“Stop!” said Odelia.
“Why?” asked Scarlett. “This man is a home invader. We should treat him as such.”
“Please don’t hurt me!” our vlogger now cried. He already looked a lot less cocky.
“That’s what you get when you interrupt a meeting of the neighborhood watch,” said Dooley.”
“Two neighborhood watches,” I said.
Gran had taken out her shotgun, Father Reilly was wielding a stun gun, while Wilbur brought out a very large revolver and was waving it in front of the vlogger’s face.
“Please let me go!” the vlogger cried helplessly.
“I think we’re going to keep you for a while,” said Gran. “Maybe lock you up in the basement.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet he’s just the vanguard,” Wilbur growled. “So where are the other home invaders, huh? Talk, sonny boy—or eat lead!”
“I’m so sorry!” said the vlogger.
“Hey, isn’t this the guy you told me about?” asked Gran, addressing her granddaughter. “The one who’s been filming you and threatening to expose your secret?”
“What?!” Scarlett exclaimed, taking a firmer grip on her can of mace.
“What secret?” asked Wilbur.
“Never mind what secret,” Gran snapped. “This man has been following my granddaughter around and filming her every move. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t secretly film her taking a shower, the dirty little pervert.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself, young man,” said Father Reilly, his finger on the button of his stun gun. “Shame on you!”
“I’m sorry,” said the guy. “Please don’t lock me up in the basement. I’m claustrophobic!”
“Don’t I know you?” asked Scarlett suddenly. “Aren’t you Franka’s kid?”
“You know my mom?” asked the guy tearfully.
“Your mom does my nails. She’s great.” She now wagged a finger in the man’s face. “If you ever post a video of Odelia in the shower, I’m going to tell your mom—is that understood?”
“Please don’t tell my mom. Please don’t,” he sniveled.
“I remember you now,” said Father Reilly. “Little Frankie Beaver. You once released a mouse in church during Sunday Mass, didn’t you? I never told your mom about that.”
“Please,” he whimpered.
“Now first you’re going to show us your cloud account,” said Odelia.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“And you’re going to delete all of those videos—every single one, while we watch.”
“Absolutely. I’ll delete them right now.”
And so for the next half hour, while we watched, Frank Beaver deleted video after video of Odelia and especially of her interactions with yours truly and my friends.
30
Ellie arrived at the big house and sincerely hoped she would find herself alone with Carl. Ever since he’d sent her that message, she’d found herself a little on edge. To be invited to the house of a famous celebrity is always a little nerve-racking to say the least.
She parked her bicycle out in front and walked up to the front door, then gave it a tentative knock. But when no response came she pushed and discovered it was open.
After a moment’s hesitation, she made her way in—like any intrepid reporter would.
“Mr. Strauss?” she called out. “Mr. Carl Strauss?”
No answer came, deepening her bewilderment, but also strengthening her resolve. The whole thing was so odd. One moment the guy had been in hospital, having sustained serious injuries, and the next he was messaging her. Then again, she knew that nowadays doctors could perform miracles, so she shouldn’t have been surprised.
She entered the house and found herself in the man’s study. Near the door, a golf club lay, so she picked it up. She felt the weight in her hand. It felt good. In fact she felt good. Powerful. She took a practice swing or two, the club making a pleasant swooshing sound.
“In here!” suddenly a voice called out.
Taking a firmer grip on the club, she passed through the door and into the man’s office. He was seated with his back to her, looking out through the window at the grounds outside, where he’d constructed a miniature golf course all to himself.
She slowly approached the figure behind the desk. Her heart was racing, her breathing shallow and a little ragged. This was it. This was the moment.
Then just as she raised the club high, about to let it descend upon the pro golfer’s head, suddenly the man turned around in his swivel chair and… wasn’t Carl at all!
She was staring at Chase Kingsley, Odelia Poole’s husband!
“Surprised, Ellie?” asked the cop.
From behind her, hands gripped her arm, and wrested the golf club from her fingers. And as she was still reeling from the shock, she saw she was suddenly surrounded by police officers: Alec Lip was there, but also Odelia Poole, and at least three more officers.
“I’m afraid you’re under arrest, Ellie,” said Chief Lip.
“But… I-I just came here to do an interview,” she said, thinking fast.
“I don’t think so,” said Chase. “You came here to bash Carl Strauss’s head in—just like you did the other night. Only this time you wanted to make sure you’d finish the job.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Where is Carl? What’s going on?”
“Only one person could have answered Carl’s message to ‘Zoe,’” Odelia explained. “And that’s Carl’s attacker. So the moment you showed up here, we knew it was you.”
“Zoe? Who’s Zoe? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly, this is crazy.”
“Don’t give me that,” Chief Lip growled. “You knew perfectly well that Carl was a man who liked to set up dates with girls—especially girls he found on his favorite dating app Spindler. So all you had to do was to set up a profile in the name of Zoe, and make sure you added enough points of attraction so that Carl would swipe right, and you had him. Only the night you showed up here to confront him, you didn’t hit him hard enough. And so Carl survived. Or should I say—your father survived?”
Ellie pursed her lips, and a cruel smile appeared on her pretty face.“You seem to know everything, Alec.”
“Yes, we do,” said Chase. “When did you find out that Carl Strauss was your father?”
She shrugged. Looked like the game was up. She didn’t know how they’d found out, but it was obvious they had her. “I found his letters in my mom’s nightstand one day, and read them all. She’d told me my dad was a journalist, and had disappeared on an assignment in Alaska, and I always believed her. Little did I know my real dad was famousplayboy golfer Carl Strauss. I have to say I almost threw up when I found out that my mom had been one of his early conquests, and I was the product of their fling. I tried to get in touch with him, of course, but he refused to see me—or acknowledge me.”
“So you decided to pursue a different avenue.”
“I never wanted to hit him, you know—I actually got the idea last week, when I saw the two of you at the golf club,” she said, addressing Odelia. “I’d started spying on him, you know. I just couldn’t help it. He’d become like an obsession. And you looked so chummy I suddenly saw in a flash what I needed to do: kill the man who fathered me but refused to acknowledge me, and prove to the world I was his legitimate daughter so his estate would pass into Mom’s hands, and eventually into mine, and make the famous Odelia Poole take the fall. So the moment you returned your clubs, itwas a cinch to grab the one you used, and then use it on Carl. I knew the police would automatically assume the club was his, and when they found your fingerprints, you’d go down for murder.”
“You tried to frame me?” said Odelia. “But why?”
“Typical that you wouldn’t remember,” she scoffed. “I wrote you an email last year, offering you an exclusive interview with the daughter of Carl Strauss. Only you weren’t interested. In fact you were so not interested that you didn’t even bother to write me back—that’s how so not interested you were in my life and what I’d been through.”