The Pinch Runner

by Robin Merrill

  Oh, this should be rich. Were they going to make a no-murdering rule?

  “First, there is absolutely no drinking or tobacco on church property, and church property includes the softball field. If anyone is seen drinking or using tobacco, they will not be allowed to play. Next, from now on, people are only allowed to play in games if they come to all the practices. And lastly, if they want to play in the games, they need to be here in church on the Sunday morning before the game.”

  Nate gave her a wide-eyed look, and she didn’t bother to whisper when she said, “He can’t be serious.”

  SANDRA MET BOB BACK at the bird bath. They had to be more discreet this time as it was later in the day, and there was a greater chance of witnesses. If she was going to continue having cloak-and-dagger meetings with angels in her backyard, she was going to have to put up a fence.

  “Did you study him?” Bob asked studiously.

  Sandra snickered. “I tried. I didn’t learn anything.” This wasn’t exactly true. “Well, I guess I learned that Daphne is really mean. Or she hates me. Or both.”

  “Yes, I saw her glaring at you. She did not glare at me.”

  Sandra looked at him. She didn’t know if he was trying to be funny. “So, what did you learn?”

  “I tried. I really did. But it was difficult to read him. He seemed to not be experiencing any emotions, but instead, to be waiting for church to be over.”

  This made sense. “So our mission was a bust? I disrupted half the church’s seating plan for nothing?”

  Bob smirked. “Not for nothing. A young woman named Karissa was very happy that a young man named Steve was forced into her row.”

  Sandra didn’t recognize either of these names and vowed to do a better job of knowing her fellow parishioners.

  “Also, we learned that none of the Barneys are terribly upset about Richard’s arrest. Or if they are, they are hiding it. But why would they bother to hide their sadness? I don’t think they’re very sad about it.”

  “I don’t either,” Sandra mumbled. “And that’s pretty sad in itself.”

  Chapter 24

  After suffering her second almost sleepless night in a row, Sandra determined that she needed to go talk to Chip. She didn’t, however, want anything to do with Chip’s other half, so she called him and asked if she could meet him for coffee. She stressed that she needed to talk to him alone, hoping he would infer that she couldn’t handle a Monday morning dose of Slaughter.

  Chip agreed and soon Sandra was sitting near a window at Aroma Joe’s. Sammy was in a high chair beside her, working on his second donut hole, and the chair across from her was empty.

  Chip was late.

  She polished off her coffee and got up to get a refill, keeping one eye on her sugared-up son. As she paid the friendly barista, the bell over the door announced a new arrival, and Sandra spun to make sure it was Chip and not a softball-bat-wielding Barney.

  It was Chip. She gave him a curt nod and returned to her seat. He followed.

  She looked at his empty hands. “Don’t you want a coffee?”

  “I don’t have much time. What do you need?”

  She noticed then that he looked as exhausted as she felt. Pangs of sympathy ran through her chest. Sure, she enjoyed dabbling in the occasional mystery, but how stressful it must be to do this sort of thing day in and day out.

  “I don’t really need anything, but ... well ...” This had gone so much smoother when she’d rehearsed it in her head at 3 a.m.

  He quirked an eyebrow.

  Sammy screeched and flung some crumbs at him.

  To his credit, he simply brushed off his sport coat and gave Sammy a sincere smile. “Yeah, I don’t really like plain donuts either, bud.” He looked at Sandra. “You should tell your mom to get you chocolate.”

  “Okay, so I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” she spat out.

  He sighed and leaned back in his chair, leaving one hand on the table. The other one dangled at his side as if it were too tired to do anything else. He didn’t look surprised at her outburst. Quite the opposite, in fact. “And what makes you say that?”

  She looked around the room and leaned closer to him. “What kind of an idiot puts a murder weapon back into a bat bag with his fingerprints and the victim’s blood all over it?”

  Again, no surprise on Chip’s face. This line of reasoning had already occurred to him.

