by Camel Press
“Do I need to work on my poker face?”
“Nah, you just need to get a new game. What are you doing anyway? I thought you used to say betting on baseball was a sucker’s game.”
“In the long run, yes, but sometimes you get a hunch.”
She gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and fastened the dark red strands into a ponytail. “You had a hunch about the Soldiers?”
“No.” He turned down the volume on the television and dropped the remote on the coffee table. “But I had a pretty good feeling about Chicago.”
“Then you’re the only one. I may not understand the terminology, but I check the run lines for every game and no one from here to Vegas thought Chicago would make it past three games.”
“Whatever happened to the little girl who used to root for the underdog?”
“She turned off the cartoons and started watching baseball. Cartoon canines notwithstanding, underdogs usually lose.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Why even play the games then? ESPN should just call Cat McDaniel to get their bottom line. Think of all the time that would save.”
She pressed her lips together, refusing to let his sarcasm ruffle her. “I’m just saying that Chicago barely grabbed the wildcard. They were lucky to even make it into the playoffs. The Soldiers have been the best team in the division since summer. Unless your feeling came with house money, you should’ve ignored it. You’d have a fatter wallet right now.”
And I’d have my office back.
She’d never admit it out loud, but if the Soldiers did lose the next game, it would have one positive outcome: Quinn could take his winnings and hit the road.
“There’s still one more game. I can get it back.”
“The momentum’s in our favor.” Cat walked across the living room and flipped on the balcony light, looking outside the glass doors for any leftover police gear. “Let’s go outside, I don’t wanna wake Benji.” She slid open the door and stepped out onto the balcony. It was chilly, but she still had her wool pea coat on. Her socks soaked up the cold concrete and she hopped over to a patio chair, sitting down and pulling her knees up to her chest.
Quinn had draped the couch afghan around his hunching shoulders. He quietly slid the glass door shut and pulled a plastic patio chair across the balcony, positioning it next to hers. He combed his shaggy reddish-blond locks off his face. “This place is pretty decent. I’m glad you’re doing so well for yourself.”
She gauged him for a short second to see if he was teasing her. Quinn was so often sarcastic that his rare moments of sincerity took her by surprise. He didn’t notice her stare; instead his pale eyes were as big as moons as he gazed into her living room like a sad kid outside a toy store window.
“You know, you could have a nice apartment like this, too,” she said softly.
“Not with my work. It’s good money but not steady.”
“Well, when the money’s good why don’t you save some? That way when times are tough, it’ll tide you over.”
“Thanks for the economic lesson. And here I thought Benji was the teacher.”
She blew out a puff of air. His sincerity had been nice while it lasted.
“Nah, there’s not a whole lot to save. I cover my nut and the rest gets … reinvested. That’s just the way it works.”
“Have you ever thought about a different line of work?” Cat rushed to continue before he could protest. “I mean, I could get you a gig at the stadium. It’s nothing too fancy, but there are always openings in concessions.”
He scoffed and looked at her like she’d just suggested he become a gigolo. “I’m not exactly the hairnet type.”
“Oh, the guy sleeping on my secondhand futon is too good to serve nachos?”
“I’m a little old to work concessions.”
“There’s no age limit.”
“Are you telling me you’d slop cheese for minimum wage?”
“Do you know how many hot dogs I had to fling before I got to report?” She realized her voice had risen and took a deep breath, quieting herself before she incurred the wrath of Mr. Finley. “That’s how it works for Cabbage Patch Kids like us, Quinn. We can’t just nepotize our way into a corner office and an expense account. You gotta put the time in and work your way up.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“It is, but it’s worth it in the long run.” She sighed. “You’re always looking for the easy way out.”
“Yeah, but I really put my time into looking for the easy way out.” His smile had lost none of its charm.
The guy was hard to resist when he tried. Sometimes she envied him. Even when times were good, she didn’t go a day without worrying about something but Quinn, well, in his own words, “refused to be life’s bitch.”
She followed his nonchalant gaze around the apartment yard. Theirs was the only illuminated balcony in the complex, but the street lamps flooded the empty parking lot beneath them with light.
“You know, when we moved in here, the landlord showed us two units, but the other one didn’t have a balcony. Benji wanted to go with this one so he could grow tomatoes out here in the springtime. I can’t help but think if I’d just told him to go to the stinking Farmer’s Market instead, Ryan Brokaw never would’ve fallen and then—”
“Oh, Jesus. Don’t beat yourself up over that. The guy isn’t dead; he just broke his chicken wing.”
She expected Benji not to get it, but Quinn watched sports, he played sports … he should understand the repercussions of a star player being benched before the playoffs. She figured he did, but he just didn’t care. That was to be expected, after all. When you didn’t take your own life seriously, how could you see the value of someone else’s?
“A playoff appearance can be a once in a lifetime opportunity for a ballplayer. I feel like I took that away from him. I know that’s what everyone thinks.”
