Caught Off Guard Page 6

  I jogged along the side of the building—which had no windows, luckily—and around the back. The truck was backed up to an open doorway, and the driver was ringing a bell. Moments later, the back door of the building swung open, and a large dude in a white chef’s coat came out. He and the delivery guy carried large boxes of food from the truck into the building. I waited until they were both deep inside the truck and slipped through the back door.

  I entered a large room with some benches, lockers, and hooks to hang coats and whatnot. Another door at the other end opened into a hallway. Once in the hallway, I paused to gather my bearings, seeing four doors to pick from. Two were on my left, one marked Restroom, the other Storage. On my right, one door was propped open and showed the kitchen. Another door at the far end was marked Exit.

  Taking the exit was likely what I wanted to do, but I wouldn’t know where to go from there. I couldn’t just wander the building.

  Instead, I hurried into the prep area, hoping to not get seen by the delivery guy or the chef. Two women my mom’s age were dicing vegetables. On the stove, four large pots steamed. One quick whiff told me soup was on. And it smelled yummy. The scent of chicken and herbs hit me first. The next was the hearty smell of beef stew.

  My stomach grumbled—loudly. One of the ladies dicing looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

  “Smells really good. I’m sorry to interrupt, but could you point me in the direction of Brad Jenson? I’m supposed to meet him, and I think I came in the wrong door. He’s one of the team trainers.”

  Now I had the attention of both, and my stomach rumbled again. I tried to make my expression apologetic and slightly pleading. The taller lady pushed her hairnet off her forehead with the back of one hand and looked out into the dining room. I followed her gaze and saw several of the players huddled at a table, talking quietly with plates of food between them.

  One guy stood alone, leaning against a vending machine, his attention on his phone. He was dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, a team lanyard around his neck. His hair, regular boring brown, was cut short and preppy. But he didn’t look preppy. He looked nerdy trying to be preppy.

  The tall lady turned back to me. “That’s him by the snack vendor.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.” Then I made my way out the exit.

  I wasted no time making my way to Jenson but walked with confidence and purpose, like I had every reason to be in the dining room of the Pioneers' training facility. Being proactive was giving me a head rush. Maybe I was finding my groove.

  I sidled up to Jenson and asked, “How’s it going?”

  He jumped and nearly dropped his phone. “F-f-fine.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Sam.”

  He shook mine limply. “Brad.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been trying to meet you.” I took a business card from my back pocket and handed it to him. “I work for AJ Gunn. And I need your help in verifying a few things.”

  “I don’t know anything.” He stepped away from the vending machine, and I moved with him, attempting to herd him back against the wall.

  “I’m not saying you know anything. I just need you to tell me what AJ was doing on Friday the day Keith McVay took that drug test and failed it.”

  Brad looked over my shoulder, his face pale and his eyes darting. I didn’t want to read too much into his reactions.

  “I wasn’t with AJ all day,” he said.

  I fake laughed in an attempt to ease his anxiety. “Of course you weren’t. How could you be? But you were there when AJ made that nasty green smoothie of his, right?”

  Brad nodded, looking as uncomfortable as before and clearly not responding to my pathetic attempts to relax him.

  “And you saw AJ give McVay the smoothie?”

  AJ had said he didn’t give McVay the drink, but I wanted Brad’s version.

  “Yeah. McVay drank the smoothie.”

  “That AJ handed to him?”

  Brad locked eyes with me for a millisecond then glanced away and shifted his weight. “I can’t remember if AJ gave Keith the drink or not.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Understandable. You said two other guys drank that sludge that day. Maybe one of them will remember.” I looked around for the two men AJ had said drank the smoothie.

  Brad sighed. “I carried the drink to Keith. He was getting into the whirlpool. He was still a little sore from the accident. The day before, he pulled his quad and wanted to warm the muscles before stretching out.”

  “Oh, so you handed the drink to Keith?”

