So Over My Head (24 page)
“Isabella, this is in God’s hands. He told Jake and me both to pursue this. He didn’t say go for this marriage and this wrestling career—then quit.” Her fingernails trail meandering patterns on my back. “I’m going to be honest with you—things couldn’t be more wrong. But it’s brought me closer to God. Closer to you and the boys. And I know change is coming.” She shrugs. “Could be tomorrow, could be next year. But the Lord didn’t lead us through all we’ve been through just to desert us now.”
“Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“When that change does come . . . can I have my own credit card again?”
“Bella?”
“Yes?”
“God says no.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing in the big top watching the progress of Stewart and Cherry’s new routine. One swing suspends from the center of the trapeze area, and Cherry hangs from the bottom of it, as Stewart is braced upside down above her. This new performance has more of a Cirque du Soleil feel to it, and I know it has to be challenging every muscle in her body. I can’t imagine having to hold up your own body weight just by clinging to two ropes. And they’ve added a new element where Stewart will eventually unfurl her from a gigantic sash. It’s pretty cool to watch, but I wouldn’t want to try it.
“Amazing, aren’t they?”
I turn my head as Luke approaches. He looks like he just walked off a Gap commercial, his hair curling at the ends, barely resting on the collar of his gray Henley. He stands by my side, and my heart flutters like butterfly wings. I rein it back in and focus above me. “I think the new performance is too much for Cherry. Look at her arms shaking.”
“She’s determined to pull it off, though. She told me she wants to do this for her parents.”
“You know Red wants them to nail this to impress the potential buyer.”
Luke nods. “Let’s hope that’s all he wants out of the act.”
“What do you mean?”
Luke’s volume drops a notch. This routine killed Cherry’s parents. But you and I know that it might not have been an accident. So what if this is Red’s psychotic way of repeating history?”
Chills flare on my skin that have nothing to do with Luke’s preppy hotness. “That had crossed my mind. I just wasn’t ready to put it out there and say it.” It just sounds so evil. “But Stewart would have to be in on it. It’s not like Red would kill his own son to get rid of Cherry.”
“The question is when.”
“And why. Why would he want his niece out of the way so badly?”
Luke watches the two flip until they’ve changed places on the swing. “Maybe he’s jealous of her biceps.”
“I know I am.”
After the show, I pull off my sweaty clown jumpsuit and place it in the box. My neck is already hurting from looking over my shoulder every five seconds. Stewart and Red both treated me normally tonight. They pretty much ignored me—except for the occasional pervy stare from the younger Fritz. I would love to tell Stewart I would kiss Robbie’s cow before I would even
consider
a date with him.
Ruthie, Luke, and I walk outside together, laughing over her unicycle ballet.
“It’s not funny,” Ruthie huffs. “Whoever had the bright idea to play Snoop Dogg instead of my usual
Phantom of the Opera
needs to be punished.” She cracks her knuckles. “And I’m going to have some serious prayer time tonight until the Lord tells me how to go about my pain-inducing revenge.”
“I had nothing to do with it. I just run the lights.” Luke bites back a smile.
“So are we doing any surveillance?” Ruthie yawns. “These late nights are brutal on my beauty rest. Last night I fell asleep while Budge was telling me about this new game he created. I faded out somewhere between vector sequence and modchips.”
I laugh. “I don’t think it was your lack of sleep that knocked you out.” More like Budge’s computer lingo put her in a techie coma.
“We better back off for a while,” Luke says, stopping at his 4Runner. “After what Bella and I saw Sunday evening, I don’t think there’s really any need to follow them. They don’t know what they’re doing.”
Ruthie throws a leather-clad leg over her motorcycle. “I can’t believe you guys left me out of that. Breaking into a dead lady’s casket? I can’t imagine anything cooler.”
I can’t imagine anything grosser. “We’ll call next time.”
