The Standout (16 page)

They’ve been playing a half-hearted game of foosball but now Monty removes his arm from around Lucy’s shoulder so he can use both hands to rotate the knobs. “Yes!” he cries when he sinks a goal. Then he gives Ian a high five.

When Jack, Monty, Ian and I are together, we always have competitions and we’re always looking for new ways to divide into teams. This time it’s the shorter siblings versus the taller ones.

Jack stands at his full, impressive height, which is a couple inches higher than me, and frowns. “Sorry I lost,” he says to me. “But yeah, my bathroom is haunted. You’d understand if you stayed there a night or two.”

I think about last night and that piece of paper I found. I swear that my mother wrote me that message. But how could that be? Maybe Tina wrote it and hid it behind my mom’s picture, but Tina is neither perceptive nor solicitous enough to think up a stunt like that.

“How can you tell it’s haunted?” I ask. “I mean, did you ever think that you’re just going crazy?”

He grins. “All the time. But then Isobel witnessed it: this white, pasty stuff that formed in quick clumps, the puddles on the floor when no water was running, and the sound of footsteps when no one was there. And one night the lights just started flickering for no reason.”

I gesture toward the other side of the room, where Isobel is sitting with Eddie and all the kids, watching a Disney movie and eating pizza. “Well, it’s working out for you, though.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jack bounces on his toes a couple of times before he walks to Isobel, sits down, and gives her a sideways squeeze, his blond head tilting toward her as she sinks into him. It’s about time that Jack is lucky in love.

At family gatherings it’s easy to forget that we’re adults because we all automatically slip into the roles we played while growing up. It doesn’t matter how much time goes by; Monty will always be the leader, Ian the jokester, Jack the nice guy, and I’m the asshole.

“Okay, so it’s you and me, Ted,” Ian says, stepping closer to the foosball table. “You have a chance to redeem the taller siblings, but I doubt you’ll succeed.” He flexes his fingers, crouches a little, and grabs the knobs on the side of the table.

“Hey!”

I turn toward the voice at the end of the room and see that it belongs to a young man with wavy brown hair and a crooked smile. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. Class went late. Is there still room in the foosball competition?”

“Sure, Nick,” Monty states. “You can join the short team.”

Nick comes over, sees me, and extends a hand. “Hi!” he says. “You must be Ted. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m—”

I cut him off. “I know who you are. You’re the guy who wants to marry my sister.”

I make Nick promise to have lunch with me tomorrow. Unfortunately, Monty invites himself along, and we’re going to eat at Jack’s restaurant. Two extra family members will make figuring Nick out more difficult. At least Ian can’t be there. As it is, I don’t know how I’m supposed to interrogate Nick with Jack and Monty around.

Right now Monty leads me to the guestroom. It’s spacious, like everything else in their house, with brown walls and a low, square-shaped bed that looks like a waterbed but the mattress is firm.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable,” Monty says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“It’s perfect. Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Of course. You’re welcome any time, Ted.” He taps his fingers against his thigh, as if his mind is racing with unasked questions. I put my suitcase on a low table and unzip it, to signal that I’m about to unpack. Maybe now he’ll leave me alone.

Nope. Monty clears his throat. “So, is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.” I can hear the tightness in my voice but can’t be bothered to loosen it. “Do you have a Wi-Fi password? I need to catch up on some work emails.”

“Yeah. I’ll write it down for you.” Monty grabs a pen and a slip of paper from a basket on the dresser and scrolls down the information. “Here you go.” He hands it to me.

“Thanks.” I try to make my smile genuine but I can imagine how stressed my face must look.

“So, Tina is okay? You and Tina are okay?”

Is it because he’s a lawyer that he’ll ask anyone anything, no matter how personal the question? I take out my laptop and I plop it onto the bed. “She’s fine. We’re. . . you know. Marriage is hard.” Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. I wasn’t planning to but the words just trekked out.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Please. The way Lucy looks at him is like how Tina used to look at me, but that light left her eyes years ago. Besides, Monty is used to adoration because he’s lived with it his entire life. “You haven’t been married for as long as Tina and me,” I tell him. “Just wait, it gets worse.” I know that if I sound too negative he’ll cross-examine me more, so I pump some air into my words. “Still, Tina and I are fine. I’m just here to meet Nick. I didn’t want Robin’s wedding to be the first time we were introduced.”

