Caught Off Guard Read online

  AJ dumped an assortment of green veggies and an unpeeled kiwi into the blender. “No. Well, for a moment I wasn’t sure because Coach asked me to prove it.”

  I gestured for him to continue.

  “I said they should test all of us. Me and two other guys also drank the smoothie.”

  I glanced at Precious, my mind plotting out all the possible nefarious scenarios. I asked AJ, “And they tested everyone?”

  AJ nodded. “Everyone who drank the smoothie. No one else popped positive.”

  I asked, “And the green smoothie you made… Did you make him one and then you a different one, or was your pour from the same blender as his?”

  AJ’s finger hovered over the blender’s power button. “Same pour.”

  “And were there witnesses to all this?”

  He nodded then jabbed the button, which filled the room with the loud whirring of blending fruits and vegetables. When the blender held nothing but a light-green sludge, AJ turned the machine off. “You’re making me nervous with your questions.”

  Precious slid onto a barstool and leaned against the counter. “I think Sam is asking these questions out of precaution. We don’t want that story to get repeated. Especially to the media. We don’t want it to become a rumor or gossip. Even if they are joking. Stupid stuff has a way of sticking. And if McVay’s been caught doing something illegal, it’s not like he’s going to just fess up.”

  I added, “She’s right. He’s likely going to try to deflect, and that could mean putting the spotlight on you and the drink you made him.”

  AJ poured his smoothie into a large cup and topped it with a lid and straw. “I made enough smoothie that day for four of us, in one blender.”

  I asked, “Were you the one who handed McVay his drink?”

  AJ shook his head. “I poured it into four glasses on the counter and turned back to wash out the blender. The guys were all there waiting, and each took his own glass.”

  “You saw that?”

  AJ squinted as if trying to remember. “They were in the room when I finished making the drink, but I didn’t see each of them take a glass. When I turned back, only one glass remained, mine, and the others were drinking the smoothie.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t any big deal.

  I hoped he was right. My stupid feeling of unease was strengthening, creating a knot of tension between my shoulders. Maybe I was trying to make the situation with AJ the cause because, all things considered, that situation was doable. Manageable. Fixable.

  Gathering all the facts would put me at ease. “So others in the room will be able to say McVay took his own smoothie.”

  AJ thought for a moment. “Actually, Keith wasn’t in the room when I poured the drink. I’m not sure where he was, but one of the trainers said he’d take it to Keith.”

  “Which trainer?”

  “Brad. Brad Jenson.”

  I made a mental note then asked, “What’s going to happen to McVay?”

  AJ shrugged again. “Nothing. He’ll serve a three-game suspension, probably pay a fine, and return to the field like nothing happened. He gets a little mini break. Keith McVay is untouchable. He’s connected to the right people. In a few years, this won’t be remembered.”

  In the current climate of persecution on social media, I found that hard to believe. But then, some people lived under a lucky star, and dirt didn’t seem to stick to them. Maybe McVay was one of those. I made a mental note to ask my dad about him. Dad’s years as a reporter, beat and investigative, would provide far more information than doing some online search.

  “So,” AJ said, after tossing his empty cup into the sink, “you gonna continue to harsh my vibe, or can we just enjoy this opportunity?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, sorry.”

  Precious said, “She can’t help herself. This PI gig of hers has made her dark.”

  I laughed again but with false humor. Precious was right. In less than a year, I’d gone from being more optimistic to pragmatically fatalistic, no matter how hard I tried not to. Leo had warned me many years ago when I’d tried my hand at being a crime-scene photographer. And he’d been right. But the truth was that I would rather be a PI instead of what I used to do. Studio photography might be less risky, but taking pictures of devilish children dressed up as angels with their insanely neurotic moms had eaten away at my soul.

  I clasped my hands in false glee. “Okay, all that aside. Who’s super excited about seeing AJ play live? I know I am.”

  AJ broke out into a wide grin. “None of those hard metal seats for my friends. Nope. Clubhouse seats for you all.”

