Dead Ringers 1: Illusion (10 page)

Hunter picks up his bottled water and drains half of it. “It’s a coincidence. Both sisters married guys named Prescott.”

Max leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Interesting.”

It takes Hunter about two more minutes to scarf down his pizza while I ramble on about nothing in particular. Neither Max nor Hunter does more than grunt a time or two in bare acknowledgement of my blather.

As soon as Hunter’s finished eating, he leaps to his feet. “See you around, Jade.”

Hunter doesn’t say a word to Max.

“What was that all about?” I ask the instant Hunter’s gone. “What was the deal with those questions about his last name?”

“They were just questions.”

No matter how many different ways I ask, Max won’t elaborate. By the time he drives me home, I’ve stopped trying. We cover the distance in silence with the wind blowing through the open windows of his truck. He pulls into the driveway. I yank open the door, get out and slam it behind me.

“Hey, Jade.” His voice stops me before I reach the sidewalk, but I don’t turn. “Hunter Prescott is trouble.”

I whirl to find him leaning partially out the window. “How would you know? Do you have some sort of secret history with him?”

The problem with that theory is Hunter showed no sign of a previous acquaintance with Max. Then again, Hunter is a skilled actor.

“I know lots of guys like him,” Max says through the open window. “Do yourself a favor and stay away from him, okay?”

I let out a surprised laugh. “I’m supposed to listen to you?”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Why’s that?”

He puts the car in reverse before he calls out an answer. “Because I might be the only one in town who doesn’t think you’re crazy.”

When I was a kid, the Midway Beach carnival seemed like it stretched for miles. Everything was magnified. The loud music. The crowds. The wooden posts with the height limit for the rides set at what seemed like impossibly tall levels.

In reality, a full-sized person can walk from one end of the carnival to the other in about five minutes, less when it’s not as crowded as it is tonight.

So how come I still can’t find Max Harper? Since he drove away from my house this afternoon after his cryptic comment, one question’s been flashing in my brain like a neon light.

Why does he believe I’m not crazy?

It couldn’t have been anything my mom told him. She’s leaning toward sending me to a psychiatrist. Pretty wild considering she’s the one with a suicide attempt in her past, although I haven’t had a chance to ask her about that yet.

I’m spending my second break of the night the same way I did my first, going from ride to ride searching for Max. Still no luck. It’s not like I can ask one of my gossipy co-workers where he is, either. The Black Widow talk is dying down but will get a new injection tomorrow when Stuart Bigelow publishes his newspaper story about the body being moved. In the meantime, I don’t want to get anybody wondering whether Max and I have the hots for each other.

“Jade!” Roxy Cooper’s voice booms above the carnival noise. She’s beside the balloon dart game, gesturing for me to join her. She could tell me where Max is, but I can’t risk her figuring out I’m suspicious of him. Not when I’m still trying to work out what role she had in my disappearance.

The closer I get to her, the more she towers over me. Roxy is one large woman. If she’d snuck up behind me and hit me over the head the night I disappeared, she could have picked me up and carted me off like a really big bag of potatoes.

Comforting thought.

“I’m on break,” I tell her. “I’m not slacking off.”

“I know that!” She beams the smile that’s never seemed genuine. “You’re one of my best employees.”

Yeah, right. Roxy’s emphasis this year is putting on a happy face for the customers. She’s ripped into just about everybody for not smiling enough except melancholy me. The grin on the girl running the balloon toss game looks pained. Not surprising. The darts are dull, the balloons are underinflated and the customers get angry when they don’t win a cheap stuffed animal.

“That must have been tough last night, coming across that body like you did.” She waits as though she expects me to confide in her, seeing as we’re such good friends and all.

“Yeah, it was. Can I go now?”

“That’s not why I called you over here.” Her smile doesn’t waver. “Did you lose a copy of
I Am Legend
?”

It’s my favorite book in the world with an ending way cooler than in the Will Smith movie. For Christmas last year, Aunt Carol gave me a paperback copy autographed by Richard Matheson. The cover’s torn and the pages are dogeared, cutting down on the book’s value, but I treasured it.

Until I lost it.

“Is it a paperback? Kind of beat-up?” I almost trip over my words in my eagerness to get my questions answered.

“That’s the book.”

Joy bubbles in my chest. I’d spent untold hours looking for the book, trying to remember where I left it. “Where did you find it?”

“Under the passenger seat of my car. You must have had it with you when we took the ski trip.”

Impossible. Not only have I never been skiing with Roxy, I’ve never been inside her car. But if the book had been in my backpack the night I’d vanished, that would explain how Roxy had come up with it. Wouldn’t it?

“Still don’t remember the ski trip?” Roxy’s eyebrows pull downward. “I hoped things were getting clearer.”

“Oh, they are.” It’s time to make her squirm. “Every day I get closer to putting the pieces together.”

Roxy doesn’t even blink. “Good to hear. Your book’s on my desk in the trailer. Stop by for it any time.”

“Why won’t these balloons pop?” A sunburned tourist in Bermuda shorts bellows at the still-smiling girl operating the balloon dart game. “Is the game fixed?”

“I better handle this.” Roxy turns away from me and takes one giant stride in the direction of the tourist. He backs up two steps. “Of course the game’s not fixed,” she tells him.

All the games are fixed. Carnival games are designed to separate the gullible from their money.

One of these days, the lies will catch up with Roxy and I plan to be there when they do.

The scent of hot dogs and French fries carries on the ocean breeze, and my stomach noisily lets me know it’s past dinner. So much for looking for Max. My break’s almost over. If I don’t get something to eat now, I’ll go hungry for the rest of the night.

