PICKED OFF

by Linda Lovely

  Paint smiled. “Ah ha, mystery solved. You met the minority owner of the Sin City Aces. Give me a minute and I’ll google her. Tabloids and sports shows have run dozens of stories about her fight with Stepmom Sala. She’s contesting her dad’s will. Claims Sala drugged her father and he wasn’t in his right mind when he signed his last will.”

  Paint handed over his phone. “Here’s a picture of the woman.”

  I studied the photo. Kate Lemmon might sport a punk rocker’s hairstyle but she dressed like a model for Victoria’s Secret. In the photo, she teetered on stilettos that could be twins of her hospital stilts. See-through lace revealed most of the skin covering her bony bod. She looked so thin I wondered if she might be anorexic.

  “Did you hear what was said when she was arguing with Sala or conspiring with Allie?” I asked.

  “We got in on the tail end. Mostly name calling,” Mollye answered. “No juicy details.”

  “Why do you suppose the stepdaughter tried to stop me? Think she knew I was an imposter?”

  “Doubt it,” Eva answered. “Imagine she just wanted an update on Zack’s condition and thought a nurse who’d just left his room could provide it. She has literally millions of reasons to be interested in the condition of the Aces’ star player. It’s obvious he’s out for this year, but his inability to play next season could cost big bucks.”

  “Find anything interesting on the phone?” Mollye asked.

  “I’d say so,” Paint answered. “A short documentary on human mating behavior and Sala Lemmon is one of the stars.”

  “Let me see.” Mollye bounced up and down. “Hey, hand it over.”

  “I’ll pass,” I said, excusing myself from the table. “Think I already saw that film in ninth-grade health class. Plus I want to get out of these clothes. My plastic belly’s making me sweat.”

  In my bedroom, I stripped off the borrowed scrubs and considered how best to extricate myself from the phony pregnancy tummy duct-taped to my T-shirt. I finally yanked the whole kit and caboodle—shirt, suspenders, belly—over my head in a single maneuver. Didn’t even try to undo the sticky tape.

  As I rejoined the group, Mollye’s head was moving up and down like she was bobbing for apples. Keeping rhythm with the action on Zack’s phone? No need to watch the video clip. I could tell what form of exercise it captured.

  Eva glanced at me. “I’m not interested in looking at that home movie either. I’m no prude but it wouldn’t feel right to peek at a tush that might belong to someone I once diapered.”

  I nodded. “I just met the man and I can’t help with any derriere ID.”

  Clearly, Paint, Andy, and Mollye had no such scruples. They passed the phone back and forth, allowing each to sit through the clip several times. They claimed they were studying the surroundings for clues about where and how the video was shot.

  “The film’s too steady to be handheld,” Andy said, “but I don’t think a pro set it up. Too jumpy and there’s no effort to edit out the frames where the man’s adjusting the camera. For a few seconds, the camera swings back and forth as he fiddles with the focus and zoom. Those blurry frames give a glimpse of a nightstand. No framed photos or personal mementos, just a hairbrush, clock, and a couple of pill bottles. Labels turned away.”

  “No whips, chains, or feathers either.” Mollye giggled. “The woman’s asleep in bed when the film starts. The guy probably used one of those bendy selfie tripods to attach his phone to something taller than the bed.”

  “You keep saying ‘he,’” Eva interrupted. “You sure it’s a man mounting the camera?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Mollye giggled again. “Next thing we see is a nude male, walking to the bed and climbing on top of the woman. Nice build. Too bad we only see his well-formed backside. Once he’s saddled up, there’s not much to see besides the writhing bodies and twisted sheets.”

  “Could have been shot in almost any bedroom,” Andy said. “Can’t even tell if the nightstand’s black or brown.”

  Mollye grinned. “Well, the colors are plenty vivid in one spot. The tattoo on the man’s bouncing butt is inked in red and blue. There’s no question who the woman is, and Sala doesn’t appear miffed by her wake-up call. Can’t say it’s Zack in the buff though. Maybe, maybe not. Never catch a hint of profile. We only see him from the back. His hair’s light colored, but it could be blond, ginger, even silver. Too murky. Luckily the tattoo’s crystal clear on that very fine, pale bottom. The joker from a deck of cards.”

