Big Leagues (20 page)

A chill ran down Cat’s spine as she translated
his statement:
water under the bridge
. Even in English,
these words were normally used to put an unjust parking ticket into
perspective or smooth over a friendly quarrel. Not to disregard a
man’s life.

She looked around, hoping to see more dismay at
Erich’s poor choice of words, but her peers only shook their heads
over the vagaries of fate as they paraded out of the
office.

“Catriona? Would you stay a moment?”

She stopped in her tracks. Erich ushered Dr.
Goodall into his private elevator as he pulled out a chair for Cat.
To sit in that chair, she had to walk past Otis Snow. The loutish
security officer had been lurking near the liquor cabinet the
entire meeting. His stare took her in from top to
bottom.

My top and my bottom.

She fiddled with the collar of v-neck, wishing
it had an extra button. Her eyes fell to the belt around his waist.
The overhang on his right side caught her attention.

Is that a gun?

Or one of those tazer thingies?

Why would he need a gun?

“Oh yes, Otis?”

The ogre jerked his head toward
Erich.

“My dear man, would you mind giving us
privacy?”

Now she was glad there was no extra button. Cat
chided herself for the thought, as well as the subsequent warmth
that followed.

“Sure thing, Boss.”

When the door latched behind the guard, Erich
settled into the armchair opposite hers. “I wanted a moment alone
to confer.”

Cat swallowed the baseball in her throat.
“S-sure.”

“Regarding Jamal, is there anything of which I
should be aware? Any whisperings, perhaps?”

“Uh, you mean, from the employees?”

“The employees, the fans, the players,
everyone.”

Cat paused. “Um … well, naturally, they’re
upset. You know, wondering about the cause, any health problems,
that sort of thing.” She carefully selected each word. “Is there
something wrong?”

“Truthfully, Catriona, I am concerned about the
effect this heartbreaking ordeal is having on team morale. Last
night’s game was beyond dreadful. I believe their brooding is
affecting their performance.”

Brooding?

“M-Mr. König, they’re grieving.”

“I understand. I do appreciate their grief.
Please do not mistake my point. I simply want to ensure that we, as
a staff, are helping the players take a healthy and proactive road
toward recovery.”

“Okay.”

“As you know, Catriona, the media can be a
great … well, I don’t want to say
instrument
, but … a
valuable channel in which to shape attitudes.”

Cat pursed her lips.

Erich smiled and waved his hand, as if to clear
the air. “I think my words are muddled. I merely meant to suggest
we try to move in a more positive direction.”

“Are you telling me you don’t want any more
articles about Jamal?”

He reached out and placed his hand on top of
hers, the overlap of his fingers just touching her bare knee. Cat’s
heart skipped.

Erich’s expression was all innocence. “Oh, not
at all, Catriona. I would like you to release the information Dr.
Goodall provided, of course. In late August—Jamal’s birthday is the
twenty-seventh—we will celebrate his life with a dedication
day.”

She mustered a tight smile. “That would be
nice.”

“Yes, I think so, too. Afterwards, perhaps it
would be best for the team to try to guide the focus back to
baseball matters.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Well, I should let you carry on with your day,
Catriona.” Erich stood, and she followed his lead. He walked her to
the door. “I truly appreciate the work you have done for the
Chips.”

She smiled again. “Thank you.”

He shut the heavy door behind her. Cat’s smile
faded away in the quiet hallway. He had seemed so cold, just as
things seemed to be heating up between the two of them. She crossed
her arms over her sleeveless dress and clutched her fingers around
her cold, bare biceps. The conversation had been weird and
uncharacteristic of the kind man. Perhaps Jamal’s autopsy had
disturbed the owner more than he let on.

As she waited for the elevator in the fifth
floor lobby, Cat thumbed through Dr. Goodall’s memo. It was
disconcertingly brief.

I’ve got old score sheets longer than
this.

The report consisted of five pages, filled with
tedious descriptions of Jamal’s previous health history and
inconsequential details of the accident scene. The medical
examiner’s actual ruling was two short paragraphs long—seven
inconclusive sentences. As Cat stepped onto the elevator, another
body dashed in beside her, slamming into her shoulder. The brass
doors closed behind him.

“Dustin? Why are you still here? I would’ve
thought you’d be downstairs already.” She rubbed her arm and
frowned at him.

“I had to talk to a scout. Is that okay with
you? Or are you doubling as the elevator operator?”

Cat closed her eyes. “Simmer down. I was only
curious.”

They remained silent as the elevator glided
down.

“Sure wasn’t what I was expecting to hear in
there,” she said. “How ’bout you?”

His head snapped up. “What do you mean by
that?”

“I just mean, a twenty-eight-year-old athlete’s
heart stopped and no one knows why. That doesn’t seem
strange?”

Dustin shrugged. “That’s what
happened.”

“I thought they’d have something a little more
conclusive, didn’t you? Maybe not something we want to hear but,
you know, drug use or something.”

He scoffed. “Well, sorry to disappoint you. I
guess this isn’t the juicy headline you were hoping for. Our
players aren’t cheaters, and they aren’t crackheads.”

Cat shook her head emphatically. “No! That is
not what I meant. I just figured. I mean, I d-didn’t—”

The elevator doors opened, and Dustin hurried
out before she could even finish stuttering. Cat slunk out behind
him and into her office.

Cat had yet to touch the cup of tea, now cold
from a half hour of neglect. Absentmindedly she watched the grounds
crew zipping over the grass and mowing stripes into the outfield
with quick precision. A soft knock sounded from her closed office
door.

“Come in.”

Maybe it’s Kiara with some office gossip or
Dustin with … his newest beef.