  She sat up straight. “My son saw Brendan Barney get Richard to handle the bat. He put it right into his hands. Maybe he’s trying to frame his father.”

  Without turning his head, he glanced at Sammy. “This son?”

  “No, my old—”

  He held up the hand that rested on the table. “I know, I know, I’m just joshing you. But, unfortunately, frame jobs are a TV thing. They rarely happen in real life.”

  That you know of, she thought. “And why is that unfortunate?”

  “Because that would be an easy answer.”

  “Answer to what?”

  “To our current problem.” He returned his dangling arm to the table and folded his hands together. “I agree with you. I think we’ve got the wrong man.”

  What? “Then release him!”

  He looked out the window. “I can’t. It’s not that simple. It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what the evidence says.”

  They were quiet for a minute, and Sammy started humming a tune she was pretty sure was a Sammy original. “Then we need to find more evidence.”

  He returned his eyes to her. “Not we. The police will find the evidence. I appreciate all you’ve done to help the cause of justice in the last year, but don’t get carried away.” He glanced at Sammy. “Think of your kids. They don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Of course not!” She felt a little guilty. “I am always thinking of my kids.”

  He nodded. “Good.” He started to get up.

  “Do you want a statement from Peter?”

  He straightened all the way up and looked down at her. “If we start looking at Brendan as a suspect, maybe.”

  “You’re not looking at him as a suspect yet?”

  He glared at her and shushed her, even though they were the only ones in the room. “I’m leaving now. Have a good day.”

  “Wait!” She grabbed his sleeve and stood up too. “What about the prints? Did you find anything in the secretary’s office?”

  He groaned. “We found thousands of prints in the secretary’s office. We’re still matching them, but so far, nothing suspicious.”

  “You mean no Richard or Brendan prints?”

  He didn’t gratify this with an answer, and she knew he was about to walk away.

  “What happened to Richard’s wife?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “Nothing happened to her that we know of. Sandra, if you know something, you need to tell us!”

  She held her hands up. “I don’t know anything! I just wanted to know if she was still alive.”

  Chip was no longer amused. “Yes, she’s alive. They’re divorced, and she lives in New Mexico. And you’re not going to talk to her.”

  Yeah, right, like she was going to go to New Mexico. She shook her head and tried to think of something else to ask, while she had him right in front of her. “What’s the relationship between Phoenix and Richard? I mean, what’s the motive?”

  “Sandra, I have to go. And you need a new hobby. Try mystery novels. Slaughter loves them.”

  Properly put in her place, she plopped down into her hard plastic chair. How dare he? She already read mystery novels! That didn’t mean she couldn’t be of help to him in real life. He obviously needed it, if he was keeping a man in jail when he knew he was innocent.

  And Slaughter read mystery novels? Seriously? She’d always figured Slaughter spent her free time boxing a bag in her basement, hunting wild coyotes, or going to the gun range. She just couldn’t picture her curled up with a book.

/>   The bell dinged as he left the building. “Let me know about the prints!” she called after him, but she didn’t think he heard her. And even if he did, she didn’t think he’d let her know about anything.

  Chapter 25

  Tuesday was game day, and for the first time in history, Sandra was looking forward to a church softball game. In fact, she kept checking the clock. At around one, Peter asked, “If Pastor said the Bickfords can’t play, maybe I could play in this game?”

  “Maybe,” she said, without really thinking about it. Church softball was turning into a fairly dangerous game; did she even want her son involved? “You can ask Dad.” Maybe she needed some help. She hadn’t heard from Bob since their second backyard meeting on Sunday, and didn’t know if he’d go to the softball game. She doubted it. He probably had a middle school sports commitment. She called Ethel. “Hey, want to come to the church softball game tonight?”

  “I appreciate the invitation, but that’s not really my cup of tea.”

  Sandra laughed at her honesty.

  “Do you need me there for some reason?”

