A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  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.

  chapter twenty-six

  Your 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.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I said I don’t know!” His volume escalates with each word.

  “Is this seriously all you have to bring me? I’m supposed to clear your name when you give me nothing more than your statement of innocence? And put that gun on the floorboard, will you? I can’t concentrate with you waving that thing around.”

  “I heard you were bossy.” He plops it on the floor without complaint.

  “Alfredo, you have to really think about this. Scan your brain for anything weird Red or Stewart have said in the last year or so.” An idea flicks to life in my own head. “I saw Red’s payroll book. About the time you and Betty started dating, he gave you a raise. What’s that about?”

  “I loved Betty. I know we were an unlikely couple. Nobody bought it at first, but I loved her with all my heart. We were going to get married and take care of Cherry together.”

  “And then your sword found its way into Betty’s chest.”

  Alfredo blinks hard, as if trying to push back the pain. “I want justice. Whoever killed my Betty, my fuzzy sweetheart—they must pay.”

  Ew. “You didn’t answer my question. Why the sudden bump in salary?”

  His eyes drop to the tan floor mat at his feet. “Times are really bad for the carnival. People started leaving before we even got to Truman, and they were not replaced. So I told Red I would work the job of two men, putting in almost eighty hours a week, and I would only ask for half an additional salary.”

  I study this man’s outline in the glow of the streetlights. “Does Red know what he’s looking for?”

  “I think so.”

  “But he doesn’t know where—even with the map.”

  “Map? You have Betty’s map?” Alfredo straightens.

  “So you know about it?”

  “Of its existence, yes. That much Betty told me. You have to let me see it.”

  I lean back into the door and feel the handle press into my back. “I don’t have to do anything.” Crazy loon.

  “If you let me look at it, it might make sense to me in a way that wouldn’t to anyone who wasn’t familiar with Betty like I was.” His voice drops to a pleading whisper. “Whatever this is, it was important to Betty. And I think it has to do with protecting Cherry. I have to continue Betty’s work and see this through. Then . . . I can let her go.”

  “Cherry thinks her life is in jeopardy.”

  “Then you must share the map with me. It’s the only way. I won’t let someone else die—not when I can prevent it.”

  “Where are you staying? How will I get ahold of you?”

  “I can’t tell you that.” He settles back into the seat, slouching low. “But when you’re ready to talk, put one of the carnival posters on your dash. I’ll find you and leave meeting instructions.”

  “You’ve been hanging around the carnival, haven’t you? Are you the one who let the horses o
ut and all those other weird things that have everyone so spooked?” He says nothing. “This is illegal. I can’t withhold information about a fugitive from the police.”

  He picks up the gun and moves it from one hand to the other.

  “Then tell them your life is at stake.”

  “Is that more blustery bravado?”

  “Yes.” He nods. “How’d I do?”

  “Kinda scary.”

  “I learned a lot while I was locked up.” Alfredo reaches for the handle and pulls. “It really is critical you not tell anyone you saw me.

  Cherry’s life depends on it. I know you wouldn’t want her death on your conscience for the rest of your life.”

  He slips out the door and disappears into the tree-covered lot beside the road. I watch him walk away until he blends into the night.

  I have to call the police. Luke. Someone.

  I flip on the overhead light and reach for my phone.

  But it’s gone.

  Foiled by the magician.

  He breaks out of handcuffs. He busts out of jail. And he steals phones.

  Couldn’t he just stick with pulling bunnies out of a hat?

  chapter twenty-seven

  By Friday morning I’m stressed to the point of snapping. I’ve been on edge ever since I found Alfredo in my rearview mirror. When I got out of school the following day, there, in my locked car, was my cell phone. Just waiting for me, as if it had been there all along. That Alfredo—it’s like he can morph or something. He’s an X-Man.

  The rest of the week proved to be uneventful. No more bodies dug up. No more lights crashing at the carnival. And no posters in my car as a signal to Alfredo. I have yet to tell Cherry about my encounter. I’ve never withheld information from the police or my mom before, and I don’t want to bring Cherry in on it. At least not yet. It’s bad enough Luke knows. No need to upset anyone else.

  “Bella, I still think we should talk to Officer Mark.” Luke’s voice is barely audible over the crowd at LaGuardia Airport. I press the phone closer to my ear.

  “We’ve discussed this a million times.”

  “No, we’ve argued a million times. But I don’t know that we’ve had a calm discussion yet.” His voice drips with editor arrogance. “That’s what I’m trying to attempt now, but so far it’s a one-man job.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry, you’re breaking up. Lousy reception in this airport.” I hold the phone toward Ruthie, and she makes crackly noises. “Gotta go.”

  “Wait, Bella—”

  “Yes?”

  Silence on the other end. “I’m praying you have a good visit with your dad. I hope you find out what you need to know.”

  Wow. Hard to be snooty to a guy when he talks like that.

  “Thanks.”

  “And when you get back, we’re telling Cherry everything. And maybe the police.”

  “Bye.” I end the call and throw the phone in my purse.

  Ruthie sips her Starbucks. “What did your boyfriend want?”

  Why did I bring her with me to New York again? “He’s not my boyfriend. And we were just having a small disagreement.”

  “You two wouldn’t have anything to say to one another if you weren’t arguing.”

  “I guess that would leave more time for making out.” I smile as Ruthie spews her mocha. “I’m kidding.” Mostly.

  My purse vibrates with a text. Dad is here. Finally.

  “Let’s go get our bags and head to the casa de crazy.” The teachers had a bunch of meetings today, so school was out and Ruthie and I were able to get an early flight. This gives me more time to get to the bottom of whatever Christina’s hiding.

