“You just did blame me,” she said. “After you kicked me out I went down to the Clay Pigeon. I was there most of the night. Ask anyone who was there; they all saw me.”
“And I bet a lot of them saw two of you,” Biff said.
“Liar!” Callie was starting to land blows with the purse. “And where the hell do you get off running me off the road last night?”
“I didn’t run you off the road—I was on my way home when I spotted your car lying in a ditch.”
“Then why didn’t you do something you son of a—”
“I came over to see if you were okay,” Biff bellowed. “And I offered you a ride, and you just threw that damned leopard-skin suitcase at me and passed out. So I left you there to sleep it off.”
“Why you—” Callie was scrambling in her purse. Remembering her in action at the police station, I ducked behind her truck—neither of them was really paying much attention to me at the moment.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Biff said.
“They took my gun!” Callie shrieked, and began flailing at Biff again with the purse, as if her weaponless plight was entirely his fault.
“Stop that!” Biff snarled. “I’m warning you.” He sounded fierce, but he was backing away from her, covering his head with his left hand and holding the gun, pointed at the sky, in his right. I began to think maybe I’d misjudged Biff. Not the part about him being a jerk and a blowhard, but the picture that had built up in my mind of Biff the homicidal maniac, callously blowing his own brother’s brains out and dumping him in a porta-potty. But if not Biff, who?
Of course, he still was a suspect. They both were. So while they were going at it hammer and tongs, to borrow Biff’s description of Callie’s fights with her late husband, surely I could manage to slip into the woods. I was only a few miles from home, and I knew these woods—well, not exactly like the back of my hand. Still, I’d spent a fair amount of time hiking in the area, accompanying Dad and Grandfather on nature walks and bird counts, helping Rose Noire with herb harvests, or journeying with the boys through The Forbidden Forest, Jurassic Park, Neverland, Lothlórien, Oz, and the Hundred Acre Wood. Maybe I couldn’t find my way unerringly home, but I had a reasonable amount of confidence that I wouldn’t run into anything really dangerous there, and would eventually stumble across a familiar location.
I stepped back until I was beside my car, and then crouched behind it—out of the two cones of light from my headlights in which Biff and Callie were circling. I was about to slip quietly back toward the tree line when I felt something hard pressing against the base of my skull.
“Don’t move,” a voice whispered in my ear.
Something about that voice chilled me in a way that Biff’s and Callie’s noisy antics never could.
“Stand up,” the voice whispered.
I followed orders, with my brain working frantically, trying to figure out who had the gun on me.
“Hands up. Move.”
Judging from where his voice was coming from, and the fact that the gun tilted slightly down from my neck, he was at least an inch or two shorter than me.
I stepped forward, moving carefully, because the only light came from my car headlights.
“Keep going,” the voice said—still softly, but no longer whispering.
And now I could tell that it wasn’t a he. She poked me in the back again with her gun and I stumbled forward. And I was almost sure I knew who she was—Ms. Nondescript. Ideen’s migraine-ridden guest. Edna something.
Just then Biff spotted us.
“Edna?” He sounded puzzled. “What are you doing here? And why are you holding that…” His voice trailed off, as if saying the word “gun” might cause the weapon to fire all by itself.
“Drop the gun,” Edna said. “Or she gets it.”
“I wish you could find some other way to threaten him,” I said. “Considering how Biff feels about me, that might be a risk he could live with.”
“I’m not a killer,” Biff said. “Whatever you might think. I might be a lot of things, but not a killer.” He threw the gun down. Threw it at Callie’s feet, actually—was he hoping she could get away with grabbing it and using it? And yeah, Callie probably was brave enough or crazy enough to do it, but unfortunately she was now staring openmouthed at Edna, oblivious to the weapon at her feet.
“Edna?” Callie sounded surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Finishing what I started,” she said.
“You killed Shep?” Biff sounded surprised.
“See!” Callie said. “I told you it wasn’t me.”
