Lucky and the Banged-up Ballerina

by Emmy Grace

  He doesn’t say a word, just points to his suitcase like it’s radioactive.

  Which it sort of is, in this case.

  I make my way to it and, sure enough, there’s a bloody knife lying in one corner. Part of it is rolled up in some sort of white linen.

  “Did you touch it?” I ask.

  “Of course not. I’m not an idiot.”

  Debatable.

  I wrap my fingers in a Kleenex and poke the knife until it rolls over and I can see the writing on it. Salty Springs Municipal Theater.

  It’s a knife from the green room.

  I glance around at Liam. “You wanna go next door and check Trenton’s room? Something tells me he’s gone.”

  Liam strides back across the room, flings open the door, and disappears to the left. I hear a knock. Then another knock. Then another. Liam hollers for Trenton.

  Silence.

  A few seconds later, I hear a loud crack as Liam kicks the door open. It’s followed by more silence. A few seconds after that, the door to Cruz’s room opens again. Liam comes in shaking his head.

  No Trenton.

  “I guess we’ve found our killer,” I murmur.

  “It’s not looking good for Gibb.”

  My mind is flipping back through details of the case like pages in a murder magazine. A Tiger Beat for odd murder-loving, amateur-sleuthing chicks near thirty. “You know what? I bet he’s the one who took her phone. Twenty bucks says there was something incriminating on it.”

  One of Liam’s dark brows snaps up. “Maybe he still has it on him.”

  I raise mine in response. “Nice. Will you do the honors?”

  He’s already shaking his head again. “Nope. I did the last one. Your turn.”

  “But…but…I’ve done the last three or four. You have some catching up to do.”

  “I didn’t tell you to involve Felonious. I can’t be held responsible for those instances.”

  I groan. “Fine. But if she makes me do something awful, which she probably will, I’m dragging you right into the middle of it.”

  “You can try,” Liam replies, clearly confident that no such thing is going to happen under any circumstances.

  I take out my phone and select the dreaded contact from my list. Felonious answers on the first ring.

  “You two are making my life so interesting.” I can tell she’s smiling. Probably rubbing her hands together like the evil genius she is.

  I don’t ask how she knows we’re both here. I feel sure I don’t want to know.

  “Can you ping a phone for us?”

  “For a price, but sure. What’s the number?”

  I put my hand between the phone and my mouth, and ask Cruz. “What’s Serena’s number?”

  He has to get out his phone to look. Sadly, I’m the same way. I talk to Regina every single day, many times a day, and the only thing I remember about her number is 2 and 6, and I’m fairly certain that’s not enough to get her on the line.

  He rattles it off and I repeat it to the teenaged terrorist of my life. She tells me to hold on, and a few seconds later, informs me, “It’s pinging at the same place yours is.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes, right now.”

  “Is it in the same room? Can you tell?”

  “No. It doesn’t work like that. I’m not all-seeing.”

  I’m beginning to wonder.

  “Okay, that’s good enough. We’ll find it.”

  “Is that all?”

  I cringe. I know what’s coming next. “Yes, and I’m really hoping you can throw this one in as a freebie.”

  “I’ll give you my version of free, how’s that?”

  “Fine,” I say on a sigh. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Go along with Liam.”

  “Go along with Liam?”

  “Yep. That’s it.”

  She hangs up and I ponder her words. That’s it, she said, like it’s something so small and so simple, but I’m not fooled. Nothing with her is ever small or simple.

  “What does she want you to do?” Liam is curious, of course.

  “Go along with you. Whatever that means.”

  To this, he grunts.

  “I’m going to start calling you Link if you don’t stop grunting.”

  “Link?”

  “Yeah, as in the missing link. You sound like a caveman.”

  “The missing link is—”

  “Ah ah ah.” I hold up my hand. “Whatever thing you’re about to say, don’t. I don’t want a history lesson, or a reason why that’s wrong or I’m wrong or the whole world is wrong. Let’s just find the phone. Deal?”