  Ruthie walks along beside me, her blue and pink hair catching the stares of the occasional security guard. “So you’re going to snoop a little this weekend, and I’m to provide the distractions. Just how is it I’m going to accomplish that?”

  “Just be yourself.”

  In the taxi ride home, Dad updates me on his new highlights, his latest celebrity client, and his TV show developments. He asks few questions about me. It’s a conversational rhythm I’m used to.

  When we get home, I head straight for the kitchen, hug Luisa, then promptly ask her for any dirt.

  “I know nothing. I see nothing. I hear nothing.”

  I stare my old nanny down. “In other words, you’re afraid for your job.”

  She glances over her shoulder. “You would be to, if you were working for Señorita Beelzebub.” Luisa makes horns over her head. “And little Marisol is her spitting image. Querida, I owe Maria Delgado two hundred big ones from a bad weekend of Texas Hold ’Em, so I must work. I can’t give Christina any reason to replace me, you understand?”

  “Do you find anything weird about her?”

  Luisa hands a cookie to me and Ruthie. “This evening is bingo night at the church, and Father Joseph is the caller. It would take me all day to list what’s strange about her, and I’m feeling lucky tonight. So maybe tomorrow we can talk.”

  She pats me on the behind and waddles away.

  “What were you guys gossiping about?” Marisol peeps her head in the door. “Secret stuff?”

  Ruthie looks at me and rolls her eyes. “I got three just like her at home. I can take her.”

  Ruthie and her sisters are the most violent preacher’s kids I’ve ever seen. They could overpower Jake and his wrestling buddies any day. Not a dainty lady among them. It’s like they were raised by a pastor and a pack of wolves.

  “Why don’t you show Marisol where the cookies are while I go talk to my dad.” I give Ruthie a hard look. Do not hurt this kid. Any bloodshed would have a negative effect on the likelihood of my getting Dad’s credit cards.

  I hear Christina on the phone in the dining room and cruise past her down the hall to Dad’s study. Knocking on the mahogany door, I step inside. “Hey, Dad.”

  He glances up from a phone call and waves me in. “Yeah, I’m really excited too. I know the show will be great. So I’ve got that list of ideas, and I’ll just fax them to you, okay? See you at the wedding. Até logo.” Dad hangs up and smiles. “How’s my girl?”

  “Wow, were you just speaking Portuguese?”

  He clasps his hands behind his head and leans back in his desk chair. “I’ve been seeing a language tutor. When we go to Brazil, I want to be able to communicate with the filming crew.”

  I settle into a leather wingback chair. “Dad, um, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  He wags a finger at me. “You know you can’t have that boob job until graduation.”

  Am I the only girl on the planet whose dad discusses these things like it’s as mundane as getting a new sweater at Abercrombie?

  “No, I don’t want to talk about that.” Nor do I want anyone taking a knife to the girls, thank you very much. “I know it’s none of my business, but I just wanted to talk to you about this prenup you’ve got with Christina.”

  His eyes narrow. “How do you know there’s a prenup?”

  “Marisol. She said you guys met with your attorney.”

  “Christina’s attorney, yes.” There’s an edge to his voice, but I trod on.

  “You didn’t each have your own?”

  “You know money’s tight around here. I’m trying to rebuild my investments and prepare for the move. So we thought we’d save and just have one lawyer draw up the contract. Christina’s was cheaper.

  I really don’t see how this is your concern.”

  My expression is as innocent as a baby’s. “Because I love you, and I worry about you. I know money’s an issue, and I don’t want to see you hurt.” And when you date losers, my inner radar goes off like a microwave timer.

  Dad’s mouth grows into a smile. “I understand the accountant situation bothered you, sweetheart. But this time it’s under control. I adore Christina and trust her completely. We want the same things. Besides, she didn’t exactly walk out ahead of the game in the prenup.”

  “What do you mean?”r />
  He lowers his voice a notch. “Usually in these deals, you settle on a percentage of your assets. But all she asked for was five hundred grand. Just a flat amount in the event of our divorce.” He leans across his desk. “Bella, when the money for this show contract comes in, I’m going to be worth a lot more than that. So don’t worry about your old dad. I’m getting a wife I love, and on the off chance it doesn’t work out, I have a new career direction and my money.”

  “Uh-huh.” Why doesn’t this make me feel better? You have to be suspicious of the things that sound too good to be true. “So is there anything in the contract that would make the agreement void? I mean, what if she’s cheating on you?”

  “Like that’s going to happen.” He winks. “She’s crazy about me. But our attorney advised me to just keep it simple. So no matter the reasons for a split, she gets the money. And I keep everything else. But listen, while I appreciate your concern, nothing is going to go wrong. Christina and I plan on having a long future together.”

  That’s what Mom thought once upon a time too. “Okay.” I walk to his side and kiss his stubbly cheek. “I worry about you sometimes. I love you, you know?”

  He takes my hand and clasps it in both of his. “I love you too, my Isabella. And when you see me on that TV show, you’re going to be so proud of your old dad.”

  “I am proud of you.”

  “But this will be even better.” He gives my fingers a squeeze. “You’ll see. It’s going to be amazing.”

  “Can’t things be amazing right here—in Manhattan?” Is it so wrong to want my dad close and not half a world away? Sometimes at night, I picture this fantasy where my dad starts to board the plane to Brazil, then turns around and runs back. He swings me around in his arms and says, “I couldn’t leave you. Do you really think I could move so far away and leave my girl behind? You mean more to me than any job offer.” And then we hug and laugh. And go shopping.

  A shrieking Marisol explodes into the office and pops my fantasy bubble.

  “What’s wrong?” Dad opens his arms, and the little girl sails right into them as if she was custom made for that place.

  “She—she scared me.”