The Fenway Foul-up

by David A. Kelly

  “Hey, Mike,” Kate said, “what’s that?”

  Just over the railing in front of them, specks of black and tan lay scattered on the red infield dirt. They were right where Big D had put his bat before it was stolen. Mike leaned over the railing to get a better look.

  After a minute, he straightened back up.

  “Sunflower seeds!” he said.

  Kate glanced over her shoulder at the man with the Yankees hat. He was reading a Red Sox program.

  “Do you think he took the bat?” Kate asked.

  “Well, he’s eating sunflower seeds. And he was here for batting practice,” Mike said. “I’d say he’s a prime suspect.”

  “If he took it, he must have given it to someone already. He certainly doesn’t have the bat now,” Kate said.

  “Maybe,” said Mike. “Or maybe he hid it behind the dugout or under the seats.”

  Out on the field, the umpire brushed off home plate. Fans streamed into their seats around the ballpark, carrying hot dogs, drinks, and popcorn.

  Mike felt a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around. It was an usher.

  “Do you two have tickets?” the usher asked in a gravelly voice.

  Kate handed their tickets to him. “We’re sitting over there. We were just trying to see if the batboy would give us a used ball.”

  Kate was good at thinking on her feet. When she needed to, she could come up with a reason for just about anything. It was a handy skill for keeping out of trouble.

  The usher looked at the tickets and then gave them back. “You can stay here for now. But make sure you return to your seats when the game starts,” he said. “You may not have heard, but Big D’s lucky bat is missing. We’re asking all the fans to keep an eye out for any strange activities.”

  “Okay,” Kate and Mike said.

  The usher moved on. He asked the other nearby fans for their tickets as well.

  On the sidelines, a few players started to stretch. Suddenly, Mike leaned way over the railing.

  “What are you doing?” Kate said. “Are you crazy? You’d better watch it or you’re going to fall onto the field. We might get kicked out!”

  “Just … getting … a … sunflower … seeeeeeeeeed …,” Mike huffed. He stretched his right arm as far over the railing as he could.

  “Hey, kid, cut that out! No one’s allowed near the field during a game!”

  Mike quickly straightened up. The batboy towered over him. The batboy had caught him red-handed.

  “Fans aren’t allowed to reach over the railing or touch the field,” the batboy went on. “You could get in a lot of trouble if anyone else saw you.”

  “Sorry,” Mike said. “I guess I got carried away.”

  “We heard about Big D’s missing bat. We were just looking for clues,” Kate jumped in. “Do you know anything about who took it?”

  The batboy tilted his head and squinted at them. He pushed his Red Sox cap up. “I might,” he said. “But why should I tell you?”

  Mike and Kate exchanged a glance, then Kate shrugged.

  “My name’s Kate Hopkins, and this is my cousin Mike Walsh. My mom’s a reporter for American Sportz. She’s up there in the pressroom.” Kate pointed to the window above them.

  The batboy’s face lit up when he heard the name American Sportz. “I love your mom’s articles,” he said. “My name’s Bob, but they call me Bobby Batboy around here. It must be cool to travel to all the ballparks and write about different baseball teams,” Bobby added.

  “Mom likes it,” Kate said, “but Mike here would rather have your job.”

  “It’s fun,” Bobby said, “but it’s a lot of work.”

  Bobby looked thoughtful for a second. “Can you guys keep a secret?” he asked at last.

  Instantly, both Kate and Mike said, “Yes!”

  “Good,” Bobby said. He lowered his voice. “The security team found a ransom note at one of the souvenir stands about half an hour ago. The note said that if Big D doesn’t pay by the end of the week, his lucky bat will end up as firewood!”

  Bobby glanced over their shoulders. He leaned in toward Kate and Mike. “See the man in the Yankees cap back there? He was one of the fans standing near the dugout during batting practice,” he whispered. “He was close enough to take the bat. The security people are investigating.”

  “I knew it!” Mike shouted. He gave Kate a high five.

  The batboy looked puzzled. He frowned slightly. “Knew what?” he asked.

