Darcy Moreland is thrilled to be back in her old home town of Cheyenne, Wyoming, and working as a reporter for the local TV station, KCWY. As a bonus, Zach Horton, an old college friend, is station manager and now her boss. On her first assignment covering the carnival midway of Cheyenne Rodeo Days, a body drops from the top of the Ferris wheel inches from her videographer. Darcy knew the girl and her family, which only galvanizes her determination to find the cause of death.
Darcy Moreland parked at the dusty north end of the Cheyenne Rodeo Days midway and got out of her well-used baby blue Audi 2000. The hot July sun slipped toward the western skyline. She had been in Cheyenne less than a week and her apartment looked like a disorganized warehouse with open cartons of clothes, books, and other essentials for herself and her dog Mac spilling onto the floor.
Beyond the gate, she spotted the videographer she had heard of but not yet met. Bill Netters slouched against a post, cell phone plastered to his ear, and camera bracketed between his feet. Seconds after he saw her, he jammed his phone into his back pocket.
“Is the glare going to be permanent every time we work together?” Darcy asked when she reached him.
“As long as you keep screwing up my time off.” He bent down to jerk up his camera. Darcy took a deep breath. “Netters, I requested you because I heard you’re the best. It’s as simple as that. I’m new at the station and I want to show them what I can do. I didn’t know you had a date tonight or I wouldn’t have asked for you.” She waited for some cooperative sign. She needed to have a good work relationship with this guy.
UNDERWRITTEN BY
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Netters shrugged and shouldered the unwieldy camera. “Let’s get this done.” Relieved, Darcy smiled. “How ‘bout we shoot a sweeping wide shot focused up the midway to catch all the lights and the crowd and a medium close-up for my spiel?” “Okie-dokie.”
She caught the not-so-subtle sarcasm. “Is that code for, ‘Bite me, Darcy Moreland? That’s a lame-ass, cliché shot?’” she smiled. “I can take constructive criticism, you know.” Netters shrugged, but his mouth twitched into a grin.
“Dazzle me, Mr. Videographer. What would you suggest?”
“A short master of the crowds and lights, then a subjective, traveling shot as we near the Ferris wheel. The ‘You Are There’ feel. I’d do a Dutch angle to make the wheel look even higher than it is.”
Darcy’s gaze slid to the wheel. She arched her head back, held onto her hat, and took in the sheer height of the 30-foot ride. “You’d have to lie on the ground to do that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah. So?” Netters cleaned his lens, then stuck the soft cloth into his back pocket. Darcy braced her hands on her hips. “So, I thought you had a date. You don’t want to get all gunked up just for a fancy shot, do you?”
“Is ‘gunked up’ a professional term?” Netters sighted in the angle.
“You know what I mean.”
He barked a short laugh. “Don’t worry about my non-existent love life. I was just talking to Cheryl when you walked up. She said she’d meet me downtown.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Darcy ambled along beside him as he got in position. “No. It means ‘catch me if you can.’” Netters looked down at her from his gangly six foot height. “How long has it been since you’ve been downtown during Rodeo Days?” “A while.” Darcy realized she hadn’t been home the last four years for Rodeo Days. At first, Darcy was the newbie at the Kansas station and hesitated to ask for an extra week of vacation. Later, she got buried in her work and didn’t vacation at all. She couldn’t count the number of times her parents had asked her to come to Cheyenne in the summer or to their winter home in Prescot, but something always came up.
“Let’s just say, a little ‘gunk’ isn’t going to be a problem.”
Netters sauntered farther up the midway switching his grubby Bronco’s cap, so the bill rested on his back and neck. He turned around and walked backward for a couple of steps, gauging the distance.
Darcy watched Netters and admired his focus. The sounds and the bright lights of the carnival midway did not distract him as he looked through his camera to set up the frame. He lowered the camera, motioned her out of the shot, and strode toward the Ferris wheel. People dodged out of his way; the bright light mounted on his camera clearing the path. “Now, you.” He waved the end of the camera at her as if it were an assault rifle. Darcy stepped in center shot, and Netters moved close enough to count her fillings. “Back off!” Darcy squirmed. “Medium close-up, not microscopic surgery.” He laughed but hauled the camera back.
“Levels?” She placed the mic at chin level.
“Yeah. Say something sweet.”
“‘Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker.’ Dorothy Parker. How’s that?”
“Fine. Whenever you’re ready.”
She raised the microphone and began her narrative:
“The carnival takes on a unique look and ambience at night. The lights sparkle, and the noises fade to a low hum. There are still a few children out with parents in tow, but the average age of the crowd on the midway has increased and the smell of cotton candy, corn dogs, and spilled beer is stronger, which almost masks the slight barnyard stench from behind the arena and the rough stock pens.
“Muffled strains of the Night Show in the arena clash with the raucous bells and jangling of the carnival attractions.
“Excited shrieks pierce the summer night from riders on the Zipper and the Hammer raised a counterpoint to the overall melody of celebration.”
She slashed the flat of her hand under her chin. “Okay… cut. How was that?” “Poetry.”
Darcy shot him a full-watt grin. “Yeah, wasn’t it?”
“I’m going to lie down now. Make sure no one steps on me. Think you can handle it?” Netters dragged his foot in short arcs at the base of the Ferris wheel and cleaned a patch of asphalt. Satisfied, he handed over his camera, got down on his back, and motioned for her to pass it back.
“Face the other way, so you can stop some drunk from crashing into me.” Netters ignored her irreverent three fingered Girl Scout salute.
The crowd eddied around them as if they were rocks in a stream. She prodded a large man wearing a Cowboys Can Ride All Night T-shirt to the side. It was a charmed summer night on the carnival midway.
Her mind wandered and even the strident music, whirs, and bells could not dampen her spirit. It was good to be home.
A thud from behind her punctuated by a loud, “Oh, shit!” from Netters and screams from the crush of people who pushed close, jolted her from her trance.
She spun around. “Oh, my God!” she gasped. High-pitched shouts for help burst from the crowd.
Netters lurched to his feet, his face ashen. He scrambled about three yards toward the ground by the Ferris wheel.
The crumpled body lay face up at the foot of the Ferris wheel. A pale hand rested in stark contrast to the black asphalt, arms outstretched, as if trying to fly. With a lurch, Darcy thought at first it was a small child.
Netters crouched low and peered at the body. It was a teenaged girl, her face turned to the side, her long light brown hair straggled behind her.
Darcy couldn’t look away, transfixed by the blood pooled like a small, black lake under the girl’s head. The moist, metallic smell of blood in the soft summer air made her gag. “A fall…from the Ferris wheel…two minutes ago.” Netters shouted into his phone. Two minutes? Had it been that long? Darcy’s stomach lurched, and her knees went weak. Don’t throw up! she told herself. Don’t throw up!
Paulla Hunter lives what she calls the “Just–Wild–Enough-For-Me-West.” She sets her romantic suspense mysteries in Cheyenne, Wyoming, where murder is uncommon – no more cowboy shootouts in the street except for the tourists. “Rough Ride” is the first book in the Darcy Moreland series and is set during the time of the annual rodeo.
English (United States) ·