Caught Off Guard Page 17

  I sighed heavily, frustrated.

  Leo put a hand on my shoulder. “Let it sit. You need some distance.”

  “And noodles,” Precious said and handed me a plate.

  Leo was right. My dad always said that if a person was stuck on a problem, they sometimes had to walk away from it to see it better.

  But that nagging gut ache, the bad feeling I’d had when we went to the mountains, had begun to burn, its intensity increasing. Whoever was behind everything was stepping up their game. We would have to as well.

  24

  Saturday

  Toby, Precious, and I made a road trip to Seattle. Precious drove. Toby had found out where the New York team was staying, and we had a solid plan.

  Actually, we had no plan. We were going to crash the hotel and hope for the best.

  The team had arrived earlier that day, and AJ said they’d been in meetings, reviewing plays. Our best hope of getting time with Roman Castillo was in the evening, between the end of the meetings and bedtime. The game was scheduled for ten on Sunday morning. AJ said the team likely had a suggested curfew policy of ten in the evening.

  Paulie having called Precious my honeypot had given her the idea to be bait if she had to. Just in case, she’d worn a clingy T-shirt, leggings, and knee-high boots. I wore jeans, a T-shirt with a long cardigan, and knee-high boots as well—casual but not too much.

  “Hold on to your titties, kitties. We’re gonna go get us some crime-solving information tonight.” Precious pressed on the gas, and we sped up Interstate 5 to Seattle.

  Toby said. “I’m here because the risk of getting shot is low, and I want to meet Roman Castillo. I hear he uses a hemp shampoo on his hair.”

  I said, “You maybe just jinxed yourself.”

  He responded by rolling his eyes.

  The rest of the ride was not making a plan but teasing each other.

  At the hotel, Precious left her SUV with the valet, and the three of us headed for the hotel bar. Toby had his laptop in a messenger bag strapped around him, with Lady M snug in her felt orange.

  I pointed at the messenger bag. “You gonna need that?”

  He cut me a look. “You never know. I don’t ask you to leave your tools of the trade at home, do I?”

  I tapped my forehead. “That’s because I travel everywhere with mine.”

  Toby laughed. “Whatever, dudette. You gonna tell me you don’t have handcuff keys pinned to the inside of your pants?”

  I shoved his shoulder, sending him stumbling slightly to the side.

  “Don’t ask me to share my Doritos with you.” He laughed.

  We entered the lobby and paused a few feet inside.

  “What now?” Toby asked.

  I nodded toward the bar restaurant. “We can go in there. Maybe he’ll be eating there or something.”

  Precious said, “We can ride the elevators and walk the floors.”

  I cut her a side-eye. “And do what? Call out his name as we walk down the hallway?”

  She crossed her arms and frowned at me. “We had a two-hour drive, and we didn’t come up with a plan. Don’t knock mine.”

  “Point taken.” I turned to Toby. “Can you hack into the hotel computer and find out his hotel room?”

  Toby reared back, horrified. “It’s one thing to get po-po records and other deets that’ll become public. But what you’re asking me to do is illegal.”

  I grimaced. “Sorry. The line is kinda blurry for me.”

  He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a snack-size bag of Doritos.

  I surveyed the hotel. The décor was dark-brown leather furniture with navy-and-gold accessories, yet somehow the scheme wasn’t gaudy.

  I pitched an idea. “What if I just ask the guy at the front desk to call his room and ask him if he wants to talk with me?”

  Precious nodded in agreement. I balled up my courage and went to the front desk.

  “Hi, could you please call Mr. Castillo’s room and tell him Samantha True is here and would like to speak with him.” I flashed my PI license.

  The front desk attendant, a twentysomething guy with a man bun, ear gauges bigger than my thumb, and winged eyebrows, gave my ID barely a glance then lifted his chin.

  “Sorry. You either have access to Mr. Castillo or not. And by coming to me, I’m going with not.”

