So Over My Head (13 page)

I finally find my voice. “I came in here to dry off from the dunk tank. Luke followed to check on me. That’s all.”

“I meant from the very beginning.” She closes the door with a slam. “You with all your questions.” She gestures at me with her chin. “And this one always prowling and hanging around way after we’re closed for the night.”

I glance at Luke. “Really?”

He nods proudly. “Yeah.”

Cherry stomps her foot and breaks the moment. “I want the truth or I scream my head off for my uncle.”

“You don’t want to do that.” Luke sits down at the edge of the desk. “We’re here to help.”

“Help yourself to my uncle’s checkbook?”

“No.” Luke flips it back open and hands it to her. “About the time Alfredo started dating Betty, he began receiving a substantially larger paycheck.”

She scans a few pages. “So?”

“Nobody else’s pay seemed to go up,” I say. “Cherry, everyone we’ve talked to has commented on how strange Alfredo was with Betty when they first got together. Even you said it. What if he was being paid to date her?”

“That’s ridiculous. Anyone could see he loved her. Especially in the last few weeks.”

I decide to let go of my best information. “I overheard Red tell Stewart to find Betty’s dog. But then . . . Red wants Peg dead. These guys are not to be trusted. He said he had Alfredo’s situation under control.”

“What? No!” Her face pales beneath her stage makeup. “Uncle Red would never kill Peg.”

Luke steps closer to her, as comforting as a big brother. “Bella and I are here to solve Betty’s murder. We know you want justice more than anyone.”

“But the police say Alfredo did it. I didn’t want to believe it, but we can’t argue with the evidence. His prints were on the murder weapon.”

“Why wouldn’t they be?” I ask. “He handled those swords every day. He claims he’s innocent—what if he’s telling the truth?”

Tears gather in Cherry’s kohllined eyes. “But my uncle loves me.” She rubs her hand over her nose. “I mean, he’s never been like a dad or anything. But he took me in when my parents died. He saved me from an orphanage—he’s told me about those places.”

“And I’m sure he does love you,” Luke says so convincingly, even I almost believe it. “So we don’t want to upset him with anything until we have more evidence, okay?”

“But you think my uncle had something to do with Betty’s murder?”

“It’s really important we find out.” I move toward her and swipe away some dripping mascara on her cheek. “But we need you to act like you know nothing, okay? Can you do that?”

She stares down at her floor, where she makes a figure eight with her shoe. As if she has the weight of the world on her shoulders, she lifts her head. “Uncle Red and Stewart are heading out somewhere after the show tonight. I don’t know where. I just heard them talking about looking for something.”

Luke’s eyes dart my way, but I focus on Cherry. “You can trust us.” I pull her into a hug. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“You promise?”

I stare at the girl who’s seen too much sadness in her thirteen years. “I promise.”

Thirty minutes after the evening’s final performance, I walk out of the tent into the dark night with Ruthie.

“What a night, huh?” She holds out her arms and spins. “I unicycled like I have never unicycled before. Did you see the finale?”

“It was riveting.” All I can think is I hope Cherry doesn’t rat me out with her uncle and cousin. I am so toast. This whole thing is.

“Did you see the last part where I fluttered that ribbon behind me? I added that in at the last minute. It was symbolic, you know? I mean, there was a message in there.”

“Shakespeare couldn’t have said it better.” I check my watch. Ten thirty. I’m so tired it might as well be two in the morning. And the night is far from over. “So I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As my car comes into view, so does Luke. He sits on the hood, lounged back on his muscular arms. Geeks should not be this devastatingly good-looking.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Thought we could hang out.” He doesn’t move from his lazy recline.

“I’m sure Ashley Timmons is waiting for your call. Besides, I’m just going home.”

“Sure you are.”

Not once have I ever wished for a crime-solving partner. Not one time.

Ruthie throws a leg over her motorcycle. “You know, maybe it’s because it’s been a night of emotional expression for me and I’m extra-sensitive, but I’m picking up on some vibes here. Yeah”—she waves a finger between us—“I think you two are up to something. And it ain’t no date.”

