A Cut Above

by Ginny Aiken

  I glance at him with gratitude. And love. He takes the few steps over to my side, then reaches out a hand to pull me to him. I close my eyes and breathe in the distinctive scent of his aftershave. But behind my eyelids a rapid-fire cascade of images clicks down, and I gasp, straighten upright, and bang my head against his chin.

  “Ow!” I cry.

  “Oooof!” He winces. “What’d you do that for?”

  I rub the top of my head and answer him absently, my thoughts totally into the mental pictures still vivid in my wacky mind. “Hey, I’m Calamity Andie sometimes, didn’t you know?”

  But in the back of my mind, a sense of been-there-done-that grows, strengthens, until I get to that aha! moment. “Oh! Oh-oh-oh-oh! Max, the books. There is something hinky about those books.”

  He continues to rub his chin, but walks back to the bookshelf and points at the yearbooks. “These books? They look pretty normal to me. Old, but typical.”

  “No! I mean, yeah. They’re normal but I just remembered something, something important. Think, think. And look at them. Where have you seen those books before?”

  He gives me one of those you-really-lost-it-this-time looks.

  “No. Seriously. Look at the books. Don’t just touch them.” “I’m looking, I’m staring at them, but I’m not seeing the same thing you are—obviously.”

  I stomp over. “Okay, okay. Stay with me here. These are Miss Mona’s school yearbooks. But I saw another set just like them recently, very recently. And you did too.”

  “I did? Where?”

  “In Colombia, of course. At—”

  “Doña Rosario’s office!” He rubs his hand over his forehead and shakes his head. “I remember now. Can’t believe I forgot. How could I? She stood there, running a finger over the books. I guess that honking emerald must’ve distracted me so much I didn’t pay much attention to what she was doing.”

  “It boggles my mind.” I walk over to the books. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  He takes a deep breath. “I know what you’re getting at, but I’m having a hard time digesting it. It’s . . . it’s unbelievable.”

  “It’s the stuff of heartburn, for sure. But didn’t you at least wonder how she came to speak English so well?”

  “To be honest, I was so caught up in the danger of the situation, and worrying about getting you out of there in one piece, that I didn’t think about much of anything beyond that.”

  “That’s where I was too. But we should’ve noticed.” I look at the yearbooks again. “To think they must have gone to school together . . . but that still doesn’t answer all the questions. Or does it?”

  “She must have known Rodolfo was coming to offer the stones to her old schoolmate.”

  “And that’s why she kept checking on Miss Mona.” My finger runs over the gold lettering. Riverview Preparatory Academy. “There’s more to this, Max. I’m sure of it.”

  “I think it’s pretty straightforward. I would imagine a major emerald vendor would be well known in Colombia, and if someone wanted emeralds, then they would keep an eye on him. When he headed here, she somehow managed to track his movements, and realized he was coming to sell stones to an old school friend. I think it’s easy to add two and two.”

  “We’re still missing the somehow of your equation. How’d she find out Rodolfo was coming to see Miss Mona?”

  “We’ll find out, and soon.” He squares his jaw. “This isn’t over. It won’t be until we find them—and Doña Rosario.”

  I snag the last one of the yearbooks, hug it close, and spin on my heel. “Let’s go.”

  “Whoa, Andie. Go where?”

  “To find them.”

  “Yes, but where? Where do you want to look?”

  I slump. “You’re right. I’m not sure what to do next.”

  He comes to my side and takes my hands. “Much as I know you’re not going to want to do it, we do have to call Chief Clark.”

  “Yeah, but you know he’s going to tell us to let him ‘take care’ of things. And I can’t. I can’t just sit and let that crazy woman hurt Miss Mona or Aunt Weeby.”

  “Calling the chief isn’t just sitting there. It’s helping. Even if it’s not in true Andi-ana Jones fashion.”

  I roll my eyes. “All right, all right. I’ll call the man. Maybe I’ll get an idea while talking to him.”