  Brad shook his head, making me almost groan in frustration. “I put the drink on the table by the whirlpool. I think Keith was in the locker room, changing or something. I don’t know where he went.”

  “Did you stay in the room with the drink until Keith came back?”

  Brad looked at me like I was stupid. “No, I don’t get paid to babysit a smoothie made of vegetables. There are other guys who need work done before they get on the field.”

  “And all this happened before the drug test Keith took?”

  Jenson eyed me with skepticism. “Yeah, team meeting is where players find out if they have to do the mando drug test.”

  “And team meeting is at nine o’clock?” I was guessing.

  “Ten.”

  So McVay had drunk the smoothie before the meeting, found out he had to test, peed in a cup, and failed the test.

  I moved on. “How about Thursday? When you went to Keith’s house to do reps with him. When the ball hit him in the face? Tell me about that.”

  “What are you talking about? I never went to Keith’s.” Brad’s lip curled up slightly, only to drop seconds later. He stared at something over my shoulder.

  I turned around to see a security guard watching us.

  Brad said, “I have to go. I shouldn’t be talking to you anyway.”

  I turned back to Brad, knowing things were likely to go downhill fast. “Me, specifically? How can that be?”

  Brad rolled his eyes. “We’ve been forbidden to talk to anyone about the case except the cops, and even then, we need the team lawyer with us.”

  Lockett wouldn’t hesitate to subpoena anyone in that facility. “Well, I have a few more questions. Are you telling me you didn’t go to Keith’s Thursday to work him out?”

  Brad’s attention was on the security guard. “You’re about to get thrown out. You should run. And we never talked, if anyone asks.”

  With sarcasm, I said, “I appreciate your time, Brad. And if anyone asks, I’ll tell them your lips were sealed. That it may have looked like we were talking, but you said nothing whatsoever.” I stepped aside to give Brad room to pass because I knew I’d lost him, but I was annoyed with him. In a murder case, people should spill everything they know in the name of justice. I mean, never mind a person’s life was on the line.

  He took a step then paused. We were facing opposite directions, our sides aligned, when he said, “Tell AJ good luck. I’m sorry he got roped into this.”

  Brad scurried off like a nervous rat. Mouth agape, I watched him leave. The security guy moved toward me, and I skirted around the tables, keeping a large gap between us. Then I exited the dining hall the way I’d come, walking quickly through the hallway and back toward the kitchen like I was in a race. In a way, it was—a race to not get caught.

  “Hey,” someone behind me called. “Stop!”

  I rushed outside through the door, bumping the chef as he was coming in.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled and jogged off toward LC, afraid I’d draw more attention if I broke into a full run.

  I rounded the corner and jumped into LC through the back passenger door. I flipped over the bench seat into the cargo space, where I crawled under the handful of blankets I kept for when I was out in the woods. Afraid they’d grab my license number, I didn’t want to drive off. But I didn’t want to get caught sitting there either. My gut told me to hide and stay low, so that’s what I did. Moments later, I he
ard the security guard talking, probably on his shoulder mic.

  “No sign of anyone. Lot’s quiet.”

  From the clarity of his voice, I figured he was standing nearby, close enough to look inside and spot me had I not covered myself. I waited for what felt like years but was likely minutes. Though the day was gray, misty, and cold, typical of Pacific Northwest winters, sweat trickled down the back of my neck, feeling like a spider scampering inside my shirt. I resisted the urge to brush the sweat away. I counted to one hundred, slowly, while listening. No sound. I moved one corner of a blanket to peek and check if the coast was clear. From my hiding spot, I could see one window. No guard. I pushed more fabric away to look out the back. No guard there either.

  Slowly, I sat up. The coast was clear.

  That’s when I swiped at my neck and did a mini heebie-jeebies dance. Even though I knew logically what I’d felt, shaking the image of an arachnid was difficult.

  Movement at the building’s front caught my eye. Brad Jenson jogged across the parking lot to his car, a late-model, standard, boring, white pickup. He glanced at his phone and back at the building before jumping into his truck and peeling out of the lot.