  “No pressure, at all. It’s just ... I’ve been trying to help the police with this whole thing—”

  “You didn’t really need to tell me that.”

  Sandra laughed again. “Right, of course. Well, if something happens tonight, and I end up, I don’t know, chasing a bad guy into the woods”—she looked down at her flip-flops and vowed to wear proper sneakers just in case—“it would be great to know that someone was there with my kids.”

  There was a pause. “Are you planning to chase a bad guy into the woods?”

  “No!” Sandra said quickly.

  “Because when there’s a plan, I like to know the plan.”

  “Of course! I would definitely tell you the plan if there was one, and I will if there is one. I just ... haven’t heard from Bob lately, and I don’t know if he’ll be there—”

  “Bob? What do you mean? Is he helping you with this? I didn’t know he was back!”

  “Well, he never actually went anywhere. He just became invisible. Anyway, he’s sort of helping, but he hasn’t done much, yet. Then again, neither have I. I don’t know, Ethel. There hasn’t been any action yet. That’s why you haven’t heard anything. But my gut tells me that there might be some action tonight.”

  “Your gut.”

  Sandra didn’t know if she was asking for clarification. “Yes, my gut.”

  “All right then. I’ll be there, with my bug spray. Do you have any extra lawn chairs? I am far too old for bleachers.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Ethel. You’re the best.”

  SANDRA FORGOT ETHEL’S lawn chair. Her guilt nearly overwhelmed her, but Ethel was gracious.

  “You can sit in here with me!” She motioned toward the metal bench in the dugout. “It’s not much, but—”

  “But it will keep me from getting hit by balls!” She scuttled inside.

  “Not if the balls come from above.”

  Ethel glanced up at the open sky, and her face fell in disappointment. Then she sat down and started making funny faces at Sammy, who squealed in delight. “I guess you’ll just have to save me from those!”

  Peter appeared in front of the dugout. “You playing, Ethel?” He laughed at his own joke.

  “I was thinking about it!”

  “They might need you. There’s no one here.”

  Sandra looked around the field and saw that Peter was only exaggerating a little. The field was littered with orange T-shirts from Faith Community folks from Rumford, but there was precious little representation for the home team. The Pastor was there, of course, as were Nate, Boomer, Loriana, and Lewis. But no Barneys or Bickfords. It was going to be hard to field a team with five people. She looked at her phone and saw that they still had ten minutes till game time. She left her children with Ethel and headed out onto the field, where Nate was playing catch with Boomer.

  “Have you talked to Adam?”

  Nate caught the ball and looked at her. “Not lately, why?”

  “I mean, is he still planning to come?”

  Nate held the ball and stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  She stretched her arms out wide. “I mean, there’s no one here. Maybe they’ll still let him play.”

  He leaned closer to her. “I never told him he couldn’t play.” He stood back again and threw the ball to Boomer. “But I don’t know if he’s coming or not. Maybe his cousins decided this team isn’t much fun.” He gave her a sardonic look. “I wouldn’t blame him.”

  The sound of an engine with no muffler filled the air, and she thought her heart might burst with joy. She winked at Nate and then trotted off, praying that Pastor Cliff wouldn’t enforce his ridiculous new rules, at least not without giving the men fair warning.

  They hadn’t even all climbed out of the truck yet when Cliff approached them. She couldn’t hear what he said, but she could see the incredulity on the men’s faces. A small cluster of Bickfords formed around the sole non-Bickford and Sandra was thinking about interfering when she saw Nate headed that way. She sneaked closer just so she could listen in better. She didn’t share her favorite angel’s qualms about eavesdropping.

  Her diplomatic husband said, “Pastor, I respect your guidelines, but I have to respectfully disagree with enforcing them here and now. These men didn’t know they were supposed to be at church or at practice.”

  She couldn’t hear Cliff’s response, and she crept closer.

  One of the Bickfords turned back to the truck.

