Big Leagues

by Jen Estes

  They smiled and a soft silence fell upon the kitchen. Benji started to peel at the amber label on his empty beer bottle. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well, I should probably go. The summer students who don’t come to class still drunk will be fueling their hangovers with three cans of Red Bull. I need a full night’s sleep if I’m gonna stand any kind of chance against them.”

  “Yeah, I should take a shower and wash off the stench of defeat.” She pointed to the flower. “Thank you again.”

  He walked backwards toward the door. “No problem. I guess I’ll see you later? Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Hope so. Bye, Benji.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Cat locked the door after the final goodbye and giggled to herself on her way to a hot shower. Thirty minutes later she was tossing and turning under a heap of covers. Finally she got out of the bed, slipped her feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers and scooted into the kitchen. She took the silicone vase from the counter and carried the lily back to her bedroom, swiping the Cartier watch off her dresser on the way. Her conscience was bothering her, and she knew she was would have to find a way to return the precious timepiece.

  Just not yet.

  She arranged both gifts on each side of her alarm clock. Satisfied, she laid her head against the pillow with a soft smile.

  25

  “Hey, Dr. Goodall, Catriona McDaniel again. I was wondering if you had a chance to look at my e-mail yet. I just have a few more questions about Jamal. I’ll be here all day and available to talk until game time. Extension four twenty-six, or you can e-mail me. Thanks.”

  Cat hung up the phone and let out her hundredth sigh of the day. So far the team physician had ignored her one e-mail and two voice mails.

  Kiara bounded into her office. “Cat, you’re here. Didn’t Dustin tell you?”

  “You’ll have to be more specific. Dustin tells me a lot of stuff; unfortunately, most of the time it’s usually drivel.”

  She giggled. “He’s such a tool.”

  Cat’s expression warned her—not very convincingly—to show some respect. “So what’s going on?”

  “Big meeting in Erich’s office at ten o’clock.”

  Cat looked at the clock. “Ten minutes? Wonder why I didn’t get an e-mail?”

  Kiara shrugged. “I think it was last minute.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Bad timing, though. I’m swamped. Unless … hey, can I ask you a favor?”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  Cat waved her over to her desk. “Okay, see this file? I want to print a copy of the spreadsheet, several actually, but a separate one for each category’s leads. You know, one for walks, one for wild pitches, one for blown saves, one for balks … You get my drift?”

  “I can totally do that.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Anything to get me out of filing.”

  Cat groaned. “Believe me, I know. Been there, filed that.”

  “Can I stay in your office to do it?” Kiara grinned mischievously.

  “As long as you promise not to have any parties.” Cat pulled out the desk chair and twirled it toward the giggling intern. “It’s all yours. I better get up to Mr. König’s office.”

  Erich’s office didn’t usually serve as a conference room. In fact, Cat knew of a dozen or so areas specifically marked “CONFERENCE ROOM” throughout Hohenschwangau Stadium, including the forty-person shrine that glistened behind glass walls across the hallway. Nevertheless, she and Dustin, along with a couple members of the public relations department, filed into the spacious headquarters of the head honcho.

  Cat checked out the office again, not remembering much from her five-second peek during her initial tour. The field was revealed in all its splendor through a giant picture window. Priceless sports memorabilia was displayed along the wood-paneled walls. She admired the signed boxing gloves, glass-encased baseballs and framed jerseys. A massive liquor cabinet accounted for half of the back wall, with a sitting area off to the side.

  Just as in his casino office, Erich’s desk took up a hefty portion of the spacious room. Cat took note of the lack of distractions, specifically no framed photos of women. She’d seen various socialites on his arm at local charity events and award banquets. Though the hair colors changed and skin tones varied, they were always young, beautiful and glamorous. Erich strolled in and scooted past, giving her a pat on the arm and an appreciative smile as he did so.

  “Good morning, Catriona.”

  She smiled back and absentmindedly began to stroke the new watch on her right wrist.

