Fleetingly I wondered if Mrs. Carmichael’s sinking remains had anything to do with that malfunction, but I brushed it aside, telling myself maybe they hadn’t made the canal quite deep enough still in some parts.

Five minutes later, a pair of women in cheery blue uniforms appeared, leading the people three boats ahead of us out of their seats and toward an exit behind one of the curtains. As soon as the people in the boat in front of us saw movement, they got up too, completely ignoring the instructions to wait for a cast member. Pretty soon, every boat had emptied out and the two women in blue were frantically trying to herd people in one straight line out the exit.

“Let’s get the heck out of here,” Aunt Millie said, still nervously glancing back to where we’d deposited Mrs. Carmichael.

I couldn’t agree more.

Cal helped the aunts out of the boat. I followed a step behind, tripping on an animatronic dog and losing my balance. I pitched forward, but a hand grabbed my arm, stopping me from plowing headfirst into a little doll wearing a sombrero.

“Thanks,” I said, turning to thank the kind tourist.

Only, when I looked up, instead of a Panama hat and camera, I came face-to-face with the muzzle of a gun.

Chapter Nineteen

“Stand up slowly. Don’t make any sudden moves,” a voice said. I couldn’t have told you who it came from, though, as my entire being was focused on the gun barrel pointed right at my forehead.

I complied, slowly easing upright, hands up in a surrender motion. I squinted through the colorful lights, trying to make out the face behind the menacing weapon, but it was obscured by the shifting shadows. All I could tell was that the voice was female.

“What do you want?” I asked, even though the gun leveled at me was a pretty clear signal she didn’t want to play Parcheesi.

“I want you,” she said.

“You want me to what?”

“Shut up.”

My gaze darted around for Cal. I caught his retreating back as he protectively put an arm around Aunt Sue, leading her out the exit. God bless him, he was still worried about her getting caught.

Unfortunately, that left me high and dry.

“Back up,” she said, taking a step closer, the gun jutting into my chest. “Behind that tower.”

I glanced behind me, a looming tower painted in sparkles and glitter with a handful of dolls wearing fruit on their heads on top, still dancing and singing.

If I had to pick my least favorite place to die, this would probably be it. Could there be a worse fate than the strains of this stupid song being the last thing on earth that you ever hear?