Chapter 13
It was August 12, and Hugh McWrait lounged in a seat two rows below his personal luxury suite at Safeco Field, watching the pregame festivities on the field below with minimal interest. His mind was on other things: business transactions, most of them legal; his intentions toward the woman sitting at his left, wearing a glittering diamond bracelet; and a mystery, a three-month-old problem he had been unable to solve.
"You want some nachos?" the woman asked, rising. "I'm starting to feel a little hungry."
"Sure, babe," McWrait answered. "Go easy on the jalapeños."
She smiled—she knew how he liked his nachos, and how much he liked her. She stepped past him and turned toward the suite, where friends and a few relatives enjoyed the well-supplied food and drink bar that came with the suite.
McWrait breathed deeply, quieting his thoughts. He came to watch the Mariners less to support his investment as a minority owner—his share of the team was quite small—and more to relax, socialize, and give himself time to think. Did he want to marry Sasha? She was gorgeous, and she came with money of her own, though nothing next to his… He enjoyed her personality, he delighted in the way she could love him without feeling the need to meddle in his darker financial affairs—a rare trait in a woman…
Should he marry her? She would want to have children with him. And he might enjoy having a child or two; he could hire staff to care for them so they wouldn't be too much of a burden.
He wasn't getting any younger. Maybe it was time to settle down at last…
The deep, smooth baritone of the stadium announcer interrupted his thoughts. "Ladies and gentlemen, at this time we direct your attention to the field. As a part of our salute to supporters of Little League baseball during the month of August, the Mariners are proud to welcome special guests Derek Hopper and Craig Fleming, owners of D and C Landscaping. For the past seven years, Mr. Hopper and Mr. Fleming have generously donated their time, money, and expertise to improve Little League fields across the greater Seattle area."
A couple of men strolled out to the pitcher's mound, accompanied by two boys. The announcer's voice continued. "Mr. Hopper and Mr. Fleming, the Mariners and Little Leaguers from around the city thank you and your families for your contributions to the game of baseball and to the youth of Seattle."
McWrait absently joined in the smattering of applause that arose from the crowd. The foursome reached the pitcher's mound, and the announcer continued once more. "Throwing out this evening's opening pitches on behalf of their dads are Douglas Hopper and Zechariah Fleming. Good luck, guys."
McWrait bolted suddenly to his feet. That name… "Melinda!" he called. "Binoculars, if you please!"
A young woman, confident, capable, and remarkably attractive—almost as much so as Sasha; certainly the kind of attendant McWrait liked to employ in his personal service—approached him from behind and handed them to him. The foursome on the field appeared in huge scale on the vast video screen over center field, but McWrait focused the binoculars in on the youngest of them, a brown-haired boy about…yes, about ten years old.
The other boy set up on the pitcher's mound and threw a baseball into the glove of the Mariners' star pitcher, who acted as the catcher. The team mascot, the Moose, crouched behind in the umpire's position and thrust his furry right hand outward, declaring the pitch a strike, then congratulated the boy with two fists raised triumphantly above his antlers. A couple thousand fans in the stands clapped in support.
The second boy stepped up to make his throw. McWrait smiled. The boy was healthy and strong—and looked to be completely normal. An absolute success. Yet nothing had come of it, nothing to repay McWrait's investment in his existence. But now, serendipitously, the three-month-old mystery was solved. McWrait had found the child—and with his father, no less! That was interesting. He wondered how that arrangement had come about.
Zechariah set his feet and looked in at the pitcher, who squatted again. He wound up and threw the ball. It sailed high and outside, but the pitcher stood and corralled it easily. The Moose jumped up and stretched out his right hand again, following it with a jab from his left to indicate a strikeout. The boy grinned. Yes, a perfectly normal-looking boy.
"Nice pitches, Douglas and Zechariah," the announcer's voice resonated from the stadium's speakers again as the foursome exited the infield. "Thank you for being with us this evening. We hope you and your families enjoy the game."
McWrait rubbed the stubble growing on his chin. Zechariah Fleming, in the flesh. He unzipped an inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small piece of paper with two words handwritten on it: "For Zechariah." The message was intended to insult him—and it had achieved its desired effect. But now he would answer it.
"Melinda," McWrait called, beckoning her back to him. "The young man who just threw that last pitch—his name is Zechariah Fleming. Find out his father's name. Follow him home. I want to know where he lives. Take Jeffrey. Tell him I want to know all about this child and his family. Don't be seen."
The woman nodded and left, waving for another man behind McWrait to join her. McWrait watched her go, then turned back to the game again. But he didn't see the game. He saw revenge—sweet, sweet revenge.
*****
The Boy Who Appeared from the Rain Page 75