I'm So Sure (7 page)
“Your stink is overwhelming my superpower.”
I glare at my little stepbrother and slam the door behind me.
Jake looks up from his newspaper in the living room. “Good day at Dolly’s?”
“I see that smirk. I see it!” I point a dirty finger, caked with things I don’t even want to think about. “Why didn’t anyone
tell
me I’d be scooping poop today?”
Mom bounds down the stairs, a camera in hand. She snaps off a shot and smiles. “For your scrapbook.”
“Yeah.” I waddle toward the steps, leaving a trail of gunk. “Send it to Grandmother.”
O
n Tuesday I shut my locker and come face-to-face with Anna Deason.
“What are you doing at school?” I cast a worried glance in every direction. “They think you’re a criminal. Principal Sutter will have you led out in handcuffs.” That would be totally embarrassing. And you
know
one of those yearbook staffers would be right there with a camera.
She shakes her glossy dark head. “Nuh-uh. My daddy’s not only on the school board, but he’s an attorney. And one mention of the word
lawsuit
got me back in school until I’m proven guilty. And right now the teller from the bank who cashed the check is AWOL.”
“The teller is missing?”
“Yeah, gone. Victoria Smith’s her name. She’d been at the bank for about six months. She’s a senior here, but her locker’s all cleaned out. The police said she left her mom’s house. That’s all I know.”
“Are the police looking for her?”
“No. They got all the info they need. They have her sworn statement.”
“But her story doesn’t add up. Either someone posed as you or she knows the person she cashed the check to wasn’t you.” And I didn’t get a chance to talk to Victoria yet. I have to find her.
“Love how all these people are looking at me like I’m a convict.” Anna waves at someone passing by. “Listen, Victoria is not the sharpest eyeliner in the makeup bag, you know what I’m saying? The person who handed over the check might’ve had a mustache and she would’ve cashed it.”
“Give me her mom’s address, and I’ll talk to her as soon as I can.” Which will be hard to do since I now possess the world’s worst job.
“My dad already tried talking to Victoria’s mother. She wouldn’t tell him anything. She said Victoria’s leaving was a family affair and to butt out of it.”
Then I guess I’ll just have to get the information another way.
After school I call Dolly and tell her that I’ll be a little late to the farm. Then with my newly recharged Bug, I drive to the industrial area of town and park in front of Mickey Patrick’s gym, where Jake trains every day. That is, when he’s not supervising the maxi-pad machine at Summer Fresh.
“Hey, Mickey.” I nod to Jake’s manager and trainer as I enter the gym.
He looks up from a stack of jump ropes he’s untangling. “Jake said your evening at Dolly’s kind of stunk.” He winks like I don’t get his pun.
“Couldn’t someone have mentioned that Dolly has a multimillion-dollar horse farm behind her house?”
He lifts a bulky shoulder. “Thought everyone knew.” Mickey looks uninterested, but I know it has to be a sore spot—that Dolly totally reinvented her life after he left.
“Hey, when’s her baby due? She didn’t really have time for details the other day.”
“Whose baby?”
“Dolly’s.”
“What?” Mickey drops a rope. “She’s—”
“Adopting, yeah.” I watch Mickey’s eyes round. “Oops. I assumed I was the last to know.”
He runs a hand over his bald head. Mickey looks like a buff, middle-aged version of Mr. Clean. He’s built, he’s quiet, and he can intimidate the heck out of someone. Like now.
“I’m sorry, Mickey. I didn’t know it was a secret or anything.”
He looks through me. “I’m sure it isn’t a secret. Just shows how out of touch I am.” He throws the last jump rope into a pile and walks off, shutting himself in his office.
Jake flings himself from the ropes and smacks into his opponent, Mark Rogers. A two-man camera crew has lights set up and cameras rolling.
I tell myself to ignore the cameras and act natural as I walk toward the ring.
But it doesn’t hurt to reapply my lip gloss.
“Dude, you’re giving me razor burn. Isn’t that a wrestling foul?” Mark rubs his arm.
The two guys laugh and Jake takes to the ropes again. I think wrestling is for boys who never grew up.
I clear my throat and Mark turns, moving out of the way just as Jake flies through the air. He lands a hard belly flop on the mat. “
Oomph!
”
Mark leans over the ring. “S’up, Bella?”