“See that you do. You shouldn’t keep something like that all to yourselves. It just isn’t right.” She throws up a gloved hand in a wave and zooms away. I stand there and watch her go, aware that she has a cool factor I couldn’t achieve even if I had access to every one of my dad’s credit cards.
Luke and I stand between our cars. Awkward. Silent.
“So, um . . . I read your latest article.” He lifts his eyes from the blur that is Ruthie. “It’s better.”
I stiffen. “But not good enough?”
“You’re distracted, is all.”
I listen for a hint of power-tripping arrogance, but don’t hear it. “It was a perfectly fine piece, Luke.”
He leans on his SUV, crossing his arms on his chest. “Nothing perfect about it. And as for fine, you’re a better writer than that. I should be reading your work and thinking ‘amazing’ and ‘creatively brilliant.’”
“Maybe you’re confusing me with your new girlfriend.”
With fire in his eyes, Luke pushes off the vehicle and takes the three steps that separate us. He stares down until I look up. “You have something to say, Kirkwood?”
“No.” I don’t know why that came out of my mouth. Like Ruthie, I’m just tired.
“I didn’t think so.” He shakes his head. “Because you’re scared.”
I draw up my spine. “I don’t think
scared
girls watch men dig up graves.” I give him the attitude-head-bob. “But maybe I’m wrong.”
His smile could charm a snake. “You’re scared of what’s going on in here.” He taps his own heart. “And honesty gives you that little nervous tick.
Real
scares you—admit it.”
“I’m getting
real
mad. That doesn’t frighten me at all.”
Luke’s face looms mere inches above mine. “You’re jealous of Ashley.”
“I am not—”
“You’re so crazy about me, you can’t think straight.”
“Oh, my gosh.” I force a laugh. “Somebody needs to save you from yourself.” Where’re Ruthie and her nunchucks when I need them?
“And you’re so prideful, you can’t even see that your writing still needs work. Lots of work.” Luke’s voice dips low. “So quit taking it as a personal attack from your ex-boyfriend and consider it from the guy who runs the newspaper and knows what he’s talking about.”
Our eyes lock and hold. A clash of wills. Of friends. Of old flames.
“You really gotta do something about your split personalities,” I breathe.
Luke pulls me to him and crushes his mouth to mine.
“I said I wasn’t going to do this,” he whispers on a kiss.
“’S’okay.” I pull him closer, my hands snaking up his back. “Don’t mind.”
His hands move up to cup my face, to tilt my head, to move his lips over mine again. “Bella?”
“Hmmm?”
I stifle a groan as Luke pulls away.
Still holding my face in one hand, he runs his finger down my nose. Over my cheek. I lean into his palm and just try to breathe. “What?”
“Do you know what this was?” he asks, his mouth near my ear.
“The warm-up?”
“A test.”
My cozy smile drops. I step away.
“You’re lying to yourself if you think you don’t want to be with me.”
“I—I”—am so mad—“it was the moonlight. It was the popcorn at nine o’clock.”
Luke reaches out and brushes a piece of hair behind my ear. “Face it—you’re totally into your editor.” He sighs dramatically. “I hope whatever is keeping us apart is worth it.”
I stand there motionless, my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth as Luke climbs into his 4Runner. I should say something. I should yell—or maybe throw a shoe? What would Ruthie do? No. I can’t moon him.
In my head fury wars with the theme song from
Pride and
Prejudice
as the kiss replays in my head. Again. And again. When I glance back at Luke, I startle to realize he’s waiting for me to get in my car and leave.
I give him a small wave. Yep. Going to my car. Unaffected. Absolutely unaffected. I kiss boys every day.
Starting the car.
I was born kissing boys
.
Boys better than you, Luke Sullivan
.
Turning the key.
And that may have been a test for you. But that was just an act for
me. Call me Reese Witherspoon because I have Oscar-worthy skills
.
I put the car in drive and pull out of the parking lot, my brain on autopilot. His headlights shine behind me as we drive into town. At the four-way stop, I go right. He goes left.
