This continues the story of the private eye, Farrah Gray, and her pursuit of justice.
“There’s nothing to talk about!” the teenage girl yelled. The woman beside her had the same dark hair and high cheekbones but deeper lines around her mouth, and Farrah could see why. With a daughter like that, scowls were almost mandatory.
“Mariah, please,” the woman begged, but the girl turned her back and propped her hands on her hips.
Another woman and her spitting image, a boy of about ten, walked up holding ice cream cones out to the tense mother and daughter. The girl refused the cone, and the boy promptly starting licking it, taking turns with his own cone. The woman with the ice cream handed over a cone to the mother of the girl, then kissed her on the cheek.
“How’s the line?” she asked, gazing up at the Ferris wheel.
“Dead.” She licked her ice cream and watched as the ride started slowly back down. “At least someone is talking to me,” she said loudly enough for the girl to hear her.
“She giving you problems?”
“She wants to go out to the carnival tonight with Brad.” Anyone could hear the sneer in her voice at the name. “I told her we needed to talk about rules, and here we are,” she said with a swoop of her ice cream cone.
“You follow the rules, or you don’t get to go,” the second woman said to the teenager’s back.
The boy snickered from behind his two desserts. “All the rules she knows are the difference between second and third bases.”
“I’m going to kill you!” the girl yelled and spun on the boy.
He dropped the cones as she charged after him, and a moment later, the women followed them back through the park.
Farrah stayed where she was. From her vantage point, she could see the ticket booth and the road from the pier to the carnival. It wasn’t open yet, but she knew it would only be a matter of hours, and she wasn’t risking not knowing what went down.
If the CF were going to strike again, her stakeout would give her a fighting chance at rescuing whoever stood in their path.
Continued in ParaDice Point, Part 7.