office, when he got a call on his cell.
“Duckworth.”
“Detective, it’s Officer Carlson. Angus Carlson.”
“Officer Carlson. I thought I might be hearing from you. You been talking to the chief?”
“I heard from her a few minutes ago. About lending a hand to the detective division.”
“Yeah,” Duckworth said.
“I’ll be reporting to you.”
“Yup.”
“I’m looking forward to the opportunity.”
“Sure. See you in the morning.”
“There’s another reason why I’m calling,” Carlson said.
“Another squirrel joke?”
“No, sir. But it’s sort of connected. Well, not connected, really. It’s just that I’m at a scene that maybe doesn’t warrant your attention, but it’s so weird, and to have something this weird happen the same day as that thing with the squirrels this morning, I thought maybe you’d like to—”
“Spit it out, Carlson.”
Officer Carlson told him where he was, and what he’d found.
“I’ll swing by,” Duckworth said.
? ? ?
Carlson met Duckworth at the Five Mountains admission gates and led him through the darkened park to the Ferris wheel, which reminded him of a monstrous, illuminated tambourine.
“This is what I thought you’d want to have a look at,” the officer said, pointing to the three mannequins with the words YOU’LL BE SORRY painted across them.
Duckworth walked around the scene, inspecting it from all angles.
“Could just be kids,” Carlson said.
“Could be,” the detective said, but it didn’t feel like kids to him. He could see kids wanting to fire up a mothballed Ferris wheel and take it for a joyride, as dumb a stunt as that might be, considering that it wasn’t exactly easy, if security showed up, to make a run for it when you were at the top of the wheel.
But there hadn’t been any kids on the wheel when it was found in operation. Just these three lifeless passengers. Whoever’d gotten the ride started had plenty of time to get away before anyone else got here.
Still . . .
“Search the park,” Duckworth said. “See if there’s anyone hanging around to watch the show. Maybe somebody left something behind. Dropped a backpack, something.” Some other uniformed Promise Falls police had arrived, and Carlson told them to fan out.
“Who’ll be sorry?” Duckworth asked aloud, although he wasn’t directing the question to anyone in particular. “And for what?”
“Sorry they’re going out of business?” Carlson offered. “The park’s gone under, you know.”
Duckworth knew. “Where’s the woman?”
Carlson said Gloria Fenwick was waiting in the admin offices for a detective to speak with her. Before going to find her, Duckworth told one of the other officers not to touch the mannequins. Not before they’d been fingerprinted.