Chapter 13

"Aunt Joan?" The title slipped out before Jazz thought, thumping her knuckles gently against the frame of the General Manager's open office door. Jazz hadn't been allowed to use the title Aunt Joan at the fair when she'd spent her summers there.

But she'd been a child then. Hopefully, Aunt Joan didn't think it was too unprofessional now. Unless she still didn't want to own Jazz as family in public—the motive Jazz had always suspected was truly behind her insistence Jazz call her Mrs. Cracklen instead.

Aunt Joan looked up from her desk and waved Jazz in with a raised hand and an expression Jazz didn't like the look of. Even grimmer than usual. Though given the events of the last two days, that wasn't surprising.

Starting right in with pointed questions about the sabotage didn't seem like the best idea anymore. Jazz opened with a gentler question. "How are you doing?"

Aunt Joan arched an eyebrow at Jazz before returning her gaze to the screen of her desktop computer and typing furiously. "I'm not going to give in, if that's what you mean."

Jazz's belly clenched. "Have you received threats?" She stepped into the office, Flash following calmly by her side. They stopped next to the chair that stood facing the desk as her aunt threw them a distracted glance.

"Threats? No, not yet. Unless you count the wretched sabotage. But the way things are going, I wouldn't be surprised if threats are next."

Jazz blinked at her aunt, the woman still staring at the computer screen as she typed. Then what was she talking about giving in to?

Aunt Joan looked up. "I assume you saw the article in the Gazette this morning."

Jazz shook her head. She did check the news briefly every morning, but the Minneapolis Gazette wasn't one of her regular sources.

"They're suggesting—in light of the evidence that the accidents were intentional sabotage—that the fair should be closed."

Jazz sucked in a breath.

Aunt Joan's gaze went to Jazz, looking directly at her for the first time since she'd entered the office.

"You wouldn't shut it down, would you?" Tension coiled behind Jazz's ribs.

"Of course not." Aunt Joan's answer came without hesitation. "There are far too many livelihoods at stake. People don't realize that." Her eyes shifted slightly like she was scanning Jazz's face. "I'd forgotten how fond you were of the fair. Do you still enjoy it?"

"I love it." Jazz gripped the back of the chair beside her with one hand. "I'd never want anything to happen to this place. It's home."

A small smile, more natural than Aunt Joan's usual smiles, curved her closed mouth. "It seems like only a week ago when you and Nevaeh were getting underfoot in here." Her gaze traveled over the office. "You'd usually come in to ask about lunch, though your faces were already covered with the purple and pink cotton candy you'd convinced one of the vendors to give you." Was that fondness that lifted her tone?

Couldn't be. Aunt Joan had been thoroughly annoyed every time Jazz had bothered her at the fair. Which was why Jazz and Nev had spent ninety-five percent of their time on their own elsewhere on the grounds, not in the office.

But the gaze Aunt Joan settled on Jazz held something Jazz had never seen aimed at her before. For a second, Jazz thought it was approval. But it couldn't be that.

It was probably nostalgia that had nothing to do with Jazz. Memories of the fair's happiest times. Jazz was happy to share those. "Well, we were very content with cotton candy for lunch every day." She smiled.

And Aunt Joan smiled back. A large, real expression of happiness. But it only lasted a second. "If only everyone understood the importance of the fair the way you do." A frown tipped her mouth as she glanced at the computer screen again. "I've spent all morning answering worried emails, some even from our board members."

She looked up at Jazz. "They thought I might cancel the board's annual tour of the grounds today. Can you believe that?"

Jazz shook her head, for once glad Aunt Joan had a backbone carved out of steel and never let anyone get in her way.

"I've explained to everyone that Butch has increased overnight security, and we've added an explosives detection K-9 to ensure there are no more surprises."

"Good. I saw Bristol and Toby before they left an hour ago. She said everything was clear."

Aunt Joan gave Jazz a blank stare.

"The explosives detection team."

"Oh." Aunt Joan nodded briskly. "Good."

"I'd like to help." Jazz stepped closer to the desk and waited for Aunt Joan to look up again.

