So Over My Head (28 page)

chapter thirty

Y
ou did
what
?”

“Shhh!” I hold a shaking finger to my lips. “Keep it down, would you, Cherry?”

“But why would you tell the police about Alfredo?”

I want to say, “Sister, do you even
know
how hard that was?” Officer Mark was furious I had waited so long. Actually, furious doesn’t quite touch it. I thought he was going to go all
Terminator
at the Truman PD.

“Withholding that information is a crime,” Luke says. “And the police need all the help they can get to solve this case.”

“But they think they already have their man—Alfredo.” Cherry paces three steps in the big top then returns. “And what’s the harm that he’s out? He didn’t hurt you. And he didn’t kill Betty. Alfredo says Red and Stewart did.”

Luke crosses his arms. “What do you mean ‘he says’?”

Cherry hesitates. “When I got to visit him in jail a few weeks ago. He told me everything he knew. And he said Red and Stewart had set him up.”

“Has Alfredo approached you?” Why the sudden change in Alfredo’s defense? This girl is not on the up-and-up. “Have you seen him since he escaped?”

“No!” Her eyes dart all around, then she lowers her tone. “I just know in my heart he’s innocent. You weren’t there. For the last six months Betty’s raised me. And I saw her fall in love with Alfredo. And he loved her. I’ve realized he couldn’t fake that.”

“Actually, he could.”

“Bella,” Luke warns.

Well, he could. Guys are like master fronters. “Cherry, when Alfredo and I had our little
meeting
, he seemed very interested in the map.”

“Of course he would be. Betty told him it existed. Just not where it was.”

“Are you sure you don’t know what the map leads?” Luke asks.

“No. If I did, I’d be searching myself. Did Alfredo tell you why he wants to see it?”

Luke looks at me and nods.

“Yes.” How to soften this? “He, um, said that you were in danger. That Betty was protecting you from something, and the map was somehow the answer to making sure you were safe.”

Cherry’s mascara-coated eyes widen. “You’ve known this for almost a week, and you didn’t tell me?”

Luke turns his head and mutters, “I wouldn’t feel left out.”

“Okay, so I’m not good at sharing information. I’m a bit of an evidence hog. And Luke, if you don’t quit rolling your eyes—” I focus my attention back on Cherry. “I don’t think Alfredo is telling us everything he knows. I’m . . . I’m turning him over to the police tonight.”

“Why?” Her voice is childlike. Desperate. “How?”

“Alfredo told me when I was ready to discuss the map, I needed to leave a carnival poster on my dash, and he’d contact me with directions to meet. So I’m going to put a flyer in my car tonight and wait for him to find me.”

“I hate that part.”

I turn on Luke. “Officer Mark said it was the only way.”

“You know the drill.” Intense eyes stare at me from behind his glasses. “Don’t go anywhere alone, let me know where you are at all times, don’t—”

“Luke, you drive me nuts.”

He lifts a brow. “I think I proved that in the car when we almost—”

“Okay!” I cut him off. “Anyway, I’m not asking your permission, Cherry. I’m just updating you. This is your life we’re talking about here, and I thought you should know. You need to be on guard too. If you see
any
sign of Alfredo or anything suspicious, you have to tell us. Or the police. Officer Mark is going to have a uniformed cop here every night and day.”

Cherry bites her lip and looks in the distance at the carnival crew getting ready for the big show. “I was wrong to believe the police report and think Alfredo killed Betty. I don’t care if his prints were the only ones on that sword, you’re about to put an innocent man back in prison when he clearly escaped to solve Betty’s murder . . . and keep me alive.” She walks away on her muscular aerialist’s legs.

“That went well.” What have I done? Did I make the wrong decision? “Why is she suddenly so sure Alfredo didn’t do it? What’s changed?”

“You know you had to talk to the police,” Luke says. “Let God handle the rest.”

One hour and two snow cones later, I stand in the back and watch a white-gloved Ruthie juggle softballs as she turns circles on her unicycle. The crowd claps to the beat of Michael Jackson’s “Bad.” Only Ruthie.

