Though no one on the construction crew knew it, the first one to ride O’Grady’s Wild Flume Chase was Grakk — a 4 pound, jet black raven. I watched from a distance as he landed on the padded seat, pecked around for a few moments as the hollowed-out log made its way to the top of the first huge metal hill. He settled into a corner of the seat and looked up, down, left and right, ensuring he was in the best possible spot.

The crossbar was in the upright position. There’d been no one to pull it down for him, and even if there were, a bird would be shooed away and certainly not allowed to enjoy itself on one of the park’s biggest rides. These were only test runs of the logs themselves. They’d been running continuously for the past half hour so the engineers below could inspect everything about the ride while it was in motion. The engineers were all in white hardhats, some in groups, some alone, and they spread themselves underneath the chutes and curves and drops, taking notes and visually inspecting every inch of steel that stretched up into the sky. It was close to opening day and there could be no mistakes. There would be no mistakes. The residents of Copper Summit at least deserved that.

The log reached the top of the flume, and I could barely see the raven against the black vinyl seat. But his feathers reflected the sunlight as he turned his head, with a bright, turquoise prism of color. His eye sparkled as the log took its first drop and he flapped his wings. I could hear his exclamation from a few hundred yards away.

“Grakk! Grakkgrakkgrakk…”

I didn’t know if he was prepared for it or not. He did seem surprised. 

My name is Beckett Buckleberry, and I’m the town’s only black cat detective. From what I hear, there is a dog of some type that takes cases occasionally, but he works on the streets and doesn’t have a home office. Unprofessional, and a bit tasteless. Like most dogs.

I was on a hill overlooking the final days of construction of Copper Summit Station — not only the area’s, but the state’s largest theme park. When the town of Copper Summit came into a very large amount of money, many, many months ago, it was decided that placing a state-of-the-art theme park within a few miles of town would not only encourage more tourism but would be a great source of employment and entertainment for the entire community. And so far, it had been. With the creation of Copper Summit Station, Courtland County had brought in people from all over the country, and some from even further. Businesses boomed. Restaurants were suddenly filled. Vacation rentals were booked a year out. Property values rose. People were happy.

Grakk cackled as his log was whipped around a tight curve. He could see the drop in the distance, and he hopped from one foot to the next. 

O’Grady’s Wild Flume Chase was the only double-flume ride in existence. The tracks were separate, but right next to each other. Which meant, depending on the position and weight of the people in each log, a different outcome would occur every single time. If you happened to be on the winning side you were given a ticket for a free drink anywhere in the park. It was an extremely inexpensive investment and was expected to be a huge hit.

Grakk squawked again as the log barrelled down a steeper ten yard long drop, with a small splash. He ruffled his feathers and stamped his feet on the soft seat cushion. The big drop was next.

“So how does everything look, Inspector?” I turned my head. It was Tabitha, Copper Summit’s Police station cat. And my girlfriend. She was right on time for our impromptu picnic. She pawed her way toward me, through the fresh spring grass, looking out over the ridge.

“Everything is amazing… I mean… look!” I spread my arm out into the air. It was something out of a young kid’s dream. There were acres and acres of rides — rollercoasters, a Ferris wheel, a 330 foot lookout tower, massive buildings that housed dark rides and shows, sound stages, water rides, and kids rides throughout the park. There were shooting galleries and shops that sold cowboy hats and six-shooters, ice cream stands and an Old West town at the entrance that had hourly shoot-outs between valiant sheriffs and masked robbers. And in the center of it all was Fort Independence, a forty foot tall, two-story wooden citadel made of huge Eastern red cedar timbers, pointed on the ends. It was impressive even from hundreds of yards away. I couldn’t imagine how big it would look from inside the park. On each corner of the old fort were American flags with 36 stars each — the number of states there were by the end of the Civil War. From there, guests could disperse to all the different areas of Copper Summit Station.

Fort Independence housed a grand western-themed restaurant in the glass-covered atrium called The Outpost, as well as several shops along the edges and a walk-through exhibit of the history of this area of North Carolina. There was a massive 3D model of the park on display as well, so families could plan their day, or just gaze in amazement at the park’s undertaking.

“Tabs. Watch.” I pointed Grakk out to her, and it took her a moment to focus in on what she was seeing.

“Is that…” she started.

“It is.”

Grakk’s log paused at the top of the long drop, and he cawed out, either afraid or excited. I knew Grakk. He was excited.

As the log finally tipped, the raven let out a long screech as it rushed down the flume, gaining speed until it smashed into the water below, a geyser of water rising thirty feet into the air. We could hear Grakk’s cawing over the explosion of water, and heard something else as well — the caws of a thousand crows surrounding us, cheering Grakk on, laughing and chirping at his courage and daring. Grakk flew off into the air, through the droplets of water that continued to rain all around him.

