The Girl and the Unlucky 13 (Emma Griffin™ FBI Mystery) by A.J. Rivers (i have read the book .txt) 📕

When we get in our cars and wait for the electricity to jolt them to life, Dean doesn’t go immediately for Xavier. Instead, he veers off to the side and bumps Ava. Not hard, but enough to get her attention before zooming off.

Interesting. Maybe his inviting her here didn’t really have anything to do with my abandoning her after all.

But I’m not going to dwell on that right now. There are other things to think about, and while I’m trying to enjoy my time at the park with everyone, I can’t stop my thoughts from wandering back to the case. It feels as if I’m staring at a locked door. Just beyond is whatever is tugging at the corner of my consciousness. If I could only get inside, I could probably figure it out in a flash. But I can’t seem to get it open, no matter how hard I try.

That gets harder and harder with each new thing Xavier guides us to. Dean stops pouting about the roller coaster after getting a few licks in on the bumper cars and then getting Xavier to challenge him in a couple of skill games. It’s impressive how good Xavier gets after one or two tries at each one, and Dean seems to know it’s coming, not spending more than three rounds at any of them.

“I’d like to try this one,” Ava says as the boys move on from a game where the object is to shoot water at a target in a duck’s mouth to get a little duck above to move. “Emma, will you play?”

It sounds so innocent that it’s almost cute. I nod, not even realizing I am doing it. Sam sits down between us and pays for the three of us to go with tickets he has balled up in his shirt pocket.

Ava wins the first round, which sets off my competitive streak. I pull the tickets out of Sam’s shirt and we go again. This time, I win. Sam seems to notice the tension and stands up before I can reach in and go for the tiebreaker.

“Come on,” he says. “I think Xavier wants to get food.”

“Fine,” I say, standing reluctantly. “Where?”

“There.” Ava points to a little building made up to look like a giant cupcake.

Xavier is already walking back toward us, a giant cone of cotton candy in one hand and a drink in the other. Dean follows him with his own.

“What in the world?” Sam asks. “That has to be two feet of cotton candy.”

“Good eye,” Xavier says. “They advertise it as two feet, but I had to get them to re-spin it. The first time only came out to a foot and eight inches.”

“Clearly, Xavier wasn’t going to get one pulled over on him,” Dean laughs. His cotton candy, baby blue compared with Xavier’s hot pink, is already partially eaten. Dean seems to take the method of filling his entire mouth with it on each bite.

“Want some?” Xavier asks, holding the sugary treat close to my face.

I pull a chunk of the spun sugar off and put it in my mouth. It’s been years since I’ve had cotton candy. I’ve forgotten how delightful it is to just let it melt in all its nutritionally useless glory on my tongue.

“Are your heartbeats up enough to head for the coasters?” Dean asks.

Xavier nods, too invested in his cotton candy to engage in any conversation. We make our way to the corner of the park containing a handful of large roller coasters and stop in the middle so Xavier can consider all of them.

“Which one would choose you, Emma?” he asks.

It reminds me of our first encounter; when he asked me which snack in the vending machine would choose me to describe itself.

I glance at all the names and find one that fits perfectly.

“The Skeleton Key.”

I’m thinking about the skeletons, but Xavier knows better.

“Ahh,” he nods. “Yes. Capable of unlocking anything from the right angle.”

Twenty-Seven

The adrenaline of the coasters gets to me. I find myself relaxing and having fun after the first ride, running from line to line with the rest of them. Watching Xavier on the rides is a wonder in and of itself. As excited as he is, he makes no show of it. He sits down, patiently waits for the safety harness to be secured over him, then stays completely silent for the duration of the ride.

There’s no screaming. No cheering. Not even laughter. He sits there and looks around as if he’s on a leisurely train ride, either hanging on to the bar in front of him or throwing his hands up into the air. But when he gets off the ride at the end, he’s bubbling over about how much fun it was.

I look forward to seeing the on-ride pictures.

After a long day, we’ve ridden everything, and an evening crowd is starting to trickle in, so it’s time to head out. We stop at a cluster of old animatronic mushrooms that stands without explanation in a flower patch between two sections of the park. We discovered earlier that they burst into song like a barbershop quartet at seemingly random intervals. It requires at least a video and a commemorative picture.

I’m admiring the snap we just took when the picture disappears and a phone number appears on the screen. I don’t recognize it, but the area code is for this area, so I pick it up. My blood runs cold when I hear the voice on the other end of the line.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks when I end the call and shove my phone back in my pocket.

“That was the police department. They say I need to come in immediately.”

We rush out of the park and head directly for the police station. I’m barely inside the building when Misty Stevenson descends on me. Her face is red, her eyes wild.

“What the hell were you doing?” she demands.

“Misty, what’s wrong? What are you talking about?” I ask.

“How could you be so dismissive? I