The Underdogs (25 page)

“Look, honey,” he said, tilting his head down to try to meet her eyes. “I know I've done a lot of things wrong. I'm not the best parent. But I'm doing the best I can. When your mother left—”

“Whoa. Don't blame
her
.” Evie lifted her head and sniffed. “At least she's honest. She didn't want to be a mother in the first place. Dads are supposed to
protect
their daughters. A dad is supposed to tell the world that if anyone messes with his daughter, he'll step in. But you just forget me and ignore me. I bet you wouldn't even save me if I was drowning.”

Lucky looked like he'd been slapped. “You really believe that?”

I'm not sure she did, but she had a point. Still, right now he looked genuinely pained.

“I was trying to give you some freedom,” he said, his brow furrowed. “When I was a teenager, my parents didn't let me do
anything
. They never trusted me, gave me a crazy curfew, didn't want me dating girls or going to parties. And you know what happened?”

“What?” Evie asked.

“I rebelled—I only wanted to sneak out and go to parties. My parents didn't trust me, so I said,
Whatever
.
I have no reason to try to please them because they already think so little of me.
I wanted you to know that I trusted you to be a good person and to behave yourself. How could you find out who you really are with me bearing down on you?”

Evie tried to process that, and despite its heartfelt intention, I knew it wasn't quite good enough. “But—”

“I know,” Lucky interrupted, putting his arm around her shoulders with a rueful smile. “There's such a thing as going too far the other way. I get it now. You've been neglected, sweet Evie, and I haven't meant to do it. I really haven't.”

Silent tears rolled down my friend's face.

Lucky cleared his throat. “Your mom popped up here from New York, told me I had a child, and it was like—it was a shock. I was so happy.”

Evie looked up at him in genuine surprise. “You
were
?”

The tanned, leathery creases around Lucky's eyes crinkled up as he said, “Of course, Evie! I loved you the minute I saw you.”

I don't think Evie or I or anyone around here really thought that was the case. Good old Lucky. He was so flawed, but he officially had a heart and that was a start, at least. He took a good look at his daughter and said, “What do you say we both try to do better, and see if we can have the best year ever?”

Evie smiled and sent me a sidelong glance. “What about the tennis?” she asked.

“What about it? I don't need Will Temple to tell me my daughter's a star. It's in the genes.” He winked and smiled. “Look, kid. I'll help you any way I can, and you and I can play some in the winter, too. We'll work something out. I promise. Now, I've got a rat nibbling on my butt, so can we please go back inside?”

Evie giggled, and together we made our way down, the three of us helping one another as we went so none of us fell.

 

After

Evie was staring into space. She'd gone through all the stages: fury, impatience, sadness, boredom, and back to anger. Why? Because Lucky had really done it this time and we were stuck with the world's most annoying front desk staffer. Things had started to get better between him and Evie, and he'd taken her with the gang a couple of nights ago to see
Take Me Out
, the white-hot movie everyone would be talking about when school started. Their new deal was to alternate R-rated movies with PG flicks that she could go to, and he'd vowed to never leave her stranded again when they had plans together.

Tonight the gang had gone to see the R-rated
Iron Fisted
, so Evie had gamely agreed to stay at the club and hang out with me. Harmony was lifeguarding, and we had fun sitting with him at the pool when the sun set and the club got quieter. Lucky was supposed to be back by nine thirty to pick up Evie, but when Harmony closed the pool at ten they still hadn't returned. “I can't leave you guys,” he said to us, “obviously. But, hmm … I do have a date.”

Because the front desk staffer wouldn't close the club until eleven, we assured Harmony we'd be fine with her. We called Lucky's cell over and over. Evie grumbled, “He always forgets to pay his phone bill. It's not surprising we can't get through.”

