A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Then we’re through. It’s her or me.”

  “There’s no choice here.” His voice snaps with electricity.

  “Ashley’s not going to do anything like that again. I’ll make sure of it. But she stays on the paper. I can’t fire someone for attempted kissing.” He steps so close I can’t help but breathe in his earthy cologne.

  “You know I would never cheat on you.”

  I watch an airplane soar through the night sky. “I need some time.”

  “For what?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. “Time to figure us out . . . and time to get that image of you two out of my head.”

  “I know you’re mad. You have a right to be. But this boils down to trust—you either trust me or you don’t.”

  I slowly nod and look into the face of the boy I’ve waited for all year. “I guess right now I don’t.”

  Luke stares past me to the big top. “This is really what you want? Because it seems to me like you’re just running scared instead of dealing with what happened—with us.”

  Pain gives my words a biting edge. “I know it’s a big blow to your ego, but I really think a break would do us both some good.”

  He takes off his glasses and nods. “Good luck with your interview. And your space.” Hands stuffed in his khakis, he walks away.

  Leaving me standing in the midst of a hundred cars. And one broken heart.

  I return to the main tent just as Alfredo the magician is working his way out of some chains. Soon all of them fall, and he’s left with nothing but a pair of handcuffs. Finally they, too, drop to the ground, and the audience goes wild. But at the moment the man could completely vanish and I wouldn’t be impressed.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on the lovely Cherry Fritz, our reigning princess of the trapeze!” Red Fritz waves his arms grandly toward the ceiling as a young girl flies through the air.

  Ugh, men. Who needs them? There’s my cheater ex, Hunter, and my dad who is planning a wedding even though he’s the last person on the planet who needs a wife. And my stepdad? Life majorly changed when he won a professional wrestling reality show. Like having a stepfather who wears spandex on a regular basis isn’t stressful enough. Where are the normal guys? I thought Luke was one of them. He’s cute in that Clark Kent, Abercrombie sort of way. He’s freakishly mature and smart. And he’s not just a nerdy brainiac—he’s even the captain of his soccer team. I thought I wanted nothing more than to be his girlfriend. Ever since I arrived in Truman this fall, we’ve been drawn together like two magnets. But tonight his magnetism’s pulling in one too many girls.

  Feeling absolutely miserable, I sit through the rest of the show. A guy walks on a tightrope. A girl does a handstand on a prancing horse. A small clown gets shot from a cannon. But all I can think about is Luke.

  God, what am I supposed to do with all this?

  Before I know it, all the lights come up and people are exiting the bleachers. I sit for a while longer and watch the workers go into action sweeping, removing the animals, and clearing the grounds.

  Finally I gather my purse and head out back to Betty’s trailer. A breeze flutters over my skin, and I pick up the pace. Though I would never admit it to Luke, it is a little creepy out here now. Few cars remain in the parking lot, and I wonder at the sense of coming back here alone.

  I pass two smaller trailers before coming to Betty’s bigger one.

  The door hangs open, and light spills out.

  I knock on the swinging door. “Betty? Hello?”

  No answer. I stand on the step and knock louder. “Betty? It’s Bella!”

  Nothing.

  Then my ears twitch at the tiniest of sounds. A distant whimper. An animal. From the back of the trailer.

  “Betty?” I step inside just as her collie leaps out. “Peg! Hey, here girl!” I turn back to the trailer.

  And feel my stomach drop to the floor.

  My scream pierces the air.

  Betty the Bearded Lady sits at her table, nose down in her pie.

  And one shiny sword in her back.

  chapter three

  Just take deep breaths, Bella. Deep breaths.”

  I don’t know how sticking your head between your knees and staring at your own crotch is supposed to help anything, but here I am. Trying not to pass out. Trying not to bawl uncontrollably.

  Mark Rogers, friend and member of the Truman PD, pats my back as we sit on the arena bleachers. The rest of the police force combs through Betty the Bearded Lady’s trailer. I’ve already answered a hundred questions, and I have a feeling they are just the tip of the iceberg. Why me, God? How will I ever get that image out of my mind? All that blood.