  He shrugs and makes no noise whatsoever. Maybe he’s getting the hint. “So, the phone is here, somewhere.”

  “That’s what she said, but she couldn’t be any more specific. Something tells me, though, that if he had the smarts to frame Cruz with the knife, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to hold onto the phone.” I think for a second. It doesn’t take long for the light bulb to go off. “The trash! Is there a dumpster out back? Surely for an inn this size, he’d have a dumpster.”

  “I don’t know. Let’s go find out.”

  “I’m coming, too,” Cruz says from behind me.

  “No, Clive will be here in a few minutes to take your st—”

  “Clive’s here,” Clive says with a half-grin as he steps into the doorway. He’s wearing a red flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. All he’s missing is a ten-gallon hat, and he’d be a cowboy just back from the range.

  “Cruz, tell Clive everything,” I say as I head toward the door. Clive moves into the room and out of my way as I take Liam’s big wrist and pull him along with me. “And start calling her cell phone. Liam and I are going dumpster diving.”

  Three minutes later, I’m standing in front of a large green dumpster, regretting my enthusiasm. I can smell the stench of rotten food and funk seeping out from around the closed lid. If this were a cartoon, there would be bright green fog oozing out like toxic fumes.

  “One of us is gonna have to get in there, and I can tell you for sure that it’s not going to be me,” Liam says from my right.

  I glance over at him and his face is scrunched up in disgust.

  “Why do I always get the crap jobs?”

  “You’re smaller.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s not. You are smaller.”

  “I don’t mean that I’m not smaller. I mean it’s ridiculous that it’s why I always get the crap jobs.”

  “You’ll be able to fit in there much better than I can. Remember the last time I had to crawl in one?”

  I smile at the memory of his foray into a dumpster when we investigated the axed accountant of Salty Springs. “Yes, I sure do. Good times, good times.”

  Liam walks over and flips the top back on the green box. An atrocious aroma wafts over to kick me in the face like Bruce Lee in Enter the Dragon.

  “Good times, huh?” Liam asks as he turns back to me. “Then far be it for me not to share.”

  I hold out my hand. “No! Wait, wait!”

  “Sharing is caring,” he sing-songs with nothing but mockery in his voice.

  Before I can say another word, Liam is circling my waist with his big hands again and lifting me up to deposit me into the dumpster. I flail my arms and legs, but it’s no use. He’s too big and too fast.

  Ninja brute.

  He sets me down in it, and when my feet touch the bags of trash, I stand perfectly still for a few seconds. “Liam?” I whisper.

  “Yeah?” he whispers back.

  “Something’s squishing under my feet.”

  “You’re in a garbage can. It’s garbage.”

  I shuffle one foot and then the other. I think I feel something brush my bare ankle, but I can’t be sure. I stop moving.

  “Liam?” I whisper again.

  “Yeah,” he whispers back again.

  “I think something’s in here.”

  “Ther
e is. It’s garbage.”

  “Besides that. I think…I think something’s moving.”

  “It’s you. You’re moving.”

  “No, I’m not. I think something…something…”

  “It’s probably a mouse.”

  “A mouse?”

  “Yeah, a mouse.”

  “A mouse isn’t scary. A mouse is actually kind of cute.” I picture the little thing in my head, with its big ears and big eyes, smiling at me like that mouse in Cinderella. I actually grin. “His name is probably Dilbert.”

  “Dilbert?”

  “Yeah. And he’s ticklish on his belly.”

  “Dilbert the mouse is ticklish?”

  “Yep.” I hear a very faint thumping beat. Probably the ring of Serena’s phone.

  I focus on that as I run my hand in between the trash bags. I figure Trenton tossed it in here rather than throwing it into a bag.

  As I feel around, I imagine cute Dilbert somewhere in the mess. Maybe even hiding by the phone. I pinch and squeeze and poke, trying to identify a hard rectangle. I pause when my fingertips graze something that could be it. I reach deeper and something wet touches my palm. I pull back a little and feel a wiggling on the back of my hand.

