Three Strikes and You're Dead

by Donald Bain

  “Yes.” She laughed. “Writing and baseball are my two passions.”

  She didn’t say baseball, did she? I thought. I had been wondering how to broach the topic with her. After all, it had been one of the reasons I’d chosen to take advantage of my gift certificate at this time. Ty had said some of the girls with the ballplayers the night Junior was killed worked at the Biltmore spa. Could Lily have been one of them?

  She’d taken me aback when she raised the subject herself. I couldn’t hold out. “Did you say baseball?” I asked, struggling to sit up. My muscles were so relaxed, they objected to moving. Lily rushed to my side and assisted me to a sitting position. She wrapped a towel around my shoulders to keep me warm.

  “Ah, that’s better,” I said, running a hand through my tousled hair. “You said baseball is one of your passions?”

  “In a way,” said Lily. “My boyfriend plays on a professional team, so I kinda had to learn to love it.”

  “Which team is that?”

  “You wouldn’t know them, I’m sure. He plays in the minor leagues, for the Rattlers. They’re a Double-A team. They play in Mesa, less than an hour from here.”

  “I see,” I said. Trying hard not to negate the serenity I’d just experienced, I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “Actually, you could have heard about them, or you will, anyway,” Lily continued. “One of the team members murdered another one. It’s been all over the news, but since you’re on vacation you’re probably staying far away from the news.” She laughed.

  If she only knew, I thought. I didn’t say anything, but her description of what she’d heard on the news disturbed me. Interesting how people accept an arrest as proof of guilt. Yet there isn’t a conviction in at least a third of all arrests for felony murder. Those cases may have resulted in an acquittal or dropped charges.

  “Innocent until proven guilty.” It’s such an important plank in our judicial structure. But people tend to forget that in the swell of media coverage following an arrest. Perhaps it can be credited to the public’s trust in their police departments. But any officer worth his salt would admit that mistakes get made, even in the most meticulous of investigations. And when the police are sure they have the right person, they’re still required to present evidence at a trial, and convince a jury that the accused is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. I had many reasonable doubts about Ty’s guilt. Overcoming a difficult childhood, he had become a sensitive, nonviolent, law-abiding, generous, caring young man. The police evidence against him was skimpy and circumstantial from what I knew. Ty and Meg and Jack were going to have to struggle to counter the headlines, but I would be there to help them. I only hoped I could.

  “Okay, Mrs. Fletcher, I’m going to leave the room now,” Lily informed me. “Take your time getting up from the table, and slip your robe on. I’ll come back to take you to the lounge, where you can wait for your next treatment.”

  “Before you go, Lily,” I called. “Who’s your boyfriend? Would I know him?”

  She turned to me, her hand on the door. “His name is Steven Long,” she said.

  The name didn’t ring a bell. It wasn’t one of the names that Ty had mentioned when telling us what had happened at the Crazy Coyote.

  “Long. What position does he play?”

  “He’s a pitcher. But he’s been on the DL for about two weeks.”

  “DL?”

  She laughed. “Oh, sorry. Disabled list. Believe me, I didn’t know all this jargon either before I got involved with Steven.”

  “Why is he on the DL?” I asked.

  “Tendonitis in his elbow. It flares up every once in awhile.”

  “Was he friends with the player who was killed or the player who is accused of killing him?” I asked, trying to come across as merely curious rather than as having an ulterior motive.

  “Not really. I mean, all the guys know each other, but the pitchers kinda stick together, and neither of those guys was a pitcher. They were both shortstops, and there was a lot of jealous rivalry between them. The boy who was murdered was also the owner’s son. I met him once—the owner, that is. He comes in here for massages.” She lowered her voice. “No one here likes him, though. He’s very demanding and doesn’t tip.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I shouldn’t say that,” she whispered. “We’re not supposed to mention tipping.”

  “Don’t worry,” I whispered back. “I won’t say a word. But tell me about the other shortstop. Do you know him?”

  “That’s Ty Ramos. Supposedly killed the owner’s son. That’s what they say on the news. But my boyfriend doesn’t think he’s the one who did it.”

  “You don’t say?” I tried for a casual tone. “And why not.”

  “Because Steve says he’s a nice kid and wasn’t jealous of Junior at all. But Junior was really jealous of Ty because he was a better shortstop and had a hot agent after him, and all that. But these guys were all drinking, so I say to him, ‘Who knows? It could have happened the way they say.’ But Steve says that Ty was an easygoing kid. He said no one on the team, except for a friend of Junior’s, thinks that Ty killed him.”

  “Hmm. So who do they think killed Junior, Lily?”

