A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

“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 . . .

  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.”

  “Jealous much?” Ruthie snaps a bud from its stem and tucks it above her ear. “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 stinks.”

  “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 hub-ba-hubba eyebrows. “And about 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 stop in 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 far 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 his beige hat and rests it on the low counter. “She is a beautiful operation. Seeing it in action sure helps. 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.”

  “Yes, William,” Red says. “It’s an aerial routine that you’ve never seen the likes of. Challenging. In fact, the level of difficulty is so great, it killed the former owners.” Red lowers his head. “My own brother and sister-in-law, God rest their souls. But we’re reviving it, and we will pull it off.”

  “I don’t know.” William returns his hat to his round head. “Next Monday, you say?”

  “We’re running two shows that night to celebrate our fiftieth anniversary and last night in Truman. First one runs at six. You won’t want to miss it.” Red digs into his pocket and pulls out two tickets. “I got some reserved seats jus
t for you.”

  The man takes the tickets and smiles. “I guess I’ll see you next Monday night then.”

  Red slaps him on the back. “And bring that checkbook.”

  The guys share a few more laughs, then Williams takes his leave. Ruthie and I exchange a look, and I shrug. I don’t know what’s going on. But it’s weird.

  I peek my head out again, only to jump back. Red and Stewart are still there, with Stewart facing my way.

  “You gonna be ready for next Monday, son?”

  “I told you I was.”

  “This is more than a performance. Got a lot on the line here.”

  “I said I was ready. I won’t mess this up.”

  “You only got one shot,” Red says.

  One shot at the aerial routine? One shot at what?

  “We go through with the plan just like we talked about. No backing out and no mistakes.” Red’s tone makes goose bumps sprout on my arms.

  “You told William last week I was part of the package.”

  “I told him you were a powerful part of the Fritz empire. Let him think what he wants. We’ll be long gone with a few million in our pockets by the time he realizes you’re not in the deal. Can you handle two performances Monday night?”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “I have big plans for the second one.”

  Ruthie and I stare at one another in a frozen tableau. What does that mean?

  “It still bugs me that we didn’t find Betty’s hiding spot. That map doesn’t lead anywhere—like a decoy. It’s the riddle that holds the key.”

  Red laughs. “We got a buyer, Stewart. We don’t need it! When you’re driving your new sports car, I promise you, it won’t bother you nearly as much.” His cackling grows louder.

  “I guess.”

  “Well, I know. I can already smell freedom, and it’s worth every price.”

  Stools shuffle, and I hold my breath as I hear the sounds of Red and Stewart leaving. Don’t walk around this way.

  Seconds stretch.

  Then only the noises of the carnival.

  “They’re gone,” Ruthie whispers.

  “Let’s get out of here. I need to talk to Officer Mark.”

  “And plant that carnival poster in your car.”

  On quivering legs, I walk beside Ruthie around the game booth to the front side.

  “Whew.” Ruthie sucks in the night air. “That was pretty close. I was so scared Red and Stewart were going to cut through the back way to the big top and see us.”

  “Yeah, me—”

  Something catches my eye, and I do a double take at the food booth in front of us.

  Artie Jensen.

  He stands across the way, holding a Snickers. And staring. His magician’s eyes float down the grassy aisle to Stewart and Red in the distance. Then meander back to us.

  He knows we were eavesdropping.

  “Ladies.” He holds up his candy bar in a salute. “Nice night for a walk, isn’t it?” He pierces me with his deep brown eyes, and I swallow back fear. “You never know what you might stumble upon.”

  chapter thirty-one

  You’re moving up the wedding? You cannot be serious, Dad.”

  “Bella, I didn’t call you to get more attitude. I called so you would have time to adjust to the idea and get your travel plans in order.”

  I slip into some red flats for Wednesday night church. “Don’t you see what’s going on here?” It sure isn’t an apology. When I saw his number on my phone, I just knew he had called to tell me how sorry he was. “Christina knows I’m onto her. She knows the truth is getting ready to unwind right in front of her eyes like a big tangled ball of yarn.” Okay, bad metaphor, but I’m exhausted. I haven’t exactly been sleeping much these days. “Did you confront her?”

  His sigh is impatient, as if he’s barely tolerating me. “I asked her about her sister, yes.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “That Enrique was mistaken. Mercedes is just her close friend, but in order to get the designer to let her pick it up, she had to tell him Mercedes is her sister.”

  “And you fell for that?” I’m so sure! “And what about the mystery woman who’s staying in that hotel?”

  “Also Mercedes. Look, Bella, this friend of hers has fallen on some really hard times, and Christina’s paying her to run errands and do odd jobs.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Listen, young lady, you may not like Christina, but you will respect her. She’s going to be my wife this Saturday—and your stepmother.”

  Gag. “Did you tell her about the conversation I overheard?

  What’s this plan she has to stick with?”

  “Again, she’s helping Mercedes out. Not that I need to explain any of this to you.”