Instead, standing in the frame of her doorway
was a ghost. Her jaw dropped.

Or maybe a hallucination brought on by lack of
sleep.

The handsome outfielder stood in the frame
looking remarkably spry for a man who just last week had undergone
an autopsy. Her back stiffened.

“J-Jamal?”

The ghost’s face collapsed into sadness. “Oh.
Right, you would … No, I’m sorry. I’m Jamal’s brother,
Jason.”

Cat felt a familiar heat make its way through
her veins and into her cheeks. At least once a day since her
arrival in Hohenschwangau, an embarrassing event occurred and
turned Cat into the perfect Chips’ mascot—a fantastical
creature—the body of a woman with a red poker chip for a
head.

Willing the flush away, she said, “Of course.
Please excuse me. I forgot Jamal has a twin. I’m very sorry for
your loss, Mr. Abercromby.”

“I wanted to stop by and thank you for the
story you did and for sending my mom the scrapbook of articles
written about Jamal this season. My family really appreciated the
gesture.” He took a seat in front of her desk.

Cat closed the door and sat in the chair beside
him. “I only knew Jamal for a short time, but everyone at
Hohenschwangau was fond of your brother.”

“Ms. McDaniel, can I get real with
you?”

“Of course.”

“Jamal and I were tight all our lives.
Obviously, twins and all that.”

Cat broke his intense stare and glanced down at
her shoes.

“The minute he got called up from the minors,
he one-eighty’d into a different person.”

Cat looked back up, eyes narrowing. “What do
you mean?”

“Like last month, over the break.” Jason’s
voice began to crack. “He didn’t even come to our favorite auntie’s
fiftieth birthday party. When I asked him what his deal was, he
became like, hostile. Immediately. Right off the jump. I don’t
think I’ve ever heard him freak out like that, like he was
possessed or something. He smashed a beer on the coffee table and
held the broken bottle up to my neck. My girl had to pull him off
me.”

Cat frowned. “Maybe you just caught him on a
really bad day.”

“It’s not just that. His sweetheart he’d been
with since junior high, seventh grade … BAM. Two months ago he
dumped her with no explanation.”

“Ouch.”

Jason nodded. “Plus he stopped calling our
mother. He’d called her every week since he left for college, all
through the minors even. Then, once this season started, that was
it. Nothing.”

“Jason, I’ve seen this before. I wish it wasn’t
true, but some guys make it big and they forget about—”

“No! Trust me. It wasn’t like that. Or
it—that’s not Jamal. He wasn’t some young punk, Ms. McDaniel. He
was a twenty-eight-year old rookie. He’d worked so hard to get up
to the Chips, and he knew how lucky he was. You wouldn’t believe
his excitement when he found out he’d made the team.”

She nodded sympathetically.

“Then this. A heart attack at twenty-eight?
We’re twins—practically identical genetically. If he had a problem,
then how come I don’t? And our family is healthy. Really healthy.
My doctor just ran all these tests on me: EKG, PET, MRI. All of
’em. My heart’s great. Our grandmother’s still alive. Our grandpa’s
still alive. Our dad’s mama lived to be ninety-two. There are no
bad hearts in our family.”

Jason’s eyes began to tear. Cat handed him a
tissue. “That’s surprising. The autopsy didn’t show
anything—”

“I know the autopsy didn’t show anything. How
does a heart one day just … BAM! Stop beating? How?”

Cat remained silent as he blew his
nose.

“That’s why I came to you.”

“Me? I’m not sure what you mean.”

He leaned in. “You know these guys, the whole
team. One of them has to know something. Maybe … I mean, I’ve been
wondering, was it possible Jamal was on drugs? If he was, maybe the
club found out in the autopsy and paid to have everything covered
up. They could do that. I’d bet money they could.”

“Jason …”

“Maybe they didn’t want bad publicity. Maybe
they didn’t want to give Jamal a bad name. Maybe one of his friends
on the team knows and doesn’t want us to find out, or maybe that
guy’s into whatever kinda drug, too, and is protecting his own
butt.”

Cat opened her mouth to interject, but Jason
didn’t let her.

“I don’t know. I don’t, but I have to find out
what happened to my brother. Please, Ms. McDaniel, you have to help
me.”

Cat waited a few seconds to see if he was done
talking. “Jason, I’m not sure there’s anything to find out. Even if
there was, I doubt I could discover any more than you could on your
own. I don’t have a lot of pull around here.”

“You could try. Would you try?
Please?”

His voice cracked. His eyes implored her with
the desperation of a man fighting for his life.

Cat took a deep breath. “I’ll see what I can
find out.”

Jason sank back in his chair. His hand reached
out to grasp hers. “Thank you so much.”

“I still don’t think I’ll find out anything you
don’t already know.”

“But you’ll look?”

“Give me your number, and I’ll call you in the
next week or so.”

“I’m gonna be out of town for a couple weeks.
I’m going to the Caribbean.”

“A vacation?”

“For Jamal. His ashes. Our family is from
Trinidad originally, so we’re going to have a memorial service
there.”

She smiled. “That’s nice.”

“I can call you from there or …”

She shook her head. “No, no. You should
concentrate on your family. Just contact me when you get back.
We’ll meet.”

He nodded, and they both stood. She held her
office door open for him. “It was nice meeting you. Have a safe
trip, okay?”

Hope had replaced desperation in his eyes.
“Thank you, Ms. McDaniel.”

At the sound of another tap at her door, Cat
said, “Did you forget something, Mr. Abercromby?” She looked up and
saw a different visitor. “Oh, Mr. Snow, hello.”

The muscular security guard’s tight smile was
stretched over yellowed teeth.

She sat down and, to hide her body, scooted her
chair in behind the desk.