So Over My Head (3 page)
J
ust take deep breaths, Bella. Deep breaths.”
I don’t know how sticking your head between your knees and staring at your own crotch is supposed to help anything, but here I am. Trying not to pass out. Trying not to bawl uncontrollably.
Mark Rogers, friend and member of the Truman PD, pats my back as we sit on the arena bleachers. The rest of the police force combs through Betty the Bearded Lady’s trailer. I’ve already answered a hundred questions, and I have a feeling they are just the tip of the iceberg.
Why me, God? How will I ever get that image out of
my mind? All that blood
.
My breath hitches and Mark does more patting. “Think nice thoughts.” Tonight his voice is as high pitched as a flute. “Go to your happy place.”
“I thought I was
at
one. Then I saw a dead woman.” I want this to be one of those overly realistic dreams you wake up from. The kind that makes you happy to be awake, realizing it was all just a vivid dream, and you are safely tucked in bed.
I hear the crunching of a wrapper and raise my eyes. Mark sticks half a Snickers in his mouth.
“What?” His eyes go wide. “I’m a stress eater. Want some?”
My stomach does acrobatics at the thought of food. “You have no idea what you’re doing here, do you?”
“Not every day I see a bearded lady murdered.” He eats the last bite. “Seriously, that is some freaky stuff in there. The only dead body I’ve ever seen was my Great Uncle Morty. And he was ninety-six, so it wasn’t a real shocker that he went, you know? He keeled over at the nursing home square dance. He just did one too many do-si-dos. But still”—he shivers—“he was awfully pale and wrinkly. Kinda cakey looking.”
“Thanks for sharing.” I cover my face with my hands and rock back and forth. Mark’s hand plops on my head. “Stop patting me!”
“Well, pardon me.” He sniffs. “It works on my schnauzer.”
“Bella?”
At that familiar voice, I stand up. “Luke.” He walks past two cops, and I run straight into his arms.
“Shhh.” He holds me close, and I breathe in the scent of him. His shampoo, his cologne, the smell of his clothes. Him. “Officer Mark called me.”
“Please don’t leave me.”
Let’s forget we broke up. Just for now
.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He caresses the back of my head, and I hang on like he’s my lifeboat off the Titanic. “Your mom and Jake are on their way. It’s just going to take them a little bit from Oklahoma City.”
My stepdad Jake’s on the road a lot with the wrestling circuit, and Mom goes with him whenever he’s close. Why couldn’t he have been in Philly or Phoenix tonight? Seeing a dead woman definitely qualifies as one of those moments a girl needs her mother.
“She died . . . in her pie.” My breath catches. “Why would some-one kill her and let her die in her meringue?”
“I don’t know.” Luke’s voice is calm, reassuring.
“It was good pie too.”
“I’m sure it was, Bel.”
I sniff on his shoulder. “If I die over pie, I want it to be coconut cream.”
“She’s a little shocky,” Officer Mark says. Like I’m not right here. Like I’m talking crazy. But who, I ask, would want her last breath to be taken nose-deep in raisin pie? Or a meat pie? It would be my luck I’d go in a big ol’ bowl of peas.
Luke steps back, keeping his hands locked with mine. “Do you think you can tell me about it?”
“I’d like to know too.” A girl in a sparkly leotard appears, her blonde hair slicked into a ponytail. Though she still wears stage makeup, her face is pale. Her eyes haunted.
“This is Cherry Fritz,” Mark says. “She’s the owner’s niece.”
“This was my parents’ circus.” Watery eyes meet mine. “Betty was my godmother.” As she steps closer I can see she doesn’t look quite so harsh beneath the makeup. “Do you think she—she . . . suffered?” Cherry’s tears inspire some of my own.
“I don’t know. It didn’t really look that way.” Except for the sword the length of my leg sticking out of her back. “She did have dessert, if that’s any consolation.” Wow. My ability to comfort is just . . . awful.
“Betty didn’t have any enemies. I just don’t understand. There has to be some mistake.” Cherry turns to Officer Mark. “Who would m-murder her?” Tears make tracks down her painted face.
“We’ll get to the bottom of it.” Mark clears his throat. Probably has a peanut stuck in there.
“Cherry!” The ringmaster roars explodes through the big top entrance. “Where have you been? We have a killer on the loose, and I couldn’t even find you!”
I move closer to Luke as Red Fritz’s piercing brown eyes land on me.
“You the one who found her?”
“Um . . .” I swallow past a lump and nod. “Yes.”
The seconds stretch as he watches me. I look away, my skin tingling.
“Well, I’m sorry you had to see that.” Red stands beside Mark. “We are a family here at the Fritz Family Carnival. And I can’t imagine who would do such a vile thing. Surely it can’t be one of our own, that much I know.”
Officer Mark jots down some notes. “Mr. Fritz, Miss Betty’s trailer will obviously be unusable for a while. Will Cherry be staying with you?”
“My son Stewart lives with me in my own trailer, so space has always been too tight for the kid. I’ve contacted a distant family member in Truman to take Cherry until she can move back into Betty’s.”
Ew. Like she’ll ever
want
to live in the place where her god-mother was murdered.
A policeman enters the tent, getting Red Fritz’s attention. They speak in hushed tones. Red glances at his niece, then nods.
“What family member, Uncle Red? I can’t go stay with a stranger.”
A moment later, the entry flap opens again and Dolly O’Malley, my mom’s best friend, is escorted inside. She nods her head toward the ringmaster. “Red.”
He tips his hat. “Looking as lovely as ever.”
“How are you doing, Bella?” Dolly hugs me to her. “I can’t imagine what kind of night you kids have had.” She smiles at Cherry. “My, my. Aren’t you a spitting image of your mother. Do you remember me?”
