Mr. Henderson motioned upward. “We installed steel roofs over all the control panels—so they won’t be affected by rain.”
They all looked up to the steel roof, but something else caught Rosa’s attention.
“What’s that bucket for?” she asked. A wooden bucket hung from a handle on one of the rafters.
Mr. Henderson shook his head, his jowls quivering. “That shouldn’t be there.”
Miguel pushed up on the ledge of the platform and lifted himself until he could get a knee on it, and then a foot. He grasped the corner roof support to pull himself the rest of the way up. He couldn’t quite glimpse into the bucket, but he could tip it and get his hand into it.
Miguel held damp fingers to his nose. “It’s water. There’s a little left in the bottom.”
As Miguel moved the bucket back into place, a thin string dangling down from it became visible. Rosa reached for it.
“What’s this for?” She studied the frayed end, tugged at it, and immediately saw it was attached to the upper rim of the bucket. The bucket wobbled with the movement, but she could imagine it would take some force to turn it over. Who would come along and tug on a string without looking up to see where it led first?
“Could it be some kind of prank?” Rosa mused aloud.
Miguel hopped down and spoke to Mr. Henderson. “Sir, if you didn’t rig a bucket full of water over the roller coaster control panel, who would have done such a thing? Someone who doesn’t know that water is a very good conductor of electricity, I’m guessing.”
Mr. Henderson’s face was beet red. Rosa wondered if smoke would soon swirl from his ears. “I know exactly who would have done such an idiotic, brainless thing,” he said. “Wait here. I’ll get ’im.”
It wasn’t like they were about to leave, and as it was, Detective Sanchez, dressed in rumpled plain clothes, arrived right at that moment. Rosa had yet to see the man in uniform or in anything properly ironed for that matter. He held a deep-fried carnival pastry in his hand, and an unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth.
Miguel eyed his partner’s appearance then got to the point. “I’m treating it as a suspicious death. Don’t let anyone near the body.”
Detective Sanchez tucked his dead cigarette back into a flattened package. “Dr. Rayburn’s on his way,” he said before taking a large bite of his pastry.
“I’m going after the pier manager,” Miguel said.
“Sure thing, boss,” Detective Sanchez said after swallowing. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
Miguel caught Rosa’s eye and motioned with his head in the direction that Mr. Henderson had disappeared. Rosa didn’t know if this was an invitation for her to come along, but she took it as one.
It wasn’t difficult to find the pier manager. His loud, angry voice carried a long way. He was at the control booth for another ride—one with airplanes moving up, down, and around in circles.
“I can’t believe you kids could be so stupid!” Mr. Henderson yelled at a man who must have been at least mid-twenties, despite being called a ”kid”. The carnie’s hair was greased up on the sides with the ends curling into a “jellyroll” meeting at the part. He wore a dirty white T-shirt, and jeans that looked like they were about to wear through in a dozen places.
Mr. Henderson shook a fat finger at the young carnie. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times; there are consequences to your actions.”
Miguel interrupted. “Mr. Henderson, might I have a word with your employee?”
Mr. Henderson grunted. “Have at ’er.”
The skinny lad had a look of terror on his freckled face.
“I’m Detective Belmonte with the Santa Bonita Police Department,” Miguel began. “Can you tell me your name?”
The carnie looked between Miguel and his boss, his face going white. “Wh-why?”
Mr. Henderson held his hands splayed open to the sides as if to say I told you so.
“If you don’t mind,” Miguel said with authority, “just answer the question, please.”
“I—Jimmy. Jimmy Thompson.” He looked at Mr. Henderson again but just as quickly turned back to Miguel. “Why? What did I do?” Jimmy had the voice of a man who honestly didn’t know what he’d done wrong.
Trying not to disturb Diego, who had finally fallen asleep again, Rosa removed a second notepad and pen from her satchel and added Mr. Thompson’s name to her notes.
“We’re not accusing you of anything, Mr. Thompson,” Rosa said, keeping her voice soft. “Can you tell Detective Belmonte how well you knew Victor Boyd?”
Another glance to his boss. “I mean, we worked together, right?” he said, as though he might not know if that was the correct answer. “Me and Vic, we’re friends.”
“Ha!” Mr. Henderson let out a loud, humorless laugh. “Do friends puncture each other’s tires in the parking lot? Do friends stick maggots in each other’s lunch bags?”
Jimmy smiled weakly. Apparently, he didn’t know the severity of the situation. “Sure, we like to prank each other some. It’s what friends do.”
Miguel’s jaw tightened and then released. “Mr. Thompson, did you recently rig a bucket of water above the roller coaster control platform?”
Jimmy looked at his boss again. Mr. Henderson nodded with raised eyebrows as though he already knew the answer. “Yeahhh . . .”
“Jimmy Thompson,” Miguel said, “I’m going to have to ask you to accompany me to the police station for questioning concerning the death of Victor Boyd.”
It took Jimmy several long seconds to process Miguel’s words. As Rosa watched the realization dawn that his friend was dead, Mr. Henderson was the next one to speak.
“I can’t lose two carnies in one night! How am I going to keep the place running?”
Rosa turned to him, having a hard time grasping his lack of perspective. “Mr. Henderson, at this point, I should think you should feel relieved that the police aren’t shutting down