  But our conversation gives me nothing, no ideas, no hunches, no nothing. It doesn’t even help when the chief commends me for my observations, because he follows that up with another warning to stay out of trouble and leave the detecting to him. “I’ll leave the detecting to you, but tell me this. How did an old schoolmate from a foreign country track down Miss Mona? And how did she know Rodolfo Cruz was coming to sell her the gems? Don’t you think if we could figure all that out we’d be able to find them?”

  A moment’s silence gives me no satisfaction either. We all have more questions than answers. And a nasty feeling has started to crawl around in the pit of my gut. Something tells me the longer we take to get those answers, the greater the danger the Duo faces.

  “I’ll get those answers, Miss Andie. It’s my job, and I do know what I’m doing.”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to comment, since he hangs up on me. Which is probably just as well. I do have a history of blurting out the worst possible thing at the worst possible time.

  “How?” I ask Max as I whirl around to face him. “How did Doña Rosario track Miss Mona down?” And then, something really hideous hits me. “Oh, no. You don’t think . . .” I stumble and land against the office door. “Could she have been working with Rodolfo? Could they have some weird kind of racket going?”

  “They could,” Max answers. “But I’m not sure it would make sense. If they were working together, why wouldn’t she just have gotten the stones from him?”

  “Maybe it’s one of those ‘no honor among thieves’ deals. Maybe he’d promised the stones to her, but then reneged. Or maybe it’s just more greed. You know, they want the stones and Miss Mona’s bucks.”

  “Could be.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “But this isn’t doing the Duo any good. Let’s go get something to eat. I think better on a full stomach.”

  “How you can think of eating at a time like this, I’ll never know.”

  “That’s why you’re the girl and I’m the guy.”

  Who can argue with logic like that?

  At the cozy seafood restaurant, I chew what looks like a shrimp but tastes like sawdust. I know I’m not scintillating company right now, and Max is being a good sport about it, but I can’t get Aunt Weeby and Miss Mona out of my mind. And I can’t convince myself I’m hungry.

  I spear another shrimp with my fork, bring it up to my mouth, and have a brainstorm. The fork clatters down to my plate. The shrimp takes wing and flies straight at Max.

  “Of course!” I cry. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could I miss it?”

  Max daubs at the cocktail sauce on his light blue shirt with his napkin. “Care to let me in on the secret? I’d love to know why you’re calling yourself stupid.”

  And probably why I catapulted food at him. I cringe. “Sorry about the mess. But it’s just so obvious now. Doña Rosario tracked Miss Mona down through the school. It’s the one connection between them. We just have to call the school, and I’m sure we’ll find out she called to get Miss Mona’s phone number recently.”

  “And . . . ?”

  I frown. “What do you mean, and?”

  “Sure, Andie. Once you confirm she did call to get Miss Mona’s phone, what then? What difference will it make to know for sure she got the number from the school?”

  Before I can answer, my cell phone rings. While I generally hate phones in public places like restaurants—I really don’t want to hear all about Aunt Fanny’s bunions, blow by blow—as long as the Duo’s missing, my phone’s not going silent.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Chief Clark, Miss Andie. I just got me some informat
ion you oughta know. Mr. Sloan from the embassy in Colombia just gave me a ring. It seems that there Rosie woman’s taken herself a trip. She’s in America right now.”

  In the middle of his pause, I gulp. Loudly.

  He goes on. “I want to make sure you understand. This is dangerous, Miss Andie. Sooner or later that woman and her partner’ll come outta their hidey-hole and strike again. You and Mr. Max are the two most likely targets.”

  The lonely shrimp I ate does a tap dance in my belly. “I see . . .”

  “No, miss, I’m not so sure you do. Her brother’s killed at least a dozen men by now. I doubt that family’s gonna get squeamish about killing again. And again and again. You and Mr. Max need to stay outta trouble, now, you hear?”

  “I hear,” I whisper.

  He hangs up.

  I do too.

  Max says, “Well?”

  I shudder, feeling colder than the bed of ice my shrimp’s remaining buddies are nestled on. “Well, Max, sometimes you kiss a cat and get a mouthful of fleas for your trouble.”

  His jaw drops. His eyes widen. He shakes his head. “Cats . . . fleas?”