  “Liam?” I whisper a third time.

  I hear a sigh before his reply. “Yeah?”

  “I’m in a giant trash can.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Surrounded by trash.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think there are maggots?”

  He pauses. “Maybe.”

  I try to ignore the sensation, but then I feel something squirm across the web between my thumb and forefinger.

  Every muscle in my entire body clenches, and I shoot straight up into the air.

  If it’s possible for a person to levitate during a panic attack, then that’s exactly what I do. I don’t think my feet even touch another trash bag. Like Peter walking on water, I’m treading on thin air, clawing for the lip of the dumpster and screaming bloody murder at the same time.

  All I can think about is getting away from whatever is creeping and crawling in those bags. I hurl my body over the side of the metal box. I’m a little surprised when I feel firm, warm flesh and prickly hair. I was expecting to meet the ground with a bone-crunching thud.

  I latch onto the solid object with both hands and assume the fetal position. Unbeknownst to me, I’m clamping around Liam’s upper body like an octopus.

  I feel big hands come up to my thighs, then my butt, then my waist and start pulling, but I’m not letting go. No siree. I just hold on tighter. No way am I going back in that dumpster!

  Eventually, my screams start to die down and I hear mumbling.

  Well, more like grumbling.

  It’s muffled, though.

  I relax my grip a tad to listen, and Liam seizes the opportunity. He unwraps me from his head, pulling and tugging and rearranging until I’m straddling his hip like a humongous toddler.

  “My God, you’re like one big suction cup.”

  He peels me off the rest of him and sets me on my feet. In my head, I hear myself let go with a pop! like said suction cup.

  “S-sorry,” I stammer. “I’ve got a thing about maggots.”

  I shudder from head to toe.

  I hear a soft sniffing sound. “You stink.”

  I can’t really be insulted. I mean, I just literally came out of the garbage. Instead, I fling myself at Liam again. Instinctively, he reaches out to grab me, and when he does, I wallow on him like a dog on road kill.

  He doesn’t move a muscle. By the time I’m done, he’s standing so still that I lean back and glance at his face to make sure he’s still breathing. When I see his expression, I start laughing. He looks like someone just made him eat a slug.

  “Now we both stink.”

  “You’re walking home.”

  “Fine by me,” I say with a smile. I turn and start off toward the door we came out. I hold up the rectangle that’s still clutched in my hand. I have no idea how I didn’t drop it. “Guess you don’t want to see this.”

  He’s on me, snatching it from my fingers before I even realize he’s moved. To be so big, he’s awfully quiet and agile.

  Ninja brute, I tell ya.

  Ninja. Brute.

  He tries to wake the phone and the screen lights up. “I’m glad it’s still charged.”

  “Me, too. Can you get into it?”

  “Nope. Password protected.”

  I hold up my hands. “I’m not calling her again. I just made nice with a dumpster full of maggots and mice. I’m done for the day.”

  “Fine,” he says, taking out his own cell phone and punching in some numbers. “Can you get us into this phone?” he asks Felonious. After a short pause, he says thanks and hangs up.

  Liam holds the phone out and we stare at it. And stare at it. And stare at it.

  I don’t know why I’m back to whispering. “What are we waiting for?”

  Liam says nothing until the screen flickers and then opens to the home page. “That,” he replies, victorious.

  He flips and scrolls through the different apps Serena had opened before she died. I’m looking over his shoulder, watching.

  “Hey, go back. That was an email.” He does, and together we read the email that Serena started before she died.

  Dear Detective Larson,

  I know who my stalker is, and I’m attaching proof.

  The email has no attachment.

  “She must’ve been in the process of writing this when she was…was…”

  Liam starts nosing through the other apps she had open, stopping on a voice note. He opens it and hits the play button.

  Serena’s voice comes on first. “No one will find out I was behind the stalker. Just trust me. It’s great publicity.”

  I recognize the next voice, too. It’s Trenton Gibb.

