Thrill Squeaker Read online

  THRILL SQUEAKER

  A Squeaky Clean Mystery

  CHRISTY BARRITT

  River Heights

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Other Books by Christy Barritt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Coming Fall 2016:

  Rattled

  Other Squeaky Clean Mysteries

  The Sierra Files

  Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries

  Carolina Moon

  Other Books by Christy Barritt:

  Gabby St. Claire Diaries

  About the Author

  COPYRIGHT

  Thrill Squeaker: A Novel

  Copyright 2016 by Christy Barritt

  Published by River Heights Press

  Cover design by The Killion Group

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work are the creation of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All Scripture is taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  OTHER BOOKS BY CHRISTY BARRITT

  Squeaky Clean Mysteries

  #1 Hazardous Duty

  #2 Suspicious Minds

  #2.5 It Came Upon a Midnight Crime

  #3 Organized Grime

  #4 Dirty Deeds

  #5 The Scum of All Fears

  #6 To Love, Honor, and Perish

  #7 Mucky Streak

  #8 Foul Play

  #9 Broom and Gloom

  #10 Dust and Obey

  #11 Thrill Squeaker

  The Sierra Files

  #1 Pounced

  #2 Hunted

  #2.5 Pranced (a Christmas novella)

  #3 Rattled (coming soon)

  The Gabby St. Claire Diaries (a tween mystery series)

  #1 The Curtain Call Caper

  #2 The Disappearing Dog Dilemma

  #3 The Bungled Bike Burglaries

  Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries

  #1 Random Acts of Murder

  #2 Random Acts of Deceit

  #3 Random Acts of Malice

  #3.5 Random Acts of Scrooge

  Carolina Moon series

  #1 Home Before Dark

  #2 Gone By Dark

  #3 Wait Until Dark (coming soon)

  Suburban Sleuth Mysteries

  #1 Death of the Couch Potato’s Wife

  Standalone Romantic Suspense

  Keeping Guard

  The Last Target

  Race Against Time

  Ricochet

  Key Witness

  Lifeline

  High-Stakes Holiday Reunion

  Desperate Measures

  Hidden Agenda

  Mountain Hideout

  Dark Harbor (coming soon)

  Standalone Romantic Mystery

  The Good Girl

  Suspense

  Dubiosity

  Disillusioned (coming soon)

  The Trouble with Perfect

  Nonfiction

  Changed: True Stories of Finding God through Christian Music

  The Novel in Me: The Beginner’s Guide to Writing and Publishing a Novel

  CHAPTER ONE

  I stared at the decrepit iron gate in front of me. The black, ornamental barrier hung lopsided on its hinges, and the words “Mythical Falls” were welded into the intricate, almost medieval, design. If a flock of ravens landed anywhere remotely close, I was running for the hills. Pronto.

  I had parked my brand new Honda sedan in front of the gate and stepped into the afternoon sunlight to call my friend Chad. Unfortunately, I had no cell phone signal here in the middle of the wild and wonderful West Virginia mountains. I’d driven just over five hours from my home in Norfolk, Virginia, so I could help him with a big job he’d accepted here at the former theme park. An old friend of his was restoring the place.

  I had no idea why.

  Something about it being a “resort destination.”

  As I peered through the iron bars, I spotted an old booth with “Tickets” emblazoned across the front. It lay on the ground with grass and weeds trying to eat it alive.

  A disaster destination was more like it. In my opinion, at least.

  I rattled the gates. The way they screeched on their hinges sent a shiver up my spine. This place was spooky. More than spooky.

  I pressed my face into the slats, trying to figure out how to find Chad since, without any cell service, calling him was out of the question. But all I saw was a place where nature tried to reclaim what mankind had taken from it.

  Nature was winning.

  Graffiti bruised a large building in the distance. Trash littered the ground. Old flags that probably appeared cheerful at one time now drooped, faded and ragged along the edges of the area. Saplings and mold covered the dilapidated roofs of abandoned buildings.

  “This looks like a whole lotta work,” I muttered to myself.

  Everything about this place screamed, “Go back now before it’s too late!”

  “Gabby!”

  I gasped and jumped back at the unexpected sound. That’s when I spotted someone walking down the path toward me.

  “Chad . . .” The word tapered into a chuckle.

  Overreact much, Gabby?

  He grinned from the other side of the fence. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I figured you probably didn’t have reception so I decided to swing by.”

  He fiddled with the lock across the gate and finally pushed it open. I waited for the normal greeting of “How are you?” or “How was your drive?” Instead, he pointed at my cheek. “You’ve got some rust there.”

  I rubbed my skin. That gate. That’s where it must have come from. A glance at my hands confirmed the theory. My fingers and palms were now orange.

  I wiped them on my jeans—I’d worn old ones that I didn’t mind getting dirty. At least I hadn’t gotten anything on my shirt. Right there on the lapel were the words “Squeaky Clean Restoration Services,” the name of Chad’s company. At one time, it had been my crime-scene cleaning and restoration business, but I had since ventured into other pursuits and Chad had taken over. I still helped out whenever I could, though.

