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Authors: Jeffrey Allen

BOOK: Popped Off

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Before we could even attempt to reestablish the mood, Carly stumbled down the stairs.

“I’m hungry,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

Julianne swept her up, kissed her cheek, and carried her into the kitchen.

It would’ve been incredibly sweet if I wasn’t so incredibly worked up.

Phase two was put on hold for the rest of the day.

I spent the rest of the afternoon mowing the lawn, washing the cars, and cleaning out the garage in an attempt to burn off my phase two energy. Carly came out and helped me weed along the fence in the backyard, ripping up handfuls of stems, leaving the roots firmly in place.

We finished and, hot and flushed, changed into our swimsuits and walked down to the community pool with Julianne. I commandeered two chaise lounge chairs beneath the awning, while Carly scrambled into the shallow end, already spotting friends to play with.

“Brainstorm with me,” I said to Julianne.

She shifted in her chair. “I’m sunning myself.”

“Multitask.”

“That’s what I do during the week.”

“Jules. Please.”

She sighed. “Fine. How can I be of service?”

“Why does Moe Huber walk off with that money?”

“He wanted to buy a lot of doughnuts?”

“Very funny.”

“I don’t know him, Deuce,” Julianne said. “I have no idea.”

I watched Carly cannonball into the water and doggy paddle back to the wall. “Debt. Maybe he owes someone money.”

“See? You don’t need me.”

“Jules.”

She sighed and propped herself up on her elbows, keeping an eye on Carly in the water. “All right, all right. Yes, debt would make sense. Probably the first reason anyone steals money. Unless you’re Robin Hood.”

A beach ball bounced across the surface of the water.

“So maybe he’s Robin Hood,” I said. “Stealing to help someone.”

Julianne wrinkled her nose beneath her oversize sunglasses. “Nah. You don’t steal that much if you’re giving it to someone else. I like debt better.”

“So how does one accrue the kind of debt that would cause one to clean out the coffers of a youth soccer association?”

She swung her legs over the side of the chair and sat up. “A long-building debt? Like it started small and grew. Like you weren’t prepared for the hole you dug yourself?”

I thought about what Belinda had told me about poker games.

“Gambling?”

“Sure,” she agreed.

I glanced at the water. Carly was splashing water over the side of the pool. “Some sort of get-rich-quick scheme?”

“Okay.”

“Drug problem?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you think?”

“Isn’t this what you’re supposed to do as a P.I.?” she asked, an eyebrow arching above the glasses. “Are you putting me on retainer?”

“Jules, I’m being serious.”

She held up a hand. “Okay, fine. You can’t take a joke this afternoon. I can see where missing out on sex with me might do that to you.”

A smile found its way onto my lips.

Carly materialized at our chairs, hugging another little wet girl.

“Audrey’s here!” she squealed.

I smiled. “Yes, she is. Hi, Audrey.”

“Hi!”

They were preschool pals. They could’ve been twins and had a penchant for hugging one another as tightly as they could.

“Can Carly come to my camp?” Audrey asked.

“Please!” Carly said.

“What camp?” Julianne asked.

“At my church. VBS!”

“Please!” Carly said again.

Julianne glanced at me. “It’s okay with me.”

“We’ll see,” I said.

Carly frowned. “When will we see?”

“We’ll see,” I repeated.

“When?”

“Carly.”

“Please, Daddy.”

The word
Daddy
had a profound effect on me. In that it usually caused me to acquiesce.

“Okay,” I said, shaking my head. “We’ll figure it out.”

They started jumping up and down and headed back to the water.

“You are such a pushover,” Julianne said, smiling.

“Here’s where I’m stuck,” I said, watching Carly grab onto the metal railing that descended into the water, then spin herself upside down on it like a monkey. “Belinda said Huber insisted on full financial oversight, giving him the power to do whatever he wanted without having to involve anyone else.”

“Right. Unbelievably stupid and irresponsible on the association’s part.”

“Yeah. But that was almost a year ago when he was reelected.”

Julianne eyed the pool and rested her chin in her hand. “So it was something he was planning.”

“Or there was something he was already into and he was worried that it was going to get out of hand.”

“You really don’t need me for this,” she said, smiling.

“You make me feel smart.”

“I seek to serve.”

“So then where does he go with the money?”

She thought for a minute. “To whomever he owes it to. Or to hide. Or to Jamaica.”

“Maybe I’ll need to go to Jamaica to look for him.”

“Or maybe just send Victor.”

“Not sure he’s capable of handling that trip alone.”

“Not sure you’d have a wife to come back to if you went to Jamaica without her.” She stood. “I’m hot. I’m getting in the water.”

“That much cash is a lot to travel with.”

“Probably didn’t fit in his wallet, no.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” I said. “Physically, that is a lot to carry.”

Julianne leaned down and set her hands on my shoulders. “You don’t need me. Hash it out with Victor. He’s unbelievably annoying, but he’s actually good at this. Don’t forget that.”