  “You need to stop this now, Serena. I’m warning you.”

  “I know why you don’t want me to be famous, Trent. You want me out of the way for your girlfriend,” she sneers.

  “That’s not true. She can do just fine on her own.”

  “I’m not stupid. I’m going to make a name for myself, one that even you can’t afford to cross. And if you try to stop me, I’ll tell the police it was you. I’ll tell them you threatened me and that you admitted to sending the figurines because you couldn’t stand that I was with Cruz,” Serena says.

  “Try it and I’ll kill you. I won’t let you ruin everything I’ve worked for.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she purrs. “You couldn’t hurt me. Not after all we’ve been through.”

  There is pure menace in Trenton’s response. “Watch me.”

  The recording crackles and then goes dead.

  I point to the date stamp on the file. “This conversation happened the day before Serena was killed.”

  “He must’ve found out that she—”

  I’m interrupted by the sound of a hammer cocking.

  “Yeah, he must’ve found out.” Both Liam and I turn to find Trenton Gibb in the alley behind us, leveling a gun at my head.

  20

  “Gibb,” Liam growls, pivoting to face him, arms akimbo and legs spread like the Hulk. “Point that at me, not her.”

  “No, I don’t think I will. You’ve clearly got a soft spot for this little troublemaker. I figure I can keep you both in line this way.”

  “You’re seriously calling me a troublemaker when you’re the one who killed Serena Flowers? The nerve!”

  I see Liam flash a quick look my way. I’m sure he thinks I’ve taken leave of whatever senses he believed I ever had. Which probably wasn’t much to start with.

  “Save the lecture, honey,” Trenton sneers. “I’ve got one more piece of business to take care of after I put a bullet in you two.”

  “You can’t really think you’ll get away with this.” I keep the conversation going because, even though the shift is almost imperceptible, I can tell Liam
is creeping toward Trenton while I’m distracting him. “I mean, the cops know. And even if they didn’t, they’d figure it out. Just like we did.”

  “Not when I plant my last piece of evidence.”

  “What last piece of evidence?”

  “When Serena and I first started seeing each other, I was at her place when Cruz came by. He thought someone else had been there. They got in a fight and I caught it on my phone. I thought one day it might be worth something to a gossip magazine. Little did I know I’d actually need it to help point the finger at Cruz for her murder. He told her he’d rather see her dead than with another man. And I got the whole thing recorded on my phone.”

  “That won’t be enough. He has an alibi.”

  “Does he? You’d be surprised at what drivers will agree to for an extra hundred grand.”

  “You’re having the driver lie about bringing him to the theater from the airport?” Trenton doesn’t need to answer. His serpentine smile tells the story. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

  “Just because my passion is art doesn’t mean I don’t have a head for business.”

  “Business? You call the brutal stabbing of a human being ‘business’?”

  “In some cases, yes. In this case, definitely.”

  “You were worried about Serena’s prank bringing bad publicity. What do you think her murder will do?”

  “It’ll make us the hottest ticket in town. I’ve already arranged for Heidi to have the star role in a production about Serena’s life. A tribute to our most beloved ballerina.”

  He looks so pleased with himself I want to throw up all over his expensive shoes.

  “You’re despicable. You know that, right?”

  He shrugs, utterly unconcerned. “Maybe. But I’ll be rich and despicable.”

  He raises the gun that had drifted from its target a little and refocuses it on my head. Before he can do anything catastrophic, though, I see an enormous bullet shaped like Liam Dunning launch itself right at Trenton.

  In the low light, I see Liam grab Gibb’s wrist. The gun fires once, straight up into the air, and then they both go down.

  “Lucky, get out of here,” Liam yells. Then there is nothing but grunting and struggling.

  I dart from left to right and back again like a terrified bunny. I can’t see the gun, much less know where it might be pointing. I feel like one of those automated ducks in that shooting game at the carnival, only the prize for shooting me is spraying Lucky guts all over the back wall of the Spring Water Inn. Maybe they could call it a Jackson Potluck.