  Erich hoisted himself up on his desk’s thick granite top as his employees crowded around, their faces lit up as they waited to hear what news merited a private meeting. He murmured to Dr. Goodall, who handed each guest a stapled set of documents.

  “Thank you all for meeting in my office, the only place I could be sure of privacy.”

  They all nodded in agreement, though Cat couldn’t understand the necessity. Judging by the blank stares of her colleagues, neither did anyone else. She doubted the secluded conference rooms in the lavish stadium were any less private.

  “I have called you all here for an important matter. We have the results of Jamal Abercromby’s autopsy.”

  Cat snatched the papers from Dr. Goodall’s hands and scoured the pages.

  “I will defer to Dr. Goodall for a detailed explanation of the findings. I exited the science field for a good reason.”

  The group responded with a polite laugh. Dr. Goodall stepped to the front and adjusted his glasses. “In short, in the opinion of the medical examiner, Jamal’s cardiac event had no determinable cause. To put this into laymen’s terms, the electrical system that controlled his heartbeat simply failed. What specifically caused his heart to fail could not be established, even in an autopsy. As for the rumors … you’ll find the results of his toxicology test revealed no illicit substances.” He took a step back.

  Erich took over. “I realize our fans are deeply concerned, so Catriona, Dustin, let’s issue a short follow-up that provides this information. Perhaps you can assist public relations in a project for the community to honor his name. Then I would like to move forward from this tragedy. Wasser unter der Brücke.”

  A chill ran down Cat’s spine as she translated his statement: water under the bridge. Even in English, these words were normally used to put an unjust parking ticket into perspective or smooth over a friendly quarrel. Not to disregard a man’s life.

  She looked around, hoping to see more dismay at Erich’s poor choice of words, but her peers only shook their heads over the vagaries of fate as they paraded out of the office.

  “Catriona? Would you stay a moment?”

  She stopped in her tracks. Erich ushered Dr. Goodall into his private elevator as he pulled out a chair for Cat. To sit in that chair, she had to walk past Otis Snow. The loutish security officer had been lurking near the liquor cabinet the entire meeting. His stare took her in from top to bottom.

  My top and my bottom.

  She fiddled with the collar of v-neck, wishing it had an extra button. Her eyes fell to the belt around his waist. The overhang on his right side caught her attention.

  Is that a gun?

  Or one of those tazer thingies?

  Why would he need a gun?

  “Oh yes, Otis?”

  The ogre jerked his head toward Erich.

  “My dear man, would you mind giving us privacy?”

  Now she was glad there was no extra button. Cat chided herself for the thought, as well as the subsequent warmth that followed.

  “Sure thing, Boss.”

  When the door latched behind the guard, Erich settled into the armchair opposite hers. “I wanted a moment alone to confer.”

  Cat swallowed the baseball in her throat. “S-sure.”

  “Regarding Jamal, is there anything of which I should be aware? Any whisperings, perhaps?”

 
“Uh, you mean, from the employees?”

  “The employees, the fans, the players, everyone.”

  Cat paused. “Um … well, naturally, they’re upset. You know, wondering about the cause, any health problems, that sort of thing.” She carefully selected each word. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Truthfully, Catriona, I am concerned about the effect this heartbreaking ordeal is having on team morale. Last night’s game was beyond dreadful. I believe their brooding is affecting their performance.”

  Brooding?

  “M-Mr. König, they’re grieving.”

  “I understand. I do appreciate their grief. Please do not mistake my point. I simply want to ensure that we, as a staff, are helping the players take a healthy and proactive road toward recovery.”

  “Okay.”

  “As you know, Catriona, the media can be a great … well, I don’t want to say instrument, but … a valuable channel in which to shape attitudes.”

  Cat pursed her lips.

  Erich smiled and waved his hand, as if to clear the air. “I think my words are muddled. I merely meant to suggest we try to move in a more positive direction.”