She did only briefly. "You're already on the security team."

"I mean, I'd like to help find who's doing this so we can catch the culprit and stop it."

That got her aunt's attention. "How would you do that?" Aunt Joan's brown eyes fastened on Jazz's face.

"Well, we can start with motive. Do you know who would want the fair to shut down?"

Aunt Joan looked past Jazz in the direction of the open office door. Checking for eavesdroppers? When she spoke again, her voice was lowered. "Two years ago, a seventeen-year-old died on our grounds."

Surprise flittered through Jazz's torso. Didn't remember hearing anything about that. Though she would've been far too busy being her dad's caretaker at the time to read any news.

"It was an accident. He fell on one of the rides."

"Which ride?"

Annoyance flashed in Aunt Joan's eyes. "Does it matter? The Logboat Adventure ride."

How would a fall on the Logboat Adventure ride kill someone? There weren't any significant heights to fall from.

"My point is that although his death was clearly an accident, and the police ruled it as such, we were blamed for it by the naysayers in our community."

"There are people in the community who don't like the fair?" The only people Jazz knew of who fit that bill were the ones Hawthorne had told her about yesterday. The Best Life cult.

"Yes. Predominantly the Best Life Community."

So that was who Aunt Joan meant.

"The boy was apparently one of their members."

Whoa. That was weird. Hadn't Hawthorne said the members weren't allowed to attend the fair?

"Desmond Patch made a public statement that the press ran, of course."

"Who's Desmond Patch?"

Aunt Joan raised her eyebrows like she was surprised Jazz was as ignorant as she'd always thought she was. "The leader of Best Life. He's very well known in the Twin Cities."

Meaning Jazz was stupid not to know that. She let the usual inference roll off. "So what did he say?"

"His statement referred to the boy's death as proof that the Tri-City Fair is quote, ‘evil and dangerous.'"

"Wow. That's pretty strong." And meant the fair definitely had an enemy. One who just happened to run the cult they'd found a pin from by the Giant Slide.

"Thankfully, everyone in this area knows he's a quack, so he didn't get public opinion on his side." Aunt Joan leaned down and opened a desk drawer. "The boy's father probably did more damage." She straightened with her purse in hand, setting the large bag on the desk.

"More damage?"

Aunt Joan opened her designer bag and reached inside. "He was very upset about his son's death, and he took it out on us in the news coverage." She pulled out a makeup bag and unzipped it. "He said our ride safety was nonexistent and that we were to blame for the accident."

"Did people agree with him?"

"Some public opinion swayed that way, but not enough to harm our attendance at the time. It was close to the end of the season, thankfully." She slipped a compact from the bag and flipped it open, touching up her impeccable makeup. "And he simultaneously claimed his son's death wasn't an accident at all, so that helped."

Helped? It took Jazz a second to realize what her aunt meant. Of course. She meant it helped everyone discount the father's claims the fair was at fault. Aunt Joan always did see everything in terms of how it affected her interests.

At least in this case, Jazz's interests aligned with her aunt's—the continuation and well-being of the Tri-City Fair. And now she knew of at least two people, maybe a whole community, that were against the fair. They could have motive to sabotage it and close it down.

Could that also be related to the attacks on Jazz? She took a breath. Might as well ask. "So you haven't received any threats this year, though? Nothing about your…family or closing down the fair?"

Aunt Joan closed the compact and slipped it into the makeup bag, returning everything to her purse. "Well, Pierce always gets some harmless threats. That comes with running for political office, especially at the level of governor. But nothing that mentioned the fair."

"Okay. I think I'll look into the cult thing and see—"

"Oh, there is something unrelated I wanted to talk to you about."

"There is?" Jazz wanted to cringe at the hopeful surprise in her tone. Aunt Joan never wanted to talk to Jazz about anything. Well, except to scold or lecture. Maybe that's all she meant.

A rap at the door put Jazz's curiosity on hold.

Aunt Joan's secretary leaned through the doorway. "You said you wanted to go over the numbers before the board members arrive?"

"Oh, yes." Aunt Joan waved her in, giving Jazz a glance. "We'll have to continue this over brunch tomorrow."

