Big Leagues (19 page)

* * *

Dustin clenched the pencil as König and his
precious pet Cat walked right by his desk without acknowledgment.
In three years, König had never once made mention of the long hours
he put in. He sure as hell had never been the recipient of a
Cartier watch. He always stayed at Hohenschwangau from sun up to
sun down—never took a sick day, never missed a road trip. It was
bad enough that Derhoff had always been the one rewarded with cushy
coverage of the Caribbean training camps and free tickets to the
ESPYs, but when König passed Dustin over for the senior reporter
position it was official: the Bavarian had cream pie for brains. If
he couldn’t see what a bad choice he had made, then Dustin would
have to show him. He glared at her empty office and the pencil
finally snapped under the pressure of his grip. The hardened scowl
melted off his face and was replaced by a smile. That door would
soon read
Dustin Carlyle, Senior Reporter
.

* * *

Cat dragged her tired legs up the stairs. On
the welcome mat in front of her door, someone had left a deep
purple flower in a tiny red cup. She squatted down to pick the gift
up, smelling the flower’s fragrance, a mix of clean and sweet. Cat
smiled.

“You like it?” Benji stepped out of his
apartment and walked over.

“This is from you? It’s beautiful. What’s the
occasion?”

“The occasion? I didn’t know I needed one.” He
comically stroked his chin. “Hmm … let’s go with
larceny.”

Cat cocked her head to the side.
“Larceny?”

“I stole the flower from the university’s
greenhouse. It’s part of a lily hybrid they’ve been developing for
five years. The plant is fascinating, actually. They took a
perennial species that was native to South America and, fifteen
days after pollination, the embryos were aseptically detached …” He
peeked up at her. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,
because I’m sure you don’t want to hear the riveting botanical
adventures in the horticulture department.”

She giggled. “All I know is that it’s very
pretty. I like the orange speckles.”

He smiled.

She unlocked her door and waved him in. “You
wanna come in for a beer and, uh, horticulture talk?”

“Just one. I’ve got an early morning lab. Can’t
be smelling like the students, you know.”

She felt for the light switch along the wall of
the dark apartment. “So, what’s it called?”

“Huh?”

“This lily hybrid that led you to a life of
crime. Does it have a name?”

“You know, I’m not even sure.”

“Oh well. I’m sure it’ll be in the court
records.”

Benji chuckled. She set the lily on the counter
and gave its squishy container a squeeze. “This little vase is
cool.”

She opened the fridge and grabbed two Leinies
from the side shelf. She popped the caps with her trusty magnet
opener and handed him a bottle.

“Oh it’s not a vase. Or not
only
a vase.
It’s a shot glass. Silicone, see? Food-grade.”

She reached out and ran her fingers over its
rubbery surface.

He demonstrated its flexibility by pinching the
sides. “That way you can stick it in your pocket and carry it with
you wherever you go. Not that I think you’re some kind of lush or
anything. It’s just that you said you collected them. Unless you
are a lush, which is cool, too. Liver schmiver, that’s what I
always say.” Benji halted his blather with a swig of his
beer.

“Not a lush. At least not yet. These late
nights might turn me into one.”

“I had no idea baseball was such a third-shift
occupation.”

“There’s just a lot going on with the
Abercromby death and stuff.”

“That sucks.”

She pointed at the lily as she pulled out the
chair next to his. “This helps.”

He smiled and cleared his throat.” So, I
watched that allegedly good game of yours earlier.”

“Oh, yikes. Not our best outing,
huh?”

“I don’t know much about baseball, but do the
players usually try to catch the ball with their
crotch?”

Cat burst out laughing, covering her lips with
her hand to prevent the beer from spilling out. “I don’t think it’s
one of the fundamentals. Let’s just say Pat Kenneaster is now a
walking—wait, make that
limping
—cautionary tale on why even
outfielders should wear cups.”

“I tuned in for the action. I stayed for the
comedy.”

“Then surely you weren’t disappointed.” She
sighed. “Their minds just aren’t in the game.”

“Well they’re probably still mourning. I can’t
believe they didn’t get the week off or something. It’s crucial not
to rush the grieving process.” He paused. “Or so I’m told. I’ve
never actually lost anyone close to me.”

“Yeah.” Cat’s eyes clouded over.

“Have you?”

“Have I …?”

“Lost anyone?” He put his hand up. “I’m sorry,
if this is too personal, I can—”

“No, it’s fine. Not really. I don’t really have
a whole lot of people to lose. It’s mostly just me and
Grams.”

“Oh. My family’s pretty small, too. I’m an only
child from two only children. We have a lot of leftover turkey on
Thanksgiving.”

Cat didn’t respond. Benji took another swig of
beer.

“Anyway, time is the best healer.”

“Hmm. I guess the Chips’ front office didn’t
get the memo.”

“Kinda cold, huh?”

“In their eyes, it’s all about the show going
on. It’s not their fault. We play a hundred and sixty-two games in
six months. The scheduling is already so tight, plus they’ve got
some away games to reschedule in late fall to make up for the April
rainouts.”

“High demands.”

“You said it. Just wait until September. The
playoff race starts and this town is going to be wired.”

“Oh you don’t have to tell me about that. Last
fall was downright awful. Try getting a lecture hall of freshman to
concentrate on a syllabus while they’re trying to eBay playoff
tickets. Apparently, kids today would rather be at a baseball game
than listen to me explain chemiosmotic phosphorylation. Who
knew?”

She stood up and rinsed her bottle in the sink.
“Here I thought our jobs were different. Why, just yesterday my
postgame recap compared chemiosmotic phosphorylation to double
plays.”