  “Are you telling me you don’t want any more articles about Jamal?”

  He reached out and placed his hand on top of hers, the overlap of his fingers just touching her bare knee. Cat’s heart skipped.

  Erich’s expression was all innocence. “Oh, not at all, Catriona. I would like you to release the information Dr. Goodall provided, of course. In late August—Jamal’s birthday is the twenty-seventh—we will celebrate his life with a dedication day.”

  She mustered a tight smile. “That would be nice.”

  “Yes, I think so, too. Afterwards, perhaps it would be best for the team to try to guide the focus back to baseball matters.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Well, I should let you carry on with your day, Catriona.” Erich stood, and she followed his lead. He walked her to the door. “I truly appreciate the work you have done for the Chips.”

  She smiled again. “Thank you.”

  He shut the heavy door behind her. Cat’s smile faded away in the quiet hallway. He had seemed so cold, just as things seemed to be heating up between the two of them. She crossed her arms over her sleeveless dress and clutched her fingers around her cold, bare biceps. The conversation had been weird and uncharacteristic of the kind man. Perhaps Jamal’s autopsy had disturbed the owner more than he let on.

  As she waited for the elevator in the fifth floor lobby, Cat thumbed through Dr. Goodall’s memo. It was disconcertingly brief.

  I’ve got old score sheets longer than this.

  The report consisted of five pages, filled with tedious descriptions of Jamal’s previous health history and inconsequential details of the accident scene. The medical examiner’s actual ruling was two short paragraphs long—seven inconclusive sentences. As Cat stepped onto the elevator, another body dashed in beside her, slamming into her shoulder. The brass doors closed behind him.

  “Dustin? Why are you still here? I would’ve thought you’d be downstairs already.” She rubbed her arm and frowned at him.

  “I had to talk to a scout. Is that okay with you? Or are you doubling as the elevator operator?”

  Cat closed her eyes. “Simmer down. I was only curious.”

  They remained silent as the elevator glided down.

  “Sure wasn’t what I was expecting to hear in there,” she said. “How ’bout you?”

  His head snapped up. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I just mean, a twenty-eight-year-old athlete’s heart stopped and no one knows why. That doesn’t seem strange?”

  Dustin shrugged. “That’s what happened.”

  “I thought they’d have something a little more conclusive, didn’t you? Maybe not something we want to hear but, you know, drug use or something.”

  He scoffed. “Well, sorry to disappoint you. I guess this isn’t the juicy headline you were hoping for. Our players aren’t cheaters, and they aren’t crackheads.”

  Cat shook her head emphatically. “No! That is not what I meant. I just figured. I mean, I d-didn’t—”

  The elevator doors opened, and Dustin hurried out before she could even finish stuttering. Cat slunk out behind him and into her office.

  26

  Cat had yet to touch the cup of tea, now cold from a half hour of neglect. Absentmindedly she watched the grounds crew zipping over the grass and mowing stripes into the outfield with quick precision. A soft knock sounded from her closed office door.

  “Come in.”

  Maybe it’s Kiara with some office gossip or Dustin with … his newest beef.

  Instead, standing in the frame of her doorway was a ghost. Her jaw dropped.

  Or maybe a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep.

  The handsome outfielder stood in the frame looking remarkably spry for a man who just last week had undergone an autopsy. Her back stiffened.

  “J-Jamal?”

  The ghost’s face collapsed into sadness. “Oh. Right, you would … No, I’m sorry. I’m Jamal’s brother, Jason.”

  Cat felt a familiar heat make its way through her veins and into her cheeks. At least once a day since her arrival in Hohenschwangau, an embarrassing event occurred and turned Cat into the perfect Chips’ mascot—a fantastical creature—the body of a woman with a red poker chip for a head.

  Willing the flush away, she said, “Of course. Please excuse me. I forgot Jamal has a twin. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Abercromby.”

  “I wanted to stop by and thank you for the story you did and for sending my mom the scrapbook of articles written about Jamal this season. My family really appreciated the gesture.” He took a seat in front of her desk.

