Big Leagues (27 page)

Finally, wadding her dress and shoes in her
arms, she made a dash for her apartment across the hallway,
managing not to share the sight of her bare thighs with the rest of
the tenants in Villa La Playa.

It took Cat ten minutes of digging through
drawers to find her spare Jeep key. There would be no leisurely
stroll to work today. To avoid last night’s crime scene, she drove
the suburban route, twelve blocks out of her way, to the stadium.
The detour added an extra five minutes to her commute, but she
still made her way into the office with three hours to go until the
first pitch. As promised, Erich had a laptop and phone waiting for
her, both exact replicas of their predecessors. Best of all, he’d
included a Burberry messenger bag for carrying the laptop. Cat
smiled at the big red bow that had been placed on it. She ran her
fingers over the perfect stitching and wondered how much the pretty
plaid case must’ve set him back. Gently putting it aside, she fired
up the laptop. She hated it already. Sure, it didn’t freeze up for
ten seconds upon the first keystroke and the N key hadn’t been
rubbed bald, but it didn’t have her story drafts, iTunes or
pictures from the time she and Tams went hiking in Kings Canyon.
She shuddered at the thought of someone else reading her playoff
predictions, listening to Tom Morello and laughing at Tams’s
dead-on impression of a sequoia.

“So, I trust you find the replacement
sufficient?”

Cat’s head rose from the screen as Erich
stepped over the threshold of her doorway, the rich tones of his
woodsy cologne filling the room. He moved her framed Ron Santo card
off to the side to make room for his finely tailored behind. He
angled his torso toward her and folded his hands in his
lap.

“Good morning.” She picked up the Santo card
and moved it next to her new computer. “Both are great. Thank you
so much.”

“My pleasure. Catriona, do you mind if I take a
couple minutes of your time?”

“Not at all.”

Cat eyed his pensive face and was assailed by
doubts.

“I am leaving tomorrow and traveling to Santo
Domingo for three days.”

The image of Erich in a skintight pair of
swimming briefs popped in her mind. She blinked it away.

“How nice.”

“Purely business-related, I am sorry to say.
There will be neither suntanning nor sightseeing on this
visit.”

The swimming briefs were replaced with an
Italian suit that was almost as alluring, though not nearly as much
fun. “Business?”

“There is a prospect down there, a young
right-hander. Our Latin American scouting director insists his
fastball clocks a consistent hundred, but I must see for
myself.”

“Wow. The next Nolan Ryan?”

“From your lips to his ears.” Erich pointed
upwards, and they both chuckled. “I will still be reachable by
cellular, of course. You have that number?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I am terribly distressed about last night’s
incident. The thought of your ordeal kept me awake for
hours.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t—”

“No, I am troubled immensely that a member of
my staff cannot walk home a mere three blocks without being
attacked. To think, right outside Hohenschwangau.”

“Well, nighttime can be a dangerous time
anywhere, not just around the stadium.”

“Not in Munich. The crime rate here is
atrocious.” Erich frowned. “I am sorry. I did not come to you to
rail against the ills of society. I wanted to deliver this.” He
took a business card out of his breast pocket and handed the
embossed rectangle to her.

“Harris Limo & Towncar Chauffeur? What’s
this?”

“That is our car service. We have an account
with them. We tend to use their services for out-of-town
associates, but I want you to feel free to use a car any
evening.”

She placed the business card on her laptop.
“Oh, that’s very kind. Thank you.”

“Now, I don’t want you to say that just to
appease me, Catriona.”

“Oh no, I didn’t. I swear, I will call them if
I need to.”

He gave her a wary look. “Did you walk to work
today?”

“No. I drove my Jeep. I usually do, but it
figures the one night I didn’t …” Cat let the sentence trail
off.

“Terrible twist of fate. However, should you
wish to walk to work and need a ride home in the evening, or if
there is an occasion where you experience vehicular malfunction and
no one is around, you call this service. They are quite
prompt.”

“I will.”

“I cannot have anything happen to
you.”

“I really appreciate it.”

“Well, I appreciate
you
. Again, you are
doing wonderful work here.”

Warmth spread across her face and she broke his
steely stare. “Thanks.”

“I will see you before Sunday’s game. In the
meantime, remember you can reach me via my cell or Casa Del Mar.
You may also send an e-mail, though I am not sure how often I will
be monitoring my account.”

“Sounds good.”

“Oh! I almost forgot.” He reached into his
jacket pocket. “I stumbled upon your request when I was on the
first floor. These are for you.” He handed her the two
tickets.

Her eyes caught the lettering and doubled in
size. “Whoa! Front row?”

He watched and smiled.

“Mr. König, this is great! Thank you so
much.”

“Think nothing of it. Now, those are for
Sunday’s game. I am afraid Swank’s family is in from Boston, and
they cleared out our entire reserve for Saturday night.”

“No, this is even better. I prefer day games
anyway.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “My grams always said baseball was
meant to be played under the summer sun.”

He chuckled. “Ah, my
Großmutter
’s sage
advice was
die Sommersonne arbeitet für zwei
. The summer sun
does the work of two. Does that mean I only need half my staff for
day games?”

Cat giggled. “Grandma logic, who
knows?”

Erich stood up and smiled. “Have a wonderful
time and take care, Catriona.”

“Okay. Thanks again. For everything. Have a
safe trip.”

Cat watched as the last flash of his navy blue
suit disappeared around the corner. She stuck the tickets under her
laptop. Her Ron Santo card caught her eye, and she moved him back
to the center of her desk and patted the top of his
frame.

I gotta figure out a way to bolt you
down.