  “Doña Rosario’s no longer in Colombia. Looks like she took me at my word when I told her back at the hacienda that I didn’t have the stones. She probably assumed I had them sent to Miss Mona. Wanna bet Doña Rosario’s in Kentucky? Right where we’ll find Miss Mona and Aunt Weeby?”

  “I don’t bet.”

  “Neither do I. Especially not against a sure thing.”

  1700

  I wait with a massive case of poorly hidden impatience for Max to finish his surf ’n’turf. So sue me. I want to get going to find Miss Mona and Aunt Weeby. I don’t really want to watch the love of my life stuff himself with food when I can’t even stand the thought of eating while they’re out there. No way.

  With every second that crawls by, I fidget more. I squirm in my chair. I tap my fingers, the toe of my shoe; I tug on the way-too-short scrap of hair at the nape of my neck—losing your hair in a house fire really stinks, literally. Finally, when Max decides to forgo dessert and asks for the check, I grab my purse, sling it over my shoulder, and head out.

  “I’ll meet you in the parking lot,” I say. “I’m making a pit stop while you pay.”

  Once outside, Max turns to me. “Where are you going in such a hurry? It seems to me we have no idea what to do . . . or, maybe more important, what not to do.”

  “What do you mean? We have to hit the Internet, find the school’s website, and get their phone number. I want to know what the school knows about Doña Rosario. They may be the quickest way for us to track her down. Maybe she said something that would give us some idea what she was planning. Or maybe she said something that might lead us to their location. I just know in my heart that when we find her, we’ll find Aunt Weeby and Miss Mona too.”

  “Can’t argue with that last part.”

  He holds out a hand.

  I take hold.

  He goes on. “My laptop’s in the car. Want to hit one of those coffee shops with wi-fi? There’s one about three blocks away—that’s closer than the studio. Plus I could use a cup of java.”

  While I do roll my eyes—I mean, the guy just ate a cow and a mutant giant lobster’s tail, washed down with an ocean of iced tea—I do recognize an opportunity when I see one. “Fine. But make it the closest one.”

  He taps his forehead in an irreverent salute. “Aye, aye, Cap’n!”

  I wince. “Sorry. I don’t really mean to sound so bossy. I just have this weird kind of bubbling inside. I’m afraid to let even one more second go by. If we waste time, something awful could happen to them.”

  The grin he sends me is the picture of wry. “I’m with you. I want to find them too. Good thing that coffee shop’s so close. Let’s go hop onto the info superhighway.”

  By the time we’re seated on two stools on stilts at the tall bistro table, Max with his ginormous cardboard vat of caffeine and me with the ’puter, I’m about to jump out of my skin with impatience and urgency.

  I boot up the computer, then have to force myself to wait until I can start clicking away. Finally! Riverview Preparatory Academy . . . Riverview . . .

  After a frustrating twenty minutes, I push the laptop away. “I can’t find anything other than a reference to a former governor’s wife who went there many moons ago.”

  “What does it say about the school?”

  “Nothing. That’s the whole point. It’s just a mention of where the governor’s wife graduated in a bio of the governor.”

  “And there’s no other mention of the school on Google?” I shake my head. “That probably means it shut down years ago.”

  I glare at the innocent if disappointing machine. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “Maybe we need to go back to the studio and check the yearbooks a little closer. Maybe there’s something there we can use to track her down.”

  “Good idea, but we don’t have to go anywhere farther than your car. I grabbed one of the books before we left.”

  He grins. “Good work!”

  “Now that you brought it up, I don’t remember checking the address, headmistress’s name, or anything like that back at the studio. I just looked at the books, and they jogged my memory of Doña Rosario’s library. Then I got that call from the chief.” I nod slowly. “We have to find that school—or someone there who can track down Creepella.”

  We hurry out to Max’s SUV. I grab the yearbook from the vehicle’s backseat, and search like mad for the information we need.

  Seconds later, I stab the appropriate page. “Look at that.

  It’s in Simpsonville.”

  Max stares at me, then holds out his hand palm up and folds his fingers toward his palm a time or two. “You’re going to have to give me more than that. I don’t see what’s so interesting about a Simpsonville address. I assume it’s close.” I huff out a gust of breath. “Of course it’s close—about a half hour drive from Louisville. More important, it’s about five miles from that flea market Aunt Weeby and Miss Mona love so much.”