“Good night, Ruthie.” I open my car door. “And Luke.”

He jumps off the hood and grabs the door. “Not so fast. We’re a team.”

“A
team
member wouldn’t dunk me in a water tank.” Every time I think about that, I get ticked. “I’m working solo.” I direct my glare at Ruthie too.

She hops off her bike and scurries to my car. Pushing Luke out of the way, she slides into the backseat. “Where are we going?” She bestows Luke with her haughtiest stare. “I am the sidekick, you know, so don’t get any ideas about taking my title. I have the book and everything.”

A corner of his mouth quirks. “I know a place where we can park the car out of sight and keep an eye out for anyone leaving.”

“Oh, espionage!” Ruthie claps her hands. “I love it. Hey, should I have brought my slingshot?”

“No!” Luke and I yell simultaneously.

After texting my mom that I’m going to be hanging out with Ruthie and Luke, I steer the car onto a side road, and we wait.

Ruthie whiles away the time by humming. “Can you guess that tune?”

“Sounds just like the last three.” Luke rubs the bridge of his nose.

Ruthie sighs. “Did I tell you the story about the time I stapled the church secretary’s skirt to a pew?”

“Yes. And when she stood up to sing ‘Just As I Am,’ her skirt fell down and she farted. Good story.” Ugh, I just want to go to sleep. And get away from Luke. Seriously, the guy almost kissed me tonight. Right? I’m sure he was going to. But why? Maybe now I’m just some challenge to him. I know Ashley sure isn’t.

Luke jerks his seat up straight. “There they go—Stewart and Red.”

We all watch Red’s old Ford F-150 pull out of the carnival parking lot.

“Start the car,” Luke says. “But keep the lights off.”

“Omigosh. This is so CSI!”

I roll my eyes in the dark at Ruthie, and at the count of ten, I put the car in drive.

We follow them though downtown, staying back a comfortable distance. They drive to the city park, and I stop the car across the street.

“What are they doing?” Ruthie whispers.

I reach into my purse and get out my little pink binoculars. “They’ve got shovels.”

“They’re stopping at the memorial fountain.”

“Probably gonna scoop up some pennies,” Ruthie says. “I sneak out here and do that every once in a while myself. You don’t get much, but it’s a good way to fund a beef jerky and Yoo-Hoo purchase.”

“They’re digging all right.” I hand my binoculars to Luke. “Right next to the fountain.”

Thirty minutes later, father and son climb back into the truck, armed with nothing but their shovels.

“Whatever they’re looking for, they didn’t find it.” I work out a kink in my neck. “Maybe this is what they wanted the dog for—to find something.”

“I totally should’ve brought snacks.” Ruthie pops in her fifth piece of gum. “Some bean dip would really hit the spot.”

We all duck down as the truck goes by, its headlights shining through my Bug.

“They’re turning down Hall Street.” Luke straightens to a seated position. “Let’s go.”

Over the next hour Red and Stewart stop at a pig farm, the Dairy Barn, and a used car lot. Finding nothing at the water tower, the two guys toss the shovels in the bed of the truck.

“Wait a minute. What’s that?” Luke adjusts the binoculars and zooms in. “A piece of paper. They’re reading off some sort of instructions or something.”

“Maybe it’s a treasure map!”

I’m so exhausted I laugh out loud. “Ruthie, this isn’t
Pirates of
the Caribbean
.”

Luke shifts in his seat, his body humming with renewed energy. “She could be right.”

I lean on my armrest and yawn. “Buried treasure?”

As we follow the truck back to the carnival grounds, Ruthie voices what we’re all three thinking. “Buried
something
.”

chapter fourteen

T
he rest of the weekend flies by, with Ruthie, Luke, and me staking out Red each night after the carnival. Saturday night we followed Red and Stewart out to the lake to continue their strange digging, but they took Sunday off. I guess even suspicious creepy guys need a day of rest.

“I still don’t understand why I’m going to Dad’s again.” I zip my carryon as Mom pulls a shirt out of my closet to borrow. “I just saw him two weekends ago.”