I nodded. He really was. For all the hair he made me want to pull out, Victor really was good at investigating. I’d never say it out loud, but he was better than I was.

Julianne leaned down and kissed me. “And don’t forget to help me make a baby tonight, after Carly goes to sleep. Get all your hashing out done before you get naked.”

She sauntered off to join our daughter in the pool.

We returned home to find my parents sitting on the front porch, huddled together, staring intently at a laptop.

My father looked up as we approached. “Oh, thank God you’re finally home.”

My mother’s face took on a grave expression. “We need your help, Deuce.”

I glanced at Julianne, who stared worriedly at them.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “What is it?”

My father threw up his hands, then shoved the laptop over to my mother. “This stupid Facebook! It makes no sense!”

I exhaled, relieved that no one was dying.

We ushered them into the house, and while Julianne and Carly went to the kitchen, I settled onto the sofa with my parents.

It was great living so close to them in Rose Petal. Most of the time. They were terrific grandparents and never failed to help out at a moment’s notice. They lived to spend time with Carly and were dropping not-so-subtle hints about child number two. We were happy to help them out, as well, when they needed it. Watching their house when they went on vacation. Helping my dad with projects. Normal, everyday things that we most certainly took for granted.

But technology . . . well, technology, I was afraid might be the end of all of us.

It had started with cell phones. They were vehemently opposed to them. We finally convinced them that if they were going to watch Carly for us, they needed to have a cell phone. So we got them one. Just one. Which they didn’t share, because my dad refused to learn how to use it.

And they were resistant to computers. They didn’t see the need for e-mail and the Internet. At least until Carly came home and said she wanted to send them an e-mail. They went shopping for a laptop the next day.

So now they had caved under the peer pressure that can only be created by fellow grandparents looking to brag about their grandchildren. Which meant they were attempting to integrate themselves into Facebook.

It wasn’t going well.

“Okay,” I said, kicking off my sandals and settling into the sofa. “What’s the problem?”

My father made a face. “Facebook is the problem.”

My mother frowned at him, then looked at me. “Well, I have a few questions.”

“Okay.”

“This news feed thing,” she said, much in the same way someone might say “snake” or “feces.” “It’s trying to tell me what to do.”

“No, it’s not, Mom.”

Frustration screwed up her face. “Well, not tell me what to do, but it wants me to comment on the things my friends have put on here.”

“Right.”

She looked at me nervously. “What happens if I don’t?”

“Don’t comment?”

“I don’t want everyone in the world reading what she has to say,” my father piped in. “No reason for that!”

“Well, if you don’t comment, they will take away your Facebook account and they might come take your computer.”

My mother sat up straighter.

“Like hell they will,” my father said, raising an eyebrow. “Any of them Facebook fellas show up at my door and try to take away my computer . . .”

“Dad, I’m kidding,” I said before he laid out his entire plan to defend his home from the evil Facebook fellas.

My mother stared at me disapprovingly. “Deuce.”

“If you don’t want to comment, Mom, then don’t.”

“I don’t have to?”

“No.”

“But the box is there, telling me to comment.”

“You don’t have to.”

She exchanged a look with my father, skeptical and nervous.

Social media was not created to cause this kind of anxiety.

“Well, how do we block everyone from seeing what she wrote?” my father asked.

“You can’t. If you post a comment on someone’s wall, all their friends can see it.”

“We don’t know all their friends.”

“So?”

“So they don’t need to be reading what your mother is writing.”

“What exactly is she going to say, Dad?”

“Her comments!”

I took a deep breath and tried to remember how foreign this was for them.

“Let’s say your friend posts a picture of a new grandbaby,” I said.

“Lorraine,” my father said with a sneer. “That woman thinks all her grandkids are like gold bars. She’d absolutely post a picture. Even if the kid looks like a possum.”

My mother nodded in agreement.

“And let’s say that, for once, you decided to be polite,” I continued. “And you decided to say something like ‘He’s so cute’ or ‘She’s adorable.’”

“Fat chance unless you like possums.”

“Right. But we’re pretending that you are normal and civil and don’t tell people their grandchildren look like rodents.”

My father rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

“So if you said something like that, why would you care if anyone else read that?” I asked.

They again exchanged anxious looks, before my mother said, “Well, I don’t know.”

“It’s like being at a cocktail party,” I explained, trying to find a comparison that would resonate. “You’re just having polite conversation. So as long as you are polite, it doesn’t matter who reads what you write. You aren’t giving out your bank account information or Social Security numbers.”

“But what if someone does ask for my bank account information or Social Security number?” Mom asked.

“Say no.”

She stared at me, completely puzzled.

“Mom, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” I said. “If you just want to view other peoples’ pictures or what they have to say, that’s fine. You don’t have to do anything. I promise.”

“I wanna block people,” my dad said. “I got a list.”

“They’ve probably already blocked you, Dad.”

“They better not have!”