Quinn shivered and wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Who cares? You have no reason to feel guilty, Cat. He took the playoffs away from himself because he was acting like a drunken douchebag. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can just start telling people to back off.”
“I guess.”
She knew he was right but unlike Quinn, Cat was life’s bitch. Worse, she was baseball’s bitch.
Quinn nudged her chair leg with his foot. “Benji tell you that nosy pig was here again, sniffing around the apartment like it was a donut shop?”
She’d been waiting for the perfect time to broach the subject and now met his eyes, ready give him her pitch. It had occurred to her on the flight home that the only way she and Benji could get rid of the detective was by getting Quinn to cooperate.
“Detective Kahn? Yeah. Benji called me in the middle of a press conference last night. Did you talk to him?”
“He left another card but I don’t have anything to say to him.”
“Well, I’m going to need you to tell him that.”
He looked away and she reached out to touch him lightly on the shoulder.
“I really need your help on this. He keeps coming around the stadium, Quinn. It makes it hard for me to tell people I didn’t do anything wrong with a cop on my heels.”
He didn’t respond. The balcony air fell quiet except for a few gusts of chilly wind swirling around the siblings.
“I know why you don’t want to talk to the cops. Trust me, I get it.”
“Get out of my head, Cat.”
“I’m not in your head, I’m only saying that I don’t like dealing with them, either. The McDaniels haven’t had the best experiences with the justice system.”
He scoffed. “That’s like saying the Cubs haven’t had the best experiences with championships.”
Cat ignored his attempt to get her off topic. “But this cop isn’t going to stop until he’s satisfied and right now he thinks we’re all hiding something because you keep avoiding him. So can’t you just talk to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything. It’s one phone call.”
“Yeah, right. You open the door of communication with these guys and they won’t leave you alone. They’re like telemarketers, except instead of getting a week in a timeshare, I’m getting a week in Erie County lockup.”
“Come on, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just tell him what happened, no matter how many times he asks, and eventually he’ll go away.”
“Jeez.” Quinn took a long look at the night sky before meeting her gaze with regretful green eyes. “Fine, I’ll call him tomorrow.”
Relief flooded over her. She clasped her hands together and bowed her head toward him. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Sis.” He smirked. “Maybe I’ll even offer to meet him for coffee and a donut, the oink-oink special.”
She rose to her feet and patted his head softly. Her luck was running out and it was best not to push it any further. “I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow.”
Chapter 16
Cat tapped the pointy toes of her burgundy ankle boots together as she waited in the plastic chair outside of Roger’s office. His secretary, Aimee, was gone for the day, as was most of the building staff. They had a day in between games and Roger had encouraged everyone to take it off. Of course, that didn’t include him or, after a text message woke her up, her.
He’d asked her to come in as soon as she could but here he was, making her wait in the lobby for fifteen minutes in front of his closed door. That was unusual in itself. He never shut his office door. The only other time she’d seen it closed was when Melissa Staats had met with him over Damien’s disappearance. The wait was even stranger. He never made her wait. Roger never made anyone wait. That was one of the reasons he was so popular in the league. Baseball was a world where people were ranked both on the field and off—priority went to the exceptional players first, then the front office bigwigs, any reporters from the national media, the good to average players, particularly attractive members of the marketing department, and last and least, media personnel with juicy scoops. No one else merited a hello in the hallway, let alone office time. Roger Aiken was the exception. He treated everyone as his equal.
His graciousness was what made it so ironic that his daughter had been biggity, brash, bratty and a couple of other B words Cat was too polite to say. Of course that had been before their little adventure together in Santo Domingo. Paige was a changed person now, or at least it had seemed that way the last time Cat had seen her. Witnessing a murder and narrowly escaping death yourself will do that to you. Cat knew firsthand. And although the current situation wasn’t pleasant and might result in the end of yet another job, at least her life wasn’t at stake.
Be grateful for small blessings.
She peeked at the wall clock again. Twenty minutes had passed. She wondered if this was the kind leader’s passive-aggressive way of reprimanding her. That’s how nice guys operate. Benji had never yelled at her, but after he’d found out she’d covered for Spencer, he given her an hour of the silent treatment. She preferred a shouting match.
Finally, Roger’s door whooshed open and she jumped to her feet, startled. Joel Faulk shot out of the doorway and nearly ran into her as he sprinted to the hallway.
“Joel! Whoa!” She held her hands up defensively. “You off to a burning building now?”
“Huh?” His brow furrowed as though he was trying to register who she was.
Cat gave him a tentative smile, puzzled by his befuddlement.
“You okay?”
“Oh, hi, Cat.”
“Where’s the fire?”
“N-nothing. I gotta go.”
He took off toward the hallway before she could say anything further. Roger stepped out of the doorframe. “Cat, sorry to make you wait.”
Cat took one look at the puffy bags under his dark eyes and knew it hadn’t been on purpose. Not even the morning after the Hudson wedding—when Roger had passed out in the Hudson’s gazebo with Kiki’s garter on his head—had Roger looked this slag. Cat, along with every other member of the Soldiers, had that image indelibly imprinted in her brain.