I’m pulled away from the sight as Frank, the horse trainer approaches. “You’re Bella, right?”

“Yes.”

“Note for you.”

I open the folded notebook paper and scan the message. Ice explodes in my veins.

I know who you are. And I know what you’re doing here.

Mind your own business, and I might let you live.

In the meantime . . .

I’ll be sharpening my blade.

“Wait!” I run after Frank. “Who gave this to you?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t know. Some townie kid.”

“What does that mean?”

“A customer. Some kid. Said a guy handed it to him and paid him with a buck.”

“What did the guy look like? Was he skinny? Tall? Did he look like Alfredo? Maybe like Red?”

“I don’t know! Who cares?”

“Can you find the kid again?”

“I’m up in five minutes. And I couldn’t care less who sent you the love note.”

“This is not a love note. It’s—” A threat on my life. Visions of Betty race through my head. “Please. It’s important.”

“I wasn’t even paying attention. I was messing with one of the horses out back. Couldn’t pick the kid out of a two-man lineup.”

I watch Frank disappear as my pulse escalates beneath clammy skin.

“Everything okay here?”

With a yelp I do a one-eighty and find the new magician standing right behind me. “Hey—” What’s his name? “Um, Artie.”

“Relax. It’s just me.” His face is void of all emotion, just like his monotone voice. “Everything okay here?”

“Did you send me a note?” What if it’s him? I’ve had a weird feeling about this man from the get-go.

“Note?”

Does this guy ever speak in sentences consisting of more than three words? “Yes, a note. Did you send a note by way of a kid?”

“Get a scary message?”

“How did you know it was scary?”

Artie’s eyes meander to the paper in my hand. “All your screamin’ has me thinkin’ in that direction.” He spits on the ground. “Could be wrong. Can I look at it?”

With lightning speed, I throw my hand behind my back. “Nothing to see. Don’t—don’t worry about it.”
I’ll do enough for both
of us
.

“Somebody threaten you?” He drawls. “I could help.”

Oh, I’ll just bet you could
.

“Artie!” Red breaks through the curtain, his face as bright as his name. “You’re up in thirty seconds. Get out there, you lazy mutt!”

“Yessir.” Alfredo’s replacement strolls toward Red, but before he disappears into the big top crowd, he turns around, his eyes as hard as bullets. “You be careful and watch your back. Anything could happen here.”

My body convulses in a shiver, and I fight back the urge to ralph all over my clown shoes. Big inhale . . . big exhale . . . big inhale . . . big exhale . . .

Officer Mark told me I had to tell my mom if anything else happened. But I can’t. If someone’s targeting me, then I’m close to the truth. And the sooner this is over, the sooner Cherry will be safe. And the right killer, whether it’s Alfredo or a Fritz, will be behind bars.

I have to find Frank again. He could tell me who was around him with the horses. And perhaps
that
person could identify the kid who brought the note. The note that spells out my scary, sharpy, pokey death.

Ruthie steps behind the curtain, clutching a handful of roses. “How was I? I felt a little off tonight, like my emotional intensity wasn’t quite there. But look at all this.” She jerks her chin toward her multicolored bouquet. “My people love me.”

“Great. Yeah.” Wonderful. Cherry and I could both be dead soon. “Maybe you could throw your pretty flowers on my cold casket.”

“Ouch!” Ruthie snaps a bud from its stem and tucks it above her ear. “Jealous much? I mean, I knew you were envious of my mad figure-eight skills, but I didn’t know it ran
this
deep.”

I shove the threatening note in her face. “Read it.”

“I know who you are. And I know what—”

“Silently.”

Her lips move as her eyes scan over every word. “This is not good. In fact, I’d say it pretty much blows.”

“I need to talk to Frank, the guy who does the horse tricks. I’ll be back.”

“No way you’re going alone. I don’t want Luke mad at me.” She grabs a water bottle and follows me through the back exit.

The generators hum and sputter as we make our way through the menagerie of people, trailers, and animals. I head toward the horse area.