So she was still invited. Hope, which Jazz should know better than to allow, flickered behind her ribs. "Do you want me to bring anything?"

"The chef will take care of everything. I look forward to seeing you at eleven sharp."

"Right." Jazz nodded, but Aunt Joan was already holding out her hand to take the folder the secretary quickly offered her.

Jazz didn't envy that job. Though Aunt Joan was being unusually nice today.

And helpful with the information she'd shared.

Jazz pushed through the glass door to exit the building, letting Flash go first as the humid heat of late morning hit her full in the face.

The idea of the fair having two known enemies—or maybe many in the Best Life Community—was hard to grasp.

"We meet again."

Jazz swung back toward the building and the man's voice.

Hawthorne Emerson smiled, the sun kissing his tanned skin. "Under more pleasant circumstances this time. Unless you don't like the heat."

Her mouth stretched with an answering smile that was probably far too big and eager. "We're adaptable."

He glanced down at Flash, who only panted slightly since they'd just been indoors. "As long as there's air-conditioning, right, buddy?"

And he talked to dogs. Be still her heart.

"I was hoping I'd see you today."

Jazz had to do a double take to be sure he was talking to her and not Flash this time.

His electric eyes looked right at her.

She swallowed. "Really?"

"Yeah. Before anything else crazy happens, I want to ask you something."

Like, would she go out with him? Jazz's heart thumped in her ears. Was Nev right, he was going to ask her on a date?

"Would you let me model my next heroine after you?"

"What?" The word spewed out before she could stop it. Socially inept, as usual.

"Sorry." He cringed. "It's probably a strange question. When I met you on the Ferris Wheel—" He grinned. "Sounds like a line from an old movie." He chuckled and ran a hand down the light stubble coating his jaw. "But seriously, I was blown away."

"You were?" She didn't care how breathless she sounded. Or how dreamily she was probably staring at him right now. Did he mean he liked her?

"Yeah. Your skills, your bravery—you're amazing. Exactly what I need for the lead character in my new series."

His words finally started to sink in. Along with reality. Of a sort. The blip of disappointment collided with an upsurge of excitement as she absorbed what he was saying. "Wait, so you mean you want to write me into your book?"

"Not just a book, a whole series of books. I want you to be the heroine. Well, the model for her anyway. I wouldn't want to do anything to violate your privacy, of course. And that's why I'm asking your permission."

"Yes!" The response burst out of her, followed by a quick laugh. "I'm honored." And flattered, flustered, stunned—and all the other things he didn't need to know.

"Terrific." His handsome smile broadened to kilowatt strength. Goodness.

A shiver tracked down her spine despite the heat starting to create pockets of sweat under her T-shirt.

"I'd like to buy you dinner tonight."

Dinner? A date, too?

"To discuss how you became the way you are, your background. Anything you'd be willing to share that would help me flesh out my Jazz Lamont heroine."

Oh. A business dinner. But with her favorite author, talking all about how he was going to put her in his books? "I'm in."

"Great. You've lived here more recently than I have, so you pick the place. Where do you like to eat?"

Her mind raced through the best options, most of which she'd been to recently on her internet dating flops. The idea of a dinner with Hawthorne going that badly twisted her stomach. "Why don't we do something different?"

He lifted his eyebrows. "I'm game."

"I'm planning to go wall-climbing tonight."

"Perfect. I'm there. You just name the time."

"Seven at Just Climb It?"

"You got it." He held out his hand, and she took hold of it. But the firm handshake her dad had drilled into her faltered, probably turning mushy in the soft, tingly heat of his touch.

He let go at the appropriate time, and she yanked her hand back, hopefully before he noticed she'd lingered way too long. He was going to junk the idea of basing a heroine on her real quick at this rate. Most socially awkward heroine ever.

"Well, we'd better get back to work."

Work. Yes. She nodded and firmed her grip on Flash's leash, not trusting her voice to sound anything but breathy at the moment if she spoke.

"I'll see you at seven."

