Charlene’s face blossomed into a grin, and moments later, they were leaving together hand in hand. Rosa couldn’t seem to help the jealousy that shot through her as she watched the leggy blonde—his fiancée, she reminded herself—strut off with Miguel.
But for the first time that night, she felt somewhat satisfied that she had given out her phone number.
7
Not long after the medical examiner’s team had removed Victor Boyd’s body, Officer Richardson finished taking photos with his Busch Pressman camera. The funfair, much darker after sunset, was also much prettier with its colored lights against the night sky. Officer Richardson’s gaze met Rosa’s, but he didn’t offer a smile. He’d made it clear the last time they’d met that he didn’t approve of her involvement in Santa Bonita police work.
“You don’t have your kitten with you tonight?” Officer Richardson said with a subtle snarl.
Rosa ignored the slight. “I’ve sent him home early.” Her kitten had probably saved her life tonight, and that thought spurred her on to add, “Though I think he earned his keep.”
Officer Richardson persisted, “Why are you still here?”
It was a good question. Unlike last time, Miguel hadn’t invited her to consult, and Aunt Louisa hadn’t interfered by getting the mayor involved. She should’ve gone home with Gloria, but something undefined created a sense of unease Rosa had learned to pay attention to. Her mother would’ve called it a hunch.
“I’m almost done,” Rosa said, not exactly answering the question.
Studying the scene from all angles, Rosa still couldn’t seem to relax. Perhaps it was the regret of not speaking to Victor while he was still alive that ate at her and nothing more.
Officer Richardson was buckling up his camera case when Mr. Henderson dragged a tall wooden ladder through the funfair and toward the roller coaster. It wasn’t until he had it under the barricade rope that Rosa realized what he meant to do with it.
Rosa stopped him. “Mr. Henderson! Please desist!”
He looked over with the same agitated frown he’d been sporting all evening.
“What is it now, Miss Reed?”
“This is still a crime scene,” Rosa answered. “You’ll need to check with Detective Belmonte before touching anything.”
“I don’t need no trouble, miss,” Mr. Henderson said. “I gotta get the park up and runnin’ by mornin’. Gotta get that stupid bucket outta there. Don’t know what that idiot Jimmy was thinkin’!”
As grumpy as he was, Rosa still felt for him. If the medical examiner’s office was busy, or if any unforeseen bits of information arose while interviewing Jimmy Thompson, it could be a matter of days or even weeks before the roller coaster reopened. If Jimmy Thompson’s interview left any doubt about the prank that had killed Victor Boyd, the police would most certainly remove the bucket themselves and check it for fingerprints.
Mr. Henderson placed a foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, which stunned Rosa, and if she could go by Officer Richardson’s wide-eyed glare, it dumbfounded him as well.
Officer Richardson spoke up. “Sir, I have to insist that you keep your hands off until you receive permission from Detective Belmonte. If he finds you’ve tampered with the scene, he’s likely to not only shut down this one ride, but your entire funfair, and you could face charges.”
Mr. Henderson froze in place, and a long moment later, the policeman’s authoritative voice had the desired effect. Mr. Henderson stepped down from the ladder and reached for the metal brace in its middle.
“Why don’t you leave that here,” Rosa said, a sudden thought coming to her.
Mr. Henderson snorted but moseyed along with his quick, short-legged gait.
“What do you got in mind, Miss Reed?” Officer Richardson asked.
“There’s something about that bucket that bothers me. Would you mind if I had a quick look?”
Officer Richardson nodded begrudgingly. Rosa had the feeling he was uncertain about the arrangement Miguel had with her—none—but Rosa wasn’t about to enlighten him just yet.
She spotted a long metal pole with a hook on the end leaning up against the fence. She glanced at Officer Richardson. “Is it all right if I touch this?”
“Sure. I’ve got my photographs. Do you got gloves?”
Rosa had a pair, but she’d left them in the satchel. She held up her bare hands.
Officer Richardson sighed, and removed a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket. “Here. Don’t say I never do anything for ya.”
Was that a hint of a smile? Perhaps Officer Richardson was warming up to her.
After examining the hooked end and the dangerously sharp tip, Rosa said “Isn’t it odd for an item like this to be left out by the fence for anyone to grab?”
“Now that you mention it,” Officer Richardson conceded.
With her gloved hands, she held the pole over her head, aimed for the frayed string which hung from the bucket, and sure enough, it just reached.
Had the pole been used in Jimmy’s prank? That would be a question for Jimmy. Rosa wondered what the purpose of the hook was, and why it would be near the roller coaster ride.
“I’d like to climb the ladder and have a look,” Rosa said. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Officer Richardson held an offering hand out toward the ladder. “I suppose I’d get an earful from Belmonte if I did. The power’s still off to the ride, so there shouldn’t be any danger.”
Rosa found it awkward climbing the ladder in a dress—even with a less-than-full crinoline slip—and in heels, even if they were more sensible than the flashy ones Charlene Winter had been wearing.
Blast! Why did she have to think of her?
Rosa shook her head and focused on the task at hand. The last thing she needed was to fall on her bottom and flash her knickers.
She went as high as she dared but still couldn’t see inside the bucket. Like Miguel, she reached into the pail to check the water level. She could see by the damp line on her rubber glove that it was still