“You mistook Shep for Biff in the dark,” I said. “But why were you trying to kill Biff?”
“He ruined my son’s arm,” Edna said.
“You can’t blame me for—” Biff began.
“Yes I can,” Edna said. “My Billy was a pitcher—a good one. But now he needs Tommy John surgery. You know what that is?”
“Ulnar collateral ligament reconstruction,” I said. “Dozens of baseball players have had it—mostly pitchers. My father’s a doctor,” I explained, seeing the surprised looks on Biff’s and Callie’s faces.
“It happens sometimes,” Biff said. “Not anyone’s fault.”
“It happened because you overpitched him,” Edna said. “I was a single mom. What did I know about baseball? When Bobby complained that his arm hurt, Biff said it was normal. No pain, no gain. When I found out about the league’s pitch count rules, he told me those were recommendations, not rules, and there wasn’t any problem for a pitcher as strong as Bobby. He was always on the All-Star team for his age. Every single year. We stayed on here in Caerphilly for six months even after those nasty Pruitts fired me, so he could finish out his last season in the league. I managed to get enough part-time work to keep us afloat. And we thought it was worth it—they came in second in the district playoffs. Then I got a new job and we had to move. We were really sad to leave all our friends on the team behind, but Caerphilly didn’t have a league for thirteen-year-olds, just school teams, and his new middle school in Richmond had a great team, and of course I couldn’t find a job here. But the first day of tryouts at his school the coach said don’t bring him back till you’ve seen an orthopedist. That’s when we found out how bad it was. Thirteen years old and his arm was ruined.”
“The Tommy John surgery didn’t help?” I asked.
“It might, when he can have it,” she said. “We can’t go ahead with it until I scrape together enough to cover the gap between what it costs and what my stupid insurance company will pay. I’ve only just finished paying off the orthopedist. Meanwhile, do you have any idea what happens to a kid who loves sports when you take that away from him? He doesn’t study. He’s starting to get in trouble. He was such a good kid.”
The hand holding the gun was shaking, and her voice sounded as if she was choking back tears.
“Have you tried taking legal action?” I asked.
“Won’t work,” she said. “I tried. According to the official records Biff turned over to the league, Bobby didn’t pitch all those innings. According to them, he never pitched more than the pitch limits.”
“Our records are accurate,” Biff said. “Ask the scorekeepers.”
“What’s the use?” Edna said. “They’d only lie for you again. Shep and all those miserable Pruitts.”
“I believe you,” I said. I did, actually; it wasn’t just a ploy to get her to point the gun at Biff instead of me. “And I know a lawyer who’d be glad to take on your case. Even if he can’t prove what Biff did, he can threaten to make such a stink that the league will be happy to pay for Billy’s surgery to avoid the bad publicity.”
I meant it. It was the sort of thing Festus would love. But maybe Edna was past believing in the system.
“Move over there,” Edna said, giving me a hard shove toward Biff and Callie. I stumbled slightly but managed to keep from falling in the mud. Edna backed away until she was about twenty feet from us, then
stopped. No doubt she thought she was far enough away that she’d have time to shoot us all if we tried to join forces and rush her. I had to agree with her, and even if she was wrong about the distance, I didn’t see much chance of the joining forces part.
“I can’t believe it,” Biff said. “You killed my brother!”
“My husband!” Callie exclaimed.
“Ex-husband,” Biff corrected.
“Yeah, well, half brother,” Callie countered.
“If you—”
“Shut up, both of you,” Edna said. “I didn’t mean to kill Shep, but I’m not sorry I did. He could have done something to help me, but he didn’t. And Callie, you could have helped, and you didn’t.”
She was shaking her head as if to deny some protest Biff and Callie were making. They just stood there, staring at her for a few moments. Then Callie spoke up.
“Meg hasn’t done anything wrong,” she shouted, ducking behind me as she spoke.
“Yeah,” Biff said. “You can’t just shoot her.”
He ducked behind me as well.