  My breath hitches and Mark does more patting. “Think nice thoughts.” Tonight his voice is as high pitched as a flute. “Go to your happy place.”

  “I thought I was at one. Then I saw a dead woman.” I want this to be one of those overly realistic dreams you wake up from. The kind that makes you happy to be awake, realizing it was all just a vivid dream, and you are safely tucked in bed.

  I hear the crunching of a wrapper and raise my eyes. Mark sticks half a Snickers in his mouth.

  “What?” His eyes go wide. “I’m a stress eater. Want some?”

  My stomach does acrobatics at the thought of food. “You have no idea what you’re doing here, do you?”

  “Not every day I see a bearded lady murdered.” He eats the last bite. “Seriously, that is some freaky stuff in there. The only dead body I’ve ever seen was my Great Uncle Morty. And he was ninety-six, so it wasn’t a real shocker that he went, you know? He keeled over at the nursing home square dance. He just did one too many do-si-dos. But still”—he shivers—“he was awfully pale and wrinkly.

  Kinda cakey looking.”

  “Thanks for sharing.” I cover my face with my hands and rock back and forth. Mark’s hand plops on my head. “Stop patting me!”

  “Well, pardon me.” He sniffs. “It works on my schnauzer.”

  “Bella?”

  At that familiar voice, I stand up. “Luke.” He walks past two cops, and I run straight into his arms.

  “Shhh.” He holds me close, and I breathe in the scent of him.

  His shampoo, his cologne, the smell of his clothes. Him. “Officer Mark called me.”

  “Please don’t leave me.” Let’s forget we broke up. Just for now.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He caresses the back of my head, and I hang on like he’s my lifeboat off the Titanic. “Your mom and Jake are on their way. It’s just going to take them a little bit from Oklahoma City.”

  My stepdad Jake’s on the road a lot with the wrestling circuit, and Mom goes with him whenever he’s close. Why couldn’t he have been in Philly or Phoenix tonight? Seeing a dead woman definitely qualifies as one of those moments a girl needs her mother.

  “She died . . . in her pie.” My breath catches. “Why would someone kill her and let her die in her meringue?”

  “I don’t know.” Luke’s voice is calm, reassuring.

  “It was good pie too.”

  “I’m sure it was, Bel.”

  I sniff on his shoulder. “If I die over pie, I want it to be coconut cream.”

  “She’s a little shocky,” Officer Mark says. Like I’m not right here. Like I’m talking crazy. But who, I ask, would want her last breath to be taken nose-deep in raisin pie? Or a meat pie? It would be my luck to go in a big ol’ bowl of peas.

  Luke steps back, keeping his hands locked with mine. “Do you think you can tell me about it?”

  “I’d like to know too.” A girl in a sparkly leotard appears, her blonde hair slicked into a ponytail. Though she still wears stage makeup, her face is pale. Her eyes haunted.

  “This is Cherry Fritz,” Mark says. “She’s the owner’s niece.”

  “This was my parents’ circus.” Watery eyes meet mine. “Betty was my godmother.” As she steps closer I can see she doesn’t look quite so harsh beneat
h the makeup. “Do you think she—she . . . suffered?” Cherry’s tears inspire some of my own.

  “I don’t know. It didn’t really look that way.” Except for the sword the length of my leg sticking out of her back. “She did have dessert, if that’s any consolation.” Wow. My ability to comfort is just . . . awful.

  “Betty didn’t have any enemies. I just don’t understand. There has to be some mistake.” Cherry turns to Officer Mark. “Who would m-murder her?” Tears make tracks down her painted face.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it.” Mark clears his throat. Probably has a peanut stuck in there.

  “Cherry!” The ringmaster explodes through the big top entrance. “Where have you been? We have a killer on the loose, and I couldn’t even find you!”

  I move closer to Luke as Red Fritz’s piercing brown eyes land on me.

  “You the one who found her?”

  “Um . . .” I swallow past a lump and nod. “Yes.”

  The seconds stretch as he watches me. I look away, my skin tingling.