  He looked down at whatever was hidden by the tall counter he stood behind and moved stuff around. Or maybe he started typing.

  “I’m investigating a murder that he has an interest in. I’m almost certain he’d like to know I was here.”

  Without looking at me, the attendant said, “Almost is not the same as certain.”

  He scooped something off his area, papers, and walked away.

  I turned to my friends and put my hands up, asking what next because I’d just failed. At a loss for words, I walked over to them.

  Toby said, “I’ve a good mind to give them a bad review for their unfriendliness. Bash them on social media.”

  Precious huffed. “Yeah, how dare they protect the privacy of a customer?”

  Toby glared at her.

  I snapped my fingers. “That’s it. Toby, you’re brilliant.”

  He puffed out his chest. “Duh. But just so we can all be on the same page, what have I done that’s so amazing?”

  “Social media,” I said. “I’m going to send Castillo a tweet. One problem. I don’t have a Twitter account.” And I liked it that way.

  Precious put up a hand. “I do.” She whipped out her phone and tapped on it. “Okay, what do you want me to say?”

  I looked around for a place to meet. “Say this: Working McVay case. Would love to talk. In hotel bar. Will wait for two hours.”

  That put us at the ten o’clock curfew.

  Precious’s thumbs moved like the wind. “Sent,” she said while tucking her phone away.

  “We might as well go into the bar and order food,” I said.

  Toby pulled down a fist. “Yes.”

  Inside the bar, the hotel’s main color scheme carried over—brown, blue, and gold. The lights were low and cast golden halos over the tables. We found a table where we could watch people enter and see most of the space.

  “Did he respond?” I asked.

  Precious checked her phone and shook her head.

  Toby picked at the bowl of bar snacks on the table. He flicked a nut up into the air and caught it in his mouth. “Have faith.”

  We ordered an assortment of plates to share and waited. The waitress was removing our plates when Precious hit me on the shoulder. She nodded toward the bar entrance.

  Roman Castillo was standing there, looking around. I jerked Precious’s hand up and made her wave. After all, her picture was associated with the tweet.

  Roman Castillo surveyed us from where he stood, likely debating whether talking to us was a good idea. He had to know that I considered him a suspect and that I’d seen his tweets because that’s how I’d reached out. I wondered if his hesitation meant anything.

  He was a tall man, though not as tall as McVay, maybe three or four inches shorter. His shoulders were insanely broad and thick with muscles. His T-shirt was stretched across his body like a second skin. And his hair was just as nice in real life as in the commercials—long, blond, and wavy, with a shine most women would envy.

  “I hate him,” Precious said under her breath. “I’ve used that shampoo he pushes, and my hair doesn’t have a fraction of the silkiness his does.” She ran a hand through her own blond locks.

  I said, “He probably has a team he uses every day to make it look that good.”

  Toby said, “Or he just has better genes. Better hair.”

  Precious threw a nut at him.

  Castillo came to our table and looked down at me. “You’re Samantha True. I saw you on TV.” He glanced at Precious.

  I said, “I don’t have a Twitter account, so I used my friend’s.” I introduced them and offered Castillo a seat.

 
; He took it and looked like a giant in a toddler chair he was so large and broad.

  “Thanks for meeting with us,” I said. “You said in a tweet that you’d contribute to AJ’s defense fund—”

  Castillo interrupted with a loud sigh and a shake of his head. “Is that what this is about? You want money? Fine, how much?”

  I shook my head. “No, we don’t want money. I brought it up because your tweets didn’t really say you believed AJ was innocent but more that McVay got what he deserved.”

  Castillo’s eyes narrowed. “He did. Almost eight years too late, but karma is a bitch, and it got Keith good.”

  Castillo’s hatred for McVay was palpable. His hands were clenched on his knees, fingers digging in. His blue eyes appeared to be made of steel. He wasn’t the same as the guy in the shampoo commercials, who came off friendly and slightly goofy.