“Really?”

“Um, no. Maybe next week.” She leaned against
the sink.

They smiled and a soft silence fell upon the
kitchen. Benji started to peel at the amber label on his empty beer
bottle. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well, I should probably go.
The summer students who don’t come to class still drunk will be
fueling their hangovers with three cans of Red Bull. I need a full
night’s sleep if I’m gonna stand any kind of chance against
them.”

“Yeah, I should take a shower and wash off the
stench of defeat.” She pointed to the flower. “Thank you
again.”

He walked backwards toward the door. “No
problem. I guess I’ll see you later? Maybe tomorrow?”

“Hope so. Bye, Benji.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Cat locked the door after the final goodbye and
giggled to herself on her way to a hot shower. Thirty minutes later
she was tossing and turning under a heap of covers. Finally she got
out of the bed, slipped her feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers and
scooted into the kitchen. She took the silicone vase from the
counter and carried the lily back to her bedroom, swiping the
Cartier watch off her dresser on the way. Her conscience was
bothering her, and she knew she was would have to find a way to
return the precious timepiece.

Just not yet.

She arranged both gifts on each side of her
alarm clock. Satisfied, she laid her head against the pillow with a
soft smile.

“Hey, Dr. Goodall, Catriona McDaniel again. I
was wondering if you had a chance to look at my e-mail yet. I just
have a few more questions about Jamal. I’ll be here all day and
available to talk until game time. Extension four twenty-six, or
you can e-mail me. Thanks.”

Cat hung up the phone and let out her hundredth
sigh of the day. So far the team physician had ignored her one
e-mail and two voice mails.

Kiara bounded into her office. “Cat, you’re
here. Didn’t Dustin tell you?”

“You’ll have to be more specific. Dustin tells
me a lot of stuff; unfortunately, most of the time it’s usually
drivel.”

She giggled. “He’s such a tool.”

Cat’s expression warned her—not very
convincingly—to show some respect. “So what’s going on?”

“Big meeting in Erich’s office at ten
o’clock.”

Cat looked at the clock. “Ten minutes? Wonder
why I didn’t get an e-mail?”

Kiara shrugged. “I think it was last
minute.”

“Yeah, I guess. Bad timing, though. I’m
swamped. Unless … hey, can I ask you a favor?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Cat waved her over to her desk. “Okay, see this
file? I want to print a copy of the spreadsheet, several actually,
but a separate one for each category’s leads. You know, one for
walks, one for wild pitches, one for blown saves, one for balks …
You get my drift?”

“I can totally do that.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Anything to get me out of filing.”

Cat groaned. “Believe me, I know. Been there,
filed that.”

“Can I stay in your office to do it?” Kiara
grinned mischievously.

“As long as you promise not to have any
parties.” Cat pulled out the desk chair and twirled it toward the
giggling intern. “It’s all yours. I better get up to Mr. König’s
office.”

Erich’s office didn’t usually serve as a
conference room. In fact, Cat knew of a dozen or so areas
specifically marked “CONFERENCE ROOM” throughout Hohenschwangau
Stadium, including the forty-person shrine that glistened behind
glass walls across the hallway. Nevertheless, she and Dustin, along
with a couple members of the public relations department, filed
into the spacious headquarters of the head honcho.

Cat checked out the office again, not
remembering much from her five-second peek during her initial tour.
The field was revealed in all its splendor through a giant picture
window. Priceless sports memorabilia was displayed along the
wood-paneled walls. She admired the signed boxing gloves,
glass-encased baseballs and framed jerseys. A massive liquor
cabinet accounted for half of the back wall, with a sitting area
off to the side.

Just as in his casino office, Erich’s desk took
up a hefty portion of the spacious room. Cat took note of the lack
of distractions, specifically no framed photos of women. She’d seen
various socialites on his arm at local charity events and award
banquets. Though the hair colors changed and skin tones varied,
they were always young, beautiful and glamorous. Erich strolled in
and scooted past, giving her a pat on the arm and an appreciative
smile as he did so.

“Good morning, Catriona.”

She smiled back and absentmindedly began to
stroke the new watch on her right wrist.

Erich hoisted himself up on his desk’s thick
granite top as his employees crowded around, their faces lit up as
they waited to hear what news merited a private meeting. He
murmured to Dr. Goodall, who handed each guest a stapled set of
documents.

“Thank you all for meeting in my office, the
only place I could be sure of privacy.”

They all nodded in agreement, though Cat
couldn’t understand the necessity. Judging by the blank stares of
her colleagues, neither did anyone else. She doubted the secluded
conference rooms in the lavish stadium were any less
private.

“I have called you all here for an important
matter. We have the results of Jamal Abercromby’s
autopsy.”

Cat snatched the papers from Dr. Goodall’s
hands and scoured the pages.

“I will defer to Dr. Goodall for a detailed
explanation of the findings. I exited the science field for a good
reason.”

The group responded with a polite laugh. Dr.
Goodall stepped to the front and adjusted his glasses. “In short,
in the opinion of the medical examiner, Jamal’s cardiac event had
no determinable cause. To put this into laymen’s terms, the
electrical system that controlled his heartbeat simply failed. What
specifically caused his heart to fail could not be established,
even in an autopsy. As for the rumors … you’ll find the results of
his toxicology test revealed no illicit substances.” He took a step
back.

Erich took over. “I realize our fans are deeply
concerned, so Catriona, Dustin, let’s issue a short follow-up that
provides this information. Perhaps you can assist public relations
in a project for the community to honor his name. Then I would like
to move forward from this tragedy.
Wasser unter der
Brücke.
”