The Underdogs (13 page)

Ashlock seemed taken aback by her twisted ploy. “He
needed
to see what was really going on,” Lisa said. “He was obsessed with that girl, and it wasn't working for me.
Or
him.”

Ashlock said, “I was told by many people here that you and Patrick got close. That you're good friends. Right?”

“Past tense,” she said. “He doesn't know it, but I hate his guts.”

Her upper lip curled in anger. “Patrick thought he could use me. I used to think he was different from other boys,” she continued. “I thought he would realize someday that we were meant to be. That's how it was supposed to be with me and him.”

She made the shape of a smile with her mouth, but it was no grin; it was an angry face. “But ya know what, Detective? The jerk dumped me out of nowhere and said he just wanted to be ‘friends.' Ha.”

Evie frowned. I hadn't realized how stuck Lisa was on Patrick. Suddenly, I felt in my gut that she, out of everyone in the club, could've killed Annabel.

“To your knowledge,” Ashlock asked, “did Patrick and Annabel have a romance of any kind?”

“Ha.”
Lisa snorted again. “He wishes. I mean, he tried, but—”

Evie and I heard something then. Suddenly, Nicholas was running toward us from the pool, barefoot and wearing those red lifeguard trunks, soaking wet, announcing himself.

“Detective. Hey, Ashlock,” he called out. “They told me at the pool you were here. Please tell me what's happening with the investigation?”

Nicholas was about to burst onto the patio, but he stopped right outside the door, because Lisa's voice was carrying perfectly. “I don't know why people don't just
say
it,” she sneered. “I mean, God. Annabel was not that special. Pretty, sure, but not too bright.”

It happened so fast. Ashlock saw Nicholas and sprang out of his chair, but he was too late. Nicholas was standing on that patio with his arms at his sides, dripping from head to toe, like his whole body was crying. Water was pooling on the stones. Evie and I saw Gene mosey down to the café then, and he quickly picked up that something was going on. Nicholas burst back inside, his face like thunder.

Gene reached out to stop him. “What is it? Nicholas, what happened?”

Nicholas's eyes were flashing, and he silently shook his head. “That—that girl,” he said. “That horrible, awful Lisa … What she
said
—” His voice cracked. And then he ran off.

“I'll take care of it, Nicky,” Gene yelled after him. “Whatever it is, I promise you—I'll fix it.”

But Nicky was gone.

 

Before

One day when Evie was engrossed to distraction in yet another book, I felt like hanging out with the Pee Wees. Celia was on duty and was thrilled to have me on the court with her. I had some energy to burn, so I ran around the court gathering the balls the kids hit and brought them back to Celia's ball hopper. I loved it, and so did the Pee Wees. Whenever I'd bring them a ball when it was time to practice serving, they'd whoop with excitement. It wasn't often they got butler service. After an hour, the kids were getting tired and Celia announced snack time. As the junior counselor corralled the group, Celia was stuck with little Justine tugging on her shorts.

“Please, Miss Celia,” she begged. “Can I do some more forehands?
Puh-leeze?
”

Justine's sweet voice, silky smooth ratcheted up to Munchkin speed, always cheered me up. When she giggled, she emitted a tinkling sound that Evie always said reminded her of baby angels laughing; it was guaranteed to lift your spirits.

Celia couldn't turn her down, and shouted for the junior counselor to head out with the rest of the kids. I wasn't going anywhere until the last Pee Wee had been shepherded inside. I watched Celia toss Justine a gentle ball to her forehand. The little girl flailed about and managed to get her racket on it, but didn't quite lift it over the net. Celia said, “That's okay.” Then—Justine didn't swing at the next ball. She was staring into space, glassy-eyed. “Justine?” Celia walked to the net. “Kiddo? You ready for the next ball?”

I perked up.

“Justine? Justine!”

Justine had dropped her racket, and Celia was sprinting to get to her, but I was already there. I couldn't get into position in time so I dove, and when the little girl crumpled, she at least found a soft landing on top of me. It killed my elbow, but I didn't care.

“What's wrong?” Celia shouted when she got to us.