  “He was our top suspect, too,” Mike said. “Because of his sunflower seeds.”

  “That’s what Mike was trying to get when you caught us,” Kate explained. She pointed to the pile of black and tan shells near the wall.

  “Wow,” said Bobby. “Sunflower seeds! Right where the bat was stolen! I’d better go tell security. Thanks for the tip.”

  The Secret Code

  The grounds crew hustled to get the field ready for the game. They wore matching red polo shirts and tan shorts. One man bent down and sprayed white paint on home plate. Another did the same for the small strip of rubber on the pitching mound.

  “So Bobby thinks the man in the Yankees cap stole the bat,” Kate said. “Do you think they have enough evidence to arrest him?”

  “Not unless they find Big D’s bat,” said Mike.

  Kate leaned against the railing. A man dressed in khaki pants and a dark jacket was walking along the warning track next to the Green Monster. Out of nowhere, he opened a green door in the wall and stepped through it.

  “Did you see that?” Kate asked Mike. “There’s a hidden door in the outfield wall! How cool is that?”

  “That door’s used by the people who work the scoreboard,” Mike said. “Most parks have electronic scoreboards, but Fenway’s is old-fashioned. They change the score by hand.”

  Fenway’s scoreboard was about half the height of the Green Monster. It was painted green to match. White lines that ran from top to bottom divided it into sections.

  The lines reminded Mike of something he had read a little while ago. “What if the bat is hidden somewhere really obvious,” he said, “just like Fenway’s hidden message?”

  “What hidden message?” Kate asked. She loved puzzles.

  “It’s on the scoreboard,” Mike told her. “It’s easy to see once you know about it.”

  Kate’s forehead wrinkled as she squinted to study the scoreboard. She saw places for each team’s score and red and green lights to record balls and strikes and outs. But no hidden message.

  “I give up,” said Kate. “¿Dónde está?”

  “Come on, Kate,” Mike complained. “Not more Spanish!”

  Kate was teaching herself Spanish. She liked to challenge Mike with new words and phrases.

  “Okay, okay,” Kate said. “Where is it?”

  “If you give up that easy, we’ll never find the bat,” Mike said with a smile. “It’s in the white lines going up and down on the right side of the board. They’re not solid stripes. They’re dots and dashes. Know what that means?”

  “Duh!” Kate said with a flip of her ponytail. “It’s Morse code. I should have seen that! Morse code uses dots and dashes to spell out letters—like SOS is dot-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, dot-dot-dot.”

  “Bingo!” said Mike.

  “Let’s see, I guess I’d read it left to right, top to bottom. Dash, dot-dash, dash-dot-dash-dash. That should be TAY.”

  “Wow, that’s right,” said Mike. “You know a lot of weird stuff, but Morse code? How’d you learn that?”

  Kate looked down and blushed. “After my parents got divorced, my father used to write me coded messages,” she explained. “When he’d send me or Mom a letter or e-mail, he’d put part of it in Morse code for me to figure out. And I’d write him back in Morse code. It was fun. After a while, I got good at it.”

  “Pretty cool. I never knew that,” Mike said. “It’ll come in handy if you ever want to be a telegraph operator!”

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” s
aid Kate. “What’s Morse code doing on the scoreboard in Fenway Park?”

  “It spells out TAY and JRY. Those are the initials of Tom Austin Yawkey and his wife, Jean Remington Yawkey,” said Mike. “They used to own the team. They hid their initials on the scoreboard for fun.”

  “I never would have noticed it if I wasn’t looking for it,” said Kate.

  “Those dots and dashes got me thinking. What if the bat is hidden in plain sight, like the initials or the door?” Mike asked. “What if the thief used the bat as … as a broom handle or something? Or maybe the thief put it in a backpack or an umbrella.”

  “It wouldn’t fit into a backpack. It would have to be in something longer,” Kate said. “But you’re right, the thief could have stashed it somewhere around here.”

  They looked around. None of the fans nearby had coats or umbrellas with them. One man had a long crutch and a bandaged leg, but the crutch was too narrow to hold a bat. They checked, but the bat wasn’t hidden under any of the seats around them or by the Red Sox dugout.