  I glanced at Precious. “I’ve never been in the clubhouse before.”

  She wagged her brows. “I hear the food is good.”

  We high-fived.

  AJ slid three tickets across the counter toward us. “Who are you bringing?”

  I said, “My dad, of course. He’s a serious football fan.”

  AJ gave me a thumbs-up. “And you’re cool keeping an eye on T-Roy while there? I know he’s old enough to take care of himself, but it’ll make me feel better.” T-Roy was his nickname for his teenage brother, Troy.

  I looked over my shoulder toward the bedrooms. “Where is Troy, by the way?”

  Their mom lived in Arizona, undergoing treatment for cancer, and AJ was Troy’s guardian.

  “He’s working at a video game store. Can you believe it?” AJ winked.

  His brother had been arrested for shoplifting a few months back and had done his community service time in what was supposed to be a scared-straight program for wealthy kids. But when his instructor was murdered and one of the kids in the program accused, Troy had straightened up his act really quickly. That probably wasn’t what the judge who’d sentenced Troy had in mind. But hey, whatever works.

  Cora ran into the house with Simon on her heels. “We need some treats. I’m trying to teach Simon to shake.”

  AJ, who’d just picked up the blender to carry it to the sink, pointed at a canister on the counter. “They’re in there.”

  Cora pointed at the blender. “What was that?”

  AJ said, “A green smoothie. Very healthy and good for you.”

  In typical kindergarten fashion, Cora responded with absolute brutal honesty. “It looks like vomit. Alien vomit.”

  AJ looked at me and laughed. “She’s totally related to you. That could’ve come from your mouth.”

  I grinned. “I take that as a compliment.” I told Cora, “We have to be heading out. I’ll bring you back to play with Simon another day.”

  She wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck. “Can’t I take him home?”

  I knelt before my niece and said, “That would make AJ sad. Simon is his best friend. And besides, I happen to know that in the evening, Simon gets gassy and can stink up a room for hours. Like the smell of rotten eggs.”

  “Hey,” AJ said with indignation, “he has feelings, and he can’t help that he has a sensitive GI system.”

  Cora grimaced, her grip on Simon relaxing. “Maybe he should stay here.”

  Precious said, “Maybe you should give him some of that green vomit drink.”

  For a second, the tension I’d been carrying around eased as I joked with my friends and family. I wished whatever was coming would just come already. Let’s get this show on the road so I can put it behind me. Though if this is how life is going to be from now on, maybe I should revisit studio or crime-scene photography.

  Not for the first time did I wonder if I was cut out for the high-stakes lifestyle of a private investigator.

  Thursday

  Game Day

  I was decked out in my Portland Pioneer team colors: dirty brown and puke green. Dad took it a step further and painted green and brown smudges under his eyes. I couldn’t say the colors were flattering, but no one cared.

  I’d grown up going to games because my dad and I were big Seahawks fans. But I’d never found my seats by taking an elevator to them. My pocketbook supported only t
ickets that required extreme stair climbing. I’d also never found my seat by going through a heated lobby with carpet, lounge seating, and a bar with a scattering of bar-height tables for mingling.

  A host showed us to the box, but not before double-checking our tickets. Inside the box were cushioned seats set theater style for optimal game viewing. The temperature was a comfy seventy degrees. Outside, the weather was misting as Mother Nature alternated between sleet and rain.

  “This is the life,” Dad said and elbowed me.

  “All your connections and never a clubhouse invite?” I tsked and shook my head in mock disappointment.

  Dad chuckled. “Yeah, well, I was persona non grata for decades.”

  He’d even spent some time in the slammer for not disclosing his source on his PED exposé. After that jading experience, Russell and Elizabeth True moved their young daughters out of Los Angeles and to the small town of Wind River, where Dad became the owner and sole staff reporter for The Wind River Journal.