I didn't move, and she knelt and gently maneuvered Justine, who was half on me, half off, until she was lying flat on the ground. Justine started jerking, her eyes open but empty, as if she was not really with us, and Celia put her hand under Justine's head to stop it from knocking on the court surface. She took stock, quickly realizing there was no one around. We were alone on Court 9. Everyone was at snack time, so no one could see or hear us. Celia looked at me, met my eyes, and told me what to do.

“Chelsea,” she said. “Go get your mom.
Go get her.
Run as fast as you can.
Go!
”

And I did. I ran faster than I'd ever run before, my hair blowing behind me, my mind cleared of everything except my task. I made it across the courts in about two seconds flat, but I didn't run to the lobby toward my mom. Instead, I ran straight back to the pool. Nicholas could save Justine. I knew it. It took me only another few seconds to get there; it was like I was possessed by the soul of a cheetah. I stopped at the plate-glass window in the pool lobby, banging and hopping up and down to get Nicholas's attention because I couldn't open that heavy revolving door by myself. It took a few seconds, but Nicholas caught sight of me and looked at me questioningly at first; then panic filled his eyes.

Good old Nicholas. He immediately knew something was wrong. He forced open the revolving door and shouted into the echoey hallway,
“What is it? What's wrong, Chelsea?”

I ran to the mouth of the hallway and when he saw me waiting for him, he gave one quick nod, dashed back through the door, shouted something to Harmony, whipped out the first-aid kit, and joined me in the hallway.

“Where?” Nicholas asked, and he took off after me as I led him to the tennis courts.

“Thank God,” Celia cried when we arrived. She was still cradling Justine's head, hunched over, like she hadn't moved an inch since I left them.

Nicholas dropped to the ground, shoeless, his bare knees on the hot court, and assessed Justine's condition. He brought the ever-present scent of coconut oil with him. “How long has she been seizing?”

I stayed back, giving them room, wishing I could take Justine's pain away.

“About three minutes,” Celia said, checking her watch. “We need an ambulance.”

“Harmony called 911,” Nicholas said. “In the meantime, the best thing we can do is keep her from hurting herself and let it pass. She's epileptic?”

“No, no. She's not.” Celia shook her head, her porcelain complexion looking paler than usual. “Nothing was reported on her health form.”

Justine arched her back, and I thought she'd snap in half. She flung her head down on Celia's hand. “It seems to be getting worse,” Celia said. “She's burning up.”

Nicholas, who'd done junior EMS training when he went for his lifeguard certificate, observed, “This seizure may be a symptom of something else.” His jaw was clenched. “Where's that ambulance?”

It was torture. Then, in another minute, it appeared Justine was getting better. The twitching slowed down. But then, suddenly, she went limp. Celia slipped her hand out from under Justine's head, massaging her scraped knuckles.

“She's not breathing,” Nicholas said sharply, gently tilting Justine's head and commencing CPR. I heard distant sirens as Nicholas kept pumping, breathing, counting. He took a quick break to listen for breath, and we saw her chest heave on its own once, twice, three times. But she was still unconscious. He shook his head. “There's no time to waste.”

The sirens were getting louder, but we'd still have to wait for the paramedics to navigate through the club and then run across four tennis courts. Nicholas scooped up Justine, held her tight, and took off running in the smoothest gait he could manage. He was superhuman then, taking all forty pounds of that girl out the back way, behind the courts, toward the parking lot, and Celia saw what he was up to and sprinted ahead to hold the net curtain open so he could slip out to meet the paramedics. I stayed out of the way after that. I walked pensively back to the club, praying for Justine. I didn't even see until I was one court away that everyone was lined up on the patio, having watched the drama unfold. My mom hugged me.

“Good girl,” she said. “You're a hero, you know that? You did everything right. I'm so proud of you.”

My heart swelled with optimism, even as I worried for Justine. But something told me we'd saved her. Celia came back after the ambulance had screeched away with Justine and Nicholas on board. Nicky had refused to let Justine go by herself, leaving Harmony to cover the pool.