  Eva glanced at Andy and Paint. “Do tell. Is your buddy’s bottom decorated with a joker?”

  Andy shook his head. “None of us had tattoos back in high school. But now, who knows? He did come to the fundraiser dressed as a joker.”

  “Yeah, but his mom picked out the costume,” Paint said. “Pretty sure her choice had nothing to do with any tattoo. I haven’t had the occasion or desire to see Zack’s hairy behind. A few ladies’ bottoms, yes, as well as some covered ones I’d like to see neckid.”

  “Well, who would know if Zack has a tattoo on his backside?” Mollye asked impatiently. “Can’t we just call some of his teammates and ask? I mean those guys take group showers in the all-together, right? Wouldn’t someone have noticed?”

  Andy and Paint hooted.

  “Like they’d tell you if they’d seen Zack’s butt,” Andy said. “You’d sound like a crazed stalker.”

  “Yeah, even teammates who aren’t fond of each other would think twice about giving up that kind of personal stuff,” Paint added. “It would be a betrayal, especially since Zack’s in a coma and can’t defend himself. That would make tattling even worse.”

  Andy nodded. “Agreed. No stranger’s going to coax that kind of gossip out of anyone who frequents the Aces’ locker room.”

  Eva stood and walked to the coffee pot for a refill. “We’re jumping to the conclusion that bobbing butt is the reason everyone’s after Zack’s cell phone. The text message that accompanies it—‘Thought you might find this instructive. A friend.’—isn’t exactly a threat. Maybe the leading lady sent it as an invitation. You know, like let’s schedule a repeat? People can be very strange.”

  “Eva’s got a point,” Andy said. “Maybe this isn’t why people are clamoring to get Zack’s phone. There’s no date stamp so we have no idea when the video was shot. If it actually is Zack, who cares if he and Sala engage in off-the-field calisthenics? They’re both single. It would just be a passing titillation for the tabloids.”

  “They’re both single now,” I pointed out. “What if that video predates Mr. Lemmon’s death? Could evidence of Sala cheating on her husband help the stepdaughter fight the will?”

  Andy’s fingers slowly shuffled his coffee cup to and fro on his patch of pine table. “I doubt even iron-clad proof of an affair could overturn a properly-executed will. But the video could serve as leverage with the league. It could bring mighty strong pressure to bear on a team owner it felt had violated ethics or morals clauses—maybe force divestiture.”

  Eva ran her fingers through her curly white hair. “I don’t know what to do. If Zack’s starring in that bedroom workout, Carol wouldn’t want anyone’s eyeballs glued to it. But she’s not here, and that worries me more than the tabloids getting wind of some bedroom romp. Maybe we should turn the phone over to the sheriff.”

  I sighed in relief. Last spring I’d learned a hard lesson. Keeping secrets—even for what seemed like good reasons—could have dire consequences. “I agree. Perhaps Mom can turn the phone over to the sheriff and extract a promise that content unrelated to Zack’s attack or Carol’s disappearance will remain private and confidential.”

  “Like that’s possible,” Mollye scoffed. “If enough eyes follow the bouncing buns in that video, somebody’s going to blab.”

  Eva’s shoulders slumped. “Nothing I can do to prevent that. But I’m worried sick about Carol. I don’t think Za
ck’s in any danger even though Brie was able to sneak inside his room. Who’d want to risk another attack on someone who’s already in a coma and under guard? Carol’s another story. Where could she be? If something on this phone will help find her, Zack’s right to privacy comes dead last.”

  I nodded. “I’ll call Mom now. It is ten o’clock so my folks are probably in bed. But the odds are good they’re still reading.”

  “Do it,” Eva said. “No point waiting.”

  TWENTY

  Mom was awake. “We should turn the phone over to Sheriff Mason tonight. I’ll call the sheriff soon as your dad and I are in the car. Ask him to meet us at Udderly.”

  I relayed the news to the kitchen detectives.