  “Well, I’m sorry you had to see that.” Red stands beside Mark.

  “We are a family here at the Fritz Family Carnival. And I can’t imagine who would do such a vile thing. Surely it can’t be one of our own, that much I know.”

  Officer Mark jots down some notes. “Mr. Fritz, Miss Betty’s trailer will obviously be unusable for a while. Will Cherry be staying with you?”

  “My son Stewart lives with me in my own trailer, so space has always been too tight for the kid. I’ve contacted a distant family member in Truman to take Cherry until she can move back into Betty’s.”

  Ew. Like she’ll ever want to live in the place where her godmother was murdered.

  A policeman enters the tent, getting Red Fritz’s attention. They speak in hushed tones. Red glances at his niece, then nods.

  “What family member, Uncle Red? I can’t go stay with a stranger.”

  A moment later the entry flap opens again and Dolly O’Malley, my mom’s best friend, is escorted inside. She nods her head toward the ringmaster. “Red.”

  He tips his hat. “Looking as lovely as ever.”

  “How are you doing, Bella?” Dolly hugs me to her. “I can’t imagine what kind of night you kids have had.” She smiles at Cherry.

  “My, my. Aren’t you the spitting image of your mother. Do you remember me?”

  Cherry shrugs. “Kinda.”

  “Your mama was my second cousin. We used to play together when we were about your age.” She brushes a hand over Cherry’s hair. “I have a big house and lots of horses. Your Uncle Red thought it would be a fun place for you to hang out for a couple of days.” Dolly turns to Officer Mark. “Bella and Cherry will be going home with me. I assume the police are done talking to them?”

  “For now, but I’m sure there will be more questions tomorrow.”

  I follow Dolly and her cousin outside. Though it’s April and the night is warm, I shiver a little.

  “Wait—what’s going on?” Cherry breaks from us and runs toward a police officer. “Stop!”

  “The Amazing Alfredo,” Luke says, pointing. “It looks like they’ve cuffed him.”

  I strain to see him in the dim carnival lights. “Does this mean he—”

  “He’s been arrested.” Officer Mark joins us, staring straight ahead. “It was his sword that pierced Betty’s heart. And we have Red’s son, Stewart, who claims to have overheard a heated argument within twenty minutes of Bella finding the body. There are some other suspicious details I can’t get into, but we’re taking him in and waiting on the prints.”

  The officer pulls a crying Cherry off the magician. “No! He didn’t do it!”

  Alfredo says something to Cherry, and she steps back, shoulders heaving, and watches the policeman put Alfredo in the car.

  “I’m going to get Cherry. We’ll meet you at the house, Bella,” Dolly says, walking to the girl.

  Luke curls an arm around me, pulls me close, and presses a kiss to my temple. “I know you hate people telling you what to do, but try and get some sleep tonight.”

  “Right.” I slide my arms around him until we’re locked in a hug. I just need one moment of safety. To breathe in his strength and pretend that all is well. “Thanks for coming back and staying with me.”

  “That’s what ex-boyfriends do.”

  “Luke?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have to find out for sure who killed Betty the Bearded Lady.”

  He sighs into my hair. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  chapter four

  The Monday morning alarm goes off, and it’s everything I can do not to throw it across the room. My mentally challenged cat, Moxie, peeps open one eyeball, decides she’d rather not get up, and curls into the blanket.* Lucky thing.

  I didn’t sleep a wink all weekend. Every time I closed my eyes, Betty the hairy dead lady was there. Visions of her eating pie.

  Visions of her dog jumping through a hoop. But mostly . . . visions of someone plunging that sword into her back. There’s only one thing to be said for it all.

  I, Bella Kirkwood, will be Betty the Bearded Lady’s avenger.

  After I have some oatmeal.

  I go through the motions of my morning routine and finally walk down the stairs to the kitchen. We live in an old farmhouse that looks like an Oklahoma twister sucked it up, thought better of it, and tossed it right back out. It’s rough, it’s worn, but it’s become home. The interior is not much better. Aside from the kitchen, which got a remodel last fall due to an arsonist’s fire, the house is like something out of 1975. But Mom has promised that the reign of shag and wood paneling is almost over now that Jake has made it to the big time in wrestling.