  It wasn’t my cutest shirt. I really liked ones with sassy, snicker-worthy sayings across the front. My newest favorites were: “Please Don’t Make Me Adult Today” and “Forensic Mopologist.” But I thought I’d try to look professional when I showed up. For most of the rest of my visit I’d look grubby, trading perfume for the scent of oil, makeup for grease and dust, and nail polish for grime. No
one would be singing “She’s a Lady” when I was around and deep into clean-up mode.

  Chad turned and followed my gaze.

  “So this is Mythical Falls,” he started. “You’re in for a real treat.”

  He’d arrived a week earlier to sketch out what needed to be done, work on getting permits, and buy some supplies.

  I glanced at the ticket booth corpse again. “It looks like quite the destination.”

  “Believe it or not, at one time this place was a hopping theme park,” Chad said. “It closed down twenty years ago, but now my friend Nate wants to open it back up again.”

  “Your friend Nate might be a little crazy.”

  Chad smiled, like he knew something I didn’t. “You have no idea.”

  At that moment, a jacked-up oversized truck pulled behind my sedan, dirt and dust from the gravel road flying up all around it. A man hopped out, his feet landing with a bounce on the ground. He looked to be the same age as Chad and me, and he had a scruffy brown beard, oversized work boots, and a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

  This had to be Chad’s longtime friend Nate Reynolds. Apparently, in a past life, Chad and Nate had been ski instructors together in the winter, as well as whitewater rafting guides in the summer. My initial impression of the man was that he was an adrenaline junkie, someone who would rather be poor and have fun than be tied down with an office job. I’d have to wait and see if I was correct.

  “Hey, man!” Chad held up his hand, and the two did a little high-five/handshake/hug thingamajig. “This is Gabby, my former business partner and all-around hard worker.”

  Nate’s eyes traveled from my head all the way down to my feet in a manner I didn’t appreciate. He didn’t even try to hide his obvious interest, nor did he show any shame as he let out a low whistle.

  “Not what I expected, but welcome, pretty lady.” He winked. “I’ve always had a thing for redheads. And blondes. And brunettes, for that matter.”

  “She’s taken,” Chad interjected, his eyes sparkling. “Married for that matter.”

  “That’s up for debate,” I muttered. Chad got a kick out of my predicament.

  It was true that my ex-boyfriend, Riley Thomas, and I had accidentally gotten married a few months ago. Since then, we’d rekindled our relationship, and we planned to really get married if we could ever nail down a date. But that was a long story for another day.

  Nate raised his hands and stepped back. “I get that. No harm in looking, right?”

  I crossed my arms and changed the subject, not wanting to waste any time talking about Nate’s lack of manners. Life was too short to give this guy too much thought or attention. “So tell me about this project.”

  I desperately wanted to ward off the uncomfortable feeling in my gut about spending a week on these grounds. Maybe I should have said no to this project. However, Chad had been desperate, and I just happened to have two forensic training workshops in West Virginia that I’d been able to arrange this week.

  “It’s going to be awesome. Awesome!” Nate exploded his hands in the air, spreading his fingers like fireworks bursting in the air. “People love stuff that’s abandoned. Love it.”

  I could already tell that Nate was a repeater. I repeat: he was a repeater.

  I mentally rewrote the lyrics to the song, “I’m a Believer,” changing the chorus to “He’s a Repeater.” Now that was going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the day.

  “All the rides, for the most part, are history—they have to be taken down, or I have to put up a fence around them so no one gets hurt,” Nate continued. “But I really need your help fixing up the rest of this place in time for the grand opening. I’d like to be done by Halloween. Anyway, I’m converting the old buildings into cabins people can rent. Of course, at Halloween, we’ll have a big blowout because, let’s face it, it’s spooky here. Spooky!”

  “I see.” I see, I repeated silently.

  “You want to give her a tour?”

  Chad nodded. “Yeah, let’s take her around the grounds. Time is money, right?”

  Nate laughed. I wasn’t even sure what was so funny, but I did know that his extended chuckle was clipped in machine-gun like syllables. It reminded me of a cross between a woodpecker and a broken record. And it made me want to burst my eardrums so I wouldn’t have to hear it.

  “Let’s go then! Onward, ho.” He glanced at me. “That’s an expression. I wasn’t calling names.”

  I squirmed and bit my tongue, feeling a mix of annoyed and embarrassed—not for myself but for Nate. “I realize that.”

  “Just making sure. Don’t want any hard feelings or anything. You know what I’m saying?” He turned his head and widened his eyes as if he desperately wanted me to take him seriously. But his comical expression only made me want to roll my eyes.

  He didn’t break his gaze until I responded with, “Got it.”

  “Excellent. Let’s leave our vehicles here. You’ll have more of the full effect of this place on foot. Believe me. This will be an experience you won’t forget.”

