by Allie Burton
He nodded slowly as if in thought. “When I was down at the lagoon today it smelled like cleaning solution. Do you know why?”
Mrs. Fowler didn’t say anything about not mentioning cleaning the lagoon. “I think the lagoon was scrubbed after draining it.”
“The initial report from the scene said the lagoon was filthy. The water so dark, no one could see into it.”
A trick question. He wonders how I found the kid in the murky water. I lifted my shoulders in a slight shrug, but stayed silent. The less I said the less that could be used against me.
Officer Clayton stood. He reached into his shirt pocket and handed me a business card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.” His expression appeared warm, not menacing or threatening.
Even so, I couldn’t trust the cop. Not with my illegal status.
“Yeah, I will.” Not.
I sagged in my chair. The questioning was over and I’d gotten through it without too many lies. He didn’t suspect a thing.
He opened the door, but before leaving he turned back. “The boy Brandon is doing fine but he’s got red welts on his back, stripes, almost like he was sucked against something.”
The muscles in my stomach tightened. So, there was evidence of the struggle to get him out. That’s why Mrs. Fowler asked me not to mention changing the up-flow filter cover. It must have something to do with the law she’d mentioned. That’s why the cops were investigating.
Unknowingly, I’d been involved in a filter cover cover-up. Another secret I’d have to hide.
* * *
After work that day, I hustled into the camp store and waited while Mr. Plankson finished helping a customer. His stiff smile appeared rarely used, which was too bad because he was good-looking for an older dude. He didn’t talk to the woman ringing up her order of milk and marshmallows, even as she fluttered her hands and batted her eyelashes.
The cramped store had shelves filled with the essential items for camping like bread, cereal and batteries, and a few unessential items like candy bars and magazines. The scent of coffee filled the air.
When the woman left, he turned to me. “Checking out?”
Tomorrow I’d have been at the campsite for exactly two weeks, the legal limit. “Um, I wanted to talk to you about that.” I shoved my hand in my pocket and rubbed the two twenties folded neatly inside. “I hoped to stay a bit longer.”
His brows arched like a sideways dollar sign—one going up, the other going down—or maybe that was my current state of mind.
“State Park rules state two weeks maximum.” He turned away and sat down on a creaky chair in front of an old metal desk.
“You’re not full.” I’d spotted several empty camp sites.
He swiveled the chair back around to face me. His gaze bore into mine. He angled his head. “Odd. Young girl camping alone.”
My legs wobbled at his unstated question, but I held myself together. “I’m a nature-girl.”
“No camp stove. No car. No friends.” He spelled out my inadequacies with a flat voice.
Each shortcoming was like a slash to my heart, but I refused to be cowed. I pulled out the bribe and slapped forty dollars on top of the desk. “Will this cover any inconvenience?” I held my breath, waiting for him to laugh at my puny offering or yell at my boldness.
He opened the top drawer of the desk and dust flew in the air. Then, he took out a stack of registration forms and thumbed through them.
He squinted, reading from a page. “Seidon, Pearl.”
“Th-that’s me.”
His glower tried to puncture through my lies. “You left most of the spaces blank. Where are you from?”
“Nebraska.”
“What’re you doing in California?” He sounded like a cop. Not like Officer Clayton, but a more hard-nosed detective who I hoped accepted bribes.
The bells over the door jangled when someone walked in. “Excuse me, I’m looking for a missing…Pearl?” Chase stood on the threshold.
Mr. Plankson pursed his lips and scrunched up his nose. “We don’t sell pearls.”
I licked my lips and peered between the two of them. “Chase, what’re you doing here?”
“So, you do have friends,” Mr. Plankson mumbled.
I wanted to kick him for belittling me, but I held back. I hadn’t gotten an answer to my bribe yet.
Chase’s glance darted between me and the camp manager. “Since we didn’t find your sweats last night, I decided to search again after work, thought the store might have a lost and found…” He clamped his mouth shut and then opened it again. “What’re you doing here, Pearl?”
