The Fenway Foul-Up (3 page)

Kate grabbed Mike’s arm and pulled him down to the infield railing. It was almost game time. The seats and aisles were starting to get crowded with fans.

“I feel bad about bumping into that guy,”
Mike said. “Did you see how worried he was that he knocked that tube over?”

“Maybe he’s embarrassed,” said Kate. “You don’t like it when people see you do something dumb, do you?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t know,” Mike said. “I never do anything dumb!”

“Oh yeah? What do you call bashing that poor man with your elbow? A smart move?” Kate teased.

Mike rubbed his elbow for a second. Kate was right—he was always knocking into things. His arms and legs sometimes seemed longer than he remembered.

“I can’t help it if his head was in the wrong place,” said Mike.

With one final line drive, batting practice ended. The players went back to their clubhouses to get ready for the game.

“Hey, Mike,” Kate said, “what’s that?”

Just over the railing in front of them, specks of black and tan lay scattered on the red infield dirt. They were right where Big D had put his bat before it was stolen. Mike leaned over the railing to get a better look.

After a minute, he straightened back up.

“Sunflower seeds!” he said.

Kate glanced over her shoulder at the man with the Yankees hat. He was reading a Red Sox program.

“Do you think
he
took the bat?” Kate asked.

“Well, he’s eating sunflower seeds. And he was here for batting practice,” Mike said. “I’d say he’s a prime suspect.”

“If he took it, he must have given it to someone already. He certainly doesn’t have the bat now,” Kate said.

“Maybe,” said Mike. “Or maybe he hid it
behind the dugout or under the seats.”

Out on the field, the umpire brushed off home plate. Fans streamed into their seats around the ballpark, carrying hot dogs, drinks, and popcorn.

Mike felt a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around. It was an usher.

“Do you two have tickets?” the usher asked in a gravelly voice.

Kate handed their tickets to him. “We’re sitting over there. We were just trying to see if the batboy would give us a used ball.”

Kate was good at thinking on her feet. When she needed to, she could come up with a reason for just about anything. It was a handy skill for keeping out of trouble.

The usher looked at the tickets and then gave them back. “You can stay here for now. But make sure you return to your seats when
the game starts,” he said. “You may not have heard, but Big D’s lucky bat is missing. We’re asking all the fans to keep an eye out for any strange activities.”

“Okay,” Kate and Mike said.

The usher moved on. He asked the other nearby fans for their tickets as well.

On the sidelines, a few players started to stretch. Suddenly, Mike leaned way over the railing.

“What are you doing?” Kate said. “Are you crazy? You’d better watch it or you’re going to fall onto the field. We might get kicked out!”

“Just … getting … a … sunflower … seeeeeeeeeed …,” Mike huffed. He stretched his right arm as far over the railing as he could.

“Hey, kid, cut that out! No one’s allowed near the field during a game!”

Mike quickly straightened up. The batboy towered over him. The batboy had caught him red-handed.

“Fans aren’t allowed to reach over the railing or touch the field,” the batboy went on. “You could get in a lot of trouble if anyone else saw you.”

“Sorry,” Mike said. “I guess I got carried away.”

“We heard about Big D’s missing bat. We were just looking for clues,” Kate jumped in. “Do you know anything about who took it?”

The batboy tilted his head and squinted at them. He pushed his Red Sox cap up. “I might,” he said. “But why should I tell you?”

Mike and Kate exchanged a glance, then Kate shrugged.

“My name’s Kate Hopkins, and this is my cousin Mike Walsh. My mom’s a reporter
for American Sportz. She’s up there in the pressroom.” Kate pointed to the window above them.

The batboy’s face lit up when he heard the name American Sportz. “I love your mom’s articles,” he said. “My name’s Bob, but they call me Bobby Batboy around here. It must be cool to travel to all the ballparks and write about different baseball teams,” Bobby added.

“Mom likes it,” Kate said, “but Mike here would rather have your job.”

“It’s fun,” Bobby said, “but it’s a lot of work.”

Bobby looked thoughtful for a second. “Can you guys keep a secret?” he asked at last.

Instantly, both Kate and Mike said, “Yes!”

“Good,” Bobby said. He lowered his voice. “The security team found a ransom note at
one of the souvenir stands about half an hour ago. The note said that if Big D doesn’t pay by the end of the week, his lucky bat will end up as firewood!”

Bobby glanced over their shoulders. He leaned in toward Kate and Mike. “See the man in the Yankees cap back there? He was one of the fans standing near the dugout during batting practice,” he whispered. “He was close enough to take the bat. The security people are investigating.”

“I knew it!” Mike shouted. He gave Kate a high five.

