by Camel Press
“I guess.”
“She knows I love it here and I know she hates it here, but as long as I was under contract, there was nothing that could be done.”
“Until now.”
“Five days after the end of the season, to be correct. She’s got the day I’ll hit the market as a free agent circled on our refrigerator calendar.”
“So what now?”
“My agent was here earlier. He explained to Carmen that it might be wise to at least meet with the Soldiers and discuss an extension, just in case my arm scares other teams off. If they come through with a good offer, I might be able to talk her into staying.” A smile crept across his face.
“Either that’s the painkillers kicking in or you’ve found the bright side of this accident.”
“Little bit of both.” He settled back onto the pillow. “How’s the team holding up?”
The team!? How about me?
“Well enough.” She spotted Detective Kahn’s card on his nightstand. “There’s a cop asking all these questions though.”
“Yeah, he’s been here, too.”
“What’s he want with you?”
“I don’t know. I told him I fell but I think he was looking for something else. Must be a slow week at work.”
“Wish I could say that for me.”
Ryan pointed at the television. “I caught part of your press conference on Buffalo Breaktime. How’s it feel to be behind the microphone for a change?”
“Awful.”
Ryan chuckled. “Every reporter should have to do it once. It might give them some perspective, like how shrinks have to get shrunk before they can put anybody on their couch.”
Cat peered at the signatures on his cast. “I see Adam’s been here.” The cursive AA took up a fourth of his arm. Even the mohawked pitcher’s autograph had to be the center of attention.
“You want to sign? There’s a Sharpie around here somewhere.”
“Sure.” Cat grabbed it off the nightstand and drew a kitten with a dialogue balloon saying “Get Well Soon!”
Ryan smiled in appreciation.
She capped the marker. “So, how’d it happen anyway? Off the record.”
“Off the record? Okay.” He lowered his voice, “I fell.”
“Very helpful, thank you.” She grimaced. “I just mean it’s a concrete ledge on my balcony. I know you’re tall, but the ledge is at least three feet tall. Were you sitting on it or wrestling around?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it. We’d been drinking; I was acting like an idiot. Let’s just forget it.”
Easy for you to say, you’re not the one with an angry mob poking you with pitchforks.
“How much did you have to drink?”
He sighed. “You sound like that cop.”
“Cut me some slack. I’m just curious, it being my place and all.”
“I know.” He yawned. “I think the meds are starting to kick in, though.”
Cat frowned. He’d been fine just a few seconds earlier. “Okay, I’ll get out of here. Looks like you’re ready to be released. Will I see you in the dugout at tomorrow’s game?”
“I don’t know. Hudson came by earlier and brought those.” He pointed to a bouquet of daisies in a smiley face bucket.
“That was nice.”
“He said they were gonna leave it up to me, but Carmen wants to go down to St. Barts. The Caribbean weather is a lot better for rehabbing than Buffalo.”
“Oh.” She’d never encountered a player on the DL who didn’t want to root for his teammates from the dugout. George Hudson and Roger Aiken were notorious for being player-friendly management, but this went beyond good will. “I’m sure your teammates would like to have you here.”
After all, if the Soldiers made it to the championship and won, Ryan Brokaw would still get a ring and go down in history as being a member of the roster, even if he only watched the series on TV from the beach.
“Yeah, well, not a lot of good I can do anyway, sitting there like a lump.”
“Maybe I’ll see you at the Soldiers Summit in January?”
“I doubt it.”
If he loved Buffalo, he had a funny way of showing it. Ryan was a fan favorite but he wasn’t worthy of a single jersey in the stands. He’d been a Soldier for the last four years and hadn’t attended the annual fan convention once. Fans paid a hundred bucks for a ticket to the Summit, hoping to get a glimpse of their favorite players and, year after year, the Brokaw fans were let down.
“Well … take care.”
“You too, Cat.”
His blue-green eyes closed with that. Cat watched him for a second before turning on her heel and walking out the door.