I spot Frank’s wife Serena, brushing a horse the color of a cloud. “Have you seen your husband?”

Her head shoots up with a frown. “Why do you want to know?”

Ruthie steps forward. “He was asking me about unicycling.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I get a lot of requests for tips and instructional tutoring. I’m sure you know how that goes.”

Serena sniffs and ignores us.

“Frank said he wants me to create a routine for you—a special love song.”

Her grooming stills. “He said that?”

Ruthie nods. “He told me nothing could express his deep, burning love like a unicycle ballet.”

She runs her hand down the horse’s flank then continues her brushstrokes. “It’s his break, so I’d check the Ferris wheel. He’s probably smoking with Kent, the guy who runs the machine.”

“Thanks,” Ruthie says and drags me by the hand. “Snap out of it. You’re weirding me out.” As we walk, she reaches into her deep clown pocket and pulls out her phone.

“Now is not the time to text a love note to Budge!” We hang a left at the carousel.

“I’m not,” she barks. “I only do that on the minutes that end in an eight. And right now—” she consults her leather-strapped watch— “it’s only nine-twenty-two. So let’s hurry this up. I thought of a new poem for my Budgy-wudgy-poo.”

My urge to barf just returned.

“If you must know, I’m texting Luke.”

I stop midstride. “He has you watching me, doesn’t he?”

Ruthie finishes her message and drops her phone back in her suit. “Luke means business. About keeping you safe.” She does hubba-hubba eyebrows. “And just you in general. Come on.”

I focus on the Ferris wheel and watch it come closer, spinning happy people in perfectly timed revolutions. They sit up there and watch the world, completely unaware that death could be lurking beneath them.

“Let’s take the back way.” Ruthie snakes behind the trailers and game booths, giving us a view that’s like turning over a piece of embroidery, revealing the knots and guts of the carnival.

“Kent, I don’t care how cute the ladies are!”

Ruthie and I stop at Red’s bellow.

“I want you to take a ticket from each and every person. There are no free rides here! If I get one more report of this, you can find yourself a new job.” From fifteen feet away, I watch Red point his stubby finger in the carny’s face as Stewart stands by him and smirks. “Am I perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Mr. Fritz. No more free rides, I promise.”

“I’ll be watching you,” Stewart says. Could this note be from Stewart? Is he watching me too?

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

“William!” Red’s chameleon face changes to a look of pleasure as he sees his potential buyer. “I’d heard you were going to be by tonight.” The ringleader laughs. “Did you come by just to bring me a nice, big check?”

The man adjusts his cowboy hat. “I’m still weighing my options, Red.”

“Well, you said you’d have an answer by tomorrow afternoon. So let’s talk about those options, shall we?”

Red motions toward the trailer near us.

My heart lurches, and I hunt for a place to get out of sight. But not too out of hearing distance. “Ruthie, over here.”

We scutter behind the duck hunt game, resting against the cool metal of the building.

“Jonas, why don’t you take your break now,” Red suggests a little too nicely.

“But Mr. Fritz, I just took one.”

“Take it again.”

I peek around and see the game attendant slip out of his box and walk away.

“Have a seat, William.” Red gestures to one of the three wooden stools in front of the gun stations. “Now, what are you thinking, friend? Are you ready for all this to be yours?”

The old man takes off beige hat and rests it on the low counter. “She is a beautiful operation. Some problems, but nothing a little TLC couldn’t fix, I suppose.”

Red twirls the end of a mustache curl. “A little TLC . . . and maybe five thousand dollars knocked off my asking price?”

“Oooh-wee!” William slaps his knee. “You sure do know how to make it hard to resist. But I still need some more time. It’s between this carnival and the Mulligan family circus in Pittsburg. They have a heck of a trapeze show. It’s like a Vegas act.” The man looks meaningfully at Red. “Drawing a mighty big crowd, I hear.”

Stewart speaks up. “So are we.” He glances at his dad. “Me and my cousin Cherry have been packing them in since we amped up our own performance. And if you come back next Monday, you’ll see what we’ve been working on all month for our big finale—before we start the tour in Kansas.”