“That’s okay. What’s up?”
“Why don’t you come inside? This is a private matter.”
She shot another look back into the waiting room. It was empty and she imagined most of the front office was, but she followed him inside and shut the door behind her.
Roger pointed at his couch. “Have a seat. We need to talk.”
Cat wanted to throw up. Nothing good ever followed those words. No one says, “We need to talk, you’re getting a raise,” or “We need to talk. You’re getting a corner office.”
“I got a call from Detective Kahn this morning.”
She held her hand up to silence him. “Before you say anything, I had a long talk with my brother last night and we both agreed it would be best if he just cooperated with the police. So he’s gonna call Detective Kahn today and go through the whole story—”
“Cat, stop.”
“O-okay.”
“He wasn’t calling about you or your brother.” Roger pinched the bridge of his wide nose and took a deep breath. “Last night, a CL600 was found at the Riverside Inn parking lot.”
“A CL … a Mercedes? That’s Damien’s.” She recoiled. “Wait. The Riverside Inn?”
The rundown motel down the road from her loft attracted a certain class of professionals, but they weren’t usually athletes.
“It was pretty banged up, but the plates match.”
“That doesn’t sound like Damien. He checks his car for scratches every day. For God sakes, he walks around with a chamois in his pocket.”
“The rims had been ganked and it was jammed into the parking post. Kahn suspects the driver was intoxicated.”
“Oh. That does sound like Damien.”
“There’s more.”
“There always is.”
“The police recovered a body downstream this morning.”
Dread sank through her. “Was it … D-Damien?” She knew it was a stupid question. Bodies were found all over this state every day and Roger Aiken didn’t call her in for a tally.
He gave a curt, stiff little nod. “I’m afraid so, though I didn’t ask to see it myself. Kahn said he had no doubt. As a formality, Melissa Staats is identifying the body right now but he wanted to give me a heads-up because once it’s official, the news will be released to the public.”
“Oh my God. How … I mean, what …” Cat let the question trail off as she tried to think of the most tactful way to ask how a thirty-year-old washes up along the river along with beer cans and dead fish.
Roger read her mind. “Kahn told me the matter is still under investigation but he suggested it was accidental. He asked me if Damien had a history of depression or thrill-chasing.”
“That doesn’t make any ….” Cat cut herself off. Roger had a tough enough day ahead of him; she was sure he didn’t want to play what-ifs, but that didn’t stop her from doing it inside her head. The Riverside Inn was still a few miles away from the Falls, where accidental drowning were all too common, and not-so-accidental ones as well. The area’s so-called “suicide season” had just wrapped up last month, but from May to September, western New York brought in all kinds of tourists and each year one or two of them made the waterfall their last stop. Manhattan competed with Los Angeles for films, Paris one-upped Venice for romance and Niagara battled San Francisco for jumps—the Falls and the Golden Gate Bridge were favorites for both daredevils and sad sacks.
But Damien didn’t have a death wish. He wasn’t a daredevil; in fact, some of the players had gone sky diving last year and he’d told them they were nuts. She’d even overheard Adam Alvarez trying to get him to come out on his new yacht, only to have Damien refuse because—
“He couldn’t swim!”
“What?”
“Damien. He couldn’t swim. I heard him tell his friends.”
Roger sighed. “What’s your
point, Cat?”
“Why would he put himself anywhere near the water if he couldn’t swim?”
“I don’t know. He was probably drunk.” Roger cleared his throat. “Anyway, I was on the phone with the commissioner half the morning.”
Cat peeked at her watch. It was only nine now, but she imagined Roger’s day had started dark and early.
“He doesn’t want to push tomorrow’s game back, in that the forecast is showing rain toward the latter part of the week.”
Cat’s jaw dropped. “He didn’t say that.”
“Verbatim.” Roger shook his head. “Lucky for him he’s got that impenetrable heart. Anyway, at least today’s an off-day. I thought we’d hold a vigil for Damien this evening.”
“Of course. I’ll help out in any way I can.”
He smiled softly with tight, closed lips. She wouldn't be seeing his goofy, gap-toothed grin today. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I’m sure this must be awkward for you; I know some people are trying to forge a connection between that stupid poker game and our recent misfortune, but I really need all hands on deck here.”
“No, I want to help. I’m not worried about idle gossip.”
“That’s the least of my worries right now, too. Aimee’s rounding up the players. I want them to hear the news from me first. It’s a shame; they’re on such a high from last night’s win.” He gave her a guilty look. “Not that— I didn’t mean ….”
Cat raised her hand, palm forward, to stop him. “I know, don’t worry.” She looked over her shoulder to see who might be in the waiting room but the office door was still closed. “Oh! I ran into Joel out there and he was acting so funny. Now I understand.”
Roger frowned. “I’m afraid not; I still have to break the news to him. He wanted another advance on his salary and I didn’t have the heart to say no and, by the way, your friend’s body has just been found. I chickened out.”