Benji opened the door for her before she had even dug her keys out of her purse. “You’re late.”
She ignored him and rushed inside.
“Quinn!”
She charged into the living room, saw that it was empty and spun around. Then she came back down the hallway and went into her office.
Benji followed her in. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s time for a family meeting.”
She flipped on the light and looked around. The futon was unmade and Quinn’s clothes were strewn all over the floor.
"Look at this pig sty."
She reached for a beer bottle carelessly set atop her printer, but a shiny gleam caught her eye instead. It came from a gold ring nestled inside a wadded-up t-shirt. She picked it up to inspect.
“Quinn doesn’t strike me as a ring wearer,” Benji said. “Maybe brass knuckles.”
Cat sighed. “This isn’t Quinn’s ring.” She handed it to him.
He studied the emblem. “It’s a coat of arms. The McDaniel Family’s?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so … I don’t know. I’ve never seen a McDaniel crest. If that’s what it was, it would have handcuffs in place of the fleur-de-lis.” She pulled her cellphone out of her purse, Googled the McDaniel coat of arms, and showed him the image on the screen. “Nope.”
“You don’t think it’s like, hot, do you?”
“Stolen?” She smiled. That’s exactly what she thought. She’d even go a step further and bet that t-shirt it had been sitting in was stolen. But Benji was better off not knowing everything. “He could’ve got it at a pawn shop.”
Benji set the ring back down on the desk and frowned. “Guess you should ask Quinn. Of course, then he’ll know you were snooping in his room.”
“His room? Uh-uh. If we start calling it that, we’ll never get rid of him.” She walked out to the hallway and stumbled over an object. She caught herself on the wall.
“Ow.”
“Are you okay?”
She frowned at the bags on the ground. “What are these doing here?”
Benji’s arms were crossed as if he was waiting for her to get a clue. She searched his face for a hint. Suddenly, she remembered.
“Oh! We’re supposed to be checking out that wedding site, aren’t we?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I can’t tonight, Benj.”
His face fell. “What? How come?”
“Today has just been awful; I’ll be terrible company.” She tore her eyes away from his disappointed face. “Besides, I need to be here to raise hell with Quinn when he gets home. Where is he anyway?”
“He went out about an hour ago.”
She sighed. “Of course he did. Why would he be at home, worrying? He’s not the one who might get fired for having a poker game at his apartment. How could he? He has neither a job nor an apartment.”
“Fired?” Benji stepped over the bag to get closer. “Was it that bad?”
She shrugged.
“What about Roger? What’d he have to say about it?”
“Roger can only protect me so much. Nobody really cares about illegal gambling until it results in the star pitcher missing in action for the playoffs. Then it’s the crime of the century. I spent the entire day apologizing for something I didn’t
even know was going on.”
“Yeah, the officer I spoke to last night told me we could get fined for hosting a ‘social gambling venue.’ ”
She closed her eyes, mentally wishing the day—and especially the night before—away. “Did he say how much?”
“No, but I think we could fight it.”
She sighed. “That’s the least of our problems. I can’t leave Quinn alone here tonight. At the rate he’s going, we’ll be evicted before dawn.”
Benji enfolded her into his arms and she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Come on, let’s get away for the night. The playoffs start tomorrow and I’m not going to see you all week.”
“Hopefully all month.”
Benji’s brow furrowed in pain and she squeezed his arm reassuringly.
“Oh! Not the ‘not seeing you’ part. A month would put us in the championship series.”
He nodded. “Well, Quinn isn’t even here and I doubt he’ll be coming in before the early morning anyway. You need a night to relax.”
“I need a fortnight to relax.”
She looked down the hallway. The living room had been cleaned up—she guessed by Benji and not Quinn, since it bore no traces of last night’s debacle.
“I guess it would be nice to get out of the house for a night.”
That was all Benji needed. He swept in for a kiss.
