Don pinched his eyes shut as he finished the story. “We got married, spent three days at Long Beach on our honeymoon. Two weeks later, Joyce lost the baby.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rosa said sincerely. She waited, hoping Don would get back to her original question and finally answer it. She was rewarded.
“One day at the store, a customer dropped his wallet. He’d taken off his jacket and it had fallen out of the pocket without him noticing. Next thing I know, the wallet’s sitting on the floor and the man’s disappeared around the corner. I immediately picked it up, and I meant to give it back right away, but when I had it in my hands—well, we were short on rent that month. Instead of running after the man, I dropped it into my apron.”
“And Victor Boyd saw this?”
Don nodded heavily. “I’d taken the cash out of the wallet and mailed the wallet back to the address on the owner’s driver’s license. A week later, Victor Boyd stops me in this parking lot and asks me what I did with the wallet. I tried to deny any wrong, but Victor knew what I did; any accusation, true or false, would ruin my reputation and get me fired. Worse, he threatened to tell Joyce.”
Don checked his watch then pushed away from the Bel Air. “You officially know more about me than my wife, Miss Reed.”
As he started to walk away, Rosa called, “Mr. Welks, the course you were taking in college, did it happen to be electrical engineering?”
Don Welks slowly nodded. “Yes, Miss Reed. But I didn’t kill Victor Boyd.”
14
The funfair was once again open for business, and Rosa made an impromptu stop. Strolling along the boardwalk, she noted that the place was busy though the ambiance was relaxed. People took turns on the rides, which had shorter lines than in the evening. It was obvious by their casual attire, that some fairgoers had strolled in from the beach when in the mood for cotton candy. In the background, ongoing carnival music played, interrupted occasionally by carnies calling, “Step right up!” All the fanfare blended into an air of muted excitement.
Her initial search for Mr. Henderson appeared futile, when all she found at the fairground’s office was a lopsided sign hanging from the door handle that read, “Back in 30 Minutes”.
Rosa returned to the roller coaster, which was still surrounded by rope, and several “Closed for Maintenance” signs. People approached the roller coaster and let out moans of disappointment.
From there, Rosa made her way to The Flying Machine—the ride Jimmy had operated the night before, when Victor died. She was happy to see this ride was operational, even if it wasn’t Jimmy at the controls this time. Instead, a lean man in his mid-thirties was busy letting a new batch of little riders onto the small planes. She called to him as soon as his ride was up and running.
“Have you seen Mr. Henderson, the fair manager?”
“Huh?” The attendant turned to face Rosa. His dark hair was unruly, and he wore a few days’ worth of scruff on his chin. “Uh, yeah. Maybe ten minutes ago. He came by here with a cop interviewing all the carnies who worked yesterday.”
Rosa’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of Miguel somewhere nearby. “Any idea which way they went?”
“Don’t know. Maybe the Ferris wheel.” The man returned to his controls.
Rosa hesitated. Did she risk being seen by Miguel? He’d been rather clear that he no longer needed nor wanted her on this case. If he found out she was still nosing about in what was clearly not her business, he might—what? What was the worst that could happen? He’d threaten to not talk to her? Not share clues?
She was about to step in with a mom and her young son carrying a red balloon, passing in front of her, as awkward as that might have been, when Miguel seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He inexplicably looked in her direction and caught her eye.
His eyes narrowed as she lifted her hand halfway and weakly wiggled her fingers.
“Rosa!” Miguel called out, his expression returning to neutral. Mr. Henderson, walking with him, grimaced further at seeing her.
Once the distance between them closed, Miguel said, “Should I ask why you’re here?”
“Uh, I actually had a hankering for some cotton candy.”
Miguel’s lips twitched. “Hankering? Have you been to see Dr. Rayburn?”
Rosa blushed at being caught out at using a term more common in the south, but before she could protest, Mr. Henderson loudly grumbled, “I gotta get back to work.”
Miguel remained diplomatic. “Thank you for your help this morning, Mr. Henderson. I appreciate it.”
Mr. Henderson didn’t acknowledge the gratitude and instead strode toward his office. Rosa held her childish urge to stick out her tongue at the rude man and closed the gap between herself and Miguel.
She dared to ask, “What did you find out this morning?”
Miguel paused, and for a moment Rosa thought he wasn’t going to say, but then he said, “I’ve cleared Mr. Henderson from our list of suspects.”
Rosa raised an eyebrow. “How so? The man had motive and certainly the means to do it.”
“Mr. Henderson doesn’t much care for any of his employees and says he had no reason to pick on Victor Boyd in particular. He thinks they’re all a lazy bunch of ne’er-do-wells and would love to hire just one guy who didn’t try to clock out early or clock in late, or swipe extra change from a customer.”
“But if you’ll recall,” Rosa pressed, “Mr. Thompson said Mr. Henderson was afraid of Mr. Boyd.”
Miguel lifted a shoulder. “It’s a case of ‘he said, he said’. No evidence to support it. And even if the manager had reason to fear Victor Boyd, it doesn’t mean he killed him.”
“It doesn’t mean
