Page 29 of Always Murder

I trailed off because, well, his face.

His eyes were huge.

His nose was scrunched up.

His mouth hung open.

“Right,” I mumbled.“Never mind.”

We drove north into Hastings Rock.The day was still gray and foggy, and the first stretch of our drive, through a forest of Sitka spruce and lodgepole pines and thick walls of ferns, was a dark, drippy tunnel.Pretty, yes.Beautiful, actually, especially if you—like me—were into vampires and werewolves and, oh yeah, the wonders of nature.But it didn’t do all that much for my mood.

Hastings Rock, on the other hand, looked like one of those hand-painted postcards: the pleasing asymmetry of the skyline, the picturesque downtown jumble of old Victorian houses and timber-frame businesses, everything decked out for the holidays with an abundance of red and green.You could still see the artificial (but environmentally friendly) snow they’d laid down over the weekend, when Hastings Rock was temporarily turned into a winter wonderland.Even from a distance, it wasn’t hard to tell why tourists flocked here to indulge in the spirit of the season (and in artisanal cheeses, chocolates, and glassware).

Our route took us farther north, past the scenic downtown and toward the industrial side of Hastings Rock.Although most of the town’s income now came from tourists, a few major businesses still operated—some commercial fishing, the timber yard, and the shipping terminal.They were built up along Hastings Bay, which was decidedlylessscenic.

We didn’t have to go quite that far.Pirate’s Cove was comfortably settled in a strip mall in one of Hastings Rock’s residential neighborhoods.The entertainment multiplex (or action park, or whatever we were calling it) occupied a large, concrete building that anchored one end of the strip mall.The building itself was painted a dingy gray, but the awning and sign that said PIRATE’S COVE were a little jazzier—there were even some flashing lights in there.

I parked, and Keme said, “When are you going to get your own car?”

“Rude.When are you?”

“Bobby said when he gets a new one, I can buy the Pilot off him.”

“When’s that going to happen?”

Keme smirked.“Bobby didn’t tell you?”

“Bobby tells me everything,” I said—a little haughtily, but I couldn’t help myself.Before Keme could call me on it, I dropped out of the Pilot and headed for the building.

Inside, Pirate’s Cove was more or less what I remembered from similar venues at middle-school birthday parties.It was a large open space full of people, noise, and machines—a perfect cocktail to send my oh-so-mild social anxiety into turbo drive.(Was turbo drive a thing?I refused to ask Keme.) The area where we stood, near the doors, had been given over to a ticket counter, where a girl with braces, glitter strands in her hair, and what appeared to be a genuine gusto for Pirate’s Cove was helping a mom and her daughter—it took me a second glance to recognize Tessa, Millie’s boss from Chipper, and her daughter.

The rest of the entertainment multiplex had been divided up into sections.Closest to us were the arcade games, where lights flashed and bells dinged.A group of high school boys were chasing each other around the machines, laughing manically, apparently trying to swat each other’s hats off their respective heads.Then there was the indoor go-kart track (remember, the whole point of this place was for tourists to visit on those rainy Oregon Coast days), where a surprisingly long line of people waited for their turn.There was a concession stand, and there was a ropes course, and there was—obviously—mini golf.On the course, a tween in tween-sized camo fatigues was jumping, hands in the air, cheering, as another girl—younger, and based on the resemblance, probably her sister—putted her ball into the hole.A buck-toothed boy, hands full of tickets, streaked past us to the prize counter.Two teen girls sat on a table, sharing a slushy and watching the boys who were trying to knock each other’s hats off.The whole place smelled like rubber and the kind of cheese that comes in a bag.

Even with my internal I’m-going-to-scream meter inching up toward the red, I had to admit: I remembered how magical a place like this had felt when I was a kid.

Keme poked me.

“Ow.Why are your fingers so sharp—”

And then I saw Ryan.

He was dressed in khakis, a polo with the Pirate’s Cove logo on its breast, and a Pirate’s Cove baseball cap.With a clipboard in his hands and a radio clipped to his belt, he looked about as managerial as anyone could under the circumstances.

Unfortunately, he saw me at the exact same time.And he turned and ran.

Okay, he didn’trun.But he did…bustle.Like, imagine it’s a hot summer day, and the only thing you’ve wanted all day is ice cream, and your friends made you go to the beach so Bobby could surf, and you see Two Girls and a Scoop (which is the best ice cream truck in the world), but then it starts to pull away, and you know if you run, Keme will make fun of you for the rest of your life.

That kind of bustle.

(Also, that example was completely hypothetical.)

I charged after him.

For the first few seconds, I thought I was gaining on him—Ryan had to slow down when a family of four moved into his path carrying pizza and drinks from the concession stand.But then I had to lurch to a stop to avoid a collision with a pair of Mean Girls who strolled in front of me (they looked like they were twelve years old, and they were terrifying).By that point, Ryan was pivoting to get past an older woman who had stopped to tie a child’s shoes.I made up some of the distance and then had to slam on the brakes when a blinky-eyed dad type suddenly stopped walking in front of me.(He was playing a Switch.) The whole thing might have been slightly embarrassing except for the fact that somehow Keme got stopped by a man in his seventies who—to judge by my brief glance back—wanted directions to the restroom.

Fortunately, I turned my attention forward again in time to see Ryan slip into the laser tag arena.

The path ahead of me cleared.

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