  “Do you have a picture of the ladies with you?”

  “Always do. Right in my wallet.”

  As we head out to the hall, he says, “I know the PD’s been out to the flea market, asking everyone if they saw Miss Mona or Aunt Weeby, but it won’t hurt if we do it too. The officers might have missed someone who stepped out when they went by.”

  I give him a thankful smile.

  “Hey, I’m pretty crazy about them too.”

  “Let’s go find them.”

  Back into Max’s SUV, ignoring the chief’s warning, which pops into my thoughts a time or ten. Max pulls out of the parking lot and into traffic. As he zips through town, then out to the road toward Simpsonville, I decide I’ll get further if I focus on praying. I mean, I have all these crazy questions worming around my head. And through the chief’s warning. Not to mention the memory of my disastrous encounters with the chief in the past year.

  Let’s face it. Is there any way we’re going to find what the police didn’t? Is there any chance the Duo left a trail? Did they even make it to the flea market in the first place? The police didn’t learn anything there.

  I don’t voice my questions for fear that Max will simply make a U-turn and head back to town. Even though the drive to the flea market is a short one—and in my occasionally logical mind I acknowledge that—the time in that rolling tin can of Max’s feels like a full eternity.

  So I pray.

  “Hang in there,” he says after a while. “I’m going as fast as I dare. Don’t want a ticket—it would slow us down.”

  My only answer is a cross between a murmur and a grunt. I close my eyes and reach out to my heavenly Father again.

  “Hey,” Max says a short while later. “We just passed a sign for the market. The turnoff’s in about a mile.”

  Thank you, Jesus.

  I barely wait for him to stop the SUV before I throw open my
door and hop out. Picture of the Duo in hand, I rush toward the nearest one of the five long, skinny, warehouse-like buildings that make up the indoor part of the flea market. While it’s not as busy today as it could be, the booths aren’t exactly a vast wasteland either. I dodge and dart between customers so as to hit up a number of vendors.

  I go booth by booth, but before long my enthusiasm droops. Before Max catches up to me, I’ve hit a lace, costume, and porcelain-dolls-for-grown-up-women booth, a gems and jewelry shop, an Amish furniture store—don’t they and their buggies live in Pennsylvania?—a cubby decorated with an endless collection of CDs by total unknowns, a platoon of vacuum cleaners in marching formation, and of all things, a salvage grocer (yes, he says he sells salvaged groceries—yikes!). None of the vendors has seen either of the ladies.

  “What’s up?” Max asks.

  Tears well up in my eyes. “Nothing. No one’s seen them.”

  He wraps his arms around me. “We’re going to find them. God is merciful, Andie. Have faith.”

  “Yes, I know he’s merciful, and sure, I have faith. But what if . . . what if he wants them with him? I know they’d be happy, but I don’t want to miss them that much. Not yet. I only came back home a year ago. Sure, it’s selfish, but I want more time with them.”

  Max holds me tight as I sob. I don’t even care that shoppers give us a wide berth, gawking at us. When my anxiety— and waterworks—is spent, I look up at him through melted mascara-glopped lashes. “Sorry about that.”

  I dig through my purse for a tissue to clean my raccoon eyes. It also gives me something to do while I get myself together again. “Sorry,” I repeat.

  When I toss the tissue in a trash can, Max slips his hand around the back of my neck and rubs. “Don’t apologize. I can relate. I’m frustrated and worried too. Remember, I love them, and I’ve had even less time with them than you.”

  “It’s so easy to forget how short a time I’ve known you.”

  “Go ahead and forget it. I’m going to make up for that by sticking around for the long haul.”

  My smile wobbles, but at least it’s a smile. I drop my cheek back on his chest and stare at the booth with the freaky dolls. Then an idea starts to take shape. But that booth owner isn’t the one to help me; I already talked with her and her dolls. I stare up and down the aisle until I spot someone who might help. She’s older than Noah’s Ark, has a warm, sweet smile, and a cheerful comment for everyone who walks past her. I send up a quick prayer.