Dustin was already planted in the front row
when Cat entered the press box. His eyelashes flittered as she
pulled her chair out, but he said nothing to acknowledge her. Even
though it was Dustin, Cat was surprised that he didn’t bother to
ask how she was doing after the mugging.

Maybe he hadn’t heard about it.

She shook her head at the thought. In lieu of
water and food, the front office staff could survive up to ten days
on gossip alone. She imagined that most of the employees arrived at
the office at 9:00 in the morning and had heard about last night’s
events by 9:01. Cat was still in the elevator when Kiara had
ambushed her with a hug, and if the bubbly co-ed knew, so did
everyone else. Cat was certain the evening’s ordeal had been
dispensed with every drip of the water cooler that
morning.

Okay. So Dustin knows. Maybe he just doesn’t
care. Or maybe he’s upset I wasn’t gutted and left for dead in the
bike lane instead.

Maybe that’s what he paid for.

Cat studied his reflection in the box windows.
From his thick glasses to his scuffed penny loafers, Dustin didn’t
strike her as the type to have an arsenal of hitmen at his
disposal. She knew he’d lived in Vegas all of his life, but she
doubted he had any friends, in low places or otherwise. She let out
a sigh of relief as the first pitch left the mound, her suspicions
disappearing with the thump of the catcher’s glove.

If Dustin had wanted to offer his condolences,
he would have had plenty of time. The game had dragged through the
regulation nine innings with a tie and now they were in the bottom
of the thirteenth. Cat drummed her foot against the hardwood as she
thought of Benji’s note,
“Will you come by after the game?”
She wondered how late was too late for the professor, the evening
being a school night and all. As if on cue from Cupid, the Chips
capitalized on a passed ball to score the winning run and saved
themselves from a four-game sweep by New York. What was left of the
Chips faithful went wild in the stands. They jumped to their feet,
splashed beer on their friends and hugged strangers in matching
jerseys. The bleacher creatures’ inebriated enthusiasm didn’t come
close to the reporters’ roars in the press box, ecstatic to finish
up for the night and head home to their wives, kids and adorable
blue-eyed neighbors. Andy St. John busted up the party with a
message from the lounge.

“Sorry, chaps. No quotes tonight. Bouvier’s got
the clubhouse on lockdown again.”

“Aw, what the hell?”

“Gonna be another skimpy column for
me.”

“At least we can go home now.”

Various responses continued to ring out from
her coworkers. Cat remained silent as she packed up her laptop in
the new messenger bag and trudged back to the office with Dustin.
She plopped down at her desk and kicked the pumps off her red,
callused feet, the painful consequence of sprinting two blocks in
suede mules the night before.

“Cup of coffee, McDaniel?”

She started to shake her head and then stopped.
“N-uh, wait. Actually, that’d be great. Thanks, Dustin.”

That’s for not asking how I was holding up,
jerk.

He flashed a phony smile and walked toward the
break room. Cat began to reach for her laptop but paused and drew
her hand back. She turned her head to the empty door frame where
Dustin had just stood.

Since her arrival, the disgruntled coworker had
been the nagging hangnail in her French manicure of a job. And yet,
since their first encounter when she had ordered him to get her a
coffee for no purpose other than to inconvenience him, he had
dutifully brought her a mug every morning—which was always poured
down the water fountain drain the second he was out of sight. It
was enormous fun to watch Dustin squirm, so she’d kept up the
charade. When it came to tormenting the junior reporter, the
English language lacked description for the delight. In the same
infinite wisdom that introduced the world to nuclear fission and
Gummy Bears, the Germans had created the perfect
loanword.

Schadenfreude:
taking pleasure in the
misfortune of others.

Maybe it was because of the long night—waiting
for twelve extra outs could play tricks on anybody’s mind—or
perhaps a rare moment of goodwill, but Cat decided to forgo her
Schadenfreude
for the evening. She followed Dustin into the
break room and prepared to give him a sincere thanks-but-no-thanks
on the mocha.

Her bare feet were silent as she approached the
doorway. Dustin stood on the opposite side of the coffee pot, legs
wide apart in front of the sink. Cat cocked her head and continued
into the break room.

What is he doing?

His back was to her, and his elbow jutted out
from his body.

She gasped. “What are you doing to that
coffee?!”

Dustin flipped around, revealing a white bottle
in his hand. He dropped the mug on the tiled floor. Powder and
ceramic pieces bounced up from the floor.

“Cat! What? No!”

He backed up until his back was pressed against
the sink. Cat didn’t attempt to dodge the scraps, and the misshapen
chunks dug through the bottom of her nylons as she charged him. She
ripped the bottle out of his hands.

“I knew it!”

His face filled with panic as his head wobbled
from side to side. “No! This isn’t …”

She pointed her finger in his face. “Isn’t what
it looks like?” She shook the bottle in his face. “You’ve been
drugging me! You killed Brad to get his job and when your plan
failed, you came after me!”

His face morphed from panic to confusion. His
repeated headshakes stopped in a half tilt. “N-wait, what the hell
are you talking about? Killed Brad? Why would you … I would
never—that’s crazy!”

Her eyes flashed and her lips pursed. “Is it?
Then what do you call all this?”

He held out the bottle in his palm for her to
see. “This? It’s a laxative. I’ve been adding a crushed pill to
your coffees. To get back at you for being such a
bitch.”

Her mouth fell open. “You’ve been putting
laxative in my coffee?”

He shrugged and added a sheepish nod. She bent
down to inspect the powder on the floor. His last comment
registered. Her face snapped back to him.

“I’m the bitch?”

He shoved the bottle back in his pocket and
kept his hand there. “Well you know this job should be
mine.”