  Paint stood to leave, then sat back down. “We only read a handful of the text messages and spent zero time looking at Zack’s call logs. What’s the harm in backing up everything to a Cloud account before we hand the phone over to the sheriff?”

  “Do you really need a copy of that bedroom ballet?” Eva challenged. “You seriously think you can come up with a clue that escapes the sheriff?”

  “Maybe,” Andy jumped in. “Paint and I have been friends with Zack since kindergarten. We know his history. The sheriff’s new. He’s never even met Zack. We might stumble across something that doesn’t make sense, doesn’t add up.”

  Eva shrugged. “Guess it can’t hurt. But you’d better be dang sure your backup is secure. I don’t want to be blamed for some hacker broadcasting that video.”

  Paint only needed a couple minutes to create a brand-new account in the Cloud and upload the phone’s content. “The password is 25spygoat. Any of us can access the account with that password.”

  “Why did you pick twenty-five?” I asked.

  “Zack’s jersey number in high school.”

  Mom and Dad arrived within minutes of my friends’ departure.

  “The sheriff should be here any minute,” Mom said. “Where’d you find the phone?”

  I explained how I noticed the out-of-place feed bucket and looked inside.

  “Wonder how the phone wound up in that feed pail?” Dad’s eyebrows knitted together as he tackled a new conundrum.

  “Maybe Zack was holding the phone when he got hit and it fell in the bucket,” I said. “It was so dark in the barn, the attacker might not have seen it fall, and the feed would have cushioned the sound. The medics ordered a bunch of stuff hauled outside to clear a path for Zack’s stretcher. By the time the forensics folks searched the barn, the bucket and phone were gone.”

  “Do I want to know how you unlocked the phone to see that embarrassing video?” Mom probed. “Did one of you know Zack’s password?”

  I hoped the look I focused on Eva communicated my desire for a joint confession. My aunt seemed as reluctant as I was to fess up to our hospital charade. But she came clean and assumed her share of guilt for the caper.

  “It was the only way we could honor Carol’s wishes,” Eva concluded. “I just wanted to protect Zack’s privacy.”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “You two. I can’t lie for you.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “But we don’t need to share all the gory details. If Mason doesn’t ask, we don’t need to volunteer information. It doesn’t make a whit of difference in his investigation.”

  We heard a car arrive, heralded as always by our canine chorus. I peeked through the slats in the front window blinds. Not the sheriff, unless he was driving an unmarked car to throw the media off the investigative scent.

  The car’s driver door flew open. The bony bare legs that emerged clearly didn’t belong to the sheriff or, given the red stilettos, to any of Ardon County’s female officers.

  Cheeses. Had to be the Lemmon stepdaughter. Why was she here? Did someone in the sheriff’s department spill the beans this quickly about the phone’s discovery?

  Thank heaven I’d jettisoned my wig and nurse scrubs the minute we came home. I was thankful our co-conspirators were gone, too. Mollye the Tripper’s presence would have given Kate Lemmon one more clue about our hospital scam. I wasn’t eager to be fingered as the fleeing nurse.

  I turned from the window. I barely had time to warn my family of our caller’s identity before she banged on the door.

  “Open up,” she demanded. “I know you have Zack’s phone. Someone used it in this location in the last hour. And we all know Zack couldn’t have authorized its use.”

  Dad opened the door just as the woman launched herself toward a now absent wood barrier. The forward momentum caused her to stumble into Dad, who grabbed her arm to right her.

  “Who are you?” Dad demanded. “And why is someone else’s phone any of your business?”

  The woman employed one of her chicken-wing elbows to shove Dad’s arm away. “I’m Kate Lemmon and I own the Sin City Aces. That phone is team property. Where is it?”

  My gaze automatically shifted to the phone in question, sitting in the middle of the table like an electronic centerpiece. In plain sight. Would the Lemmon heir spot it and make a grab for it?

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” Mom advised. “I’m the attorney for the Strong family.”

  When Kate’s attention locked on Mom, Dad casually swept the phone off the table and into his pocket.

  “I understand you are the team’s minority shareholder,” Mom continued. “Before we give the phone to anyone we need to see documentation regarding its ownership and a notarized statement from the majority shareholder that you are authorized to take possession.”