  “Hey, honey.” My mother stands at the toaster and kisses me as I walk by. “Did you sleep any?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” I lie. I’ve been on lockdown all weekend, and I have got to break out of here and see civilization. If you’d have told me just last year that I’d consider the small town of Truman, Oklahoma, worthy of being called civilization, I would have laughed in your face and then gone shopping with my daddy’s credit card. But those days are over. Now it’s dirt roads, sweet tea, and the occasional run to Target. The sweet tea I’ve gotten used to.

  “Are you sure you’re okay to go to school?” My mom ponytails my long brown hair in her gentle grip. “We could just hang out here at the house.”

  I sit down at the table, stifling an eye roll. I know she means well.

  “I feel a little traumatized myself.” My stepbrother Budge reaches for the syrup, his big red ’fro especially buoyant this morning. “Maybe I should stay home with Bella.”

  “We have a test in junior English, if you recall.” I turn determined eyes to my mom. “Can’t miss that.” Not that I got the chance to study much the last few days. Mom was busy keeping me purposely distracted with her weekend of board games and family movies. “Besides, if I have to play Monopoly or see Shrek one more time, somebody is gonna get hurt.”

  My youngest stepbrother enters the room, wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt and a red cape. “You’re just mad because I beat you. All ten times.” He taps his head. “It’s all about strategy.”

  “Whatever,” I say. “I totally let you win. You’re the youngest— that’s what we’re supposed to do.” Robbie is in first grade, and if Harvard knew about him, they’d be recruiting.

  Twenty minutes later I climb into my VW Bug and drive to school, grateful for the change of scenery.

  I struggle through a test in English, my mind on facing Luke for the first time at school. With a confidence I don’t feel, I sail into the classroom, greet some fellow reporters, and head straight for the safety of my beloved Mac.

  Ten minutes into my typing frenzy, a shadow falls over my keyboard.

  Luke looms, his blue eyes ever serious. “You don’t look like you’ve slept much.”

  I stare at the screen as if my own writing is the most
engrossing thing ever. “Thanks. Your concern is touching.”

  “Of course I’m concerned.”

  “Really? Because practically all of Truman High came to visit me this weekend—but you.” Shoot! I was not going to say that. I was going to play it cool that he didn’t so much as call me after we left the carnival Saturday night. No call. No text. No e-mail.

  “We broke up. Remember?”

  “Right.” I lift my chin a notch. “And I thought we’d still be friends, but maybe you’re not mature enough to handle that.”

  “I heard about all the people stopping by over the weekend, so I didn’t want to smother you. I know how you hate that.”

  Nothing like having your words thrown back at you. Like a big spitty paper wad.

  “And I didn’t know it would bother you to not hear from me.” He has the nerve to look smug. “Missing me already?”

  “It didn’t bother me.” I meet his challenging gaze. “My mom was asking about you. That’s all.” Ugh. I need a scarlet L for liar.

  Luke sits his Hollister-clad legs on the edge of my work station.

  “I do have some news that will probably upset you.”

  “You’re stepping down as editor, and Zac Efron is taking your place?”

  Luke’s eyes narrow a fraction before he continues. “You’re being reassigned.”

  My hands slip off the keyboard. “What did you say?”

  “I’m taking over the series on the carnival.”

  “Um, no, you’re not.”

  He blinks down at me. “Yes. I am.”

  “But I—”

  “I’m the editor, and that’s final.”

  My mouth opens in a sputter. “I . . . but you . . . this can’t . . .” I stand from my chair. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Holman.” Our advisor will straighten this out.

  Luke stops me with a hand on my arm. “I’ve already discussed it with him. He’s in complete agreement.”

  I put my nose inches away from his. “I cannot believe you would stoop this low.” Where’s the sensitive guy who came back for me Saturday night? Because this boy right here needs a good, swift kick in the— “Bella, you’re a good writer. We both know that. But you’re also reckless and tend to run headfirst into danger.”