“I said, shut up,” Pratt screamed. Then we heard the cockin’ of a shotgun. Olivia began to cry again.
“What does he want you to do?” I asked.
“Get an abortion,” she squeaked. “He says it’s my fault I got pregnant. I wanted to tell Jason everything, but when he said I’d ruined his life, I lost it and ran off. That’s when Coach grabbed me in the parking lot and forced me into his car.”
I hugged her on the pretext of comfortin’ her, but whispered in her ear instead. “When I make my move, run. My car’s over there in those trees. Go get help.” I put my car keys in her hand.
“Break it up,” Pratt shouted. “This could have been so simple. I gave her the name of a reputable doctor and was going to pay for it, but she suddenly gets a conscience. I got half way down the road and decided I’d better finish her off. Now that you’ve nosed in, I’m going to have to kill you, too.”
I slowly moved to the right, away from Olivia. If I could divert his attention, maybe she could get away.
“Shame on you Coach,” I said, continuin’ to move. “You called her a slut, but look at you. Takin’ advantage of a young girl like this. She’s not even eighteen. How do you know she hasn’t already told other people? Teenagers tend to blab, you know. You gonna shoot the whole senior class?”
I finally moved out of the mainstream of the headlights. I could see his dark figure now, gun pointed towards me. I was about to move closer to him when there were bright lights and sirens everywhere. The cops must have been comin’ down the road with lights out in order to sneak up on us. I shouted for Olivia to run and took a dive for the ground. Unfortunately, before I got all the way down, he fired and nicked my left shoulder. Next thing I know, the cops are screamin’ at him to drop his weapon and readin’ him his Miranda rights. I look up to see an angel lookin’ down on me. It was Pepper. Of course, it wasn’t too long before the angel face went sour. I knew she was unhappy with me for not tellin’ her what I was doin’.
“Mr. Mazzara,” said a sweet, soft voice. It was Olivia still clutchin’ my keys. “Thank you,” she said, handin’ my keys to Pepper. A female Hamilton County Sheriff’s deputy put a blanket around her and took her away.
“What did you think you were doing?” Pepper said, scowlin’ at me “Just doin’ what I do best.” I explained how Jason Hale came to see me, assumin’ the baby was his. Turned out it was Coach Pratt’s baby and he intended to protect himself, not Jason.
Pepper had similar suspicions about the coach bein’ involved. She told me she’d discovered Pratt owned this farm. It had belonged to his father who died six months ago. It seemed to her this would be a great place to hide a body.
Pepper demanded I get into an ambulance and go to the hospital for my petty wound. Luckily, my coat had slowed the bullet so all I had was a flesh wound. I’m sure the thirty-degree temperatures kept it from bleedin’ too much. I was treated and released from the hospital a few hours later. Pepper insisted on drivin’ me to my brother’s house. When we arrived, it was to a hero’s welcome. Theresa had made my favorite banana cream pie and told the girls no samples until Uncle Vito came home. Katie and Gabriella practically tackled me when I came through the door.
“Easy girls,” said Pepper. “Your Uncle Vito’s shoulder is pretty sore right now.”
Maria approached me with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Uncle Vito. I’m so sorry you got hurt. You and Olivia could have been killed!”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, tryin’ to reassure her. “I’m a tough old bird. Besides, Olivia is home with her folks now, and she’s gonna need a lot of TLC from her friends. This was pretty rough on her.”
Maria nodded, a huge smile widenin’ across her beautiful face. She hugged me sayin’, “You are the best private detective in the world.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said pattin’ her back.
Pepper gave me a stern look then rolled her eyes, shakin’ her head.
“But this time I had help,” I said.
At last, Pepper smiled.
Tamika Catchings
Tony Perona
When Tamika Catchings helped the Indiana Fever win the WNBA championship in 2012, it was a triumph not just over the defending WNBA champs but also over a disability that had plagued her since birth. Tamika was born with moderately severe hearing loss in both of her ears. She has learned to rely on reading lips and facial cues to compensate. Growing up with the disability was difficult. She says she wanted to fit in, but instead she stood out. She credits her parents for teaching her to try her hardest at everything, no matter what others say.