  “Sheesh. I don’t know. I don’t think they know, except that I did hear Steve say something about his crazy girlfriend.”

  “Junior had a girlfriend?”

  “Sure. They all do. We saw her on the news.”

  “Were the reporters interviewing her?”

  Lily laughed. “No. She is the reporter. And Steve said he heard they’d had a big fight the night of the murder. Anyway, Mrs. Fletcher, you’re all set now to put your robe on, and I’ve got to get to my next massage appointment. I’ll give you a few minutes and then I’ll be back.”

  “Oh, yes. Okay, thanks, Lily.”

  I put on my robe. As promised, Lily reappeared shortly to escort me down the hall.

  As we walked, I commented, “Lily, I’m surprised that a young professional up-and-coming ballplayer has time for a girlfriend.” I’d remembered a comment that the team players were not encouraged to have them.

  Lily became flushed. “Well, yes, actually, Steve isn’t supposed to have a girlfriend. The coach told them they aren’t allowed to. But, well, no one really knows.”

  I thought she looked at me a little nervously, suddenly aware of how much she’d been chattering away. I put a finger over my lips. “I’ll never tell,” I said, smiling.

  She seemed to relax. “Actually, everyone on the team has a girlfriend except for maybe a couple of them. Junior, the guy who was murdered, he always had a girlfriend, practically a different one every month. One of them was supposedly a drug dealer. Steve thought she also might be involved in his murder. She was always trying to sell stuff to the players. Steroids and other drugs.”

  “My goodness. Do the police know this?”

  “I don’t know, but she hasn’t been around for a couple of months.”

  When we reached the lounge, Lily poured me a glass of icy water with several lemon wedges in it.

  “Thank you, Lily.” I handed her a generous tip. “And good luck with your writing.” I sank into what was fast becoming my favorite chair.

  “Gee. Thanks,” she said, pocketing the bill and disappearing behind a patterned magenta curtain that hung in a doorway in place of a door.

  “Yes, very comfortable, thank you.”

  The woman performing my facial introduced herself as Toni. She was perfect for a cosmetician. She had a peaches-and-cream complexion and not a visible permanent wrinkle on her oval face. Lines appeared when she laughed or frowned, but then seemed instantly erased. Of course, the fact that she was no more than thirty years old had something to do with it.

  The same New Age music was piped into this room, which was a bit smaller and had a more clinical feel to it than the room in which I was given my massage, thanks to the bright light that shone on my face to expose my pores. Toni gently stroked the skin on my face, sc
rutinizing it with a “hmm,” and “uh-huh.”

  “That bad?” I said and laughed.

  “Oh, no, not at all. You have a lovely complexion, Mrs. Fletcher. I just needed to assess your skin to determine which facial would benefit you best. Now, I see here you signed up for our Turquoise Facial, but honestly, based on my examination, that might be too drying, thanks to the cornmeal we use in it. I recommend we do the facial to repair dry skin, with some jojoba, lavender, and aloe gel—all native Arizona plants, by the way.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said.

  “I can also recommend some follow-up treatments you might want to consider, Mrs. Fletcher. There are some excellent Botox and laser treatments.”

  “Thank you, but not for this Maine lady,” I said with a chuckle. “Nature as Nature intended, I’m afraid. That kind of thing isn’t for me.”

  I could see now why Toni didn’t have any wrinkles. Her face didn’t express any emotion when she replied very seriously, “Okay, then, let’s get started.”

  Thankfully, the bright light that had magnified every line in my face was turned off and several votive candles and a small lamp in the corner set a less sterile mood.

  Toni’s hands were strong, and she rubbed my face and scalp assertively—but not too hard. I could practically feel the blood circulating in my face, guaranteeing a healthy glow. Like Lily, Toni didn’t pepper me with small-talk questions, and I surrendered to a relaxed state, visualizing myself on a small island in the Caribbean, with George Sutherland, a bottle of wine, two lobster dinners, and the lapping of the cerulean surf at our feet. But the vision was short-lived; as if I had a TV remote, that channel was changed to a channel in which my conversation with Lily was playing. She said that Junior had a drug-dealing ex-girlfriend. Had she come back? I wondered. I took heart from her comment that none of the other players thought Ty had murdered Junior. Should I tell Meg and Jack this? Should I tell Ty? Surely that would cheer him, at least for a while. I wondered if Ty had a girlfriend whom Jack and Meg didn’t know about. According to Lily, most of the players on the team did. I should have asked her. Maybe I could make a point of doing so before I left.