“She’s a camper.” Mr. Plankson took the money and shoved it in the pocket of his dirty jeans. His grouchy face scowled. “If you’re not going to buy anything, then why don’t you two scoot.”
I rushed out of the store before he changed his mind. By taking the money, I assumed he took my bribe. Assumed I had a place to live at least for a while longer. Which was good. I couldn’t afford anything else.
“You’re a camper?” Confusion laced Chase’s deep voice. He jogged to catch up to me.
I’d escaped one sticky situation and landed right in another. Chase was going to have more questions than Mr. Plankson.
“Got a problem with camping?” Putting a bucket-load of sarcasm into my tone, I slowed my steps but instead of heading to my tent I went toward the beach. No need to humiliate myself further by showing him my actual living conditions.
“Why would you camp so close to home?”
My tummy churned like the waves. I put on a fake smile and lightened my voice. “I enjoy camping, especially by the beach.”
He grabbed my hand and jerked me to a stop. His fingers wrapped around mine, but not in a caring way. In a way that demanded I listen. “By yourself?”
The fog hung low on the coast with the sun barely visible. Seagulls squawked. My pulse pounded at the base of my throat. If I told Chase the truth, would his opinion of me lower?
I stared into his eyes searching for an answer. The depths of those indigo orbs changed colors with his mood. Right now, they looked inquisitive, like my unusual situation brought out the reporter in him.
Which I so didn’t need. I had to answer the question and deflect him from digging deeper.
“I’m…” I dug my toes in the sand. “I’m…temporarily living in the campground.” Heat flared in my cheeks. He probably lived in a normal home with normal parents.
“Why?”
The churning in my stomach reversed directions. I shouldn’t be embarrassed by my situation, I should be angry he asked. I huffed out my answer. “It’s a free country.”
I’d never felt free until arriving in Mermaid Beach. Bill and Carlita were like prison guards, not parents. My circus act penance for having my skills. Here, I could enjoy my freedom, enjoy my skills, enjoy my life.
“Whoa.” He dropped my hand and held both of his up in surrender. His surprised expression cut through my anger. “I’m just asking questions. It’s what I do.”
“You sound like an interrogator.” I crossed my arms in front of me giving him the big back-off sign. We might be sort-of-friends, but he didn’t need to know all about me. No one did. “You won’t tell Mrs. Fowler, will you? You won’t tell anyone.”
His eyebrows rose as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “Why would you think that?”
“You’re so deferential to her.”
His lips flat-lined and he turned away to gaze at the horizon. “No. I won’t tell her.” He gentled his voice. “What’s wrong with an apartment? Or a hotel?”
“Those things take money, a deposit.” Forms and a legal signature.
“Your parents won’t help?” He touched my shoulder with a gentle hand.
I wanted to turn into the caress, but instead I jerked away. Because for me it wasn’t a casual touch. Every touch, every glance, every word meant something.
Bill and Carlita weren’t demonstrative. At all.
I wasn’t used to anyone touching me. And with Chase, his touches meant more. More of what I didn’t know. I didn’t want to find out.
And yet, I did.
He placed his hand on my shoulder again, not put off by my rejection. His light touch turned into a massaging caress, like he wanted to take away the burden I carried. It would be so easy to lean into him, tell him everything, let him help me figure out what to do with my life.
I straightened, knowing I couldn’t drag him into my nightmare, and hoping he didn’t want to sell my story. “My parents and I parted ways.”
That last night we’d argued. Again.
I’d been sick all week. Didn’t want to get on stage or dive in the water. Didn’t want to act like everything was okay when it wasn’t.
“I’m tired of performing every night.” My muscles ached with fatigue. My heart hurt from the lies I’d uncovered like the fake birth certificate they wouldn’t explain.
“Take a chill pill.” Carlita’s pudgy hands had thrown my bedazzled bathing suit costume in my face.