She credits her father for her athleticism. He played in the NBA for 11 years. By high school Tamika was excelling at the sport. She and her sister Tauja helped Stevenson High School to an Illinois State Championship.
Tamika played for Coach Pat Summit at the University of Tennessee. Summit told her she was a special player and could inspire kids with her accomplishments, despite the difficulties with her disability. She says she has tried to live by that mantra.
After graduating from college in 2002, Tamika was selected by the Indiana Fever and has been a Hoosier ever since. She has also been on the USA Women’s Olympic Basketball Team, winning gold in 2004, 2008 and 2012. She has been an eight-time WNBA All-Star and in 2011 won the league’s Most Valuable Player award.
Bringing the 2012 WNBA championship trophy home to Indiana allowed her to add the one title she longed to have in her amazing basketball resume.
Tamika says she doesn’t think of her hearing loss as a disability anymore. She believes a person can accomplish anything they put their mind to, no matter the obstacles. What matters is hard work and dedication.
Catchings’ story is a true inspiration.
DEADLY BET
Suzanne Leiphart
I’d resigned myself to attending three days and nights of live Indiana basketball games each and every weekend during the never-ending manic season. My feelings for my new boyfriend, Charles, had conquered any initial resistance I’d had. Charles’ family for generations had been doggedly loyal high school, college and pro-ball fans. Years back, they’d even slipped in an elementary, middle school or community organization game when they could. Following Indiana basketball seemed to be a worthy and wholesome hobby, until the shocking murder.
I blamed my neighbor, Olivia Hill, partly, for my basketball conundrum. We’d met sitting next to each other at our January Lakeside Condominium Association board meeting. We lived in a gated community with a security guard, special lighting and cameras, but some residents wanted even more protection. The added expense was about to be debated.
The tall, slim young woman who had just sat down next to me tapped my arm and whispered, “I live two buildings down from you on Black Swan Lane. I’m Olivia Hill.”
I turned to greet her. “Hi, I’m Marty Mayes.”
She extended her hand and gave me a firm handshake.
“I really don’t think we have a crime problem here, do you?”
Olivia started to answer, but the meeting was called to order. During a break she and I were able to get better acquainted. I figured I was about 10 years older at 35 than she was. We both had on sweaters and jeans. I noticed her striking face as she spoke. Deep brown eyes, high cheekbones, perfect nose and skin and straight extra-white teeth were surrounded by short mahogany hair in contrast to my long, wavy sandy-brown hair, green eyes and full cheeks.
When Olivia asked what I did for a living, I told her I was a freelance writer currently on sabbatical, and had moved here from Michigan last year after my husband died to be closer to my favorite relatives.
Olivia told me she was a physical education teacher and assistant girl’s basketball coach at Indianapolis High School, commonly referred to as Indy High. She’d just started teaching at Indy High last fall, her first job after completing student teaching in a rural community about an hour from Indianapolis.
“I played high school basketball in Michigan. We wer
en’t very good.” I chuckled. “Not at all like the Indy High girls or boys basketball teams,” which had each been state champions more than once the past few years.
“You should come to a game sometime.” Olivia nodded her head with encouragement.
“I’d love to. Wish I could think of someone to bring with me.”
“That’s not a problem, Marty. There’s a group of regulars that follow our games. They’re friendly, all ages, married and single. You’ll fit right in. There’s a home boy’s game this Friday night.”
“A boy’s game? You won’t be coaching.”
“No, I’ll be out of town.” A shadow flickered across her face. “But you’ll get a chance to meet Kate, Charlie, Max and the others. You’ll have a lot of fun. I’ll call them and let you know tomorrow what you need to do, where you need to go.”