Mark is also a wrestler wannabe. He’s pretty new at it, just like he’s new at his job on the police force. He’s probably been out of the academy a year or so, but ever since I did my own pile driver on some crime, he’s been überhelpful.
“Gotta get some Gatorade.” Jake climbs out and limps down the hall. The two camera guys follow.
“Whatcha got cooking?” Mark cuts right to it.
“I need an address. Victoria Smith. Where is she?”
“The bank teller in the missing school money case?”
I smile. “That’s the one.”
“I can’t give you that.”
“I have some homework to give her.” Like twenty questions from me.
Mark zips his lip. “I cannot divulge that information.” He wipes some sweat and coughs into his hand. “
Dad’s house!
” He coughs again. “Sorry, sinuses.”
“That’s all you have for me?”
“Sure wish I could give you that address
in Tulsa
, but I can’t. I’m a locked box. A sealed envelope. A safe with no key.”
“Got it.” I smile and hand him his towel. “If you think of anything else you can’t tell me, let me know.”
I pivot on my heel and run smack into Luke Sullivan.
His arms snake around and hold me steady. “Bella Kirkwood, you’re up to something.”
I wrench out of his grip. “I am offended. I was just here visiting my stepfather.”
Luke crosses his arms and slowly shakes his head.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough. I have dibs on a story for the missing junior class funds, so I hope you’re not poaching on my territory.”
“This isn’t about the paper.” But if I did solve the money mystery, it wouldn’t hurt to write it up in a sweet little article with my name right under the title.
“Are you going to talk to Victoria?” he asks.
“She moved out of her mom’s house.”
“Answer the question, Bella.”
“I’ve got to get to work.”
Luke laughs, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Call me if you need a ride—to find Victoria, that is.”
When I drive my Bug out to Dolly’s horse barn, there’s a man with a camera waiting. I ignore him and go find Clyde.
“You ready to muck out some more stalls?” He pats down an auburn-colored horse.
I’d rather eat my own socks. “Um . . .”
His laugh rumbles. “Relax, kid. Today I’m going to show you how to groom a horse.”
“Like do hair?”
He doesn’t smile. “Follow me.”
Fifteen minutes later I’m standing next to Sundance Kid and combing her coat. Clyde assured me she was the gentlest of horses, but how do I know what’s lurking behind this animal’s large, black eyes? Could be an intense desire to karate chop me with a hoof.
I go through the whole grooming routine like Clyde showed me and then pick up a brush to tackle Sundance’s tail. I stay to the side of the horse like Clyde demonstrated, working in small sections to ease out any tangles in the hair.
I’m Sure “Sundance, the bad news is you have some serious dead ends. The good news is you’ve got some great highlights.”
Can’t seem to get all the tangles. This one piece just will not come out of its knot. “Hang on, girl. I’ll get it for you. I’m really good with hair.” Need some detangler. I lean down a little closer. “Almost got it. Just a little bit more and—”
The tail lifts and a yellow stream shoots out like a Super Soaker.
I jump back. But not before I’m drenched in horse pee. At the sound of laughter, I look over and see Clyde and the camera guy watching me like it’s a spectator sport.
“Hope you enjoyed that.” I wring out my hair and wipe my hands on my jeans. “I think I’m going to cut out of here early, if that’s okay.”
On my way home, I call Dolly and tell her I’ve got all the info I need on farm life.
“That’s okay, sweetie,” she says. “It’s not for everybody.”
B
udge, your Thursday night gamer meeting is going to have to wait. Jake said the
entire
family has to be home so we can watch the premiere of
Pile Driver of Dreams
.” I’m just now getting to the point where I don’t roll my eyes every time I say the show’s title. It’s a huge step in my path to maturity.
Budge readjusts his backpack over his shoulder and bumps knuckles with a passing friend. “So far this reality show crap is lame, man.”
“Um, did they get footage of you getting bathed in horse tinkle? I don’t think so.” Who knows what else they have.
I stop in my tracks at the tap on my shoulder.
“Are you Bella Kirkwood?”
This question always fills me with dread. Especially when asked by a girl in a dog collar who clearly just escaped from a punk rock video. Or prison.
I turn around and hope my eyes are not bugging. “Yes, I guess I am.”