  “Can I talk to you privately?” Nate put an arm around Cliff’s shoulders and waved at the small crowd with his other arm—the crowd that had grown from five for the last game to seven now. “Hang on, guys. Just give me a sec.”

  Sandra kept trying to creep closer, and as she did, Nate led the pastor away. She realized she was being painfully obvious, but threw that concern to the wind—she’d already gotten the reputation of being a snoop, right? She strained to hear, but couldn’t make out the pastor’s defense, only snippets of her husband’s persuasion. “You’ve got to know that’s a silly rule ... you can’t force someone to go to church ... they don’t even know the rules yet ... do you want the community to think we’re snobs?” She didn’t know if Nate convinced him or just wore him out, but with about thirty seconds till the first pitch, Cliff surrendered, and Nate waved the men onto the field. “Sorry about the confusion!”

  “Can I pitch this game?” Ton Truck asked again.

  Cliff either didn’t hear him or ignored him.

  “Probably not,” Nate said, sounding embarrassed. “Let me work on that for you.”

  “He’s really good. Better than ...” Adam’s voice trailed off as he looked out at the field. “Better than most.”

  Nate snickered. “I’m sure of it.”

  The pastor assigned the positions and then New Hope took the field.

  Pastor threw the first pitch and it floated toward home plate. The batter had time for three swings between release and the ball entering the strike zone, but he only swung once—a perfectly timed swing that sent a line drive right at the third basemen. Sandra’s immediate thought was, That is going to break Brendan’s face. But Brendan wasn’t there. A Bickford was, and he caught it effortlessly and tossed it back to the open-mouthed pitcher, who promptly dropped it. The bleachers burst into cheers. Who could blame them? They’d never seen anyone stop a line drive before—no one from New Hope could catch a line drive, and no one from New Hope could hit a line drive so that the other team could catch one.

  Chapter 26

  The Bickfords could hit line drives. They could also hit home runs, sacrifice flies, and grounders up the third base line. It took Sandra a few innings to figure out that they were actually placing their hits on purpose. It took Faith Community the same amount of time to try a different pitcher, but that didn’t slow New Hope down an iota.

  At the end of the third inning, the score was twelve to
two. The two runs that New Hope had given up were home runs that went over the fence—hence, the Bickfords couldn’t field them. Sandra had a feeling that if Ton Truck had been pitching, they’d be on their way to a shutout. But, the situation was what it was, and she had no skin in the game. It was just fun watching the Bickfords play. It was like a real sport.

  During the bottom of the fourth, a giant black Toyota Sequoia pulled into the parking lot. The tinted windows prevented Sandra from knowing exactly who was inside, but she would know that vehicle anywhere. The vanity plates read: CATVAC2. Though there was hardly enough room, the driver nosed the giant vehicle in directly behind the bleachers. Sandra wondered if a Bickford could aim a pop fly to smash that windshield. The new angle allowed her to see that Brendan was driving, and soon they all spilled out of the vehicle. The kids ran ahead of Daphne and scampered up into the bleachers. Daphne was moving more slowly, and her smudged eye makeup suggested she’d been crying. Sandra’s heart ached for her. She couldn’t imagine what she was going through. What do you tell your children when their grandfather has been arrested for killing a stranger? She vowed to reach out to Daphne, no matter what weird staring contest they’d had on Sunday.

  Brendan strode up to Pastor Cliff and made no effort to avoid being overheard. “I thought you said these guys couldn’t play.”

  Pastor Cliff gave him a grave look and then walked away.

  “Hey!” Brendan cried, looking appalled. “I’m talking to you!”

  Nate went over and put a hand on Brendan’s shoulder, which he promptly shook off. “Don’t touch me. You’re the one who invited this trash.”

  Nate was still talking when Brendan walked away from him, as Pastor Cliff had just done to him, and chased after his pastor. “Put me in the game,” he demanded.

  Pastor turned only his head to look at Brendan. His body stayed facing away. “I will, next inning.”

  “No.” Brendan stepped closer. “Now.”