I shouldn’t have expected any sympathy. “I’m a kid. I shouldn’t be working this much.”
“Did you expect the life of a princess?” Carlita’s cruel tone cut like a serrated knife. “Servants waiting on you hand and fin.”
“Wwwwhat?”
“Nothing.” Bill glared at his wife. Then, he angled his greying head at me. “There are people waiting to see you. You can’t disappoint them.”
“Why not? Everyone always disappoints me.” Like the time I’d sprained my arm and they’d forced me to perform. Or when I’d wanted to go to school so I could be a normal kid and they’d refused. Or when I’d tried to make friends with the other circus kids and been rejected.
“The show must go on.” Bill’s scraggly voice scratched the mantra I’d heard from the time I was a toddler.
I couldn’t take it anymore. So I’d left. Packed up the few things that were mine and slipped out after the show at the Poseidon Family Circus. My final show.
No one would make me perform like a trained seal again.
No one would shove me on stage when I was tired or ill or injured.
No one would make me fake a smile when I wanted to cry.
Ever.
Chase put his arm around my shoulders bringing me back to the present. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” Best thing I’d done in my entire life. My only regret is that I hadn’t done it sooner. If only I’d known.
“Do they know you’re living in a tent?”
“They wouldn’t care.” I’d lived in a tent with them. Under the “Big Top” or in a trailer right beside it.
I barked a harsh laugh at the insanity of my circumstances. From star of the show to custodian of the carnival. From the big top to a tiny tent. Not only had I demoted myself in jobs, but in living conditions.
My harsh laughter changed to real laughter. I didn’t care about the job or the tent. All I cared about was living my life the way I wanted. Living free.
“Why is that funny?” Chase gave me a curious half-smile, where one side of his mouth tilted up.
I shrugged and shook my head, not ready to give him an answer. And never would be. Some things I’d never share.
He took off his blue sweatshirt and held it out. “Keep mine until we find yours.”
I started to shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Please. I want you to have it.”
My muscles stiffened. “I’m not a charity case.” My voice sounded hard. I didn’t want him feeling sorry for me.
He grabbed hold of my chin and held it still. “I want you to have it.” He lowered his mouth.
His soft, full lips caressed mine. Tingles of electricity spread through me and my insides heated. Fireworks flared behind my closed eyelids. I didn’t feel like a charity case now.
He wanted to kiss me. And I wanted to kiss him back. My mouth molded to his and I leaned against his solid frame.
I should be running fast and far. What Chase wanted, I couldn’t give. But his lips were persuasive. So I responded.
Responded by showing him how I felt deep inside. Even though I could never tell him. Knowing this couldn’t last.
He lifted his head and stared. “Now I can always keep you warm, even when I’m not by your side.”
Chapter Six
Bird Bombardment
The next day, while my body handled menial chores like emptying garbage canisters, my emotions raced like the rollercoaster screaming past. One minute I was angry, then defensive, then hysterical, then awed-out by Chase. Not only by the gift of his sweatshirt, but by his words.
Staying away from him would be so much easier if he was mean or arrogant or a complete jerk.
“Hey.” Chase stopped his golf cart by the garbage can I emptied.
Or if we didn’t work together.
“Hi.” I shoved the new garbage bag in and put the lid back on, trying to control the awful stench. And the feeling that I might stink, too.
“I talked to Cuda this morning about the other disturbances he’s seen lately. Rogue waves, a shift in currents, sea lions gathering in large groups, even a couple of other whirlpools.”
“Like what happened the other night?” I tied the full bag of garbage.
“Not nearly as large.” Chase took the bag from my hand and set it on the back of his cart. “Hop in and I’ll give you a ride to the dumpster so we can talk.”
“Okay.” I wanted to talk with Chase, but I didn’t want to be seen getting help from a manager. A few of the other employees already gave me funny looks. The last thing I needed was for them to think I was kissing up to one of the managers.