“I thought you weren’t coming to the wedding.”

I pause, caught in a lie. “Robin told you that?”

Monty looks at me, unblinking. “She and Lucy have grown close. It was Lucy who offered to host the wedding at our place, and they went shopping for dishes and stuff together. They tell each other things, and then Lucy tells me. . .” Monty shrugs like it’s no big deal that he’s more of a big brother to Robin than I am. “Anyway, it’s great that you want to get to know Nick. He’s a good guy. I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

Monty raises his dark eyebrows and smirks. “Still got the same old charm, huh Ted?” He slaps the wall and heads for the door. “Good night.”

He leaves. What a douche.

Never mind; now I can work on my second P.I. lesson. I power up my computer and log on. Luckily, today’s tutorial is on investigative observation skills. It quotes Sherlock Holmes, where he says an investigator should be seen but not observed. There’s no way Nick won’t observe me tomorrow, but I can at least let him drive the conversation. I also need to awaken that primal hunter within me, the one who doesn’t miss even the smallest details, because it could be a clue that will make or break the case.

The next day Monty and I are crammed into one side of a wooden booth and a pale-faced Nick is on the other. Jack has been in and out, at times dealing with restaurant business but mostly sitting with us, like he’s doing now, casually cozied up to Nick as if they’re best buddies. “So you got to skype with Robin?” Jack asks Nick. “How did she seem? Isobel is worried about her.”

“Why is Isobel worried about Robin? Do they even know each other?” I ask.

Jack scrunches one side of his face at me. “They’ve been best friends since college. That’s how she and I met. Robin introduced us.”

“Oh. I guess I miss a lot, not living in the area.”

Nick wipes his brow even though it’s breezy in here. He looks like he has food poisoning, or maybe the plague. “Yeah, I know Robin wishes she saw you more.”

I have to bite my lip not to laugh.

“Anyway,” Nick throatily continues, “I only got to talk to Robin once and there was a production person standing off to the side the whole time, tapping her watch and giving us directions. Robin seemed. . .stressed. Honestly, I’m worried about her too.”

“I wouldn’t be too concerned,” Monty says, tapping his fingers in that way I hate. “She’s pretty tough.”

“Yeah, she is tough. But with everything that’s going on, you know, with the website and the, um. . .” he rocks slightly in place as his cheeks grow pink. “. . .the sex-tape. I think she feels powerless.”

Monty sits up straight. “Sex-tape?”

“You haven’t seen it.” Nick shakes his head. “Thank God.” Then the words spill out, like the vomit he must be holding back. “At first it was just this weird photo montage, you know, clips of her from TV and plays she’s done, but I checked the website again this morning and there’s. . .” Nick struggles to swallow as he hyperventilates through his nose. “Well, it’s of the two of us. I’m blocked out, but you can see a lot of Robin, and. . .” He lets his head drop into his hands. “That video is from the night before she left! I didn’t even know we were being filmed and I doubt she did either. Robin would never. . .” He raises his eyes, suddenly mortified by who his audience is. “I mean,” he stammers, “she’s just not like that. And I called the webhost but all I got was a load of bull. I have to do something! I promised Robin I’d take care of things while she’s gone, and now, I mean. . . I am so completely fucked!”

There’s a moment of the most awkward silence ever, as we all squirm in our seats and wish the world would end. Nick takes a deep breath. “I meant that metaphorically, obviously. . .I am metaphorically fucked, because Robin is.. I mean, she’s obviously my number one concern, and. . .”

“Can I see it?” Monty asks, and I swivel towards him as much as the cramped space will allow.

“No you can’t see it!” I answer. “What the hell is wrong with you? Nobody should watch it! We need to get it taken down!”

“Exactly!” Monty retorts, his cheeks flushing underneath his tan skin. “And I will write the scariest, most threatening legalese letter ever to the web hosts, or I’ll call them, but first, unfortunately, I need to see the video so I have something to base my threats on.”

“Forget that! Go to the police!” I tell Nick.

“I already have,” he tells me. “But the police just said they’d look into it. Meanwhile I can’t even trace who started the website which means I can’t contact the coward myself.”

