CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jake shone his flashlight on the misshapen metal of the first derailed car on the roller coaster train. This would have been the car to take the hardest hits, based on the insurance investigation’s reconstruction of the trajectory as the coaster flew off the tracks.

The critical bolt assemblies on all three wheel types had been bashed in from the derailment. He couldn’t see any threads, no part of the shank or hexagonal bolt head. The head was where the grade markings were. If cheap equipment had been used, he would know once he could find a decent bolt to examine.

Checking the second car, he found the same result.

One of these damn cars had to have some evidence. Right?

He tried the third. The upstop wheels were missing some hardware, but the guide wheels on the side of the car had a few bolts intact. Taking out his cell, he snapped a few photos. He would need Amanda’s macro lens for clearer images. Hell, he needed her, even if her behavior alarmed him lately. But he couldn’t let his mind wander now…

On the road wheels, the hex head bolts looked like they’d survived the carnage. Perfect. This was his chance to determine the validity of the bolt. Not to mention the road wheels were the easiest to access since they were on the top. He wouldn’t have to turn over any of the cars to analyze them. Not yet, anyway.

He rubbed his thumb over the steel head, wiping off dust and dirt. Numerous scratches and some flaky substance covered the hex head. Jake leaned in closer, needing to know the difference between existing markings and standard wear and tear.

Then he counted at least three markings. Sign of a Grade Five bolt, not up to standard for roller coasters. Would they really have been so stupid as to use cheap equipment?

He took the bottom edge of his T-shirt and rubbed and polished the bolt more. Ah. Now he could see there were six lines on the hex head. They had used Grade Eight Premium bolts and stainless steel safety wire. Whatever accusations had been made in the Randall Kern lawsuit, these bolts were premium grade, and the safety wire remained intact. No foul play on equipment.

Damn. What had caused the derailment? Looked like he needed to turn over the cars after all, get a closer look at the upstop wheels.

“Hey, anyone in there?” a loud voice bellowed.

Jake’s breath caught in his throat. The voice had been male, definitely not Amanda’s.

“Abandon County sheriff,” the man said again. “Speak up if you’re inside.”

“Yes, sir,” Jake said, keeping his voice as calm as he could. Why would the sheriff be here at this time of evening?

“Come out, please.”

Jake snapped a few more photos of the proof of Grade Eight premium bolts, then stood up and slowly exited the car storage area.

A rotund man wearing a tan shirt and navy pants stood about ten feet away. Gripping Amanda’s arm. Her pupils had dilated so much, the black had pushed away any sign of her hazel coloring.

Jake wanted to lunge. Reach out and teach this backwoods man to unhand Amanda. They weren’t behaving in a threatening way. There was no need to put his hands on her.

The sheriff rested his other hand on his waist, near his night stick. Jake swallowed hard. As much as he liked the South, they were in a small town in Alabama. Some places didn’t have the prettiest history. Maybe the best way out of this predicament was to offer respect and find out what the problem might be.

“Good evening, Officer. I’m Jake Mercer, and you’re holding my girlfriend Amanda Moss’s arm. What seems to be the problem?”

“Problem is, I’ve asked Ms. Moss for proof that you two are allowed to be in Zephyr Land. She can’t seem to produce any, which means you’re trespassing. How’d you get in here anyway?”

All of this because of suspicion of trespassing? Good lord, what did this state do to jaywalkers?

“We do have permission, Officer. A written letter from the law offices of Hunter and Reid. We were also given the key. They granted us permission to be here for the week.”

The sheriff stared at Jake like he was an insect, one he’d like to pluck the feelers out of and burn under a microscope. “How ’bout you show me this so-called permission letter?”

Jake reached into his back pocket. No. God, no. Checked his backpack. Felt like he was in the hot sun getting his feelers burned off already. Yesterday, he forgot the binoculars but had the letter. Today, he remembered the binoculars but left the letter back at the inn?

“I seem to have left it at the Abandon Inn, where we’re staying. I have the key here though.”

With indignation, the sheriff released Amanda’s arm and strutted over to inspect the key. Amanda rubbed her arm with her other hand and grimaced.

“How do I know this isn’t a copy you made? Maybe you broke in and stole the key to make a copy? Thought you’d spray some graffiti?”

Jake took a deep breath. Obviously, the sheriff did not trust outsiders.

“Sir, I assure you it’s not a copy I made. We can call the law offices, if you wish. Or perhaps call Pearl at the inn, get her to find the documentation in our room?”

“We can get all that taken care of,” the sheriff said.

For a minute, Jake breathed easier. Amanda’s hazel eyes returned to their normal color.

“After I arrest you both for trespassing in the first degree,” the sheriff added.

“What?” Jake and Amanda cried in unison. She moved toward Jake, and he pulled her into the circle of one arm. Earlier, he’d yelled at her royally for coming to the park by herself. Now she was going to jail because she was there with him!

“Call Pearl at the inn,” Jake said. This was getting ridiculous!

“We aren’t the phone company. You’ll be able to call Pearl, your lawyer, the law offices, whoever you like once I bring you both in.”

“Sir, this is ridiculous,” Amanda said. “Please, can’t you call the law offices?”

The guy looked at his watch. “It’s after eight. No one’s going to answer the phones. Don’t worry—trespass in the first degree is a misdemeanor. If what you say is true, we’ll get it all cleared up at the station.”

Jake’s mind reeled. Misdemeanor? That kind of thing didn’t look good for eventual tenure, for any professor job he applied for going forward. Zephyr Land had become beneficial and horrible for his career in less than a week. Never mind what it was doing to his relationship with Amanda.

“I’m going to put zip-cuffs on both of you,” the sheriff said. “And we’ll straighten this out downtown. Worst case, you spend one night in the holding cell until we can confirm your story tomorrow.”

“Jail?” Amanda repeated, her voice cracking.

“Hands behind your back,” he ordered.

Jake stared, unable to say anything else. With every fiber in his being, he wanted to stop this situation. Everything seemed like a bad dream. If only he could pinch himself, he’d wake up.

But when the rotund sheriff zip-tied both their hands and put them in the back of his squad car, Jake knew this was no dream. It was a nightmare.