We later learned Justine had been felled by an aggressive case of meningitis, and that her life had very possibly been saved by the minutes Nicholas gained for her by carrying her to the ambulance. He was a hero.

I frankly thought he deserved all the congratulations, but he wouldn't hear of it. He kept saying to everyone, “If Chelsea hadn't been there … If Chelsea hadn't come to me for help…” And then he'd shudder at the thought. Everyone loved Justine, and that turned out to be a good day because she survived.

 

After

Lisa Denessen, who was staffing the front desk on her own while Evie and I kept an eye on her, jabbed her index finger toward the back of the club where my mom had gone with her exercise ball.

“I wouldn't bother Beth during her workout,” Lisa warned Detective Ashlock.

I'd left Mom only a few minutes ago on the aerobics-floor-slash-basketball-court huffing and puffing away with abs and thigh exercises. Detective Ashlock thanked Lisa and took off to find my mom anyway. Evie and I pretended to be interested in a member walking through the door, but thirty seconds later we fell in behind the detective.

When we got to the aerobics floor, which was directly across from the pool lobby, I could hear my mom's voice behind the privacy curtain Gene had put up so members could jump around during exercise classes without being watched. This was too easy. Evie and I stood outside the curtain, where Mom and Ashlock couldn't see us, but we could hear them. I had to admit I had the beginnings of a tight little knot in my tummy that was threatening to grow out of control if I didn't keep calm. This was my mom, after all, and I was worried sick for her. I happened to know she'd left out some pretty important details in her chats with Ashlock thus far, and I suspected he might catch her out today. He'd show no mercy if he discovered she'd lied to him. Not surprisingly, my mom started off on the defensive.

“I gave you a statement on the day it happened, Detective,” she said. “Why do you feel the need to grill me again?” You had to hand it to my mom. She had some nerve copping a 'tude with such an important guy.

“Perjury is a felony,” Ashlock informed my mother. She started to protest but he broke in and said, “Let me stop you there. Lying by omission is still lying.”

“Fine, put me in jail,” my mom snapped. “But honestly, I assumed Lisa would put everything about what happened in
her
statement. Certain things aren't my business.”

“Perhaps,” Ashlock admitted. “But it
is
my business. And no—I don't believe Miss Denessen revealed everything she knows in her statement. I think you also left out some details about the night it happened. Call it a gut feeling.”

I felt a sharp pang of fear. Evie sensed it, and put her arm around me. I couldn't calm myself, though.
If anything ever happened to her … If she was taken from me …

I didn't know anyone who would take someone like me on. Would I be sent to live with strangers again? Strangers who could do anything they wanted to me … again?

Evie whispered, “Your mom is innocent, Chels. That's what matters. Nothing's gonna happen to her, okay?”

Her words calmed me and reminded me of something very important: Ashlock was smart—he'd figure out soon enough that my mom wouldn't hurt a fly. I let out a sigh, and with it some tension. My mom was quiet, mulling things over.

“Okay,” Ashlock prodded. “Let's say you're sticking by your story: you closed the club the night of the murder and saw nothing unusual. But did you
hear
anything unusual?”

“Yes,” my mom admitted softly.

It was about time. Evie ruffled my hair and whispered her support directly in my ear: “Don't worry. She's not going to get in any trouble. I promise.”

“I was supposed to close up the club,” Mom said, “but three hours before my shift was due to begin, Lisa called and begged me to let her take it, crying about how she needed money. I said no because I could use the paycheck. So I worked the shift. But Lisa stayed around, which was weird because she'd been there the entire day—she'd worked that morning in the fitness room, she'd done her exercise, gone for a swim, the whole nine yards.”

“When did she leave?”

Mom paused. I imagined her looking at the floor. “That's just it,” she said. “I'm not sure Lisa ever left that night.”

Ashlock cleared his throat, probably to stall at this bombshell, but
I
wasn't surprised. A lot of us now believed Lisa was still hiding something.

My mom continued. “Lisa had stayed at the club that night, even though I was on front desk duty and she had nothing to do. You know … it was dead summer. The place is like a tomb once the after-work crowd leaves.”