The batboy looked puzzled. He frowned slightly. “Knew what?” he asked.

“He was our top suspect, too,” Mike said. “Because of his sunflower seeds.”

“That’s what Mike was trying to get when you caught us,” Kate explained. She pointed
to the pile of black and tan shells near the wall.

“Wow,” said Bobby. “Sunflower seeds! Right where the bat was stolen! I’d better go tell security. Thanks for the tip.”

The Secret Code

The grounds crew hustled to get the field ready for the game. They wore matching red polo shirts and tan shorts. One man bent down and sprayed white paint on home plate. Another did the same for the small strip of rubber on the pitching mound.

“So Bobby thinks the man in the Yankees cap stole the bat,” Kate said. “Do you think they have enough evidence to arrest him?”

“Not unless they find Big D’s bat,” said Mike.

Kate leaned against the railing. A man dressed in khaki pants and a dark jacket was walking along the warning track next to the Green Monster. Out of nowhere, he opened a green door in the wall and stepped through it.

“Did you see that?” Kate asked Mike.
“There’s a hidden door in the outfield wall! How cool is that?”

“That door’s used by the people who work the scoreboard,” Mike said. “Most parks have electronic scoreboards, but Fenway’s is old-fashioned. They change the score by hand.”

Fenway’s scoreboard was about half the
height of the Green Monster. It was painted green to match. White lines that ran from top to bottom divided it into sections.

The lines reminded Mike of something he had read a little while ago. “What if the bat is hidden somewhere really obvious,” he said, “just like Fenway’s hidden message?”

“What hidden message?” Kate asked. She loved puzzles.

“It’s on the scoreboard,” Mike told her. “It’s easy to see once you know about it.”

Kate’s forehead wrinkled as she squinted to study the scoreboard. She saw places for each team’s score and red and green lights to record balls and strikes and outs. But no hidden message.

“I give up,” said Kate.
“¿Dónde está?”

“Come on, Kate,” Mike complained. “Not more Spanish!”

Kate was teaching herself Spanish. She liked to challenge Mike with new words and phrases.

“Okay, okay,” Kate said. “Where is it?”

“If you give up that easy, we’ll never find the bat,” Mike said with a smile. “It’s in the white lines going up and down on the right side of the board. They’re not solid stripes. They’re dots and dashes. Know what that means?”

“Duh!” Kate said with a flip of her ponytail. “It’s Morse code. I should have seen that! Morse code uses dots and dashes to spell out letters—like SOS is dot-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dot.”

“Bingo!” said Mike.

“Let’s see, I guess I’d read it left to right, top to bottom. Dash, dot-dash, dash-dot-dash-dash. That should be TAY.”

“Wow, that’s right,” said Mike. “You know a lot of weird stuff, but Morse code? How’d you learn that?”

Kate looked down and blushed. “After my parents got divorced, my father used to write me coded messages,” she explained. “When he’d send me or Mom a letter or e-mail, he’d put part of it in Morse code for me to figure out. And I’d write him back in Morse code. It was fun. After a while, I got good at it.”

“Pretty cool. I never knew that,” Mike said. “It’ll come in handy if you ever want to be a telegraph operator!”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” said Kate. “What’s Morse code doing on the scoreboard in Fenway Park?”

“It spells out TAY and JRY. Those are the initials of Tom Austin Yawkey and his wife, Jean Remington Yawkey,” said Mike. “They
used to own the team. They hid their initials on the scoreboard for fun.”

“I never would have noticed it if I wasn’t looking for it,” said Kate.

“Those dots and dashes got me thinking. What if the bat is hidden in plain sight, like the initials or the door?” Mike asked. “What if the thief used the bat as … as a broom handle or something? Or maybe the thief put it in a backpack or an umbrella.”

“It wouldn’t fit into a backpack. It would have to be in something longer,” Kate said. “But you’re right, the thief could have stashed it somewhere around here.”

They looked around. None of the fans nearby had coats or umbrellas with them. One man had a long crutch and a bandaged leg, but the crutch was too narrow to hold a bat. They checked, but the bat wasn’t hidden
under any of the seats around them or by the Red Sox dugout.

“Hey, what about the man in the Yankees hat?” asked Kate. “Remember the poster tube that he kicked over? Maybe he stole the bat and hid it in the tube!”

Mike glanced at the man. The long white tube was leaning against the armrest next to him.

“It’s long enough to hold a bat,” said Mike. “But it might not be wide enough. I don’t know if a bat would fit inside.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Kate said. “I saw a souvenir stand near the entrance. Let’s go do an experiment!”

The Experiment