  “Hey, what about the man in the Yankees hat?” asked Kate. “Remember the poster tube that he kicked over? Maybe he stole the bat and hid it in the tube!”

  Mike glanced at the man. The long white tube was leaning against the armrest next to him.

  “It’s long enough to hold a bat,” said Mike. “But it might not be wide enough. I don’t know if a bat would fit inside.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Kate said. “I saw a souvenir stand near the entrance. Let’s go do an experiment!”

  The Experiment

  The souvenir stand stood in a corner by the main gate. Big circular racks of red and blue team shirts crowded the front entrance. Jerseys, balls, bobbleheads, and even Red Sox dog collars hung along the shop’s back walls.

  Bins of bats and racks filled with posters sat on the floor. Near the entrance stood a small glass checkout counter. The woman behind the cash register flipped through the pages of a travel magazine while a few customers looked at T-shirts.

  The kids stopped at the pizza stand opposite the souvenir shop to make a plan.

  “Let’s split up. You go to the counter and keep the saleslady busy,” said Kate. “I’ll sneak in behind those racks of clothing. I want to check out the bates de béisbol.”

  Kate pointed to a bin of wooden bats in the back corner. The sign above the bin read BIG D’S BATTER’S BOX. OFFICIAL BATS JUST LIKE BIG D’S.

  “I’m going to see if one of those bats fits inside a poster tube,” Kate said. Near the bats was a rack filled with white tubes containing the Big D life-size posters. “Then we’ll know if the man with the Yankees hat has the stolen bat hidden inside his tube. Just keep her busy, okay?”

  Mike casually waved his hand at Kate. “No problem,” he said. “I’m good at asking dumb questions.”

  When Mike got to the counter, the saleslady barely looked up from the glossy pictures of surfers and sandy beaches in the magazine in front of her. “Can I help you?” she mumbled.

  Mike could tell that she didn’t think a nine-year-old kid was an important customer.

  “Umm, yeah,” Mike replied. He watched Kate slip into the store and vanish behind a rack of clothes. He looked down at the small glass case. Inside were watches, baseballs, and other souvenirs. “I was wondering how much that thing is.”

  He pointed vaguely at a baseball in the case. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Kate edge over to the rack of posters. She picked one up and sneaked out of view.

  “Well, it depends what you want,” the saleslady said. She set her magazine aside. “What are you interested in?”

  Mike pointed to the top shelf. “How about that?” he asked.

  The saleslady picked up a pack of baseball cards.

  “No, no, no …,” said Mike. “Not that. I want thiiiiisssss.” He pointed to the baseball next to the cards.

  The woman sighed. She took out the ball and handed it to Mike. He turned it over in his hands. The ball was covered with signatures of Red Sox players.

  “Are these real?” he asked. Mike could tell they were just printed on the baseball. But he was trying to buy Kate some more time.

  “Huh? No,” said the saleslady. “The players didn’t actually sign that ball. The signatures are just stamped on. A ball signed by all the Red Sox would cost more like eight hundred dollars, not eighteen dollars.”

  “Oh,” Mike said, “I don’t want it, then. Can I see that pen instead?”

  The woman rolled her eyes and took the ball back from Mike. She returned it to the case and pulled out a brightly colored pen. It lit up red when a button was pushed.

  Mike pushed the button over and over. The red light went on and off. The saleslady sighed again.

  In the back of the store, Kate crouched next to the bin filled with replica Big D baseball bats. She glanced at the register. The saleslady was busy with Mike. Now was the perfect time.

  Kate reached into the back of the bin and pulled out a bat.

  Before it was halfway out, she realized the handle was speckled with sticky brown streaks. There were also scuff marks on the barrel of the bat.

  “Yuck,” she said. Kate put it back and wiped her hands on her pants. She didn’t want to get the poster dirty. Quickly she picked another bat. The second bat was perfect, with a shiny wooden barrel and a clean handle.

  Kate held it in her hand and popped off the end of the plastic poster tube. The poster was rolled tightly against the inside of the tube, leaving a big empty opening in the middle.