I grimaced. I guess technically I had kissed Chase. But none of the employees knew that.
Chase slowed the golf cart in front of the shooting arcade. A big guy dressed all in black, turned around with the rifle in his hand. Joe.
He lifted the rifle and aimed at me, exaggerating his trigger finger motion.
My body stiffened expecting to be shot. Which was silly because those guns shot lasers, not real bullets. Plus, why would Joe want to hurt me? I might’ve embarrassed him in front of his friends, but he was acting like an idiot.
I shook off my thoughts on Joe, and switched back to the topic with Chase. “What else did your friend Cuda say?”
“Not much. He sort of clammed up.” Chase laughed. “The guy takes caring for the ocean to an extreme. Like the ocean has its secrets and he knows them all.”
“Nothing wrong with caring about the environment.”
“I agree, but he’s ultra-serious.” Chase braked in front of the large dumpster beside the main office. “Anyhow, I’ve emailed a couple of biology and environmental science professors at the local university about the situation.”
The office doors opened. Mrs. Fowler and Officer Clayton walked out. I didn’t want to be seen by either of them, so I scrunched down in the golf cart.
“Miss Seidon.” Officer Clayton gave me a half-wave, half-come-here motion. “I wanted to talk to you. Is now a good time?” Nice, courteous. Was it all a façade?
Licking my lips, I considered Mrs. Fowler and Clayton. “I’m working right now.”
He tossed Mrs. Fowler a sharp look.
“We should be helpful to the police.” Mrs. Fowler put a hand to her throat and played with the pearls hanging there. “You may speak with him now.”
“I’ll take care of the garbage,” Chase volunteered.
So not helping Chase. I needed work for an excuse not to talk to the cop.
“O-okay.” I got out and walked toward the office.
“Why don’t we talk out here.” Clayton dismissed Mrs. Fowler, who after one uncertain glance headed back inside.
Chase drove a few feet to the dumpster and killed the engine. He fiddled with the ignition.
“Can I call you Pearl?” Officer Clayton asked.
“Sure.” I was much more comfortable with the name I’d answered to
my entire life.
“Call me Frank,” he said in an I-want-to-be-your-friend tone.
I jiggled back and forth on my feet. I didn’t want to be on a first name basis with him. “Uh, okay.”
“You haven’t worked at the Boardwalk long, have you, Pearl?”
“No.” Glancing anywhere but at Officer Clayton, I watched Chase lift the bag ever-so-slowly out of the cart and set it on the ground.
“Where’d you work before?”
“A campground.”
“Do you like camping?” Officer Clayton’s gentle tone sounded conversational.
“Sure.” Not as a necessity though.
“How long have you lived in California?” Each question seemed innocent but added together, he sounded like he was building a case. Against me.
The bluck in my brain pounded as if the mallet from the Ring the Bell game hit me upside the head. If this was a friendly chat, I shouldn’t answer. I wasn’t under oath. “Why?”
“I couldn’t find any records of your existence.” The blank expression on his face meant he had an ulterior motive.
Bill had used this expression a lot. He pretended not to know about Carlita’s demands and shouting.
Scrambling for the possible reason he was asking the questions, I had to think on my feet. “That’s a good thing.” I forced a stiff smile. “It means I don’t have a record.”
“No driver’s license.”
“I don’t drive.”
“No social security number.”
“My parents never applied.”
“No current or last address.”
A loud rushing sound filled my ears. My tummy twisted and plunged. “What’s this really about?”
I had to control myself, not show my fear. Fear that he’d figured out my history. Cocking my hip, I placed a hand on it and stared at the cop. “I’ve done nothing illegal.”
Unless, of course, you count lying to a cop.
“It’s like you don’t exist.”
“I’m standing right here. Talking to you.” I wished I wasn’t. Wished the circus magician could make me disappear.
“Your Boardwalk application says you’re eighteen.”
“Yes.” That’s what the application says.