  “Yeah, I guess my own father isn’t my business.”

  “That’s not fair, and you know—”

  “I’ll see you this Friday. And I’m bringing a friend.”

  “Fine. And Bella?”

  I plop down on my bed and drag Moxie into my lap. Her gentle purr does nothing to calm me. “What?”

  “If you have any plans of ruining this wedding, you should just stay home.”

  “Is that what you want me to do—not even come?”

  “Of course not.” I hear Dad inhale and let out a ragged breath.

  “Whether you believe it or not, I love you. You’re my daughter, and I want you there with me. I want to see you in all your feathery glory next to Christina and Marisol.”

  Mom yells from downstairs.

  “I have to go. I have church.”

  “See you Friday?”

  I run my finger over Moxie’s jingley collar. “I’ll be there.”

  “And no funny business?”

  “No.” My heart wilts in my chest. “I think you’ve got that covered all by yourself.”

  On the way to church, I ride in Budge’s Death-Mobile. His hearse follows Mom, Robbie, and a newly returned Jake in their Tahoe.

  “When did Dad roll in?” Budge yells over his screamo music.

  “About thirty minutes before you got in from work.”

  He turns down the volume, apparently not finding the song “Road Kill Pizza with a Side of Cattle Prods” conducive to conversation. “Did you hear them fighting?”

  “Yeah.” How could I not hear it? “I somehow found my ear pressed against their bedroom door.”

  Budge sends me a sideways glance. “That happens. Kind of like I happened to find myself in front of the vent in the laundry room.”

  “The one that’s connected to their room. Nice.” I nod in appreciation. “Did Robbie notice?” It kills me to think of that little guy watching his new family falling apart before his eyes.

  “No, I made him go feed his cow.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Budge swerves on the dirt road, barely missing one of Mr. Patton’s ducks. “I’ve, uh . . . I’ve been praying about it.”

  I shake my head to try and dislodge the ear clog. “That’s funny. I thought you just said—”

  “I prayed about it, okay?”

  “It’s okay to admit that.” I smile at his defensive tone. “You’ve really come a long way since you started dating Ruthie.”

  “She’s all right.” A grin spreads across his ruddy face. “A little psycho, but I dig her.”

  He does more than dig her, and we both know it. “I’m really worried about Mom and Jake. It’s not working, Budge. Mom’s mad all the time. Jake’s never home. And the more successful he gets, the worse it will be.”

  “So you like it here in Truman?”

  I pull my eyes from the road and face my stepbrother. “I’m about to weird you out, so brace yourself.”

  “Nuh-uh. Don’t do it. Do not say—”

  “I love you.”

  “Oh, man! Dude.”

  I start to giggle. “I love you and Robbie. And his stupid cow. And our rundown farm house. And your dad.”

 
; “I’m gonna have to pull off the side of the road and hurl.”

  “And I love our family dinners. I miss those, you know?”

  “What have I done to deserve this moment?”

  I plod on, talking right over his protests. “I’d even miss fighting over the bathroom. And this nasty hearse that at one time I was too good to even look at.”

  Budge laughs at the memory. “You were so stuck-up.”

  “And you were such a tool.”

  Silence hangs in the car as we stare at the back of our parents’ Tahoe.

  “I don’t want to lose our family either,” Budge says. “Robbie needs all of us. Together.”

  “Right. For Robbie’s sake.” We all need our family. “So what are we going to do about it?”

  “That is so you, Evil Stepsister-O-Mine.” Budge shakes a finger in my face. “You try to fix everything. But we’re not going to do a thing.”

  “We have to. We can’t just sit back and watch our family crumble in the name of spandex and body slams.”

  “Sitting back is exactly what we’re going to do.” He pauses, his mouth seeming to try to push out a difficult thought. “I, um . . . I know it’s going to work out.”

  “What is this, Budge the Disney version?”

  “No. I mean . . . I don’t know, Bella.” He shoves a chubby hand through his oversized ’fro. “I’ve just really been talking to God about this, and . . . I have a peace about it. Don’t ask me how, but I know this is going to be okay.”

  “Have you been snorting mustard at the Weiner Palace again?”

  Budge rolls down his window and lets the spring breeze inside.

  “Yeah, it’s nuts. I mean, what do I know? Up until recently I’ve been the church dropout. But I cannot shake this feeling.”

  I study his serious face. God, it’s like this trust issue keeps jumping up like a carp and slapping me in the face. Even Budge seems to be getting it. Why can’t I?

  “Forget it.” Budge jerks a hard left with the wheel. “It was stupid.”

  I let his words hang there for a moment before answering. “No. It’s not.” I take a cleansing breath and pray for a boost of faith. A Red Bull of belief. “If you say you have a peace about it, then that’s that. God has obviously spoken to you.” Why can’t the Big Guy say these things to me? “Thanks for telling me.” A trust lesson from Budge Afro Finley. What is the world coming to?