  Kate slipped the bat into the tube. With a soft whoosh, it disappeared completely.

  The bat fit perfectly inside the plastic poster tube!

  Before anyone could see, Kate tipped the tube upside down, slid the bat out, and placed it back in the bin.

  Up at the counter, Mike finished with the light-up pen. He paused for a moment and then asked to see a small wooden Red Sox bat.

  The woman pulled out the bat and handed it to Mike. The top of the bat was painted red while the handle was wood-colored. Mike pretended to swing it. The saleslady didn’t even crack a smile.

  “I don’t think you’ll hit a home run with that,” said Kate, coming up behind him. “Ready to go?”

  “I guess so,” Mike said. He set the bat down on the counter. “Thanks. I’m just not sure what I want. Maybe I’ll come back later.”

  “Suit yourself,” the woman said. She put the mini bat away and returned to her magazine.

  Mike and Kate stopped next to the pizza stand.

  “Did the bat fit?” Mike asked.

  “Yes, perfectly,” Kate said. “I think the man in the Yankees cap has Big D’s bat inside his poster tube!”

  “Wow!” said Mike. “But wouldn’t people have seen him take it?”

  “Not if they were all looking at Wally!” said Kate. “I’ll bet he took the bat when everyone was watching Big D help Wally get up. He only needed a few seconds. He could have reached over the infield railing, grabbed the bat, and slipped it inside the poster tube. It’s probably been right in front of us all this time!”

  Big D at Bat

  The second inning had just started. The Oakland A’s were batting. They were already ahead by two runs, 2–0.

  Loopy Lenfield, one of Boston’s best pitchers, was on the mound. Loopy used his long fingers to throw knuckleball pitches that confused batters with weird dips and bobbles. When they worked, his knuckleballs were very hard to hit.

  Mike and Kate slipped back into their seats just as Boston made the second out of the inning.

  One row in front of them, the man in the Yankees hat was watching the game along with all the other fans. Now a little boy sat next to him.

  Kate elbowed Mike in the ribs. “See? The poster tube is still next to his seat,” she whispered. “Who’s that kid with him?”

  “His grandson?” Mike guessed. “But maybe he’s a decoy. Who would arrest a grandfather and his grandson?”

  Kate twirled the end of he
r ponytail around her finger. She looked doubtful. “I don’t know,” she said. “Let’s keep our eyes on that poster tube.”

  “Okay, but I want to see the game, too,” Mike agreed. “We can hang here, watch the game, and wait for him to make a move.”

  On the field, Boston’s first baseman caught a pop fly for the last out. The Athletics left their dugout and ran onto the field. Boston’s players got ready to hit.

  “Now batting for Boston,” boomed the announcer, “Corky Collllllinnnnnns!”

  Everyone cheered as Boston’s center fielder, Corky Collins, stepped to the plate. Oakland’s pitcher went into his windup. He let a fastball fly.

  Corky swung around on his heels. He stretched his arms and the bat out as far as he could to reach the pitch. He hit it perfectly.

  POW!

  The ball took off, and so did the Athletics’ right fielder. Just as the ball was about to clear the outfield wall, he jumped up and pulled it out of the air. The white ball stayed cradled at the top of his glove.

  The crowd roared. Corky Collins was robbed of a home run!

  “Bummer!” said Mike. “But what a cool catch! That’s called a snow cone catch. The ball stays at the top of the glove, like a snow cone. Get it—a cool catch?”

  Kate groaned and rolled her eyes.

  The crowd cheered again. Boston’s number two hitter was up. One more batter and it would be Big D’s turn.

  Three pitches later, the Boston batter headed back to the dugout. He had struck out. Oakland was having a good day. But the Boston fans weren’t worried.

  “Big D, Big D, Big D …,” the crowd chanted. A huge cheer went up when Big D came to the plate. It was so loud that Kate and Mike could barely hear the announcer.

  Big D wasn’t smiling as he usually did.

  He also wasn’t carrying his lucky bat. Instead, he held a dark brown bat. He stood next to the plate to test it.