  I pulled my phone from my back pocket and dialed Toby.

  “Dudette,” he said after the first ring.

  “Dude, ready to do some online sleuthing?”

  “Hit me.”

  “I’d like you to find out what you can about Brad Jenson. He’s a trainer with the Pioneers. And Keith McVay as well.” I wracked my brain for anyone else he might look into.

  “Worked on McVay the day your pal Gunn was arrested. I’ll send that to you now. I also did Gunn. I’ll get started on this Jenson person.” Cooing filtered over the line.

  “Ah, tell Lady M I said hi.” I’d gotten attached to Toby’s emotional-support animal. “And thanks for being one step ahead of me on this one.”

  Teamwork makes the dream work, unless someone on your team slips you a mickey that gets you to pop positive on a routine drug test.

  8

  Friday

  As I was crossing the bridge into Washington from the Pioneers' training complex, the ramifications of working with AJ began. I was headed to downtown Vancouver to follow my other client’s fiancé when my cell rang. Because LC doesn’t have a working stereo, I had my earbuds in and was listening to Spotify when the call came through.

  The screen showed my client’s name.

  “Hello, Samantha True speaking,” I said with a smile. That was one case I was happy to have because I knew I could do it with my eyes closed.

  “Hello, Samantha. It’s Renee Foote.”

  “Hello, Renee. How are you? I’m on my way now to spend the afternoon watching Jon. If he’s as predictable as I think and as loyal as he seems, I should find him right where he said he’d be.”

  She cleared her throat. “That’s why I’m calling. I’m sorry, Samantha, but I need to cancel my service. I mean to say that I want you to stop following him, that I’m good. We can be done.” She groaned.

  “You’d like to end the job?” I exited the highway, but instead of heading in the direction of Renee’s fiancé, I pulled onto the shoulder. “Is everything okay?” I had only one day of data on Jon, and she'd been adamant about getting two weeks of observation.

  “Yes.”

  “So you no longer feel worried about Jon?”

  She groaned again. “Ugh, it’s that… I like you, Samantha. From the moment we met, I didn’t feel embarrassed sharing my fear with you. But it’s that…”

  I waited patiently.

  She sighed. “On the news earlier, there was a shot of you and a lawyer coming out of the Multnomah County jail. I guess you’re also working the case of that murdered quarterback.”

  “Is there a problem with that?”

  I had no idea we’d been caught by news cameras. I’d seen them, but none had rushed us like I’d seen in the movies. Tyson and I strolled to our cars and drove away unharmed.

  “Yes,” Renee said. “I think this guy they arrested did it, and I don’t want to be associated with your company. It makes me feel dirty. And they’re saying awful things about you on social media. Is it true your husband was a bigamist?”

  I groaned, keeping it in so that she couldn’t hear. I rested my forehead on my steering wheel and said, “I’m sorry that you feel that way, Renee. Used to be in this country people were innocent until proven guilty, not the other way around. If you’d like, I can refer you to another private investigator.” I didn’t know anyone but Paulie Bea, but I thought that was the professional thing to do.

  “I found one. His name is Paulie Bea. He said he knew you. Said I was doing the right thing if I wanted to keep my situation under the radar.”

  Of course he did. “Well, sounds like you’re all set. Thanks for being honest with me, Renee. I’ll send all my notes and my final invoice tonight. Good luck.”

  “Thank you, Samantha,” she said, then disconnected.

  I banged my head softly against the steering wheel. Paulie Bea. I had an incredible urge to kick him in the shins.

  I pointed LC toward Wind River and headed home. I had dictated my notes about Renee’s fiancé’s whereabouts and sent them to Toby to edit. Proofing is not my super skill. After a quick call to him, he sent Renee a final invoice and all the documentation I’d accumulated.

  Back roads were my path home—houses on large plots of land, some with horses, goats, and a few cows. Mount Saint Helens sat on my right side, watching from afar. Seeing the volcano with its snowy peak was a boon. Typically, the skies were too cloudy for such scenery.

