Big Leagues (17 page)

“Jamal, many consider you to be the frontrunner
for Rookie of the Year. Do you have any feelings on
that?”

The outfielder had shrugged and offered a
modest smile. “Aw, I try not to hear that stuff and just do my job.
There are lots of good rookies this year. Cobble in Chicago, Andres
in San Francisco, not to mention Robards and James right here in
this clubhouse. Just to finally be up here and in the mix with all
these guys, that’s all I need. I’ve been waiting quite a while to
be—”

Cat smiled, remembering how his teammates had
snuck up behind him and slapped a shaving cream pie in his face
before he could finish.

As she neared his locker, her smile faded,
taking the memory with it. She looked around the empty clubhouse in
dismay. Jamal’s locker had already been cleaned out. Even the
nameplate,
Jamal Abercromby #34,
had been removed, with only
a faint rectangular outline of dust left in its place.

“Excuse me, miss.”

Cat jerked around, her copper hair whipping
around her face. Three men in gray jumpsuits stood in the
doorway.

“Sorry, miss, didn’t mean to scare you. We’re
here to pick up the uniforms? Fancy Pants 24/7 Cleaners.” He
pointed to an embroidered patch on his chest.

Cat shook her head. “Dry cleaners?”

“And custom tailors.”

The clubhouse manager came rushing out of the
back room, a key ring jingling on his belt. He pushed a laundry
cart full of Chips uniforms.

The largest of the three men grinned and
stepped forward. “Ernie! You’re keeping us in business, my
man.”

Ernie stuck his hands in his pockets and turned
to Jamal’s locker with sad eyes. “I’m afraid so. I already spoke
with Lee but—just so we’re all on the same page—the new one’s gonna
go right here.”

He lifted a uniform top out of the cart and
pointed to the opposite sleeve of the pinstriped shirt. The large
man checked his clipboard.

“By tomorrow afternoon, right?”

Ernie nodded. “That’s right. Four o’clock. No
delays.”

“You got it, Ern.”

They rolled the laundry cart out to the service
entrance and waved to Cat. Her gaze fell on the pile of polyester
as the uniforms passed by.

Yet another patch for the Chips.

It were a nice honor to show the fans, but she
doubted a patch did diddly for the players who would wear it. Jamal
was still gone. This was a guy with whom they shared not just a
roster, but laughs on the field, hugs in the dugout, tears in the
clubhouse and stories on the plane. He was one of those players who
always managed a smile after a tough loss and passed credit to
everyone else after a victorious win. He gave his all every single
day as a teammate first and a player second. His memory couldn't be
summed up with just a little thread and a piece of
material.

She twisted around to see the deflated
shoulders of Ernie as he headed back to his office. She sighed and
hauled her tired feet toward the parking lot tunnel.

Cat slept a mere five hours before her alarm
clock jolted her out of bed. The sunken eyes, flat hair and sallow
skin that greeted her in the bathroom mirror were an even ruder
awakening.

From the shower, she went to rummage for her
favorite jeans, still stored in the cardboard box from Porterville.
She had been planning to tackle the rest of her unpacking today,
but instead she’d spend her day off clocking overtime. Cat tugged
the soft denim from the bottom of the box. Under the circumstances,
she doubted she’d catch any flack for instituting her own casual
Friday.

When she rolled into the stadium at eleven
o’clock, there wasn’t a single player’s car on the lot. The spicy
scent of pepperoni filled the fourth floor, and Cat’s stomach
rumbled. She spotted the piles of pizza boxes in the lobby and
snatched a couple slices on her way into the office.

Dustin noted her arrival with a sneer, staring
pointedly at her blue jeans and Chips jersey. “Nice outfit. Let me
guess, the dress code no longer applies to you?”

She bit into the slice of cold pizza, rolling
her eyes back as her taste buds hummed in approval of the
Hawaiian-style thin crust. Through a mouthful of pineapple, she
said. “Not when I’m running on empty. I was here until five in the
morning, you know.”

She slapped the other slice down on his desk.
“Brought you one, too.”

Dustin pushed the peace offering back a few
inches with his bony finger. Cat shrugged, retrieved the piece of
pizza and headed for her office.

* * *

What had started as a determined mission for
another cold slice ended up as an elevator ride down to the bottom
floor of Hohenschwangau Stadium. The sound of her tennis shoes
squeaked on the concrete and echoed off the cinder blocks lining
the long hallway. Surveying the bare rooms, Cat reflected that this
was the first time she’d seen the clubhouse completely empty in the
middle of the day. No players lingering in the weight room or staff
members bustling through the hallways running errands. Seeing a
lone light in the midst of the ghost town, she continued on to the
corner office, tumbleweeds be damned.

“Dr. Goodall, you there?”

The head of the portly doctor popped through
the door. The bags under his eyes resembled her own.

“Uh, Catriona.” Seeing her step into his
office, he slammed the file folder shut and rolled his chair back
from the desk. “What do you—how can I help you?”

“Well, I’m trying to get more info on Jamal.
Would it be possible for me to look at his medical
history?”

“I’m afraid not. His personal health
information is confidential. That’s an HIPAA
regulation.”

“Oh. Even when a person’s dead,
huh?”

“Yes, privacy rights extend to the deceased, no
matter what tabloids will have you believe.”

“Oh. Well, can you tell me if there was
anything unusual in his records, then?”

“Again, Catriona, I can’t discuss anything
without his family’s permission.”

“I thought Mr. König had a conversation with
them earlier.”