  Oh, I believed him. This place would give some people nightmares.

  The gate creaked as Nate pushed it open farther, and I shivered. All of my instincts screamed that I should go back to Virginia and resume normal life, which was strange. I wasn’t superstitious. But I had a major case of the creeps right now.

  Could it be because nothing but miles and miles of rugged mountainside surrounded us? This place seemed like a monument to days of the past, a stark reminder of how life could change from fun and games to sorrow and devastation. It could represent my life, for that matter. At least things had been looking up lately, but I was just waiting for the next ball to drop. I could trace that pattern back for years and years.

  Things went well. Things went horribly wrong. Things went well. Things went horribly wrong. That was my life in a nutshell.

  It’s a job, Gabby. A job. Stop reading too much into this.

  On a positive note, the foliage around us was beautiful. Gorgeous. Full of autumn glory. The place even felt like autumn. Maybe it was the brisk wind and the scent of decaying leaves or the way the sun hung low on the horizon, casting strange shadows with its warm, orange glow. I loved this time of year, and the mountains were the perfect place to fully enjoy the season.

  I stepped through the gate and paused, getting an unobstructed view of Mythical Falls. The large building dead in front of me boasted a sign reading, “The Bermuda Triangle.” To my right was a rusty old dumpster, also turned on its side. In the far distance, tucked into the mountainside, were the remains of an old rollercoaster, which lay like ancient dinosaur bones. At my feet on the crusty asphalt were old tickets, a set of vampire teeth—the kind a child might play with, and an old park flyer.

  “This place, back in the day, was a sight to behold,” Nate said. “People from all over the country came here on family vacations. My parents talk about the candied apples and cotton candy and the time Kiss played on the main stage. It was totally a big deal. Like a big, big deal.”

  I watched my step as I strode across the grounds. The cement walkway below me looked like it had been quaint at one time, but now it was uneven and hazardous. Nate must have noticed my caution because he frowned.

  “Yeah, we have to get that fixed. We can’t have anyone suing us,” Nate said. “Lawsuits are bad. Bad. Anyway, come on. I’ll start in my favorite part of the park. Bigfoot Woods.”

  “Bigfoot Woods?” I repeated.

  The question had slipped out. I hadn’t had much time to research the place before I came. I was too busy with working. Truth was, I’d been keeping myself especially busy lately. It could have something to do with avoiding uncomfortable topics.

  Like setting a wedding date. At one time, I would have flipped over backward to do such a thing. But, lately, fear had crept in—fear of something else happening, fear of getting my hopes up, and fear of having my heart broken again.

  “Yeah. So the park is divided into diff
erent areas, each one based on different mythical creatures or legends. We’ve got Bigfoot Woods, Loch Ness Lake, Area 51, the Bermuda Triangle, and Pharaoh’s Tomb. ”

  “Pharaohs weren’t mythical,” I said.

  “It was probably the lamest section of the park. It features ancient mythology.” Nate continued to lead us down the path toward the woods in the distance. “We’re not going to actually open that area. Not in the beginning. I just want to focus on Bigfoot Woods, the Bermuda Triangle, and Area 51, to start with.”

  I wanted to stop and soak in every detail—to locate the Ferris wheel that was now concealed by trees. To let the broken “concessions” sign stain my memory. To envision families bonding over kettle corn.

  We passed a big pavilion—I would guess it was where shows were held at one time. Perhaps it was where Kiss had performed. Right now, part of the roof looked like God himself had stepped on it.

  Directly ahead of us, on a wooden sign that stretched above the narrowing walkway, was the warning, “Enter at your own risk.” That sign really should be plastered all over this place.

  “Here we are,” Nate continued with a grand sweep of his hands. “Bigfoot Woods.”

  My throat went dry at the thought of venturing into those woods. I wasn’t even sure why. I just felt like this was some sort of overblown haunted house where monsters were waiting to jump out and scare me to death.

  Come help me, Chad had said. It will be fun.

  He had failed to mention that the area could double as the set for a really bad 80s horror flick.

  Thanks to my dear friend, I was now in the middle of crazy town where no one would hear me scream for help. That was awesome. Sarcasm dripped from my words, even when they were spoken silently in my head.

  “Bigfoot Woods had a couple of rides,” Nate said. “One picked you up and dropped you down real fast. It was called the Yeti Smash.” Nate let out that woodpecker laugh again. “Yeti Smash. Isn’t that terrible?”

  I gave Chad a pointed look, and he shrugged. Nate and Chad might just be cut from the same cloth. Both were laidback and rugged in their own ways. Chad usually had a soul patch below his bottom lip, one that he sometimes let grow too long. He was on the shorter side but lean with light-brown hair streaked blond by the sun.

  Since Chad’s baby, Reef, was born three months ago, he’d changed from Mr. Carefree to Mr. Responsible—not that he hadn’t been reliable before. I mean, the man had been a mortician at one point in his life. But I supposed fatherhood had simply upped his grown-up factor.