that sheet of paper.
I got up slowly, and walked to the desk, putting my report in the middle of her ledger page.
Marilyn still hadn’t moved.
“Bad news?” I asked, keeping my voice low and easy.
She jerked slightly, as if I’d startled her, raised dazed eyes to my face, and held the sheet out to me, wordlessly.
I glanced down at the page: Management’s letterhead, with the stylized funhouse clown . . . Please be advised that Fun Country, Archers Beach, Maine, has been put up for sale. We have received several inquiries from developers of ocean-front properties, and will be making a decision within the next few months. We are committed to keeping the park open through the end of the current Season. Ride operators will be sent instructions for removing their equipment before Labor Day. We will, of course, assist in an orderly shutdown-and-vacate process.
I swallowed, hard, suddenly regretting the grilled blueberry muffin, and the coffee I had for breakfast.
They’re selling the land.
I read it again, just in case I’d been mistaken, then looked up at Marilyn, who was standing behind the desk, staring down at the ledger, her hands gripping the back of the chair so tightly, her knuckles looked like ice.
“Can I make a copy of this?” I asked.
She raised a hand, let it drop.
Right, then.
The photocopier was under the windows. On consideration, I made two copies, folded them and stuck them in my back pocket, and put the original next to the form, on top of the ledger book.
“You okay, Marilyn?” I asked, feeling none too well myself.
She looked at me, her eyes dark, her face tense and lined.
“Yeah,” I said, when she didn’t say or do anything else. “It’s a shock. I’ll leave you to work, but, before I do—Vassily gets his supper today, whether he makes the shift at the carousel or not, right? Since it’s not his fault?”
Marilyn blinked.
“Of course,” she said, her voice perfectly flat. “Good morning, Kate.”
“Good morning,” I said, and fled.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THURSDAY, JULY 6
LOW TIDE 1:32 P.M. EDT
“Development companies,” Jess looked up from her perusal of the letter. “They’re gonna make this all into condos.”
“Sounds like that’s the plan,” I agreed. I had one foot braced on the bottom rail of the safety fence, and my arms crossed on the top. I wasn’t feeling anything like good, truth told, and I supposed that Jess felt as sick as I did.
“Well, fuck ’em,” she said, and I looked up into a face animated by righteous wrath. “Just . . . fuck ’em, that’s all.” She took a hard breath. “I’m callin’ an emergency meeting of the Fun Country subcommittee tonight after the park closes. Gotta check a couple things, then I’ll be callin’ everybody. Can you come to a meetin’ tonight, Kate?”
“Sure.”
“All right, then.” Jess took a hard breath and pulled her phone out of the wallet clipped to her belt. “Sorry. Gotta get as much of this settled as I can before the crowds hit.”
“You got it. Talk to you later.”
She was already dialing, and raised her free hand without looking up. I eased off the rail and headed up Baxter Avenue, toward the carousel.
But when I got there, my feet kept moving, taking me on a leisurely stroll across Fountain Circle, dancing around tourists with their attendant dogs, toddlers, and strollers.
The dance continued up the midway, ’til I reached The Last Mango. There was a tall, thin woman at the juicer, whipping up something frothy and purple. To my eyes, she had green hair in dreads, a dark brown face that looked like it had, indeed, been carved from wood, and long, thin fingers with extra joints.
“Good morning, Ethrane,” I said, when the noise stopped.
“Good morning, Kate,” she answered. Her voice was soft and rich, like peat.
“Is Peggy in the office?”
“She is, but I imagine she’ll be out in—”
Right on cue, Peggy stepped through the door in the back wall. Seeing me, she
I got up slowly, and walked to the desk, putting my report in the middle of her ledger page.
Marilyn still hadn’t moved.
“Bad news?” I asked, keeping my voice low and easy.
She jerked slightly, as if I’d startled her, raised dazed eyes to my face, and held the sheet out to me, wordlessly.
I glanced down at the page: Management’s letterhead, with the stylized funhouse clown . . . Please be advised that Fun Country, Archers Beach, Maine, has been put up for sale. We have received several inquiries from developers of ocean-front properties, and will be making a decision within the next few months. We are committed to keeping the park open through the end of the current Season. Ride operators will be sent instructions for removing their equipment before Labor Day. We will, of course, assist in an orderly shutdown-and-vacate process.
I swallowed, hard, suddenly regretting the grilled blueberry muffin, and the coffee I had for breakfast.
They’re selling the land.
I read it again, just in case I’d been mistaken, then looked up at Marilyn, who was standing behind the desk, staring down at the ledger, her hands gripping the back of the chair so tightly, her knuckles looked like ice.
“Can I make a copy of this?” I asked.
She raised a hand, let it drop.
Right, then.
The photocopier was under the windows. On consideration, I made two copies, folded them and stuck them in my back pocket, and put the original next to the form, on top of the ledger book.
“You okay, Marilyn?” I asked, feeling none too well myself.
She looked at me, her eyes dark, her face tense and lined.
“Yeah,” I said, when she didn’t say or do anything else. “It’s a shock. I’ll leave you to work, but, before I do—Vassily gets his supper today, whether he makes the shift at the carousel or not, right? Since it’s not his fault?”
Marilyn blinked.
“Of course,” she said, her voice perfectly flat. “Good morning, Kate.”
“Good morning,” I said, and fled.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THURSDAY, JULY 6
LOW TIDE 1:32 P.M. EDT
“Development companies,” Jess looked up from her perusal of the letter. “They’re gonna make this all into condos.”
“Sounds like that’s the plan,” I agreed. I had one foot braced on the bottom rail of the safety fence, and my arms crossed on the top. I wasn’t feeling anything like good, truth told, and I supposed that Jess felt as sick as I did.
“Well, fuck ’em,” she said, and I looked up into a face animated by righteous wrath. “Just . . . fuck ’em, that’s all.” She took a hard breath. “I’m callin’ an emergency meeting of the Fun Country subcommittee tonight after the park closes. Gotta check a couple things, then I’ll be callin’ everybody. Can you come to a meetin’ tonight, Kate?”
“Sure.”
“All right, then.” Jess took a hard breath and pulled her phone out of the wallet clipped to her belt. “Sorry. Gotta get as much of this settled as I can before the crowds hit.”
“You got it. Talk to you later.”
She was already dialing, and raised her free hand without looking up. I eased off the rail and headed up Baxter Avenue, toward the carousel.
But when I got there, my feet kept moving, taking me on a leisurely stroll across Fountain Circle, dancing around tourists with their attendant dogs, toddlers, and strollers.
The dance continued up the midway, ’til I reached The Last Mango. There was a tall, thin woman at the juicer, whipping up something frothy and purple. To my eyes, she had green hair in dreads, a dark brown face that looked like it had, indeed, been carved from wood, and long, thin fingers with extra joints.
“Good morning, Ethrane,” I said, when the noise stopped.
“Good morning, Kate,” she answered. Her voice was soft and rich, like peat.
“Is Peggy in the office?”
“She is, but I imagine she’ll be out in—”
Right on cue, Peggy stepped through the door in the back wall. Seeing me, she
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