The movie had ended long ago. The court lights had been turned off and the members were long gone. It got later, and still Lucky hadn't come. At precisely ten fifty-nine, Margee, the desk staffer, glanced at the clock on the back wall and shrugged. “I've gotta close up,” she said. “I need my beauty sleep.” Evie appeared alarmed and Margee, who had spent a lot of time hiding in the women's locker room (we suspected she was chattering on social media), added, “You know, I can't be responsible for your parents being late. That's not on me. You both practically live here anyway. You'll be fine!”

Really?
Being left alone in a sprawling, dark, empty building with no grownup in sight and a killer on the loose was kind of a big deal. And now that the police were back to square one with Annabel's murder, we were edgier than ever. It suddenly occurred to me that in our current situation we were equally vulnerable whether this psycho was a club regular or a random maniac roaming the St. Claire area. We sat at the desk, frozen. The eerie yellow parking lot lights shone through the club's glass front door with a muted glow. It was disconcerting to see more outside than we could inside; the lobby behind us was an endless pit of black tar we couldn't see through for the life of us. You can't simply flip on a light in a place like this. There's a massive panel of switches. Every light is connected to another, and some of them take fifteen minutes to come to life. So we made do with the little desk lamp and waited.

“Do you believe in ghosts, Chelsea?” Evie asked, her voice struggling to be nonchalant, tinged with bravado.

As it happened, I did believe in ghosts because I saw them sometimes and I couldn't always tell if they were good ghosts or bad ghosts. But that is another story. For tonight, as I stared into the darkness of the lobby and the tennis courts, everything just felt wrong. As I was thinking this, from out of nowhere came an alarming bright light through the glass doors. We heard a
thud
in the distance, but I couldn't tell what it was. Somehow, it felt more frightening being a sitting duck inside that club than being outside in the semi-lit, wide-open world. Evie hopped off her stool and grabbed the heaviest racket she could find in the loaner bin under the reception desk. She took a practice swing and nodded to herself.

“Stay close, Chels. I'm sure it's nothing, but we should check it out.”

We headed outside, where it was immediately apparent where the light was coming from. We moved stealthily toward the pool area, which jutted off the main building to the right, tiptoeing along. The pool lights were on full blast. We stood at the gate, pausing to listen for any movement. Evie put her finger to her lips and we waited. After a few seconds, we heard a voice behind the fence.

“Why, Annabel? Why did you leave me?
Whyyyyyyy?
”

It was a male voice, visceral and hysterical. I couldn't for the life of me recognize it. Evie mouthed, “I'm going to see who it is.”

The latch had already been undone by whomever was in there, so Evie took hold of the handle and gently swung the wooden gate open a few inches. She peeked inside and I scrunched down for a look, so both our faces were poking through, one on top of the other.

Oh, God
. Nicholas Harper was kneeling on the lawn by the back fence, facedown on the grass right where Annabel's body was found, crying, “Come back, Annabel. I didn't mean it … Please … I'd give anything to see you one last time … We're forever young…”

Hearing Nicholas's masculine voice morphed into this shrill falsetto curdled my blood. Evie looked stricken. This uncomfortable emotional scene was about as appetizing to us as a haunted tennis club, so we froze and looked at each other:
Do we back off or let him know we're here and try to comfort him?

“Oh, Annabel,” he was saying over and over.
Annabel … Annabel … Annabel
.

Poor Nicholas. It didn't look like he'd be recovering from his sister's death anytime soon. We heard a few sobs, and then he was babbling again. Evie and I exchanged horrified glances. Inevitably, it was at that moment that something went wrong. The wooden gate got caught in a gust of wind and the door, like a great wooden sail, blew out of Evie's grasp and banged against the fence. Nicholas looked up, startled at first, still in that strange position, his head turned sideways toward us, cheek pressed into the grass. And then—well, then I saw it in his eyes. His face changed from sobbing and surprised to a bitter glare. He narrowed his eyes and scrunched up his face in one great realization, like he'd just identified the cause of all his problems.

He sprang to his feet and gestured to us awkwardly. “Come in,” he said, his voice oddly syrupy. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot. I felt Evie shiver next to me.

