Mina closed her eyes. She felt a light touch on her wrist. Dora was feeling her pulse. Mina knew it was racing, but Dora didn’t say anything, simply lifted the tray from the bed with a slight rattle. A few moments later, the door shut and Mina was alone.

Mina’s eyelids felt like they were being pushed closed. She needed to stay awake. She rubbed her temple and found a tender, swollen lump. When had she bumped her head? Her tailbone ached, too. But the hip wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. She needed to work her muscles. She flexed and unflexed her ankle—one, two, three—in one of the lying-down exercises she’d learned after hip replacement.

But her attention wandered and she lost count. As soon as she had her strength back, she promised herself, she’d do more. She’d sooner drop dead of a heart attack than wither away. That was her final thought before the room faded to black around her.

Chapter Fifty-seven

Evie had caught up on sleep and managed to slip back into what already felt like a routine—morning at work in Manhattan, a late lunch with Ginger in the hospital café, and afternoon at her mother’s bedside. Now, once again, she was on the bus back to Higgs Point.

Just like the all too familiar landmarks that flew by, one day was blurring into the next. Her mother hung in limbo, her hands growing clawed and so cold that no amount of holding warmed them. Evie had pictured her mother’s death. She and Ginger had certainly had plenty of rehearsals. But she never dreamed it would be this soon or happen this fast.

It seemed much longer than a week since Evie had slept in her own apartment, since she’d spent time with her friends, since she’d had a life. She was sick to death of chicken potpies. As she walked from the bus back to the house, she found herself looking forward to dinner at Finn’s. He’d texted her that afternoon. Dinner tonight? Basement tour? See you at 8. The basement alone, packed with material from an old amusement park, would have gotten her there.

The weather had turned unseasonably warm, up over eighty degrees, and a stiff breeze gusted off the water. The black plastic garbage bags she’d finally dragged out to the street were gone. Even the soiled mattress had been collected.

She paused outside for a moment, taking in Mrs. Yetner’s house. The Mercedes was still parked out front. Maybe Brian had decided to move in. The pile of building debris between Mrs. Yetner’s and her neighbor’s on the other side—the house that Evie now knew belonged to Soundview Management—had grown. Bundles of newspaper had been added to the lumber and construction materials.

The wind kicked up, and pieces of newspaper blew into the grass. Sheets stuck to the side of Mrs. Yetner’s house and more blew toward the water. Evie ran after them. She snatched up a few. More that she couldn’t reach blew into the marsh.

Returning to Mrs. Yetner’s, Evie stuck the loose papers under a piece of wood with lath still nailed to it. She was still carrying around Mrs. Yetner’s invitation to the gala, but she didn’t have the energy to try talking her way past Brian again. So she just slid the invitation through Mrs. Yetner’s mail slot and went home. She rested for a while, then took a shower.

At eight, she walked the three blocks over to Sparkles. Finn met her at the door, a big grin on his face. “Smell that?” he said.

What Evie smelled was aftershave, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t what he meant.

“That’s my all-day chili. It’s been cooking—”

“Let me guess. All day,” Evie said.

Finn squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you’re here. And not just because it gave me an excuse to cook.”

“I’m glad, too. It’s been a long week.”

“So how about we start off with a tour of all the crap that I’ve got stored in the basement of the store. Somehow I think you’ll enjoy that more than a pile of guacamole.”

“You made guacamole, too?”

“Later.” Finn led her around to the back of the store and unlocked a metal bulkhead door. With a grimace he pulled the door open, then started down a flight of wide stairs. He turned and gave her his hand as she stepped over the threshold. “Watch your step. Hope you don’t mind a few spiders.” At the foot of the stairs he pulled the cord from a dangling overhead bulb and waved his arms to clear away cobwebs. “They’re fascinating creatures, really. And the web builders are safe to be around. It’s the jumping spiders you’ve got to watch out for.”

“Oh, great. That’s a useful—” Evie’s voice caught in her throat at the sight of a giant face, at least eight feet tall, leering at her from the shadows. The wild, bugged-out eyes, flat cheeks, and forehead still had the remnants of war paint. The mouth, which took up most of the face, gaped open. Despite the rust and faded colors, it looked ferocious.

“Wow,” Evie said. It was the only word that quite did it justice.

“This was the main gate to Snakapins Park. They weren’t too politically correct in those days. They had a guy who sat behind a screen beating a war drum where you got your ticket, and then you could step through the mouth to enter the park. Would have scared the daylights out of me, especially at night when they had it lit up.”

Evie noticed the metal feathers of the Indian headdress were studded light sockets. Her heart was practically dancing in her chest with excitement. She took out her cell phone. “Okay if I take pictures?”

“Be my guest.”

Evie took one shot. Then another. She could almost hear the drumbeat now as she bent over and stepped through the mouth. On the other side she came face-to-face with a glass case containing the upper half of a bead-laden woman dressed in red brocade—a fortune-telling machine. Evie took a picture of it, too, and of the old wooden roulette wheel leaned up against it.

Nearby, leaning against a post, was a mustard-colored merry-go-round horse with a black saddle. Big teeth, bulging eyes, a real horsehair tail—Evie had seen the same style on carousel horses from Coney Island. Gingerly she touched one of the carved cabbage roses that adorned its side. It was clearly the work of a master craftsman. She took more photos.

“Come on back here,” Finn said, his voice coming from deep in the recesses of the basement. Evie’s mind raced as she followed along a narrow track between piles. Finn pulled one light switch, then another and another as they zigzagged past a decaying life-size papier-mâché clown and a pair of pedal boats, between crates and piles of cardboard boxes and tarp-covered mounds of heaven only knew what. Through one of the high narrow windows just above ground level, the beam from a headlight filled the darkness farther in and then vanished.

It was tantalizing, overwhelming, and Evie wondered if this was anything like what Howard Carter felt when he discovered Tutankhamun’s treasures hidden under the ancient remains of workmen’s huts in the Valley of the Kings. Lost Amusement Parks—she could envision an exhibit featuring these forgotten treasures that had somehow managed to survive. The final piece in the installation would be the Indian gate, its paint loss stabilized, all lit up. The ironwork was far too fragile to allow people to step through it, but she’d find appropriate sound effects, and some old photographs showing the entrance in its glory days. Some of those boxes might even contain photographs and advertising materials.

Finn pulled another switch, lighting the back corner. There lay what looked like a mass of twisted scrap metal about the size of a VW bug. It took Evie a moment to sort out what she was looking at: an upside-down passenger car from a Ferris wheel. Benign neglect could account for the paint that had long since rusted away, but the twisting and wrenching had taken a much more violent and powerful force. The bar that held passengers in was nearly bent double. Just looking at it made Evie smell hot metal. “What happened?” she asked.