Chapter 8
They’d been driving for twenty minutes. Benji had refused to tell her where they were going on account of it being a surprise, but she could tell from the navigation screen they were only a half mile away and not much farther than that from the river.
“À La Mode Abode?”
The wooden sign came into view only a second before the oversized Cape Cod style building peeked out from a row of pine trees.
“A bed and breakfast?” She turned to Benji. “As in ‘we let strangers stay in our house and share a toilet, while we serve pancakes and call it quaint’?”
“Waffles. Belgium waffles to be exact.”
Cat frowned.
“Just give it a chance. Look, that’s the innkeeper right there. She’s waiting for us.”
A portly older woman waved enthusiastically from the wraparound front porch. She wore a pink scarf over her short mouse-brown hair and a matching sweatshirt adorned with green lace and a hand-painted red dog.
Cat waved back and through gritted teeth replied, “Oh, I do not like where this is going.”
The woman bustled down the front steps. Before Cat had stepped out of the seat, the woman had made it over to the driveway.
“Howdy there! I’m Delilah. You must be the blushin’ bride-to-be.”
“It’s just a sunburn.”
Benji cracked a smile. “Delilah, this is my fiancée, Cat.”
“Cat? As in Kitty, Kitty?”
“As in cataclysm.” She smiled at Benji.
“Cataclysm?” Delilah regarded her with smiling skepticism. “You pulling my leg?”
Benji wrapped his arm around Cat’s waist. “It’s short for Catriona.”
“How ’bout that? That’s almost as funny sounding.”
Cat ignored her, taking in the immaculately landscaped yard. Much of the summer blooms had already been deadheaded but she imagined the lawn gave the Art District a run for its Monet in the warmer months. That is, the natural landscaping. She couldn’t say the same for Delilah’s artificial touches.
“That’s a neat, uh, bowling ball over there.”
Delilah followed her stare to a metallic globe on a pedestal surrounded by shrubs. She laughed. “Darling, that’s a gazing ball. They go all the way back to the thirteenth century as good luck for monarchs and such.”
Benji took a step toward it. “So, is it an antique?”
“Heavens, no. I got that one down at the Rural Mart for fifty-nine dollars.” She waved them to follow as she stepped up to the porch. “Come on, come on. Let me give you a tour of the B&B.”
The front door squeaked open and the hardwood floors flooded into a grand living room. Tapestried couches faced each other on top of a floral rug. There was plenty of room for the three of them to maneuver around the Victoria accent tables.
“We do all sorts of celebrations here. Your fiancé said you guys are having a small weddin’?”
“Around fifty people.”
“All out-of-towners?”
Benji nodded. “Pretty much.”
“Well we can only accommodate ten for overnight stays. We have five guestrooms here but there’s a Holiday Inn just down the road.”
Cat snuck a wistful gaze out the window for Benji’s benefit. He acknowledged it with a playful jab. Delilah didn’t notice as she led the way to a staircase and began waddling up the creaky steps.
“This here’s all our bedrooms. We’ve named each of them after pies.”
“I’m sorry, pies?”
“Yes, pies. You know what them are, don’t ya?”
Cat turned to Benji with a gritted smile. “Yes, I know what a pie is.”
“Wouldn’t know it by the looks of ya. Don’t worry, marriage will put some meat on those bones.”
Cat bristled, and Benji placed a calming hand on her shoulder.
Delilah pushed open the first door, which was painted an annoyingly chipper shade of red. “This is the Apple Suite.”
An Irish Setter bounded off the canopy queen bed and through the doorway. Cat dodged him but he followed her, jumping up her legs and playfully pawing at her skirt. Cat gave him a timid pat on the top of his silky head.
“Good boy.”
“That’s just Rusty. He’s the unofficial mascot of the À La Mode Abode.”
"I recognize him from your sweatshirt," Cat mumbled, just out of Delilah's earshot.
“Hey, look at that, Cat, you’re both redheads,” Benji said.