  “I’m going to apply this gentle masque to your face and then leave you for about ten minutes to let the masque do its job. It’s very hydrating and soothing. Then we’ll just massage it into your skin. Don’t wash it off tonight. You’ll see a big difference tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” I said sleepily.

  Toni left the room. A minute or two later the door reopened. I was disappointed. Why had she returned so soon? I had looked forward to a ten-minute escape.

  Thanks to the lavender-hued eye mask that blanketed my eyes, I couldn’t see who it was. Maybe it wasn’t Toni. About a minute passed and no one said a word, but I could sense someone in the room, although there was no discernible noise.

  “Hello?” I finally said.

  “Hi, Jess, it’s me,” Meg whispered.

  “Meg?”

  “Jess, I’m so sorry to barge in like this. They were kind enough to tell me which room you were in. But when I got in here I thought you were sleeping. You looked so relaxed, I didn’t want to say anything.”

  I removed the eye mask, sat up, and looked at Meg, who hovered at the edge of the massage table. She was usually so well put together, but now her face was bare of makeup, and she was wearing clothing more suitable to gardening—a pair of navy cotton shorts and a white T-shirt that read, DON’T JUDGE ME, probably a souvenir Jack had brought back from one of his legal conferences. It wasn’t the kind of outfit Meg would ordinarily let anyone see her in.

  “Meg, is everything okay?”

  She slumped into a chair near the door and raked her fingers through her hair. Her hands were trembling. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She dropped her hands to her lap. “Oh, Jessica. It’s just awful. The preliminary DNA report came back. The blood on Ty’s shirt. It belongs to Junior.”

  “But Meg, Ty already told us that he punched Junior in the nose. That would certainly explain why his blood was on Ty’s shirt,” I said, hoping to reassure her.

  “But the police said they haven’t been able to find anyone who witnessed that punch. And one of the television reports said that it was unlikely that story would hold up because Ty’s Breathalyzer test indicated he was so out of it he never would have been able to land a punch hard enough to make Junior bleed.”

  “That’s pure speculation on the part of the reporter,” I said. “I wouldn’t give it any credence.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Mrs. Fletcher, is it okay to come in now?” It was Toni’s voice.

  Meg nodded.

  “Yes,” I said, hopping down from the table and tightening the belt of my robe.

  “Are we stopping the facial?” Toni asked when she saw Meg.

  “I think it’s enough,” I said.

  “We were close to the end, anyway,” she said. “Don’t forget. Don’t wash your face tonight.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  Toni escorted us down a narrow hallway, with soft lighting that came from strategically placed sconces, and into the equally muted lighting of the lounge. I tipped her and expressed my thanks, and she left.

  I poured Meg a cup of ginger tea. “Try this. It will help you to relax. I think you could use some of the services of this spa.”

  “I wish! I’ve been such a wreck since Ty was arrested. I can’t seem to find a comfortable place for myself.”

  “Wait here,” I said. I approached the pretty young woman who stood behind a blond wooden desk just off the lounge.

  “Hello, Mrs. Fletcher,” she said. “Did your friend find you? I hope it was all right to tell her where you were. We usually don’t do that, but she seemed so upset.”

  “You did exactly the right thing,” I said. “Thank you. Now, I have a favor to ask. Is it possible to transfer my next treatment to my friend? I’d like her to get the treatment instead of me.”

  “Sure, Mrs. Fletcher. No problem at all. Let’s see,” she said, scanning the appointment book. “Your next treatment is the Sonora Stone massage at noon. It’s wonderful.” She looked at her watch. “That’s in fifteen minutes.”

  “Terrific,” I said.

  “I’ll let Lily know.”

  I began to walk back to the lounge and then remembered that Lily’s boyfriend was on the Rattlers. I hastily returned to the counter. “Lily is the woman who gave me my first massage?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Lovely girl,” I said with a smile. “But do you suppose another masseuse would be available?”

  “Was there a problem with Lily, Mrs. Fletcher? She’s one of our most popular and most requested staff members.”

  “Not at all. She’s a sweet girl and very good at what she does. I’ll tell you what. How about I keep that massage with Lily, and my friend over there in the lounge can have another massage.”

  She scanned the appointment book once again, shaking her head. “We are so booked, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” She ran her perfectly manicured fingers down the page and stopped. “Wait a minute. Hmm, I think it’s your lucky day, Mrs. Fletcher. About ten minutes ago we got a cancellation for a Swedish Massage with Bethanne. Shall I schedule that for your friend?”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  “May I have her name?”

  I was loath to give Meg’s real name, in the event someone would recognize it and make a comment that would make her uncomfortable. She was tense enough as it was.