TEST BOOK

by Camel Press

  Cat was shocked, but it took a lot more to quiet the seasoned reporters.

  “Skipper, what were you thinking when you saw Joel pull back on that bunt?”

  “Did he miss the sign for the squeeze play?”

  The manager clenched his teeth. “You’ll have to ask Joel. He showed bunt initially so I thought we were on the same page. Obviously we weren’t.”

  Cat stepped forward. “We can’t ask Joel. He left.”

  “What?” The manager’s brown eyes flashed with anger. “He’s not in the clubhouse?”

  “N-no, sir. Santiago said he left with Adam.”

  The manager’s hand slammed down right next to the microphone stand, sending a screeching feedback through the room.

  Cat and Spencer both jumped, startled from the sound.

  His sunburned neck reddened even more and the veins began to bulge. “They are singlehandedly responsible for this loss and they can’t even own up to that?”

  The audience was salivating for more. Cat cringed, already picturing the bloody headlines this would produce.

  Spencer jutted his recorder closer to the podium. “Skip, are you saying you blame Adam Alvarez and Joel Faulk for the outcome of this game?”

  “Hell yes, I do!” He closed his eyes and took a beat. “Look, our offense could’ve done more during the first nine, that’s true. But once the game entered the extra innings, Alvarez and Joel mucked it up.”

  A reporter from the back piped up, “Are they going to face punishment for leaving?”

  “I’ll have to discuss that with Roger, but I think it sets a pretty piss poor example for the younger guys if we don’t address it.” He shook his head. “You don’t walk out on your team.”

  Spencer leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Walk out? I’m guessing they ran.”

  Chapter 21

  Officially, Cat was working from home today. Unofficially, she was standing on the sidewalk in an affluent Amherst neighborhood, staring up at an oversized brick colonial. The street was beautiful, but quiet—like the residents were striving for the timeless beauty of a Norman Rockwell painting, without the pesky children or pets. There wasn’t a single weed between the sidewalk cracks and her Jeep was the only vehicle parked on the side of the road.

  The colonial was guarded with a six foot iron fence. She tried its gate with trepidation and was pleasantly surprised when the handle turned with ease. She skipped up the four steps to the private sidewalk and approached the tall set of double doors. Each had a large brass knocker but she opted for the doorbell instead. It chimed from inside. Locks clicked on the other side and it swung open.

  “Cat? What are you doing at my house?”

  “Hi, Joel.” He wore sweatpants and a sleeveless Soldiers’ shirt. From the bags under his eyes and his disheveled red hair, she guessed he had gotten even less sleep than she. No smile appeared on his freckled face.

  “We need to talk.”

  There was some degree of satisfaction in being the one to say those words, rather than hearing them.

  “I left last night without talking to the media for a reason, Cat.”

  She shivered on the porch. The October morning was chilly and she was wearing only a light jacket. Joel took a step closer, halfway shutting the front door behind him to both keep the heat in and block an uninvited entrance.

  She crossed her shivering arms. “This is off the record.”

  “Hon?” said a female voice from inside the house. “Who’s at the door?”

  Joel cringed at the sound of the voice and she seized the moment. “I know what happened on my balcony and I know about your money problems.”

  “What?” His eyes bulged. “Okay, shh! Just hold on a second.” He looked behind him and then craned his neck outside, looking up and down the quiet neighborhood. “Come in, but keep it down.”

  The front door opened to a spacious foyer with a set of double staircases framing each side. The marbled floor sparkled and reflected the lit chandelier that hung from the open second level.

  “Nice digs.” She took another survey of the grand room. “You ever think about Astro-turfing this foyer and playing games in here?”

  Before he could answer, a beautiful woman came around the side, dressed to the nines in a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. Its yellow silk matched her shiny hair. “Hello?”

  Cat smiled. “Hi.”

  “This is the team reporter, Babe. Cat, this is my fiancée, Savannah.”

  “Oh, hi.” She fussed with her long hair, though not a curl was out of place. “I wish Joel had told me he was expecting company.”

  “Don’t blame him. I kind of ambushed him but he was kind enough to invite me in for an interview.”

  “Well that was sweet of him. Not that I’m surprised.” Savannah locked arms with Joel and kissed him on the cheek. “Why don’t you two go into the mehmaan khana and I’ll bring you out some coffee?”

  Cat smiled back. “That would be nice. Joel, you lead the way?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Thanks, Babe.”

  Joel escorted her down a hallway and through a set of double doors that opened into a sunroom, or at least what had once passed as a sunroom. Now its windows were covered with thick gold curtains and the walls were painted a dreary burnt sienna. The tile floors were mostly hidden under a massive Persian rug, a burgundy background with intricate swirls in its pattern and a frame of gold fringe. The chairs were of a similar tapestry and instead of end tables, oversized brass pots sat between each piece of furniture. “What did she say this was called?”

  “Mehmaan khana. I think it’s Hindu for rumpus room. Savannah started volunteering at the museum and since then she’s into all this Indian shit. She’s turning my house into the God damn Taj Mahal.”

  “It’s certainly big enough.”