  “What the hell’s with this legal-ass crap?” Kate screeched. “You’re not Zack’s attorney. I know him. Maybe you aren’t an attorney at all. You’re the one who needs to show ID. Just who are you working for? Has Sala bought you, too?”

  The sounds of another set of wheels crunching gravel brought a temporary truce to the confrontation.

  “Ah, that would be Sheriff Mason,” Aunt Eva said. “We’ll let him sort this out. The sheriff believes the phone might be a help in his investigation. Surely you want the authorities to have all the tools they need to catch Zack’s attacker and find out why Carol Strong is missing. Then again maybe you know more than the sheriff on both subjects.”

  The skin on Kate’s forehead creased, as much as possible with what appeared to be a taut, beat-the-wrinkles facelift. “What are you talking about? The Strong woman’s missing?”

  Either Kate was an excellent actress or Carol’s vanishing act came as a total surprise.

  Sheriff Mason didn’t bother to knock or yoo-hoo before walking inside with Deputy Danny McCoy on his heels. Dad hadn’t fully closed the door, and Kate’s loud demands probably clued the lawmen they need not stand on ceremony. The officers looked baffled by the unexpected make-up of the kitchen crowd.

  Kate Lemmon was first to react. She stuck out her manicured claw to shake Mason’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Sheriff. You can help us quickly straighten out this situation.”

  Had to give the woman credit. Her patter was smoother than chocolate silk pie.

  “These people have taken possession of a cell phone that rightfully belongs to the Sin City Aces organization,” she continued. “It contains confidential team data. As the team owner, I’m obliged to safeguard this information.”

  Kate beamed a smile at the officers. Her teeth so white she could forgo a flashlight on moonless nights. “Of course, I’ll be happy to review all content and share any non-team information that might aid your investigation,” she cooed. “We’re as interested as you are in finding out who attacked our star quarterback.”

  Sheriff Mason stared down at his shoes, then looked up at the woman. Her expression seemed to communicate both confidence and superiority.

  “I’m taking the phone,” the sheriff affirmed. “I have zero interest in any confidential team information. My only concern is looking for leads. When we’re
through with the phone, we’ll figure out who it belongs to.”

  He glanced at Eva, my folks, and me. “Any of you have something to add?”

  Mom repeated her claim to be the Strong family attorney and said she’d insist that phone ownership be documented before the sheriff handed it over to anyone. Without evidence to the contrary, Mom contended the phone belonged to Zack and, in the event he remained incapacitated, to his mother.

  Dad took the phone from his pocket and handed it to the sheriff.

  I bit my lip. Should I clue the sheriff in about the password conundrum? “You may want to keep the phone active for your techies,” I offered. “It’s password protected.”

  The sheriff nodded as he handed the cell phone to Danny. I breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t ask the obvious follow-up question: “What’s the password?” Perhaps he didn’t want Ms. Lemmon to hear the answer.

  “We’ll see you out,” the sheriff told Kate. “Where are you staying? I’ll call you if there are any new developments.”

  The woman hesitated a moment before telling the sheriff that she was staying at the Maison d’Orange in Clemson.

  Sheriff Mason shifted his attention to the Hooker clan, all present and accounted for. “I’ll be in touch with you, too,” he said. “Good night.”

  Kate’s car vanished first. Like she had a choice. The sheriff and deputy herded her down the drive as efficiently as Udderly’s Border Collies herded our goats. I watched through the blind slats until all taillights disappeared.

  I sighed. “Whew. I’m sure glad the sheriff came when he did. Although I doubt Kate would have pulled a gun to force the issue.”

  Mom sighed. “No. She’s used to ordering peons about and expecting obedience. Too high and mighty to do her own dirty work.”

  “So why didn’t she send some peons to confiscate the phone?” I asked.

  “Probably thought her royal presence would be sufficient to make us cave.” Dad shrugged. “Did you catch the look on her face when you mentioned Carol was missing? Seemed to be a genuine news flash. I’m inclined to think she’s among the innocent on the abduction front.