“Over the telephone. We’re still awaiting
written authorization. That’s procedure. I’m sure you understand
that we don’t want to stress his family just hours after his
death.” The doctor took off his glasses and began to clean them. “I
can assure you that in the case of any unusual findings, Jamal
would’ve been tested and treated appropriately.”

“Yeah, I understand.” She motioned toward the
empty clubhouse. “One more thing. Have you seen Kirby?”

“None of the trainers are coming in
today.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Um, no. I was just going to ask him if he
noticed anything unusual during Jamal’s workouts.”

“Again, if he had, I would have been privy to
the issue.”

She smiled awkwardly and walked out, happy to
abandon the lower level ghost town to rededicate herself to the
pursuit of pizza.

LVthreepeat11:

This is tragic! My heart goes out to Jamal’s
family and to the entire Chips team.

Chipsaholic98:

Total disaster. Any word on what the Chips will
do with his roster spot?

VininTx:

Deepest thoughts and sympathy to everyone who
knew Jamal. Let’s try to remember he was a person first, and a
ballplayer second. Everyone needs to leave the speculation up to
the Chips and offer condolences to the family.

Cat scanned the replies to her recently posted
blog entry about Jamal’s memorable moments with the team. She was
surprised at the hundreds of comments from fans left within an hour
after she’d published the post, each sharing their own messages
about the beloved outfielder. A light rapping at her door drew her
attention from the computer screen. Erich König stood in the door
frame, back to his usual polished self after last night’s brief
dishevelment.

She closed the lid to her laptop and folded her
hands on top. “Mr. König, hello.”

“You know you can call me Erich.” He took a
step inside the room. “I read your article. I wanted to tell you
how caring and considerate I found your words.”

Her face flushed with pride. “You
did?”

“Exactly what our base needs to hear. What you
authored was perfect.”

“I guess it was easy enough to write. I’ve been
a fan a lot longer than a reporter, so I just wrote what I felt,
what I’d want to hear.” She watched his face carefully. “I’d really
like to give them more information on his death, though. They’re
all so curious.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Have the police said anything
more—”

“I’m afraid not.”

“What about the autopsy? Any word on
when—”

Erich pulled up his sleeve and pointed at the
face of his platinum Cartier. “Catriona, it is nearly six o’clock.
I noted on the security log you were here until dawn this morning.
Please, go home. Get some rest. This is an off day, after
all.”

“I know. It’s just that I keep feeling there’s
more to this story that needs to be told.”

“These things take time.” He inclined his head
toward the door. “Come on now, I shall walk with you to the
elevator.”

He pressed the down button and the door
immediately opened.

Even the elevators bow to Erich
König.

He held the door open with one hand and held
his other out. She gingerly slid her fingers into his hand and let
him guide her into the elevator like it was a ballroom dance
floor.

“Furthermore, beautiful young women such as
yourself should be preparing for romance at this hour.” He raised
her hand lightly to his lips.

Her heart leapt to her throat as he tenderly
released her hand. The gesture took her by such surprise that the
hand immediately went up to her own lips, where she stifled a
girlish giggle. “I’ll try to remember that.”

He backed away from the elevator and stood in
front of the doors, giving her a single wink before they shut in
front of him.

Cat slumped against the back wall and caressed
the top of her hand where his soft lips had been. She closed her
eyes and could almost feel his feathery breath dancing up her arm
and down her body, telltale goosebumps following its steps on her
hot skin. The doors dinged and glided open. She gave her arms a
quick shake before stepping out and leaving her naughty thoughts
behind. She’d mentally violated enough of the Employee Conduct Code
for one night.

Cat tossed her purse on the countertop and
answered the persistent ring of her cell phone.

“Hey Grams.”

“Catriona, that player on the news, they said
he was on the Las Vegas Chips.”

“Yeah, he was a player on our team.”

“Oh no. That’s awful. How’s everybody taking
it?”

“Well, as I’m sure you can imagine, the whole
place is just a big mess.”

“Have they told you what happened
yet?”

“Not really. Everybody’s really upset and
nobody knows anything.”

“Isn’t it your job to find out?”

“Well, it is. I guess. I don’t know. The team
isn’t giving out much information.”

She started a bath while her grandma launched
into lecturing mode.

“Now you listen up. You’re a McDaniel and you
know what that means? You have to work for what you want in this
world. Nobody’s gonna give you anything. You go in there and you
dig and you dig until—”

“I know, I know. Keep digging until they take
away the shovel. I think you should cross-stitch that on a pillow
for me.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I know you are. It’s just not that
easy.”

“He was so young. That’s such a
shame.”

“Yeah, very young.”

“I’m sure you’ve had a busy day; I won’t keep
you.”

“Yeah, I’m getting ready to turn in. I’ll see
you soon.”

“When? This old lady needs something definite.
I want you to come for at least a week.”

“Well, that won’t be possible until November
unless the Chips don’t make the playoffs.”

“Will they?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“All right, honey. I love you.”

“Okay, love you, too.”

She slipped out of her clothes and crammed them
in the hamper, wishing she could trap her sighs inside the woven
wicker with them. As she sank into the rich cloud of bubbles, Cat
inhaled the warm vanilla and allowed the hot water to seep into her
tired bones. Leaning her head back against the tub’s edge, she
closed her eyes, meditating to the rhythmic trickle of the leaky
faucet.

Cat, hey!”

She stepped out into the building’s parking lot
and squinted into the coral sunrise. Pink stripes swirled through
the blue sky over the mountaintops. A bouncing shadow appeared in
the tranquil skyline as Benji jogged up to the sidewalk, removed
his earbuds and shoved his iPod in the waistband of his nylon
shorts. Her eyes followed the path and drifted down the rest of his
body.