The nearest concession stand is in the shadow of the Hurricane, the roller coaster undergoing renovations. Painted a bright yellow, the concession stand is a junk food addict’s dream. Besides dogs and fries, unhealthy eaters can buy pizza, ice cream, popcorn, snow cones, cotton candy and a bunch of other empty calories. The food booth is also the only one large enough to be staffed by two employees. One is Adair. The other is Max.

Max, who was hired to be on rides. What’s up with that?

Three people are in front of me in line. Adair and Max alternate waiting on customers, rushing about filling cups with soda, stuffing hot dogs into buns and taking pizza slices out of the oven. When I’m second in line, Max’s gaze zeroes in on me. His grin is instantaneous.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he calls over the head of the chubby kid in front of me.

“Hey, bullshitter.”

He throws back his head and laughs, showing off perfect white teeth that call attention to the black of his hair.

“Why aren’t you on rides?” I ask.

“J-Rod quit.” He’s referring to Jorge Rodriguez, who has been telling anyone within earshot how much he hates working at the food booth. “Concessions was short-handed so I volunteered to change jobs.”

Nobody does that. Rides are the way better gig.

“Can I order?” The chubby kid proceeds to do exactly that: Two hot dogs, one piece of pizza, a large soda, fries and a plate of churros.

The kid pays Max, then steps aside while Max goes to fill his order. Adair appears at the window. Lucky me.

“A hot dog and fries, please.”

Adair leans forward until her head’s halfway out of the booth and bares her teeth—not in a smile. She looks maniacal, like the clown who was holding the syringe in the forest. “Sure thing, skank.”

“Really? You can’t think up a better insult than skank?”

“You better be careful,” she hisses. “Didn’t you think I’d find out you were out to lunch with Hunter today?”

She doesn’t seem to know Max was also present at lunch. I’m not about to tell her.

“I’m not afraid of you.” My voice is as low as hers, although not as menacing. That would be hard to pull off.

She clenches her jaw, and a vein throbs in her temple. “If you don’t stay away from my boyfriend,” she whispers, “I’ll give you reason to be afraid.”

“If he’s
your
boyfriend, why was he having lunch with
me
?”

“Excuse me, Adair.” Max appears at the window with a cardboard tray filled to overflowing with the chubby kid’s order. Before Adair leaves to get my food, she gives me the death glare.

“Are you gonna eat all that, bud?” Max asks the kid.

“I like food,” the kid mumbles before he takes the tray and shuffles away.

Nobody is behind me. The time’s not right to quiz Max about what he said in my driveway, though, not with Adair in hearing range. “Can we get together tonight after closing?”

I’m expecting Max to make a quip like
depends on what you have in mind
. Instead Adair appears at the window with my order and stands close enough to Max that their shoulders touch. “He can’t. Max already asked
me
to hang out.”

Adair slaps the plate with the hot dog and fries on the counter, a smirk on her face. It’s obvious she’s trying to make me jealous, silently threatening to steal my boyfriend because she thinks I have designs on Hunter. Never mind for a minute that Max isn’t my boyfriend.

There has to be more to the reason they’re spending time together than that. It’s too much of a stretch that Max just happened to make Adair’s acquaintance mere days after trespassing on her dad’s private property.

“Okay, then. I guess I’ll see what Hunter’s up to tonight.” I’m not sure who I’m trying to rattle more, Adair or Max. Neither of them look happy when I take my leave.

I’m not really planning to seek out Hunter, but then suddenly there he is about ten yards away heading for the concession stand. The yellow arcade T-shirt highlights the blond in his brown hair and shows off the muscle tone in his chest and arms. He looks about as far from bad news as you can get.

He’s almost past me before I unstick the heart that’s in my throat and find my voice. “Hey, Hunter.”

He stops walking, his head swiveling as though he doesn’t know where the voice is coming from. Finally, he focuses on me. “Jade. I didn’t see you.”

Story of my life.

“What’s up?” he asks.

My tongue’s in danger of knotting. But now that I got him to stop, I realize I do have something to ask him. “I got the impression at lunch that you and Max knew each other.”

His eyes narrow and glisten. “Nope. That guy’s an asshole.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” My defense of Max is automatic. When did
that
happen? “Besides, you gotta admit the thing with your last name is strange.”

Too strange, maybe. I’ve been so preoccupied with what Max might be up to that I haven’t given much thought to Hunter’s claim that both his father and uncle are Prescotts. It’s either that or Hunter Prescott isn’t his real name.

“Not as strange as the rumor that you and me are seeing each other,” Hunter says. “Did you know about that?”

He could be changing the subject because he doesn’t want to answer any more questions about his name. Or he could be trying to figure out how I feel about the rumor. This could be my chance to hint at how I feel about him.

“It’s one of the nicer rumors I’ve heard all summer.” Groan. Did I really say that?

“So you’ve heard it, too?”

“Just now from Adair.” And now I’ve gone and brought up my arch rival. Double groan.

“Is that right?” Hunter doesn’t seem at all upset that Adair has gotten the wrong idea. “Maybe one of these days we’ll have to make good on that gossip.”

The hope inside me rises like a helium balloon.

“Catch you later, Jade.” Hunter points a finger at me and heads for the concession stand.

I’m not sure what sort of overture I expected Hunter to make, but it wasn’t to leave me and seek out Adair. Although maybe Hunter’s just hungry. In case there’s more to it than that, I consider calling him back to tell him my theory that Adair is undergoing a personality change.

“Yeah, right,” I mutter to myself. “Like that would win points with the nephew of a psychiatrist.”

I take a bite of hot dog and discover it’s cold. Not a little cold. Freezing cold. So are the fries, courtesy of my not-so-friendly neighborhood concession worker. I pitch everything into a nearby waste basket and tell myself Adair considers me to be the competition. That makes me feel a little better.