If this were a romantic movie, Mick thinks, it would be Brianna handing him the knife, and their hands would brush and they’d look into each other’s eyes.
But it isn’t a movie, and it’s Zach who hands him the knife that just dropped at his feet. “Hey, Lou—-you missed.”
“What?” Startled, Mick looks from the knife in his hand to Zach’s face and sees that he’s smiling.
“If you’re gonna get rid of me, you’re gonna need better aim, see?” Zach the wiseguy is back. “And you might wanna wait till there are no witnesses, or it’s gonna get messy. Capiche?”
“Capiche. Thanks, Lou.” Mick grins and takes the knife from him, glad that at least something is going his way today.
Sitting in her study, trying to make sense of what’s gone on in her life, Rowan can’t stop thinking about the carnival that came to Mundy’s Landing every summer when she was growing up. For one long weekend in June, an ordinary grassy field out on Colonial Highway would burst to life with crowds and commotion and color.
In the early 1900s, an amusement park midway had stood on that spot. In her childhood, you could still see faint ruts in the grass where the penny arcade had been, and rotting wood and pilings from the old boardwalk and pier. Back in the woods, there were other ruins belonging to the park, and the picnic grove structures and a stone storage building remained intact, albeit covered by graffiti.
In those days, there was talk of bringing a new theme park to the site, but it never happened. Wistful kids of her generation made do with the traveling carnival—-and her own wistful kids didn’t even have that.
Too bad. Even when she was very young, Rowan relished the fleeting danger and decadence of it all: food stands dishing up deep--fried, spun--sugared, gooey confections; barkers convincing you to try your luck at games that were impossible to win; wanton rides that rattled and shook, flashing lights and blaring music as they hurtled you into the sky or twirled you so fast that your brain rattled.
Noreen always got sick on rides, even the carousel, but not Rowan. She loved them. The higher, the faster, the scarier, the better.
The barrel--shaped Gravitron was her favorite. She rode it over and over, standing with her back against its padded interior wall as the ride began to spin, picking up speed, until the floor abruptly dropped out from beneath her feet. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she always expected to fall, but of course she never did, safely pinned to the wall by centrifugal force.
It’s been years since she’s even seen a Gravitron.
But today, she feels like an unwilling rider, her back against the wall as the world spins crazily.
And you know what’s coming, don’t you?
You know that any minute, the bottom is going to drop out.
The moment Rowan’s first text message appeared this afternoon, Casey knew the snow globe must have arrived at last. Of course, she didn’t mention it directly. But it was clear she was in distress.
Mission accomplished.
Does she realize that the miniature dolls inside the globe came from a box in her daughter’s own bedroom? Casey found them there while browsing a month or two ago and knew that they’d be perfect.
Even if Rowan missed that connection, surely she knows that her secret is in jeopardy. Too bad she doesn’t yet realize that her life is as well.
Maybe the gifts shouldn’t have been quite so . . . benign. Maybe she should be made aware that this is life and death. It’s not turning out to be nearly as much fun to imagine her squirming with discomfort as it would be to terrify her. The wait that promised to be so tantalizing has grown tedious.