  I contemplated swinging by my parents’ to see Cora, but my frustration was too fresh, and I didn’t want my niece to think she had anything to do with that. As I drove past the dog park, I caught a glimpse of a person who looked like Paulie Bea and his dog walking the width of the park.

  With a sharp jerk of the wheel, I pulled into the dog park, my sudden declaration spraying gravel and mud. I threw LC into park and jumped out. Paulie’s dog, Rocket, met me at the gate, tail wagging. I scratched him behind the ears.

  “Sorry you have a butthead for a master, Rocket,” I mumbled, stomping over to Paulie.

  He held up his hands in protest. “Hey, can I help it if your clients don’t like you?”

  “How did she even find you? I thought you were retired.”

  Paulie shrugged. “I do good advertising. And I can target people on Facebook. I’ve been in this business long enough to know you weren’t going to keep all your clients.”

  “Why did you even take the case?”

  Paulie pulled a treat from his pocket and tossed it to Rocket. “Easy money. She said the fiancé had done nothing wrong the week you watched him. I can spend one week in my car watching a numbskull.”

  He was dressed in the same tracksuit as that morning even though I felt like three days had already passed.

  “Well, surprise, I only surveyed him for one day. So it’s more like you have thirteen left.”

  Paulie shrugged as if to say that was no biggie. “You got any more clients you want to hand over before they jump ship?”

  I threw up my hands in disgust. “I thought you were supposed to be helping me, not stealing work from me.”

  “I am helping you. Freeing up all your extra time so you can try to get your murderer friend off the hook.”

  “He’s innocent.”

  Paulie rolled his eyes. “They all say that. Lesson number one, Samantha. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, then it’s a duck.”

  “There’s nothing but circumstantial evidence that points to AJ.”

  Again with the eye roll. I wanted to smack him upside the head.

  “Yeah, because fingerprints on the dumbbell aren’t proof.”

  My mind did a quick calculation even though I wasn’t sure what Paulie was talking about. “AJ had been to McVay’s house before. They’re professional athletes. It makes sense they might have worke
d out together that night.” My response made me feel like a genius.

  “Yeah, true. Except this particular dumbbell was the murder weapon.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know that?”

  Paulie tossed Rocket another treat. “I have friends and keep my ear to the ground.”

  I rolled my eyes with great exaggeration because Paulie was talking in riddles. “Which was it? You asked someone or overheard something?”

  He smiled. “Caught that, did you? Good. You might be able to do this job after all. I had lunch at a favorite cop stop in downtown Portland. I chummed it up with one of the cops who works in the evidence room at the county jail. He let it spill.”

  Note to self. Learn where cops hang out. Leo was easy. He hung out with me or on the reservation, doing work for the tribe.

  Paulie said, “You have to see both sides every time, the entire time. Or you’re going to miss what’s right in front of you. You can’t afford to be shortsighted.”

  “Lesson number one?” I raised an eyebrow in question.

  “Two. The duck comment was the first lesson.”

  “Hey,” someone called from across the park.

  Both Paulie and I turned to see one of the women that had been at the park earlier.

  I pointed in her direction. “Is it weird that she’s here again at the same time you are?”

  Paulie grunted. “No, it’s just bad luck.”

  The woman held up a flashlight whose beam was like an oversized laser pointer. She directed our attention twenty feet to our side.

  “Your dog crapped right there. Pick it up.” The flashlight made a circle around the area where I was guessing a pile of dog poo was waiting.

  Paulie said, “You know, when I retired, I thought I was leaving the a-holes behind. Guess not.”

  “How legit is this thing about the dumbbell and fingerprints?” Part of me hoped he was pulling my chain.

  “Came straight from the evidence clerk’s mouth. Who, I might add, is a Pioneers fan, so that should be kept in mind.”

  “But evidence is evidence. How would being a fan affect that?”