  Once he’d closed the doors behind them, he whipped around and dropped the doddering fiancé act. “This whole mess with the Soldiers … it’s not what you think.”

  She took her black leather messenger bag off her shoulder and sat down on one of the antique replica chairs. “I’m listening.”

  “I’m not some shitbag, okay?” He threw himself on the armless sofa. “You don’t know what kinda pressure I’m under right now.”

  “Financially?”

  Cat cringed, fearing she’d showed her hand.

  Joel didn’t catch her slip; instead he nodded glumly. “I can’t even make my house payment this month.”

  Cat rolled her eyes. Granted, her callous reaction wasn’t the best way to gain his confidence, but she had to draw the line somewhere. If he wanted a violinist, Joel would have to look elsewhere. Grams had raised them on a truck stop waitress’s salary and never once missed a payment on the trailer.

  She gestured around the room, her hand stopping in front of them to tap on the wooden Bengal tiger sculpture that served as a coffee table. “You mean your Taj Mahal payment? If money is so tight, why don’t you scale down a bit? There are two of you in this giant house, you drive a Porsche Panamera and you spent last winter in Monaco.”

  “Hey, I have to live like this, okay?” He sat forward. “I’m a celebrity and expected to uphold a certain lifestyle. I can’t live in some middle class neighborhood where people would always try to peek in my windows. I can’t drive some old rust bucket that might break down in a neighborhood of NYC fans. I can’t go to a regular gym, fly coach or even eat at chain restaurants because I’d constantly have fans demanding autographs and razzing me about games.”

  Cat grimaced. “Spare me the sob story.”

  There were a few players who couldn’t walk the streets without being recognized, but most of them appeared unremarkable without a polyester uniform and team cap. Joel Faulk was such a mediocre player that he had barely been on the fans’ radar. The irony was, after last night’s batting debacle, he was more recognizable than ever.

  “Societal obligations or not, you’ve got a lot of nerve complaining about money problems when you live l
ike this.”

  “Why are you singling me out? I’m not the only celebrity with a flashy home.”

  She gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, I watch Cribs, but it’s a little more sickening when you’re standing in one.”

  “I know you don’t understand this, but the other half has to live this way.”

  Cat felt that one’s sharp stab on her already exposed nerve.

  “First of all, Warren Buffet has made more money than you, the entire team and George Hudson combined and he lives in a house in Omaha he bought for thirty-one thousand dollars. Secondly, it’s not the other half, okay? You millionaires may own half of everything, but you don’t represent half of our population. For that matter, an actual half of Americans earn under twenty-seven thousand dollars a year. You make that in a single game and you’ve got the nerve to complain about money woes?”

  “Okay, okay. Calm down.” Joel raised his palms defensively. “I didn’t know it was such a sore subject for you.”

  “Yeah, well, you might want to think about that next time you complain about money problems to someone who’s actually had them. Anyway, that’s not what I came here to talk about.” She was mad at herself. She was supposed to be fishing for information and instead she’d all but started up an Occupy rally in his McMansion.

  “I know my financial situation makes me an ass, okay? I didn’t grow up like this; my parents worked and taught me the value of a dollar.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to comment. Most of the best interview material came from letting your subject do the talking.

  “First off, my last arbitration hearing didn’t go how my agent said it would. Then I took out a second mortgage to help pay for an investment that I didn’t think could fail, but there were problems with the prototype and I never really got it off the ground.”

  “Why did you use so much of your own money?”

  “I thought if I got in trouble, Roger Aiken would give me an advance but he refused.”

  “Knock, knock.” The door cracked open and Savannah bustled in with a tray of coffee. Her eyes darted back and forth between them. “Everything okay?”

  Cat wondered if she’d been eavesdropping. Given Joel’s tension at the front door, she doubted his fiancée had a clue about any of this. The poor girl probably thought she was marrying a prince, only to be carried over the threshold to a castle of debt. At least Cat knew Benji was a pauper.

  “We’re great, Babe, but can you give us some privacy?”

  She kissed him on the lips. “I was going out anyway.” She wiggled her fingers at Cat. “Nice to meet you again.”

  “You, too. You have a lovely home, by the way.” Cat smiled sweetly at Joel as she said it.

  As soon as Savannah shut the doors behind her, he sighed. “So are you gonna out me?”

  He didn’t ask the question with much fear. In fact, it came off like a schoolyard dare.

  “Out you?” Cat hadn’t even broached his early exit last night. His money problems might make for some amusing watercooler gossip among the grunts, but she didn’t plan on sharing it with the nation. The Soldiers had enough headlines for a while; they didn’t need the Faulk Flips making them the laughingstock of the business section, too. “Do you want me to?”

  “It’s not like Adam’s gonna pay me the rest of my money anyway.”

  “Adam ….” She trailed off as she put two and two together. “Oh my God. You were on the take?”

  He dropped his head in shame. “I told you, I needed money.”

  It all made sense now. He was covering up for Adam.

  “Joel, this is … how could you?”

  His voice began to tremble. “Maybe you should just out me. Hell, it could be my way out of this whole fucked-up situation.”