I could hear a car in the distance. It seemed to be coming closer. One of the deputies, perhaps? I needed to keep stalling Edna.
“Look, I know you were wronged,” I said. “But this isn’t the way to handle it. What’s more important to you—revenge? Or getting your son the medical help he needs. Besides—”
Just then a car going at least sixty miles an hour careened into the parking lot and braked to a halt, sending up a spray of gravel on either side. Its arrival startled Edna, who whirled to take a quick look at it. Seeing that, Callie and Biff both broke in opposite directions. I hit the mud and started rolling.
“No!” Edna shrieked. Several shots rang out. I heard the car start up again, and then brake again. I scrambled to my feet just in time to see Cordelia hop out of the car’s passenger side brandishing a baseball bat.
“Be careful!” I shouted, as I took off running toward Cordelia.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” Edna was screaming. She was pointing the gun in Biff’s direction, but he was making surprisingly good speed for someone of his age and size, and she was finding it hard to get him in her sights.
Then Cordelia swung her bat at Edna’s gun hand and connected with a solid thud. Edna shrieked and dropped the gun. Caroline scrambled out of the driver’s seat of her car, felled Edna with a flying tackle, and sat on her while Cordelia stooped to pick up the gun.
By the time I reached them it was all over.
“Here you go, Meg.” Cordelia handed me Edna’s gun.
“Maybe you should chase after those other two,” Caroline suggested, waving in the general direction of where Biff and Callie had disappeared.
“I think we should let the police handle that,” I said. “Let me call them.”
“I already did on the way here,” Cordelia said. “In fact—shhh!”
We all fell silent—well, except for Edna, who was sobbing quietly. And yes, I could hear a siren in the distance. Several sirens.
“I hope this doesn’t mean the field’s going to be a crime scene again,” Cordelia said after a few moments. “I was looking forward to seeing some baseball tomorrow.”
Chapter 28
“What a beautiful morning for a ball game!” Cordelia exclaimed as we got out of the car.
“A whole day of ball games!” Caroline added.
The operative word was morning. I tried not to resent how energetic they were. Of course, the chief hadn’t kept them up nearly as late answering questions. And I did probably owe them my life. Still. Morning.
“There you are.” Rob came running up to my car, but it seemed to be Cordelia he was talking to. “So far nobody’s explained to me how you guys managed to show up at the ball field last night just when the bad guys got the drop on Meg.”
“It was those tracking devices Caroline used on Biff,” Cordelia explained.
“I thought Meg had gotten those back,” Rob said.
“Only one of them,” Caroline said. “The one on his car. And she was carrying it around in case she needed to show it to anyone who might be able to help us get the other one back—the one I dropped in his jacket pocket. Then when I heard the news that someone had run Biff’s ex-wife off the road, I checked the data from the bug in his jacket, and that put him right there at the scene of the hit-and-run. So I called Festus and made arrangements to meet him at the courthouse this morning to turn myself in for the illegal bugging. But in the meantime, I told the zoo security desk to call me any time, day or night, if the bug in Biff’s pocket ever got anywhere near the one in Meg’s pocket. And a lucky thing for Meg that I did!”
“And a lucky thing for Biff and Callie, too,” Cordelia added.
“Yeah, how about that?” Rob said. “Biff wasn’t the bad guy after all.”
“He’s a bad guy,” I said. “Just not the killer.”
“He’s been stealing money from the Snack Shack for years,” Caroline exclaimed. “Can you imagine anything that low? Stealing money from kids!”
When the chief’s investigation was over, I expected we’d also find that he’d been systematically cheating his clients, defrauding the federal government, hiring and exploiting undocumented immigrants, and abusing his wife and children, psychologically and perhaps even physically. But given that the amounts were probably relatively small, stealing money first from the Little League and then from Summerball did seem like some kind of ultimate slimeball move.
On the bright side, during a lull in last night’s events down at the police station, the county attorney had made a point of telling me that after reviewing the town square renovation contract, she felt confident that Biff had already given us ample cause for termination.