“What are you girls doing here so late, huh? Come on in. Don't be afraid.”

He saw we still weren't moving and he cocked his head. He looked at Evie; Evie looked at him. Then Nicholas dropped the pretense. The three of us knew we weren't here for a pool party, that nothing about this scene was normal. He walked across the deck to the lifeguard bench, opened it, and removed something we couldn't see from thirty feet away.

While he was doing this, Evie had begun to back away slowly like she'd encountered a wild animal in its natural habitat. But I didn't. I moved laterally until I was standing between her and Nicholas. Evie backed away a little more. We watched Nicholas come toward us. He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, his biceps like little hills rising up from the joints of his arms and back down before his shoulders, his abs rippling through the white tee under the bright lights. At the end of summer, his tan was a part of him now, every bit of visible skin a deep brown, with a tinge of pink at the tip of his nose. His hair was too long. His blond curls, usually tamed by a short cut, were wild and out of control, like he was.

That much I could see now. Because he was pointing a gun at us.

 

After

Evie gasped and reached out to squeeze my shoulder. My adrenaline was pumping, and I held my ground as Nicholas approached us. I could see his fly was half-open, and it looked to me like his trendy jeans were missing a button. I knew, I just knew, that Nicholas's missing button had to be the same one Ashlock had found at the pool that day. Suddenly, it all made sense. I could hear Evie's breathing above the frenzied crickets. We were in the parking lot now, out of the pool area, standing under the glow of the streetlights.

“You have to understand,” Nicholas said slowly, gesturing with the gun as he spoke, “that I never meant to do it. You have to understand that it was an accident.”

Evie croaked, “But how?”

“How?”
He smiled maniacally. “How? Because of that greasy Russian, that's how. If it hadn't been for him trying to hurt my sister, none of this would've happened.”

Goran
. I think we both gauged it was best not to ask questions, so we let him talk. He started pacing. Evie still had the racket in her hand, but now it didn't seem like much of a weapon. “I—I won't tell anyone, I promise, Nicholas. It's none of my business. No one will believe me, anyway.”

Nicholas ignored her. “I was only trying to keep her from getting hurt. She didn't know what that—that—
person
was really like. Who he really is. I told her she was too good for him but she was like, ‘You don't know him. He's not like that.'” He growled that last part. “She didn't
listen
. She was stubborn, and she kept talking about how they were in love and if I got to know him we could be friends.
Please
.” He was pacing frantically.

He stopped again and faced us squarely. “I was supposed to protect her. That was my job. But I failed … because she wouldn't let me.” He looked at us pleadingly. In that brief moment, I think he wanted us to believe him. To forgive him. To absolve him.

“Oh, yes, I think you're totally right,” Evie said softly. “It wasn't your fault…”

Her words, meant to comfort him, only got him more worked up. Nicholas bent forward at the hips and covered his head with one hand, that gun flailing about unchecked again in his other. He let out an animalistic cry. “Ohhh God, Annabel. I didn't mean it … but there's no going back, is there? Why did you fight me on this?
Whyyyy?
”

I'm sure Evie was thinking what I was:
If he's saying Annabel fought him, did something terrible happen by accident?
He was sobbing now. He stood up and faced Evie, who smiled nervously. But just when I'd thought he might calm down and believe we were on board with his story about an accident, he seemed to lose his grip entirely. Something was happening to him—something sinister. Something that was not our Nicky.

“I understand, Nicholas. It's going to be okay. Clearly it wasn't your fault…”

I think Evie believed we were starting to get to him, bond with him, make him realize no one would pay any attention to a wild tale born in the imagination of a kid. That we could walk away from this and everything would be fine.

I knew better, and I saw it long before Evie did. The change in his eyes. The almost imperceptible twitch of the hand that held the gun, and the pheromones blowing off his skin, all signaling to me he was going to attack. I could smell it.

I lifted my face to the wind and wiggled my nostrils, and I knew.