  Cat looked away to avoid being softened by his glassy eyes, but found her anger melting away anyway. She sighed, more out of frustration than sympathy.

  “Way out of what? The season’s over. Ryan’s arm will be healed by next season and Adam will be off the hook. No one will care whose arm he broke by Opening Day.”

  Joel jerked his head up sharply. “What are you talking about?”

  “The poker game. Adam was drunk—”

  “We all were.”

  “Yeah, but he was so drunk that he pushed Ryan off my balcony and he’s paying you off to keep quiet … right?”

  “No.” A smile began to twitch at the corners of his mouth. “Adam didn’t … where did you hear that?”

  “I didn’t. I just thought …. Wait a second, if that’s not what happened, then what are you talking about? What is the ‘whole fucked-up situation’ you’re looking for a way out of?”

  He closed his eyes and began to rub his temples. “Adam’s every bit as screwed as I am. He didn’t push anybody off a freaking balcony and nobody’s getting paid to cover up anything.”

  “But you just said you needed money and you got paid ….” She gasped. As Joel hung his head, she knew she was right but she completed her thought anyway. “Yesterday’s game, the ninth inning. Adam’s walk, your missed bunt? You guys threw the game.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “You did, didn’t you?” She rose to her feet and took a step closer. Any pity she’d felt over his despondence act was long gone. “Not just last night, either. Adam played like crap this whole series. And you … well, nobody really expects that much out of you.” Game four popped in her mind, specifically Joel’s stolen base that had ultimately been the game-winning move. “That’s why you were so quick to downplay your part in game four. When you took off from first base, it was pure instinct, but that stolen base wasn’t part of the plan because you guys had planned on finishing your ploy that night. Instead, you won the game and had to come back here.”

  No wonder he’d been upset. A scam like this was a lot easier to pull off on visitor’s turf where your cheating is received with cheers. In Buffalo they’d been under the harsh, unforgiving microscope of forty thousand mad scientists. It also explained why their ruse in game five was so sloppy. They were desperate. They had to make sure it would work.

  He shushed her again. “It’s not like it sounds. We didn’t throw anything; we just … toned down our performance.” He stole a panicked look at the double doors. “God, I thought you knew. The way you were talking was like you had it all figured out. I never would’ve said anything.”

  Cat could care less about his loose lips. “Adam blew two saves. That’s not toning down.”

  “He only blew one save. The other was a loss.”

  Semantics.

  Cat narrowed her eyes, contemplating slapping the freckles right off his face. “Why? Why would Adam Alvarez do this? Why did you?”

  “I needed money, obviously.” He dropped his head again. “I’m sorry. I know you already thought I was some spoiled wannabe so I can only imagine what you think of me now.”

  “So you gambled on the games or—”

  “No. Hell no! I’m not an idiot.”

  Cat raised an eyebrow. He had no right to assume such a haughty attitude, as though he was above anything so lowdown as gambling on games. “Then how was this so profitable?”

  Joel pressed his lips together.

  “You better start talking, Joel. Give me a reason not to call the commissioner right now.”

  “It was a deal. Lose some games, lose the series and get a payoff.”

  Cat frowned and sat back down on the chair. So many thoughts were racing through her head, it was hard to pick just one.

  “Okay, you needed money.” She took a deep breath. “Just so you know, I’m playing pretty fast and loose with the word ‘need’ there.”

  Joel nodded.

  “What about Adam? He sullied an impressive career for a few bucks?”

  “I guess.”

  She shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. He makes ten times what you do and besides, he just got a new contract last year. What was in this for him?”

  “I can’t
speak for him, but I’m guessing he didn’t want to be thrown off a balcony.”

  “Thrown off … my balcony. Ryan? That’s what happened? Ryan said no to your little scam and was chucked off the third floor?”

  He nibbled on his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t say anything else.”

  “Don’t clam up on me now, Joel. I’ve got enough to make your life hell if I want to.” Oh, how she wanted to and how she was going to as soon as she got enough information to make this an open and shut case. Cat had to fight the urge to grab her cellphone right away.

  “Okay, okay. Just don’t tell your brother you heard it from me.”

  Cat closed her eyes. That thought hadn’t even occurred to her until now, but it was all starting to come together. “Of course Mr. Gamblers Synonymous was involved.”

  “He was more than involved.”

  “Oh, no.” Her shaky hand flew up to her mouth. “Quinn threw Ryan off the balcony?”

  Joel looked away. “Yes.”

  “Quinn wouldn’t ….” she didn’t finish. Would he?

  Her stomach began to churn as another thought formed. “Damien. He was there that night, too.”

  “Damien was in, but he wasn’t okay with it. He was afraid someone was going to find out. I think that’s why he … I mean, I’m not sure but I think he—”

  “Killed himself.” Cat hardened her tone. “That’s what you’re looking for to finish that sentence. Killed himself. He got drunk that night to assuage his guilt and ended up dead. Your friend is dead and that’s on your conscience, Joel.”

  “I know, all right? You don’t think that’s occurred to me?” He threw his hands up in the air and jumped to his feet. “Just tell me what you’re going to do. I want to know if I need to call my lawyer.”