“Nothing to do with his arrest tonight,” she’d said. “Since under law he hasn’t been convicted of anything.” But apparently the contract contained a small clause requiring the contractor to keep the county apprised of his progress at appropriate intervals, and the detailed records I’d kept of my calls, letters, and e-mails to Biff were more than sufficient to prove he’d violated that clause. Once again, my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe saved the day. Although the timing made me suspect the county attorney was a lot more willing to act now that she knew Biff was likely to be so involved in multiple criminal investigations that he wouldn’t have the time—or funds—to fight us. But no matter the reason, it made my morning just a little brighter, knowing that Randall’s trucks were already on their way to the town square, laden with tools and sod.
Caroline and Cordelia headed over to the bleachers, with Rob carrying their gear. I pulled out my phone and checked my e-mail. Aha! An e-mail I had been awaiting very eagerly had come in while I was driving the ladies to the ball field. I looked around for someone to share the news with. Michael and the boys should be here, since they’d insisted on watching every minute of baseball practice available, including the Pirates and Red Sox practices at 7:00 A.M. But where were they?
“Mrs. Waterston?”
I turned to find the gaunt figure of Samuel Yoder looming over me.
“Mr. Yoder,” I said. “Come to see your grandson play?”
“Yes,” he said. “I understand you’re the one who suggested that Mr. Festus Hollingsworth get in touch with me about buying my farm.”
“I am,” I said. “I hope that’s okay.” I wasn’t sure, from his scowling expression, that it was.
“It’s more than okay.” His voice trembled, and I realized what I thought was a scowl was probably his way of fighting back tears. “It’s a blessing. I get to keep doing what I love—working on the land and with the animals—and your cousin says he’ll worry about the financial side. A blessing.”
“I’m glad,” I said. I held out my hand, and he took it in both of his and shook it gently before turning and striding off toward the ball field.
“Meg! There you are.” I turned around to see Chief Burke approaching me, with Mr. Witherington in his wake. I strolled over
to meet them.
“Do you have the key to the Snack Shack?” the chief asked.
“Or could you pick the lock again?” Mr. Witherington suggested.
“I have the key,” I said. “We weren’t going to open quite this early.”
“Mr. Brown claims that the reason he was here at the ball field yesterday morning was to deposit the Caerphilly Summerball League files there so you would find them later,” the chief said. “If you don’t mind?”
I led the way over to the shed and unlocked the door. Two black plastic file totes sat just inside the door, marked SUMMERBALL 1 and SUMMERBALL 2. The chief opened them both and flipped through the files for a few moments before nodding and stepping back.
“Seems to be just what he told us,” the chief said. “Though if you don’t mind, I’d like to take them with me for the time being. Mr. Witherington’s going to file embezzlement charges against Mr. Brown, and we might need these for evidence. I’ll have Kayla make you copies of everything.”
“Why not have her make an inventory, and I’ll tell you what I need copies of?” I said. “No sense killing more trees than necessary, and I have a feeling Biff’s records might be a lot more useful to you than they ever will to me.”
“Good plan,” the chief said, with an approving nod.
“I’ve accepted Mr. Brown’s resignation as coach of the Yankees and the Stoats,” Mr. Witherington said. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to scramble to find replacements.”
“Already taken care of,” I said. “My grandmother has volunteered to coach one of the teams, and just now I got an e-mail from Lem Shiffley. He doesn’t feel up to running the league yet, but he’d be delighted to coach a team. I’ll let the two of them settle who gets the Yankees and who gets the Stoats. Oh, and unless you have an objection, Tory Davis will be taking over as head coach of the Eagles. Chuck and Michael are fine with it.”
“As am I,” said Mr. Witherington. “In fact, I’m delighted with all three appointments.”
“And I hope you’re all as pleased as I am to know that Mr. Adolph Pruitt is once again behind bars,” the chief announced.
Die Like an Eagle Page 27