I wheel the car into the school parking lot, put her in park, and indulge in a moment of banging my head against the steering wheel before I go on home.
“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” I’m
so
dumb. Why did I let him get the upper hand? Again. I like being in control. Me! This was my game. He can’t just flip the rules on me.
Slowly raising my head, I take a few cleansing breaths.
I check myself out in the rearview mirror.
And see a cold-blooded killer in my backseat.
Y
our brain does crazy things when there’s a pistol aimed at your face.
Mine zooms on overload as I consider my options. There’s jump out of the car. There’s pray for the Rapture. And there’s hope for aliens to beam down and suck Alfredo into the mother ship.
“Don’t move,” Alfredo says, the gun shaking slightly.
“If you shoot me, my mom will rip you in half with her bare hands.” How in the world did he get in here? My car was locked— just like his handcuffs when he escaped. Dang, this guy is good. It’s like you never see it coming.
Lord, I’d love to get through this alive
—
without peeing my pants
.
“Put your hands where I can see them. Rest them on the console.”
I do as the man says, trying not to gag at the overripe smell coming from the backseat. “You seriously need a shower.”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s the least of my problems.”
“And killing me is going to solve them?”
“I’m not killing you. I just want your attention.”
I glance at the cold metal weapon. “You’ve got it.”
“I didn’t kill Betty.”
“Uh-huh.” I had begun to believe that myself, but now?
Alfredo rubs a hand over his bearded face. “I was set up. You have to believe me.”
“Are you going to shoot me if I don’t?”
He lowers the gun and sighs. “Look, people talk. I know you’re like some supersleuth or something. That’s why you’re working at the carnival, isn’t it?”
“How did you get out?”
“Dislocated bones help.” The magician looks over his shoulder like a nervous cat. “I can get out of anything. It wasn’t as easy as my own trick handcuffs—just two twists and a tug—but it wasn’t impossible either.”
“Two twists and a tug?”
“Yeah. The carnival cuffs. They’re fakes, and if you move your hands right, they pop open.”
“Alfredo, I don’t know much about the law, but I don’t think breaking out of jail is going to do much for your case. Your attorney probably isn’t too happy with you right now.”
Leaning forward, Alfredo wraps his arm around my passenger seat. The gun dangles loosely in his grimy hand. “I have to prove I’m innocent. Red and Stewart—those guys set me up.” His eyes dart outside again. “Hey, could we like drive somewhere else? Someone’s bound to see me here.”
“Look, I’ve seen enough Oprah. You never agree to drive a guy with a gun somewhere. The second location is always where they find your dead, bloated corpse.”
“I’m not a killer!” he shouts.
“If you want to talk, then talk.” My voice tremors. This guy is seriously freaking me out. “But I’m not driving us anywhere, so say what you need to say . . . or kill me. Those are your choices.” That sounded
so
much braver than I feel.
Alfredo closes his eyes and rests his head on the seat. “How did this all get so screwed up?” A few moments pass, and I begin to formulate a few escape plans.
“I loved Betty,” he says finally. “You have to believe that.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. I hate to break it to you, but it’s the judge you’ll want to persuade.” Seriously, does this guy know nothing about due process?
“You’re the only one who can help me, though. My own lawyer thinks I’m guilty.”
“Then who killed her?”
His mouth opens and closes on a hesitation. “Red and Stewart.”
“What could they possibly hope to gain?” Again, the awkward pause. “I may have a small gift in crime solving, but I’m not a mind reader. Spill it.”
“I don’t know much. But I do know Betty was afraid of Red. She was anxious to get back to Truman. Said she had stuff to do. Something she had to get.”
“Is that what Red and Stewart have been looking for?”
He nods. “Yeah. She had grown to trust me . . . but not that much. So I don’t know what she left. Could’ve been money, incriminating photos, something for Cherry. I just don’t know. But she would only tell me that she was the only one who knew about it, and she needed it to save Cherry.”