  Precious folded her arms on the table and leaned onto them. “Wow, I bet you have lots of stories to tell about McVay.”

  I picked up where she left off. “And it’s weird. It’s like no one knows him to tell any stories. It’s almost like you’re the only one. His parents are gone. He didn’t have a girlfriend or anything. I’ve talked to his teammates, and they only know him from their time at work.”

  Castillo crossed his arms. “When you lie with dogs, your only friends are fleas.”

  I didn’t remark on the inaccuracy of his saying because the point was made. Instead, I said, “You played ball with McVay, then you transferred to a smaller school. Was it because of McVay? Because that’s what I assume.”

  Castillo’s cold unwavering stare remained fixated on me.

  I continued, “Listen, AJ Gunn is my friend. He didn’t kill Keith McVay, and he shouldn’t take the fall for it. I don’t know who killed McVay. I don’t know much because the few people that know anything don’t talk. I know McVay popped positive on PEDs, which was out of character for him particularly because he was trying to negotiate a big contract. I know he didn’t want to be with the Pioneers anymore.” I shrugged. “I don’t know why. But I do know there were rumors about McVay throwing games—once in college—and speculation that his behavior before his death was another one of those attempts. I know you said he deserved to be in jail. But what I don’t know is the why to any of that, and you’re the one who can help me understand. You may not care if McVay’s case gets solved, but a personal trainer who appears knee-deep in this committed suicide—or so they think—a few days ago. His family cares.”

  Something flickered in Castillo’s eyes. “Another innocent victim in the wake of Keith McVay and Austin Strong.”

  I tried not to react. “Tell me about McVay’s relationship with Austin Strong.”

  Castillo wiped a hand down his face then recrossed his arms. “Strong was a few years ahead of us in college. Little pencil-neck dweeb he was and still is, if you ask me. Always lurking in the background. I didn’t trust him back then, and I don’t now.”

  “How come?” I leaned in, giving him my full attention.

  He tapped his gut. “Just this.”

  I smiled slightly. “Not that I don’t believe in gut intuition—because I have it too—but I was hoping for something more, something I could dig around in.”

  Banging my head against a concrete wall would be easier and less painful than getting information from this guy.

  I said, “You know, if McVay is a dirtbag like you say—”

  “He is!” he nearly shouted.

  “Then I can bring all this to light. Why not tell the world? Why not let it be a cautionary tale to remind us that things aren’t always as they seem?”

  Castillo frowned. “Because the story isn’t mine to tell.”

  “Whose story is it?” Precious asked. “Do you think they’d be willing to share?”

  He shook his head. “She’s put her life back together. She wouldn’t want it to be torn apart again, and I won’t be the reason for it.”

  Toby pulled Lady M out from her pouch. She blinked big, dark eyes at us. “I think you need to pet my emotional-support animal. This is Lady M. She’s a sugar glider. Dude, you’re hanging on to a lot of anger toward a guy who took a dumbbell to the back of the head. Whatever happened in the past is there now.” He handed Lady M to Castillo.

  Instantly, the man’s features softened as he held the tiny ball of fur in his hands.

  Castillo said, “Only it’s not. Everything lives on the internet forever.”

  Toby tapped his temple. “You’re talking about the video that went viral of the girl doing a striptease for her boyfriend, aren’t you? That girl was a student at Stanford, right?” He squinted as though trying to remember.

  Castillo stopped stroking Lady M. “He was not her boyfriend.”

  Toby turned to me and Precious. “You know that video, the one of the girl dancing? That video invasion into her privacy was the reason Strong invented StrongWatch anti-virus ware. The girl attempted suicide and then dropped out of school. Reports say that she was harassed and heckled incessantly because of the video.”

  I’d seen the video. I turned to Castillo. “How do you know it wasn’t her boyfriend in the video?” The video never showed the guy. He could only be heard saying a few words in the background.

