So Over My Head (2010)

by Jenny B. Jones

  I peek around, and there, illuminated in their own spotlight, are Red and Stewart. Both stand with shovels in hand, knee-deep in the wet grass, sending the dirt flying into the air. They really are digging into that grave. If I were Catholic, I’d totally be crossing myself here. This is unholy! It’s sacrilegious! It’s . . . making me glad I slipped my camera into my pocket.

  I watch in stunned silence for a few moments as the two plunge their shovels into the earth over and over. If I had any doubts they were capable of anything as vile as murder before, I don’t doubt it now.

  “Can’t you dig any faster?” Red yells, his head barely visible over the ground.

  “I’m going as fast as I can. I’ve been digging thirty minutes longer than you.”

  My left leg is tingling and numb by the time I hear a shovel hit metal.

  “Got it!” Stewart yells. “Not much longer now.”

  Good. Because I seriously have to pee.

  Time creeps in slow motion, and finally the digging stops.

  “You do it.”

  “No. You’re the oldest. You knew her better.”

  Silence. Red mumbles something insulting to his son, then I hear the chill-inducing creak of the lid.

  Stewart yelps like a girl.

  “Would you shut up?” His dad bellows. “All we need is the cops out here.”

  “S-S-She looks—”

  “Dead?”

  Come on. One of you admit you killed her. Say something.

  “Check out her neck,” Red barks. “Hurry up.”

  Luke and I glance at one another as whining noises come from Stewart. Oh, to be able to see in that hole. Well, not see Betty. But to spy on those two buffoons—that would be priceless.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “You know you’re going to have to check in her blouse.”

  “It’s not here, Dad.”

  “Check again!”

  “Fine . . . oh, sick.” Stewart’s dry heaving noises have me turning my face into Luke’s shoulder. He rests a hand on my head, his mouth grim.

  “Step back. Can’t you do anything? Let me see her.” More rustling around and grunting. “Nothing.”

  “I told you,” comes Stewart’s wounded voice.

  “I don’t understand. The map said it was around her heart.”

  I lift my head from Luke’s shoulder, and we share a look. Aroundher heart? What does that mean? And what part of the map are they talking about? That’s not on the version we have.

  “You’re sure that’s what it said?” Red asks.

  “I saw it, Dad. I saw it with my own eyes before that dog took off with it. But that’s all I remember.”

  That’swhy they wanted the dog. Because Peg somehow had the other half of the map. But wait . . . if Stewart saw it before the dog ran off. I gasp as the thought hits, and Luke plants his hand over my mouth.

  Ten minutes later we’re shut safely in the SUV, and I give voice to one of the racing thoughts in my head. “Stewart either killed Betty or was in her trailer soon after.”

  Luke starts the engine. “Did you come up with that before or after you bit my hand?”

  “I couldn’t breathe.”

  “Likely story.” He backs out of the field and steers us onto the dirt road. “If I have rabies, I’m giving Ashley all your assignments.”

  At ten o’clock, I’m in my car driving back out to Dolly’s. When I wheel into the drive, most of the cars are gone. Budge’s hearse is absent. No doubt he took Robbie home to be put to bed. But Mom’s Tahoe is still here.

  “Did you come back for more cake?” Dolly asks as I enter the living room.

  “Um . . . came by to see if you needed any help cleaning up.”

  A brow lifts toward her teased bangs. “You came all this way to sweep and scrub down some tables?”

  “Okay, I really just wanted to talk to Cherry about a few things.”

  Dolly jerks her head toward the back door. “She’s outside feeding the dog. I swear, lately she gives her enough food to feed an entire kennel of Labradors.”

  I find Cherry by the pool, swishing her legs in the water as Peg rests nearby.

  She looks up and smiles. “You’re back?”

  I ease down beside her on legs stiff from standing up so long. I weigh the contents of my brain, trying to gauge how much to tell her. How do you break it to someone that their parent-figure’s grave was broken into?

  “Cherry . . . Luke and I saw something pretty disturbing tonight.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know you were still here when Breath of Death sang Clay Aiken during karaoke.”

  I blink twice. “Okay, though it seems impossible, I witnessed something even more frightening than that.” I explain the scene Luke brought me to. I give Cherry a moment to absorb it.

  “Why would Stewart and Red do such a horrible thing?” Her face is pale in the dim pool lights.

  “They’re looking for something. Whatever they’ve been digging for all over town, they were convinced it was actually onBetty.” But if one of them killed her, wouldn’t he have noticed?

  “What do you think they’re looking for?”

  “I don’t know. They said it was ‘around her heart.’”

  Cherry’s feet still. “Look through town. Tear it apart. But the answer you seek. Is circled ’round my heart.”

  The air in my lungs stops. “What did you say?”

  Cherry turns sad eyes to me. “It’s the other half of the map.”

  “H-how could you know that?”