  I tossed my plastic backpack onto a plush armchair in the front row and took the seat next to it. “Good thing that was a long time ago, because I had to give our names for the tickets.” I waggled my eyebrows. “Or you’d be taking in the game like Keith McVay, from your couch by the flat screen. With Mom and Cora there distracting you.”

  Dad winked. “That’s why you’re my favorite daughter.”

  “This week,” I said under my breath because Dad always told Rachel and me that each of us was his favorite daughter… as if he had others.

  Precious moved my bag one chair away and took the seat next to me. Dad sat on my other side and Troy next to him.

  Leaning forward, I told Troy, “I bet we seem silly to you. We’re all excited to be here, and this is your standard now.” I smiled.

  He shrugged. “I don’t come to the games often. Or if I do, I sometimes wait in the underground. Mom came once before she left for Arizona, but I haven’t been up here since.”

  “Too bad your mom can’t be here now,” I said.

  He nodded. “Yeah, because the time she did come, he warmed the bench the entire game. But she’s watching today.” He waved his phone. “And she’s texting.”

  Precious looked around and sighed. “This is the life.” She pointed at a credenza at the end of the room. “Already stocked with food.”

  Troy looked over his shoulder at the hot plates and serving dishes. “AJ had to select the menu in advance.”

  I grimaced. “I hope he didn’t put that green sludge drink on the menu. And I hope there’s more than veggies.”

  Troy laughed. “Yeah, I told him I wouldn’t go unless there were wings.”

  I high-fived Troy.

  Precious asked, “So each box can have something different? Foodwise, I mean.”

  Troy nodded. “It’s all about how much you want to spend.”

  Precious stood and smoothed her palms down the front of her jeans. “I think I’ll go check things out. Get a feel for the place.”

  I pointed at the scoreboard outside the window. We were practically eye level with it, and I had an amazing view of the entire field. Luxury is awesome. “Game starts in fifteen. You don’t want to miss kickoff.”

  She rolled her eyes. I stood and followed her out of the row.

  She looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming with?”

  I shook my head and pointed at the buffet. “I get a nervous stomach and can’t eat during the game. I’m going to fill up now.”

  She was out the door moments later, her chuckle floating on the wind.

  Dad, Troy, and I ate our body weight in wings while discussing the obstacles AJ might have in the game. The emcee of the game came over the loudspeaker to amp up the crowd. I glanced around for Precious. She’d been gone longer than I expected.

  I said, “I’ll be back. I’m gonna go look for Precious.”

  Dad arched his brows. “Don’t miss kickoff.”

  I nodded then stopped outside the box, shutting the solid wooden door behind me. Then I noticed how quiet the lounge was, how the doors to the boxes offered a barrier to sound. I scanned the space to my right and left—no sign of Precious.

  I was about to ask the attendant when I heard her laugh. Barely. It came from the box next to ours. The door wasn’t fully closed, or I wouldn’t have heard her at all.

  I stepped up to the door and knocked. The act itself felt silly because I wasn’t at a residence.

  Nothing happened. I knocked again. Still nothing. Because the door was ajar, I pulled it open and looked inside. That box was far more active and crowded than ours. Twenty people milled around with glasses of champagne and plates of crab legs and oysters. I saw what Troy had meant when he said the menu could be customized.

  Precious was standing in a circle of three men. She’d dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt tucked in, knee-high boots that were waterproof, surprising because they didn’t look weather friendly, and a corduroy jacket. The jacket was tied around her waist, which only accentuated her endowed chest and small waist. Her act of football patriotism was a brown-and-green scarf around her neck. She blended in perfectly with the crowd in the room.

  She put a hand on the arm of one of the men and said, “It’s not about daydreaming the future but visualizing how your plan works, the steps you take to get to the goal. There’s no such thing as a ceiling.”

  He looked besotted… and loaded, sporting a leather watch with a diamond-and-rose-gold face I recognized as a Breitling. His dirty-blond hair was receding slightly though he looked to be maybe mid-thirties. He had friendly blue eyes and one dimple on his right cheek. He and his two friends were taller than Precious, something I’m sure she appreciated as she stood at six feet.