  Castillo rubbed Lady M with his chin, snuggling her. “Because I was her boyfriend at the time, and I wasn’t in the video. McVay was.”

  25

  Saturday

  Thereafter, the words flowed freely from Castillo. Maybe Lady M was working her magic. Or maybe having a captive audience appealed to him.

  Castillo said, “The team had a party after winning our homecoming game. Kami and I went to the party—that’s her name, the girl in the video. Anyway, Kami wasn’t a drinker, so she’d brought her own. A few times in the past, the nonalcoholic drinks had been spiked. She said she went to the restroom and took her soft drink with her but forgot it when she left the bathroom. When she remembered and went back for it, the drink was right where she’d left it. She didn’t think anyone had messed with it. Only a few minutes had passed since she left the bathroom.”

  “But it had been spiked?” Precious asked.

  Castillo nodded. “Next thing I know, she’s telling me she’s going home—she doesn’t feel good. I walk her back to her place, make sure she gets in safely, and I go back to the party. The next day, I wake up to a video of her doing a striptease for McVay. I recognized his voice in the background.”

  “How? What?” I had a million questions.

  “Kami didn’t remember a thing. Still doesn’t. Only that shortly after I left, McVay came to her door. She said she thought she’d dreamt it all at first. Until she saw the video. Man, she got harassed. People would throw fake dollar bills at her. Called her a slut. Her life during that time was awful.” He closed his eyes as if trying to unsee what the conversation had dredged up.

  “What happened then?” Precious asked.

  He continued, “Kami hit rock bottom, and we, her family and I, convinced her to transfer to a different school.”

  “Is that why you transferred?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Mostly, but there was the time McVay ‘got sick’ before a big game that we should have won, hands down. Magically, he was better the next day. Claimed food poisoning. We lost, and word on the street was that’s how Austin Strong got his start-up cash to develop and produce StrongWatch.”

  “He bet against you all?” I asked.

  In doing so, the odds would be great and the payout greater.

  Castillo shrugged. “You have to ask him. But with that rumor and what Kami was going through, I needed to get out too.”

  “This is why you said McVay needed to be in jail,” I said. “You think he spiked Kami’s drink and caused the fallout in her life.”

  He nodded. “And I think Strong was in on it and used the video to launch his product and make a shit ton of money.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t get it—the connection between Strong and McV
ay—other than they went to school together.”

  Castillo’s brow shot up. “They were roommates. Strong even stayed an extra two years to do his master’s work, which he never finished, but I think it’s because those two were running some kinda con.”

  Using a Chuckit, a long-handled device for chucking a ball across a field, much like a lacrosse stick, I let the ball soar, and Simon raced across the dog park to retrieve it. The two bossy ladies with their four dogs, the two small ones and the two Labs, were on the other side of the park. We were watching them like hawks, waiting to call them out as they were so famous for doing to others. Joining Paulie and I were two other dog parents, Diane and Brian. Diane had an Australian shepherd and Brian a coonhound. Paulie had cleared them, saying they could listen to our conversation. I wasn’t so sure but getting mentored while not disclosing all the information was tough.

  Paulie said, “Strong have an alibi for the night McVay died?”

  I nodded. “He was in his office at the Pioneers' training facility. The video shows him there from six in the evening until two in the morning. His car never left the car park. All timestamps prove it. His secretary was there until eight forty-five. The car park guard was night shift. Said Strong’s car never left.”

  Toby and I had done more digging into Strong, but he kept coming up squeaky clean. Even Precious went to bat for him, saying she’d had a handful of meetings with him and he was genuinely a nice guy.

  Paulie asked, “You think Strong and McVay were lovers?” He was dressed in dark joggers, a dark long-sleeve T-shirt, and stark-white running shoes. Though the sky was drizzling, he wore only a waterproof vest to keep his chest dry.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what to think because after we left, Toby ran some checks on what Castillo told us. Because, like you said, I can’t assume everything he said was the truth.”