It was exciting to go to an Indiana basketball game. I ended up sitting next to Charles March, a warm and welcoming widower of three years, who was 15 years my senior. I’d always been drawn to older men. Charlie was tall, a few inches over six feet with a large build, fair skin, full head of freshly styled smokey-gray hair, sparkling sky-blue eyes and a wide smile. A long-sleeved navy-blue Polo shirt, neatly pressed tan slacks and expensive shoes and watch completed his appealing look. He explained that he’d played basketball for Indy High and Indiana University.
“Would you like to go out for dinner sometime?” Charlie asked near the end of the game. Indy High was slaughtering Speedway. He leaned closer, lightly pressing his muscular arm and shoulder into mine.
I cleared my throat, startled by his question and the pleasing physical contact. Why not? I thought. “Yes, I would.”
“How about tomorrow night?”
Seemed a little soon, but I didn’t have any plans, and I liked this man. “All right.”
I watched with some anxiety as I recited and Charlie programmed my home and cell numbers into his smart phone.
Our first several dates were incredible, filled with candle-lit dinners and dancing, nature walks and cozy nights together. It was obvious that Charlie loved basketball, but I’d had no idea of his level of commitment.
One night when we were cuddling, Charlie happily let me know that from now on every Friday, Saturday and Sunday for the next several months would include going to a different basketball event. I enjoyed live basketball, but following three teams every single weekend?
Or maybe it was all the time I’d be spending with Charlie in this new relationship that made me nervous. I wasn’t sure, but I knew I really enjoyed Charlie’s company. Although, didn’t I have other things to do? A life of my own? Not really, since I’d won some money in the lottery and decided to take a break from my work as a freelance writer. And certainly, not when I looked into Charlie’s twinkling blue eyes or felt his strong, protective arms around me.
During each week Charlie and I tried to have lunch together. He had a commercial real estate business that he was grooming two of his sons to take over and manage. On one of our lunch dates, he pulled into a nondescript shopping strip and parked his Lexus at one end by a bar with pitch-black windows. Charlie didn’t drink. I gave him a questioning look.
“A friend of mine owns this place,” he said. “Food’s pretty good.”
“I never even noticed it before, yet I often drive by here.”
“Nick doesn’t really advertise.”
“Why not?” I asked as Charlie opened his car door, stepped out and led the way. He didn’t seem to hear me.
Inside, the décor was plain with worn carpeting. A handful of patrons were seated at scattered faux wood tables.
Charlie took a tall stool with a back at the bar and I followed suit. A heavy-set, gray-haired man dressed in white cook’s attire with a pleated white cap at the other end of the bar made his way to us, shook Charlie’s hand and slapped his shoulder as they exchanged pleasantries. Charlie introduced me to Nick. While the men talked vaguely about sports, I reviewed the menu.
“About anything you want I can fix,” said Nick.
Charlie ordered a pork tenderloin sandwich with tomatoes and lettuce, and I went with biscuits and gravy, both Indiana favorites.
Nick never re-joined us, but waved from the nearby kitchen as we were leaving. He’d been on the phone almost constantly, talking in an unusually low tone.
Charlie remained silent while we drove for about a mile, holding my hand in his lap as he steered with the other. “Nick’s a bookie, you know.” He squeezed my hand, then let go and placed his on the steering wheel.
I turned to look at him. “How would I know that?” I knew nothing about bookmakers. Wasn’t even sure what all they did.
“I like to place a bet every once in awhile.” Charles stared straight ahead at the road.
I shook my head in confusion. “On what? Horse racing or something? Is that legal if you’re not at the track?”
“Basketball games.”
“Oh, like the Pacers. But don’t you just call Las Vegas to make a legal bet there?”
“Not really.”
I sighed and fiddled with the temperature controls. This was not making sense to me.
“I do bet on the Pacers sometimes,” Charlie said. “Or on college ball, an occasional high school game.”
“You can gamble on Indiana high school games?”