  I tapped her on a shoulder. When she looked over, I pointed at the scoreboard. “Two minutes.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I still have two minutes. Sam, meet my new friends. I met Austin when I was out exploring.” She squeezed his arm then did the weirdest thing ever. She giggled coquettishly.

  I’d seen the various stages of Precious flirting or in a relationship. And I thought I’d seen it all. But that giggle was like nothing I’d ever experienced, as if Precious was flustered. And a flustered Precious was as rare a sighting as Bigfoot. I was used to angry Precious and scared Precious.

  Austin stuck out a hand. “Austin Strong.”

  As we shook hands, recognition dawned. Holy crap. Austin Strong was a tech mogul who’d gotten his start by capturing the market on internet privacy. About a decade before, spyware popped up that turned computer cameras into motion detectors and spied on people everywhere. Suddenly, women around the world, mostly college students, were finding videos of themselves on the internet—videos of them changing clothes, sleeping, studying, having sex, or doing many other random acts were being streamed for any pervert’s pleasure. Strong invented software called StrongBlock to block the spyware. He became a billionaire almost overnight because of it. And he wasn’t a one-hit wonder. Security was his thing, and he was one of the strongest voices advocating for ownership of data and online privacy.

  And for all his good deeds, he then wooed the people of Oregon by purchasing a pro-football team and moving it to Portland.

  “Samantha True,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  He gestured to his friends. “This is DeShawn Cook—you might know him as Lil’ Megalodon—and Seth Painter.”

  Lil’ Megalodon was a superstar rapper. A skinny, rail-thin white guy with a scruffy goatee and short dreadlocks, he’d managed to capture the hearts of the youth with his stand-up-and-fight raps cleverly done with classical music as the melodies. In truth, I had him in my Spotify playlist. His raps were great for inspiring perseverance while I went running. Hanging from his neck was a large gold rope chain and a megalodon tooth the size of my hand with fingers splayed. Down his right arm was a six-inch bandage.

  “Yikes.” I gestured at the bandage.

  He glanced at his arm. “Got cut by those th
at wish to repress. Dirty blade. Had to get one of those stupid shots.”

  Tetanus. Thinking about it made my arm ache. “Scary,” I said.

  The rapper said, “Not for me. I will not be silenced.”

  Seth Painter stuck out his hand, and the conversation shifted.

  I also knew Seth Painter—by name only, though. His family owned one of the largest insurance companies on the West Coast.

  We exchanged pleasantries then were interrupted by the emcee announcing the coin toss.

  I pointed toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back to our box. I want to see kickoff.” I could’ve watched it there but wanted to see it with my dad. And being around such influential and wealthy people made me nervous.

  Precious said, “I’ll go with you. Thanks again, Austin. It was such a pleasure to meet you.”

  He squeezed both her shoulders warmly. “Let’s connect.” After letting go of her shoulders, he tapped his shirt pocket. “I have your card. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Enjoy the game,” she said to the others and let me pull her from the room.

  We said nothing in the hallway and stayed quiet until we took our seats back in our box.

  “Where were you?” Dad asked.

  I waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, just chatting with Austin Strong, Seth Painter, and Lil’ Megalodon.”

  “What?” Troy said, nearly coming out of his seat. “Lil’ Megalodon is here?”

  “Yeah.” I hitched a finger over my shoulder, indicating the box to our right. “In that box right there. If you hang out in the lounge area, you might actually run into him.”

  Troy stood.

  I did as well and met his gaze. “I was kidding. Your brother will kill you if you miss his game.”

  Troy grimaced. “But Lil’ Megalodon… I love him.”

  Precious said, “He’s not going anywhere. When I was there, I noticed he stepped out to use the restroom instead of the one in the box. If the way he’s chugging those Diet Cokes is any indication, you’ll likely find him making a trip between quarters. Try then.”