  “The dog.” She trails her hand down Peg’s furry head. “She was gone for an entire day last week. I was crazy with worry, and it’s not like I could ask anyone if they had seen her. But she came back to me.” She pats Peg’s neck, and her ID charm chimes in the breeze. “She’s so smart like that.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “And she brought back the other half of the map.” Cherry digs into the pocket of her shorts and pulls out a gnarled piece of paper. “It’s the rest of it.”

  I unfold it and read the handwritten script.

  Look through town. Tear it apart. But the answer you seek. Is circled’round my heart.

  “It’s in Betty’s handwriting.”

  “They didn’t find anything tonight.”

  Cherry nods. “I’m scared, Bella.”

  “Maybe they’ll find this hidden treasure or whatever, and then it will be over.”

  She lifts her eyes to mine. “That’s not when it ends, and you know it.”

  I take a deep breath. “Then when do you think it’s over?”

  She stares into the darkness of the pool. “When I’m dead.”

  chapter twenty-five

  I don’t work at the carnival again until Tuesday. And by the time the three o’clock bell rings at school, my nerves are as fried as a funnel cake.

  So many questions. Who put my flashlight on my clown uniform? Red? Stewart? Both? And if they do know I’m onto them, then why not just come out and say it? Why keep me around?

  And as possessive of the carnival as Red is, why would he want to sell it now? Maybe he wants to get an eight-to-five gig in an office and provide a stable home for Cherry. Yeah, right. And I like K-Mart.

  And this map? Where’s this riddle going to lead us? Ever since Sunday night, that little rhyme of Betty’s has been bouncing around in my brain. Circled ’round her heart? Why couldn’t she have just said, “Hey, go to the water tower and take five steps. There it is.” I mean, seriously, who hides clues in tacky poetry?

  I drive straight home to check in with my mom and make myself a PB&J sandwich for work. The first week on the job, I ate dinner every night at the carnival. But a girl can’t live on Sprite and hamburgers alone. Though I wouldn’t mind trying.

  I park the Bug in the back next to Budge’s hearse and watch Robbie hop off the porch and do a double roll into the grass.

  “Hey, Robbie!” I call. “Are you off to save the world?”

  He squats low,
his hands in karate chop position. “Yeah. I got secret intel that my cow needs me.”

  Every kid needs a pet. I have my cat. Lindy has a Lab. Ruthie has a lizard. But Robbie? His is of the bovine variety.

  My stepbrother’s red cape flutters in the warm breeze. “I have to be on my guard in case there’s kryptonite on my path.”

  “Is that what you’re calling cow poop these days?”

  With arms outstretched, he flies away to save those in need, those in trouble, those who eat from troughs.

  I open the screen door and step into the kitchen. Mom sits at the table, a pencil poised over her notebook. “Studying?”

  She looks up and smiles. “Hey, sweetie. Yeah, I have my final Thursday.” She pats the seat beside her. “How was your day? You look tired.”

  Can’t imagine why. “Mom, what’s going on with you and Jake?”

  The pencil thunks as she sets it down. “Nothing for you to be worried about. We’re just adjusting to his new career.”

  “You mean he’sadjusting. We’re just . . . here.”

  Mom’s forehead wrinkles, and I wonder if she ever misses her quarterly Botox gifts from dad. “Bella, basically overnight he went from working in a factory to being a national star. Do you realize by next Christmas they’ll have a Captain Iron Jack action figure?”

  “Good. If we get one then he’ll always be with us.” I wince at the vinegar on my tongue. Lord, why are nosiness and sass my spiritualgifts? Aren’t I supposed to have something like peace, goodness,patience, and all that other sweet stuff?

  Mom shuts her textbook and puts her hand on mine. “I know I brought you to Truman on what seemed like a whim. But I knew marrying Jake was the right thing to do. I still believe that. And even though we didn’t sign up for the way things are now, we have to have faith that it’s all going to work out.”

  “I just don’t see the end of it, though, Mom. Jake’s just getting started. Let’s say they retire him in ten years. Can you live like this that long?”

  She nibbles on her bottom lip, her eyes on the table. “You and I aren’t the only ones who didn’t get what we bargained for. Jake spends every night on a bus. He wakes up each day and doesn’t remember what town he’s in. He misses his family, Bella.”

  “Then why doesn’t he quit? Doesn’t he feel guilty that you’re the one taking care of his sons?” A year ago my mom and I couldn’t have had a conversation like this. We barely knew each other. But now . . . we’re friends. It’s strange. But I like it.

  “We’re praying about it.”

  “For how long? When is enough enough?”

  Mom leans over and curls her arm around me. I smile at the smell of her perfume, a fragrance she’s worn all my life. It’s just about the only trace of Manhattan left of her.

  “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 considera 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 Operaneeds 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 scaredgirls 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. Realscares you—admit it.”

  “I’m getting realmad. 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?”