My parents stayed awhile longer, mercifully occupied by Carly rather than the nuances of social networking. Julianne invited them to stay for dinner, but my mother had left something in the oven before the Facebook emergency led them to our home, so they politely excused themselves.

We ate dinner in quiet, all three of us worn out from the afternoon in the heat and water. I took Carly upstairs for her bath while Julianne cleaned up the kitchen. Carly’s eyes closed as soon as her damp hair hit the pillow. I planted a kiss on her forehead and clicked off the light.

I dialed Victor as I collapsed onto my own bed.

“Doolittle. Go.”

“You are ridiculous.”

Victor was not amused. “What do you want?”

“I have a question for you.”

“Go.”

“Do you just lay your phone on the floor? Because if you tried to put it up on a counter or table, I don’t see how you’d get it back.”

The click was loud in my ear, but worth it.

I dialed again.

“Look, Winters, if you’re just calling to make short jokes, you can shove them up your—”

“Easy. I’m just messing with you. I actually have a real question.”

“Make it fast, moron.”

“I don’t know Huber at all. Where do we start?”

I could almost feel him smile through the phone. “Oh. So you need my help now?”

My joke seemed less funny now. “I suppose.”

“You suppose. I wanna hear you say it.”

“It.”

“Try again, funnyman.”

I clutched the phone in my hand and silently cursed my big mouth. “I need your help.”

“Why?”

I swallowed hard. “Because I don’t know where to start on a guy I know nothing about.”

His chuckle resonated through the phone. “I just recorded that.”

“Whatever.”

“That’ll come in handy someday.”

“You gonna answer my question or not?”

He cleared his throat. “You start digging.”

“Digging?”

“Yeah. We gotta get a picture of him before he disappeared. Doing that will help us know where to look.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will.”

“But what if it doesn’t?”

“It will.”

I rolled my eyes at his confidence. I didn’t think it was that easy. And God help me if he ended up being right.

“Okay,” I said. “So where do we start digging?”

“Friends. Family. Coworkers. We’ll get his phone records. E-mails. It ain’t that hard. Even for a bozo like you.”

He made it sound easy, but I wasn’t so sure.

“So here’s your first assignment,” Victor said. “Start poking around all those soccer people. Find out who saw him last. Who talked to him last. Whose Facebook wall he posted on last. All that crap. You do that and I’ll give you a gold star.”

“Do you pay full price at the movies?” I asked. “Or do you get the kid discount? And do you use those plastic booster seats so you can see over normal-sized people?”

The click seemed even louder this time, and that pleased me.

I lay on the bed for a few minutes, enjoying my juvenile humor, then pulled out my laptop from the bottom of my nightstand. I lifted open the top and found my way to Facebook.

I was indifferent toward Facebook, and most of the time I felt like the only one. All my friends were on it constantly, and Julianne rarely went more than, oh, six minutes without checking it on her phone. I found some things funny and enjoyed seeing the pictures that other people posted, but I didn’t feel the need to share every moment of my life with my so-called friends.

But I wondered if Moises Huber did.

I logged into my dusty account and typed his name into the search bar.

The third profile that popped up was for a Moises Huber in Rose Petal.

Investigating was apparently easy.

I clicked on his profile, and the entire thing opened. Nothing tucked behind any sort of privacy setting. Julianne, ever the lawyer, was always yelling at me about my privacy settings, but given that I didn’t post anything of significance, I couldn’t have cared less who was looking at my pages. It seemed far too complicated to figure out how to throw up walls.

Although I assumed my father would have it figured out soon.

The profile picture was of a soccer ball. It listed his birthday as August 3 and his relationship status as single. He had 247 friends. I recognized a few of them. He liked to play one of the Mafia games that made no sense to me but that I was always being invited to play.

I clicked on his wall, and his activity seemed sporadic. He’d post a couple of times in a day and then disappear for a week. He seemed to be a casual user, much in the same way that I would log on if I was on the computer, but made no concerted effort to do so otherwise.

I looked at the last post.

It was from four days ago, which would’ve been a day before anyone last saw him.

See you tonight! someone named J. MacDonald had posted. We’ll have a blast!

J. MacDonald’s profile pic was of a bald eagle, which I was sure had some significance to J. MacDonald, but none to me. I scrolled down the page to see if MacDonald was a regular poster on the wall, but I didn’t see anything else.

I clicked on J. MacDonald’s profile, but this person was apparently very familiar with Facebook’s privacy settings. I got a message stating that J. MacDonald shared information only with friends.

So there.

“Are you asleep?” Julianne called from the hall.

“Nope. On Facebook.”

“Oh.” She stepped into the doorway. “Maybe I shouldn’t interrupt you.”

I looked up from the computer.

She was back in the black lingerie. She’d added black, thigh-high boots.

She perched a hand on her bare hip. “I can leave if you’d like. . . .”

“No!” I said, pushing the laptop onto the floor.

I was willing to risk computer damage for phase two.