“We went over this Monday, Bella. And Tuesday.” Mom holds the shirt up and studies herself in the mirror. “I want to see Jake’s first official show in Los Angeles. He needs my support.”

“Why can’t Budge and I go? Robbie gets to.”

“Because Budge is staying with friends. He’s one wiener medal away from Employee of the Month, and I can’t take that away from him. Plus, you and Robbie can afford to miss three days of school. Budge can’t.”

“But I could go with you. Or stay with Ruthie.”

“Your father was nice enough to get Ruthie a ticket, too, so don’t push it.” Mom leans over and kisses the top of my head. “I don’t like how things have been between you and your dad. This is the perfect opportunity to get in some additional father-daughter time.”

“He’s just going to foist me off on his fiancée or make me watch Disney Channel with Marisol.” Plus, I need to be here. I could miss something at the carnival. Even though Red and Stewart didn’t take any late night drives with their shovels Monday or Tuesday evening doesn’t mean they won’t resume it tonight. What if they find something and I’m not there? When I asked Red Fritz for the rest of the week off, he jumped on the idea. Why would he be excited about me leaving town? Because I’m definitely an asset to the circus. My clowning skills are pretty much priceless. Yet he dismissed me for the week as if the show can just carry on without me. I mean, yeah, I might’ve mistakenly popped a kid with a balloon Saturday night. And maybe that four-year-old
was
crying because I accidentally hit him with my shoe, but that’s no reason to be glad I’m gone. What if Red knows I’m onto something? That man is connected to Betty’s murder. I’m just not sure how. Or why.

I give my mom the same wounded expression that used to get me what I wanted—from new shoes to jaunts to Paris. I pout my lips. I blink until my brown eyes have a misty sheen. My voice is sweet as the tea at Sugar’s Diner. “Mother, please let me stay in Truman.”

By two p.m., I’m standing at the LaGuardia baggage claim with my dad.

“Hey, sweetie.” He crushes me in a hug, then I introduce him to Ruthie.

“I don’t believe in plastic surgery, sir.” She says, handing him her bag. “I’m all about keeping things as natural as the good Lord intended.”

As she walks in front of me, I stare at her striped beehive that’s a security risk all by itself.

Three hours later, Ruthie and I are watching TV in my bedroom.

“Dude, this room is scary.” She points toward the trio of cherubs on the ceiling above my bed. “I can hardly watch the movie for thinking any minute one of them is gonna swoop down and stab me with a pitchfork.”

“One of my dad’s ex-girlfriend’s decorated the house.” That would’ve been two hundred ladies ago. “Every room has a theme.”

Ruthie picks up the lamp in the shape of lips. “What’s the theme in here—scary movie props?”

“Love,” I sigh. “Anymore, I think it’s pretty dead-on. This room gives me nightmares and a stomach ache. So do boys.”

“Aw, you just gotta find the right guy. Like my Budgie-umpkins.”

Before I can totally gag, little Marisol sticks her head in the door. “Guess what?”

The monkeys from
The Wizard of Oz
are at the door, and they’ve
come to claim you
? “What?”

“This is going to be my room.”

I nearly fall off the bed. “I don’t think so! You have your own room down the hall.” In the lovely theme of vegetables that are purple.

“But when the baby comes, I’ll move into this room.”

“Baby? There’s no baby.” Oh, no. My dad can’t even keep up with me, let alone another child. I sit down hard on the bed. “Right, Marisol?”

She shrugs a shoulder and sniffs. “Well, there will be one day. I mean, they are getting married soon.”

“My dad’s already done the baby thing. Me.” And I turned out fabulous, thank you very much. “So don’t get your hopes up.”

“But I heard them talking about it yesterday when they met with Christina’s lawyer over the prenup.”

How sad is it that an eight-year-old even knows what a prenup is? “So . . .” I pat the space beside me on the bed in invitation for her to sit. She skips into the room, straightens her bow, then takes a seat. “What else do you know about their prenup?” I glance at Ruthie, but she’s absorbed in an old Reese Witherspoon movie.