  Cat closed the door and sat in the chair beside him. “I only knew Jamal for a short time, but everyone at Hohenschwangau was fond of your brother.”

  “Ms. McDaniel, can I get real with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Jamal and I were tight all our lives. Obviously, twins and all that.”

  Cat broke his intense stare and glanced down at her shoes.

  “The minute he got called up from the minors, he one-eighty’d into a different person.”

  Cat looked back up, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

  “Like last month, over the break.” Jason’s voice began to crack. “He didn’t even come to our favorite auntie’s fiftieth birthday party. When I asked him what his deal was, he became like, hostile. Immediately. Right off the jump. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him freak out like that, like he was possessed or something. He smashed a beer on the coffee table and held the broken bottle up to my neck. My girl had to pull him off me.”

  Cat frowned. “Maybe you just caught him on a really bad day.”

  “It’s not just that. His sweetheart he’d been with since junior high, seventh grade … BAM. Two months ago he dumped her with no explanation.”

  “Ouch.”

  Jason nodded. “Plus he stopped calling our mother. He’d called her every week since he left for college, all through the minors even. Then, once this season started, that was it. Nothing.”

  “Jason, I’ve seen this before. I wish it wasn’t true, but some guys make it big and they forget about—”

  “No! Trust me. It wasn’t like that. Or it—that’s not Jamal. He wasn’t some young punk, Ms. McDaniel. He was a twenty-eight-year old rookie. He’d worked so hard to get up to the Chips, and he knew how lucky he was. You wouldn’t believe his excitement when he found out he’d made the team.”

  She nodded sympathetically.

  “Then this. A heart attack at twenty-eight? We’re twins—practically identical genetically. If he had a problem, then how come I don’t? And our family is healthy. Really healthy. My doctor just ran all these tests on me: EKG, PET, MRI. All of ’em. My heart’s great. Our grandmother’s still alive. Our grandpa’s still alive. Our dad’s mama lived to be ni
nety-two. There are no bad hearts in our family.”

  Jason’s eyes began to tear. Cat handed him a tissue. “That’s surprising. The autopsy didn’t show anything—”

  “I know the autopsy didn’t show anything. How does a heart one day just … BAM! Stop beating? How?”

  Cat remained silent as he blew his nose.

  “That’s why I came to you.”

  “Me? I’m not sure what you mean.”

  He leaned in. “You know these guys, the whole team. One of them has to know something. Maybe … I mean, I’ve been wondering, was it possible Jamal was on drugs? If he was, maybe the club found out in the autopsy and paid to have everything covered up. They could do that. I’d bet money they could.”

  “Jason …”

  “Maybe they didn’t want bad publicity. Maybe they didn’t want to give Jamal a bad name. Maybe one of his friends on the team knows and doesn’t want us to find out, or maybe that guy’s into whatever kinda drug, too, and is protecting his own butt.”

  Cat opened her mouth to interject, but Jason didn’t let her.

  “I don’t know. I don’t, but I have to find out what happened to my brother. Please, Ms. McDaniel, you have to help me.”

  Cat waited a few seconds to see if he was done talking. “Jason, I’m not sure there’s anything to find out. Even if there was, I doubt I could discover any more than you could on your own. I don’t have a lot of pull around here.”

  “You could try. Would you try? Please?”

  His voice cracked. His eyes implored her with the desperation of a man fighting for his life.

  Cat took a deep breath. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Jason sank back in his chair. His hand reached out to grasp hers. “Thank you so much.”

  “I still don’t think I’ll find out anything you don’t already know.”

  “But you’ll look?”

  “Give me your number, and I’ll call you in the next week or so.”

  “I’m gonna be out of town for a couple weeks. I’m going to the Caribbean.”

  “A vacation?”

  “For Jamal. His ashes. Our family is from Trinidad originally, so we’re going to have a memorial service there.”