"See you." She managed to get that much out as she turned around and headed in the opposite direction from the one she'd intended to take. Before she'd been stopped by her favorite author and asked to be the star of his novels.

When Nev came on shift in an hour, Jazz was going to have her bestie pinch an arm as hard as she could. Jazz had to be dreaming.

Though if it were her dream, hunky Hawthorne Emerson probably would've asked her on a real date, too.

What if she thought he was asking her out on a date? Hawthorne cringed as he walked under the Skyride cars that hung suspended from cables above as they carried people from the midway all the way to the other side of the fairgrounds.

Didn't seem like Jazz had thought it was a date, since she'd switched it from dinner to wall-climbing.

Hawthorne rolled his shoulders back. Right. Should be fine.

He'd been so excited when she'd said she would be the model for his heroine that he hadn't thought through what it would sound like if he asked her to dinner.

But she seemed to get it.

He paused outside the midway Skyride building, scanning the people who lined up to board the Skyride and the surrounding crowds at neighboring rides. Hawthorne was beginning to understand why the Tri-City Fair was said to be the largest in the nation. The number of people, especially by two in the afternoon, was astounding. Like walking through Times Square in New York City.

The crowd divided slightly farther up the midway, as if something was being slowly inserted in the middle of a river and parting the waters.

He stepped to the side of the path and peered above the bobbing heads of visitors. Not the first time he appreciated being taller than average.

Three golf carts slowly drove through the crowds, coming Hawthorne's direction. Was that Joan Cracklen in the front cart?

She came into sharper view as the cart meandered closer, driven by a teen wearing the bright blue T-shirt general staffers wore. The cart halted by the Skyride building, and Joan and three other people got off.

Joan's husband Pierce was one of them, but Hawthorne didn't recognize the other man and woman.

Maybe board members. Butch had warned them the Tri-City Fair board members were going to come for their annual tour this afternoon. Though Butch had said it was more of an inspection, so the security team should be on their toes.

Hawthorne walked closer in case he was needed. Couldn't say he wanted to talk to either Joan or her husband after yesterday. He couldn't believe the way Joan had jumped on her own niece, almost accusing Jazz for the bomb at the Giant Slide. At least her husband hadn't seemed so bad. He'd tried to calm her down.

The second and third carts slowed by Joan and her companions as she held up a hand toward the other board members. "I'm going to take my traditional ride on our beloved Skyride now. It's the best way to see the grounds. Feel free to join me if you'd like or continue looking around on your own."

The occupants of the second golf cart must've decided to stay. Their driver pulled to the side as much as he could amid all the people and let them off.

The third cart continued on at a snail's pace, crawling through the crowds.

Hawthorne eyed the long line out the door of the Skyride building. He couldn't see Joan Cracklen or her politician husband standing in line for half an hour or more.

Sure enough, Joan led her party to the staff access door at the side of the building, circumventing the line.

Hawthorne smirked. Though he supposed she wasn't getting paid to wait in line at a ride. A job had to have some perks.

"Hey, are you security?" A scratchy-voiced teen boy stopped next to Hawthorne.

"Yes. How can I help you?"

"I think I lost my phone."

"Sorry to hear that." Hawthorne told him the steps to report the phone missing at the Public Safety Center near the entrance. By the time the kid trudged off, Hawthorne saw Joan and the others were about to board the Skyride.

Joan had paired off with the woman board member from her golf cart, and Pierce was deep in discussion with the man as they waited behind the ladies.

Joan helped the woman, a middle-aged lady who appeared nervous, into the enclosed car first and then entered herself.

"Base to S4," the voice of Kerry, one of the dispatchers, sounded in Hawthorne's earpiece as Pierce and the other guy boarded the next car. "Assistance needed with gaming dispute at Darts and Sharks."

"S4, Roger. ETA five minutes." Hawthorne spun away from the Skyride and started toward the booth he'd already had to stop at this morning and yesterday. Took forever to get anywhere on foot through these crowds. But another disgruntled customer who suspected the Darts and Sharks game was rigged didn't seem like enough of an emergency to warrant breaking into a run. Fair games were always—

A cracking boom rocked the ground beneath his feet.