“I’m sorry Nick, but can I please see the video?” Monty asks again. Nick takes out his smartphone, calls up the website, and hands it over. While the video plays, Monty squints and holds the phone away from him, like it’s infectious. I try not to watch while Jack looks uncomfortable and winces at the sounds. After a few of seconds of grunts and groans, Monty mercifully presses stop.

“It’s, um. . .” Monty’s fingers listlessly go limp against the table. Even he can’t think of the appropriate thing to say in this situation. “It’s pretty dark. You’re, um, sure this is the two of you, in your bedroom?”

“Yeah,” Nick replies. “Of course I’m sure.”

“Well, you’re the expert!” Jack states jovially, but his words fall flat when no one cracks a smile. “You know,” he continues, “there are all sorts of stuff you can download now, programs like Spyware that will film you without your knowing about it.”

“But who would have access to Robin’s computer to do such a thing?” Nick asks. “Can it be installed by hacking in from a remote site?”

“You need to think outside the box,” I say. “Whoever’s doing this is very creative. We need to get creative too.”

Monty scrolls the website down. “What’s this about her sending money to one of the judges on
The Standout
?” he asks.

“What?” Nick urgently reaches for his phone and he holds it close, scanning a blurb and reading it aloud. “It has been confirmed that as a guarantee for her success on
The Standout
, Robin has transferred $40,000 into the account of judge Evie Messina.” Nick’s face is blank. “That’s crazy. Robin doesn’t have that kind of money.”

“May I see it again?” Monty asks, reaching for the phone. “This is definitely slander,” he says after he’s taken a look. “We’ll have it taken down too.”

“But what about the $40,000? What if someone accessed her bank account?” Nick looks to each of us, his eyes wide.

“Can you log onto her account and see? Do you have her password?” Monty asks.

“It’s written down at home.” Nick runs his hand through his hair, making it stick out in varied directions.

“Don’t worry, Nick,” Monty says, in a lawyer-voice that I wish he would reserve for clients. “We can find out who’s doing this and we’ll make it stop.”

Once again, Monty is trying to swoop in to save the day. But not this time. This time I’m going to be the hero.

The lunch is strained after that and Nick isn’t in the mood for chit chat. He and Monty are anxious to contact the webhost and get the tape taken down, but personally, I’m more concerned with busting whoever is behind the tape so it can never be posted again. I decide that it’s definitely time to take this investigation to the next level. I tell Monty that I’m spending the evening over at Ian’s. Then I borrow Monty’s car and drive to Nick and Robin’s house.

Nick had mentioned that he’s playing piano at some restaurant tonight so his place is dark when I get there. I get out of the car and stroll around to the back, careful not to trip over stray twigs or sprinkler systems. Their house is on a quiet street and it’s the smallest one on the block. I need to make sure that the next-door neighbors, with their expansive Ranch-style home, lit up windows, and the “We Watch, We Report,” yard sign don’t see me.

So I stealthily move through the shadows. I don’t have a real plan; if I can’t get inside, I suppose I’ll just sort through their garbage or do some surveillance from Monty’s parked car. Once Nick gets back I’ll knock on the door and find a way to snoop while he’s home. But hot damn! There’s a spare key in the nozzle of their garden hose in the backyard. I’d bet my favorite tie that Robin was the one who hid it. We had a very similar hiding spot for our spare key at our childhood home.

Their house is tiny. In the corner of the room, underneath the table that holds their mail, I see a file box. I crouch down, turn on my cell phone’s flashlight app, and start digging. This has to be Nick’s work because there’s no way Robin has suddenly become so organized. He has neatly labeled folders for everything: tax records, tuition bills, home equity, medical information, and on and on. The files aren’t alphabetized, which surprises me, but towards the back there’s actually a folder labeled “passwords.”

Okay, so he’s organized, but not very bright. Hasn’t he ever heard of intruders?

The file contains one sheet of paper, which I lay on the floor and I take a picture of with my phone. After I check to make sure that my flash worked well enough for the photo to be readable, I put the file box back as it was, and start going through their mail. Mostly it’s a lot of bills.

I’m heading for what I think is the bedroom when I hear footsteps and voices. Suddenly my pulse is pounding in my ears. I dart out the back but I don’t have time to close the door all the way behind me. So I hug the side of the house, hoping I can creep back to the car before they notice the intrusion. Nervous sweat drips from my forehead as I struggle not to breathe too loud.