 Dozens of pathways meandered over the grounds, lit by wooden posts with hanging lanterns. The paths twisted and turned and rose and fell. Even though the planners and engineers tried to level as much of the area as they could, we were still in the High Country, and walking through Copper Summit Station would be a workout, there was no getting around that. So there were smaller trains, trams really, that had their own narrow gauge track that would run between sections of the park for those with smaller kids, or guests that were perhaps a little older or incapacitated in some way. There were several gondolas and chair lifts that ran between different areas as well, including to the parking lot far below.

The entire park was surrounded by about five miles of narrow gauge locomotive track. We could hear one of the old trains in the distance, somewhere far off behind a ridge. In fact, as the old train blew its whistle you could see the smoke rising up beyond the pines, a tall pillar of billowing gray cotton balls as the mournful sound carried over the mountains. It would arrive at the station in a few minutes.

At the front of the park was the station itself, built from the same timbers as Fort Independence, and covered in a sizeable red and green overhang. Copper Summit Station had two original locomotives, a twin pair of Baldwin Consolodated’s, built in the late 1800’s. They pulled eight cars each. An original set of six wooden passenger cars, the engine itself, a coal car, and the caboose could fit under the immense platform roof of the station.

All told, each locomotive loop around the park could carry approximately 72 people per car — 432 total each trip. I told all this to Tabitha.

“Wow,” she said, and settled down beside me. All we could do was look in stunned silence as we took everything in.

Copper Summit Station was built far off into the wilderness, and an eight mile switchback road had to be constructed from town, just so visitors could get to the parking lot at the base of the mountain. There was an access road that allowed larger vehicles to arrive and depart from a section at the back of the park, and that’s how both Tabitha and I arrived. I had hitched a ride on the top of a horse trailer’s wheel well. I wasn’t sure how Tabs got here. So I asked her.

“I hopped on the back of the trolley from downtown. They’re practicing the drive up those switchbacks. Then I hopped off at the access road and just waited for another vehicle. A logging truck slowed down on a curve and I jumped right in.”

“Must have smelled pretty good,” I said.

“Just like one of Ms. Emberline’s pine candles. So. What do we have to eat?” She nosed her way into the small basket I’d brought with me.

“Hey, hold on. I’ll get it.”

I bit the checkered cloth that held everything together in the wicker basket and shook it out, placing it on the ground. Earlier I’d found a completely acceptable rotisserie chicken in the Piggly’s dumpster, and laid out the pieces on the cloth. I’d saved a few cat treats that Catherine had given to me over the past few days, and liberally sprinkled chunks of them over the shredded chicken. Finally, I took out a small round Tupperware container of warm tea. Tabitha held the bottom while I unscrewed the lid. She inhaled.

“Earl Gray, with…” she closed her eyes. “Clove and vanilla.”

“Impressive. You’re right. Try it.”

She dipped her head into the small container, whiskers held back to her face, and lapped for a bit. It seemed like she enjoyed it.

“Mr. Buckleberry, you are, without a doubt, the best feline tea connoisseur I have ever met.”

“And there’s so many of them in this part of the country.”

We sat and ate the chicken and treat crumbles and looked out over the vastness of Copper Summit Station while the gentle spring breeze blew against our fur.

“Are they done with the hotel yet?” Tabitha asked, mouth full. She pointed with a chicken bone to the next mountain over. 

The Grand Appalachian Hotel stood just below the top of the ridge, nestled in between forests of huge long leaf pines. It looked two hundred years old though they’d just gotten final approval to open yesterday. Like a log cabin in the sky, the Grand stretched along the side of the mountain for almost two football fields. A dozen or more peaked dormers with timber posts at the tops lined the rustic dark green metal roof. Windows large and small dotted front of the hotel, reflecting the perfect blue sky above. On the left side of the hotel was the entrance — a tower of timber and glass, framed by stone columns. Fifty-foot high arched windows looked out over the Blue Ridge Mountains and the park itself.

I’d seen the plans for the hotel months ago and knew what was supposed to be inside, and it was nothing short of amazing. There were several shops, play sections for the kids, two Starbucks, a huge canyon themed pool and waterslide area, and one high-end restaurant — Crockett & Boone’s Chophouse. Anyone could make reservations there, but the list already extended through the summer. 

The Copper Summit Station locomotive loop had one stop, and the Grand was it. From there, the trains travelled behind the hotel to the ridge above it, where visitors could see Winterface Ski Resort on the opposite side before chugging through deep forests, over the old Dunham Bridge, and then coming back around the rear of the park before returning to the station. As of now there were no plans to operate the park during the winter, but the hotel would insure that money was made year-round.

Despite the millions of dollars, and more likely well over a billion with some of the overruns I had heard about from town meetings, the park and hotel would quickly make their money back and within 5 years become profitable.

That, at least, was the plan.