“Usually you can’t, but if it’s a big game with enough money interest it might qualify.”
“I thought high school games would be protected from gambling. They seem so innocent, aboveboard.”
“You can bet on about anything.”
“Are you a compulsive gambler?” I imagined him potentially losing his home and his business.
“No way. It’s just a casual hobby. Everybody does it.”
“You’re the first I’ve known. Can’t you be arrested for placing bets with a bookie?”
“Theoretically, yes, but in reality, no.” I shook my head in disbelief as Charlie continued. “Sometimes heat comes down on the bookie, not the bettors.”
I was stunned. Who was this man, really, that I’d been dating for two months? A problem gambler?
“I’m sure you won’t say anything about Nick or his business to anyone.”
I took a deep breath and looked out the passenger window. Charles pulled into my drive and stopped the car. He gently turned my cold cheek toward him and gave me a warm kiss on the mouth. “Honey, don’t worry about anything,” he whispered. I melted into his arms. Maybe I was overreacting to the gambling, I thought, as I climbed from the car.
After I relaxed for a few minutes at home, I decided to acquiesce, at least for now, that sports betting was simply a harmless, victimless crime. But maybe I would take a look online later to learn more.
In an hour the evening news would be on television. Didn’t want to miss the sports segment. I decided to take a walk before I fixed dinner. I changed into work-out clothes, winter jacket, hat and mittens and started down the street.
Olivia Hill suddenly came out of her condominium as I approached and waved to me. “Marty, how are you?” she called out.
“Just fine,” I said as she came down her steps toward me bundled up in a coat and scarf.
“I have to catch a flight to New York in a few hours, but first I need to run over to the mall and pick something up at Nordstrom. I was hoping you’d water my plants while I’m gone.”
“I’d be glad to help.”
She handed me a key with her gloved hand which appeared to be shaking. The same dark look crossed her face that I’d noticed the night we’d met.
“Are you all right, Olivia?”
“Sure. Got to go. Thanks.”
I continued on past the empty guard shack, which was only manned until 4:30, through a narrow opening next to the security gate out to the back street. I walked almost a mile to the cemetery and took the gravel path around the scenic White River setting of historic and shiny new headstones. Today there were no animal movements or sounds and sinister
shadows seemed to be everywhere. Two birds of prey coasted in the twilight above. A foreboding feeling enveloped me.
Fifty minutes later I was home. I changed clothes, tossed a salad, poured a glass of milk, put them both on a tray that I set down in the family room and turned on the TV.
Breaking news beckoned at the top of the newscast. “A young woman was found dead next to her car outside Nordstrom in the mall parking lot just a short time ago!”
I caught my breath and thought of Olivia. Cause of death was not yet known, and the facts were vague. More information would be available later in the show.
Olivia had been vibrant and alive only an hour earlier, but deep down I sensed she was the mysterious victim. I choked back a tear, picked at my salad greens, then decided to go to the kitchen and add more dressing while I waited for the rest of the developing story. The chilling feeling I’d had at the cemetery had returned. The reality was that Olivia had actually seemed frightened when I’d last spoken to her.
Twenty minutes later the broadcaster announced that the dead woman had been shot and killed. No motive for murder had been determined. Her purse containing cash, credit and ID cards was found lying right near her lifeless body. Next-of-kin would be notified before the name was released to the public.
I checked online for further updates throughout the evening, gave up and thought about going to bed early, but I was restless. I stuck my head out the front door into the cold night air and decided to take a stroll by Olivia’s condo.
Quickly I slipped on dark clothing including leather gloves. I checked for the keys in my left pocket along with a pen and small notepad, made sure my cell phone was off, and felt for the small .22 in my right pocket. I had a permit to carry.
The sky was death black. No stars were shining, not even a thin beam of moonlight glowed. Outdoor lighting at this end of the Lakeside complex was dimmer than on the other streets which made it easier to blend in with the blackness.
Hoosier Hoops and Hijinks Page 24