“I’m Ruthie McGee. You might have heard of me.”
I’m not sure what the right answer is here. “Uh . . . no.” The girl in front of me has the most remarkable hair of black and white, like an irate skunk roosted on top of her head. It stands in spikes that defy the laws of gravity.
I look back, thinking Budge took the opportunity to escape, but he stands behind me, frozen. Unable to move, suspended in a trance of hair and black leather.
“I need your help.”
My next words take all the courage I’ve got. “I don’t work for free.”
Please don’t kill me.
Ruthie chews on a wad of gum, her black-lined eyes narrowed into slits. I take a step backward.
“Fine.” She pops a bubble. “I’m willing to pay, but I don’t want you to take on any other cases—just mine. And I’ll make it worth your while, but only half now. The rest when the mission is accomplished. Here’s my problem.” She jerks her head toward Budge. “Is he just gonna stand there and eavesdrop?”
My stepbrother’s mouth is open so wide, drool is bound to start pooling any second. I nudge him with my elbow.
“Ignore him. He won’t repeat anything you say.” Plus, I think he’s too scared to move.
“I’m running for prom queen.”
I process this. “Do you need assistance with your updo?”
She laughs, great rolling barks that come from deep within her throat. Then she sobers. “I need help clearing my good name.” She shoves a piece of paper in my face. “This was on my bike when I got out of school yesterday.”
“You don’t really strike me as the ten-speed type of girl.”
“My motorcycle.”
“Right.” I look the paper over. It has a color picture of Ruthie making out with a guy. I lift a brow in question.
“It’s not me.”
I check the paper again. “The face is kinda blurry . . . but that is definitely your hair.”
“I’m telling you, that isn’t me!” Ruthie reaches for her shirtsleeve, where she’s got a small box rolled up. She shakes her head and drops her hand. “No, I’m trying to cut back.”
“Marlboros?”
“No.” Her face scrunches. “That stuff will kill you. Breath mints. I eat ’em when I’m stressed. I went through twelve boxes just last night.”
“There is a pleasant aroma of spearmint about you.”
“The picture, Kirkwood. Focus on the picture. That is
not
me. Someone is trying to destroy my good name.”
“Why would they do that?”
Her look says
are you stupid?
“Because they’re jealous, that’s what. I got the bod, the skills, the looks.”
And a few tattoos.
“This note was with the picture.”
Drop out of the prom queen race or prepare for the consequences.
I study the writing, but can’t determine if it’s from a male or female hand.
“Ruthie, it’s not that bad. I mean, so you’re kissing a guy here. Big deal.”
“Big deal? This wacko is going to send this to everyone I know. The photo’s been doctored, but no one will believe it.”
“Who’s the guy?”
“My best friend’s boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Not good.
“My daddy’s gonna freak.”
“I’m sure he’ll understand.”
With a kid like you, he can’t be expecting an angel.
“Just tell me you’ll investigate and find out who’s doing this.” She stuffs the papers in my purse. “You don’t know my dad.” And she stomps off in her black spike-heeled boots.
I laugh and look at Budge, who has at least managed to close his mouth. “Daddy must be rougher than she is, if she’s scared. Do you know her?”
Budge swallows and nods. “That’s the Baptist preacher’s daughter.”
“She’s a nut job.”
He dabs at some sweat on his forehead. “I think I love her.”
After filling out a dozen job applications in town and dropping them off, I return home to the smell of steak.
I say hi to Mickey Patrick, who’s perched on a chair in front of the TV. I know he’s anxious to see how his star Jake is going to be portrayed tonight.
“Just in time to grab a plate,” Mom says as I shuffle into the kitchen. Our kitchen suffered a fire a few months back and got a makeover, and it’s the only room that doesn’t look like 1975. Mom says we’re going to slowly redo the other parts of the house, but so far we haven’t even progressed to 1980.
“There’s steak on the stove and salad on the table.” Jake plops a baked potato on my plate. “Grab something to drink and let’s settle in the living room.”
We never know when the camera guys are going to be present, so I’m thankful to see the house is free of them tonight. I count heads and find Budge in the living room already. Mom and Robbie in the kitchen. “Who are the extra plates for?”
“I invited Dolly. She’s running late.” Her gaze doesn’t quite meet mine.
“Who else?”