“Yeah, but his doesn’t come from Lady Clairol,” Delilah replied.
Cat jerked her head up, but Delilah had already moved down the hallway. Rusty trotted happily behind. She narrowed her eyes at Benji, her annoyance fueled by his amusement.
“I do not dye my hair,” she hissed.
“I know. Come on, we’re missing the tour.”
Cat glared at the back of Delilah’s bushy head, noting every split end for her own satisfaction, as the rotund innkeeper pushed open the only door not painted the shade of a pie filling. “This is the shared bathroom.”
Cat widened her eyes at Benji and whispered, “Every bride’s dream. Sharing a bathroom with ten strangers.”
He shushed her and grabbed her hand. “We can rent the entire place out just for you and me.”
She scrunched her nose as she showed him her slobber-streaked skirt. “Don’t forget Rusty.”
“Hey!” Delilah’s bark came from what she surmised must be the Blueberry Room. “Where are ya? I wanna show ya the balcony.”
They followed the orders issued from beyond the purple door. Standing out on a balcony, Delilah pointed down to the backyard with a lit cigarette. It was a gorgeous view of an equally stunning yard that housed wooden benches, flower patches and homemade birdhouses. From a gazebo in the middle, a stone path led down to the river.
“We do the vows in the hut there. I can officiate—” She broke off to hack for several seconds. Cat took a step back, surveying her to see if she was choking. Delilah pounded on her chest for good measure. “Or you can bring in a clergyman of your choice.”
Cat pressed her lips together. “That’s a lot to take in.”
“I’m sure it’s a big decision but À La Mode Abode would love to be part of your special day.”
“Well, we’re gonna have to think about it. Right, Benji?”
He nodded, following her lead. “I have all your information.”
“Let me give you some brochures.”
“Oh, it’s okay. All your information is online.”
“Suit yourself. Now you’ve got the Blueberry Room for the night, it’s the best one in the whol
e house. If you need anything, I’ll be right downstairs.” She slapped her thigh and wiggled out the balcony door. “Come on, Rusty.”
Rusty didn’t budge from his perch on the queen-sized bed. Delilah grabbed him by the collar and he snarled.
“Get, get!”
Rusty hopped off the bed and trotted down the hallway, his claws ticking on the hardwood floor. Cat eyed the fur-laden spot he’d left on the quilt and waited for Delilah to close the door behind her. She turned to Benji, who was doing his best to feign innocence.
“What’d ya think?” he said.
She waited until she heard the stairs creaking. “This is all a joke. One of your crazy Benji ways of getting me to laugh after a terrible day.”
“What?” He shrugged, a smile twitching at his lips. “That backyard would be a gorgeous place for a wedding ceremony.”
“Especially if we get Typhoid Mary over there to officiate. I wonder, is the phlegm extra? Can Cujo be our ring bearer? And I know! The flower girl can spread Delilah’s cigarette butts instead of flower petals.”
He burst into laughter. “Okay, okay. I swear, neither Rusty nor Delilah were listed on the website. It is a gorgeous place though, you have to admit that.”
“Do you really want to get married here?” She gestured around the quaint room. “Spending your wedding night with Delilah downstairs?”
“No. But we’ve been engaged now for eleven months, in which time you’ve rejected nearly every wedding venue I’ve suggested—without offering any alternatives, I might add.”
“I haven’t rejected every single site.”
“Oh really? A church?”
“Our families are different faiths. Either my grams or your parents are going to be upset. Why go there?”
“The beach?”
“Sand would get in everyone’s shoes.”
“Horse ranch?”
“Horse poop.”
“Ski lodge?”
“Me in a white dress standing in front of white snow? Our wedding pictures would look like you married a floating red wig.”
“Cruise ship?” Benji’s voice was going flatter with each suggestion.
“Then we have to spend our honeymoon with our guests on a boat for a week.”
“Hawaiian plantation?”
“My hair frizzes.”