Cherry shrugs. “Kinda.”
“Your mama was my second cousin. We used to play together when we were about your age.” She brushes a hand over Cherry’s hair. “I have a big house and lots of horses. Your Uncle Red thought it would be a fun place for you to hang out for a couple of days.” Dolly turns to Officer Mark. “Bella and Cherry will be going home with me. I assume the police are done talking to them?”
“For now, but I’m sure there will be more questions tomorrow.”
I follow Dolly and her cousins outside. Though it’s April and the night is warm, I shiver a little.
“Wait—what’s going on?” Cherry breaks from us and runs toward a police officer. “Stop!”
“The Amazing Alfredo,” Luke says, pointing. “It looks like they’ve cuffed him.”
I strain to see him in the dim carnival lights. “Does this mean he—”
“He’s been arrested.” Officer Mark joins us, staring straight ahead. “It was his sword that pierced Betty’s heart. And we have Red’s son, Stewart, who claims to have overheard a heated argument within twenty minutes of Bella finding the body. There are some other suspicious details I can’t get into, but we’re taking him in and waiting on the prints.”
The officer pulls a crying Cherry off the magician. “No! He didn’t do it!”
Alfredo says something to Cherry, and she steps back, shoulders heaving, and watches the policeman put Alfredo in the car.
“I’m going to get Cherry. We’ll meet you at the house, Bella,” Dolly says, walking to the girl.
Luke curls an arm around me, pulls me close and presses a kiss to my temple. “I know you hate people telling you what to do, but try and get some sleep tonight.”
“Right.” I slide my arms around him until we’re locked in a hug. I just need one moment of safety. To breathe in his strength and pretend that all is well. “Thanks for coming back and staying with me.”
“That’s what ex-boyfriends do.”
“Luke?”
“Yes?”
“I have to find out for sure who killed Betty the Bearded Lady.”
He sighs into my hair. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
T
he Monday morning alarm goes off, and it’s everything I can do not to throw it across the room. My mentally challenged cat, Moxie, peeps open one eyeball, decides she’d rather not get up, and curls into the blanket. Lucky thing.
I didn’t sleep a wink all weekend. Every time I closed my eyes, Betty, the hairy dead lady was there. Visions of her eating pie. Visions of her dog jumping through a hoop. But mostly . . . visions of someone plunging that sword into her back. There’s only one thing to be said for it all.
I, Bella Kirkwood, will be Betty the Bearded Lady’s avenger.
After I have some oatmeal.
I go through the motions of my morning routine and finally walk down the stairs to the kitchen. We live in an old farmhouse that looks like an Oklahoma twister sucked it up, thought better of it, and tossed it right back out. It’s rough, it’s worn, but it’s become home. The interior is not much better. Aside from the kitchen, which got a remodel last fall due to an arsonist’s fire, the house is like something out of 1975. But Mom has promised that the reign of shag and wood paneling is almost over now that Jake has made it to the big time in wrestling.
“Hey, honey.” My mother stands at the toaster and kisses me as I walk by. “Did you sleep any?”
“Yeah. I’m fine,” I lie. I’ve been on lockdown all weekend, and I have
got
to break out of here and see civilization. If you’d have told me just last year that I’d consider the small town of Truman, Oklahoma, worthy of being called civilization, I would have laughed in your face, and then gone shopping on my daddy’s credit card. But those days are over. Now it’s dirt roads, sweet tea, and the occasional run to Target. The sweet tea I’ve gotten used to.
“Are you sure you’re okay to go to school?” My mom ponytails my long brown hair in her gentle grip. “We could just hang out here at the house.”
I sit down at the table, stifling an eye roll. I know she means well.
“I feel a little traumatized myself.” My stepbrother Budge reaches for the syrup, his big red ’fro especially buoyant this morning. “Maybe I should stay home with Bella.”
“We have a test in junior English, if you recall.” I turn determined eyes to my mom. “Can’t miss that.” Not that I got the chance to study much the last few days. Mom was busy keeping me purposely distracted with her weekend of board games and family movies. “Besides, if I have to play Monopoly or see
Shrek
one more time, somebody is gonna get hurt.”
My youngest stepbrother enters the room, wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt and a red cape. “You’re just mad because I beat you. All ten times.” He taps his head. “It’s all about strategy.”
“Whatever,” I say. “I totally let you win. You’re the youngest— that’s what we’re supposed to do.” Robbie is in first grade, and if Harvard knew about him, they’d be recruiting.
Twenty minutes later, I climb into my VW Bug and drive to school, grateful for the change of scenery.
I struggle through a test in English, my mind on facing Luke for the first time at school. With a confidence I don’t feel, I sail into the classroom, greet some fellow reporters, and head straight for the safety of my beloved Mac.
Ten minutes into my typing frenzy, a shadow falls over my keyboard.
Luke looms, his blue eyes ever serious. “You don’t look like you’ve slept much.”
I stare at the screen as if my own writing is the most engrossing thing ever. “Thanks. Your concern is touching.”
“Of course I’m concerned.”
“Really? Because practically all of Truman High came to visit me this weekend—but you.” Shoot! I was
not
going to say that. I was going to play it so cool that he didn’t so much as call me after we left the carnival Saturday night. No call. No text. No e-mail.
“We’re broken up. Remember?”
“Right.” I lift my chin a notch. “And I thought we’d still be friends, but maybe you’re not mature enough to handle that.”
“I heard about all the people stopping by over the weekend, so I didn’t want to
smother you
. I know how you hate that.”
Nothing like having your words thrown back at you. Like a big spitty paper wad.
