by E. C. Bell
“She hasn’t done anything, Joanne,” I said. “She just wants to play ball.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Mr. Middleton intoned, holding his hands out for silence. “We have to decide—as a group—how to deal with this—person.”
“Well, the swarming idea didn’t work at all,” Lisa said. “It was just embarrassing.”
“Rita thinks that she might be able to do more damage with a little more practice,” Joanne said.
“That’s not what I said,” Rita mumbled. Joanne ignored her.
“I think we need to try again,” she said. “And soon.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous!” I cried. “She isn’t going to do anything to us. Can’t you understand that?”
Voices raised all around me. Some agreed with me, but many of them didn’t. Joanne’s fear was infecting them again. I could tell.
“That’s enough!” Mr. Middleton yelled. “Be quiet, all of you!”
That stopped the noise. Even Joanne’s mouth snapped shut, though she looked like she was ready to start foaming at the mouth.
“You are not going to swarm her again. Do you hear me? It didn’t work, and nothing will convince me that a repeat will help.” He turned, and glared at Joanne. “You hear me?”
“I hear you,” Joanne said. Her voice sounded strangled, like she was choking on her words. But the rest, those who had agreed with her, quieted.
“I’ve been giving this situation some careful thought,” Middleton continued. “And I believe I may have a solution. I say we shun her.”
“What?” Joanne’s voice sounded high and tight. I glanced at her and estimated about two seconds before she completely blew her top. “What?”
“Shun her,” Middleton said again. “My guess is, she’ll tire of us, and eventually go away.” He clicked his tongue. “I hear she’s not that good, anyhow. Probably won’t last the season.”
“I don’t know about that,” Lisa said. “I watched her last game. She has good instincts. Just needs a little direction.”
“Well, she’s not getting that from us,” Mr. Middleton said. “In fact, she’ll get nothing from us. Any of us.” He stared at me for a long, long moment and then looked at Joanne.
“What say you, Joanne?” Mr. Middleton asked. “If we shun her, will you come back and play ball?”
“I guess,” she said. “I don’t think it will work, and I think we’ll need a backup plan. But I’ll do my part, Mr. Middleton. You can count on me.”
“I knew I could,” Mr. Middleton said and smiled at her. There was genuine warmth there, and I wondered what it was about Joanne that he found so endearing. “So ladies, are we all agreed?”
A chorus of “Ayes!” from everyone except me. I looked at them, surprised. They’d all talked to Marie after the swarming. Treated her decently enough. Why were they going along with this plan?
Then Mr. Middleton looked at me. “Do you agree, Karen?”
There was total silence all around me as I stared at him and then at the others. No one would make eye contact with me, and I realized that they wanted Joanne to stay more than they cared about the living. I had the feeling that they blamed me for the situation we were all in. After all, I was the first one to see Marie. Interact with her. I guess that made it my fault, somehow.
I still felt badly about what we’d done to Marie, and about what we were going to do to her, but I needed softball more than I needed her.
And who knew? This might be exactly what Marie wanted. For us to just leave her alone. All alone.
“All right, Mr. Middleton,” I said. “We can try it. But everyone else has to do it, too. Including you.” I pointed at Joanne, and she snarled at me like she wished she could tear me apart.
“We’ll all do it,” Mr. Middleton said. “And now, if we are all agreed, it’s about time we play a little ball.”
Everyone cheered and broke for the diamond, and soon the game was on.
I don’t know about the rest, but it felt good to be playing again. I didn’t have to think about anything. Could just concentrate on the ball and the base runners. Just be a little faster, a little smarter, than the other team, for seven innings.
I knew once the game was over, I’d have to think long and hard about what we’d all agreed to, because I didn’t mind Marie. It was going to be hard, shunning her. But I’d do it. I’d agreed to the plan, after all. And these were my people. My family.
Not Marie. She was alive. Not one of us.
I had to remember that.
Marie:
Sergeant Worth Wants to Talk
OVER THE NEXT couple of days, James worked on his own cases and when I had the time, I worked on the Karen Dubinsky file. Wrote out some notes from what I remembered of meeting Karen’s father. Considered, briefly, calling Missing Persons to see if they had any more information they were willing to share, but decided against it. They’d talk to Sergeant Worth, and she didn’t need to know what I was up to. As far as I was concerned, she was as involved in my life as she was ever going to be.
Then, I called Bobby Kimble to set up a meeting with him for the next day.
“Call me Rob,” he said. “I haven’t gone by Bobby in years.” Then he asked the question I was starting to dread. “Do you have news? About Karen?”
“No,” I said. “We’re working on cold cases. Karen’s is one of them.”
“Oh,” he said. “I was kinda hoping.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. I was raking up all this old pain, and for what? Closure for her friends and family? Was it going to be worth it for them? After all, there was no happy ending to this story.
I might have started out just wanting to get her out of my way, but now, after talking to her family, I realized I had to talk to Karen and let her know just how much her family was still suffering because of her disappearance. Maybe, even if she didn’t want to move on, she could be convinced to tell me where her body was. That would be something for her family, at least.
I can talk to her at the next game, I thought. Start the process.
I should have realized that wasn’t going to be as easy as that. Whatever is?
I CONVINCED JAMES not to come to my game that night. My team was going to be playing the Chimo Angels—Sergeant Worth’s team—and I decided it would be better for me if the two of them did not interact at my game. As far as I was concerned, it would be better if they never interacted, but Worth had taken an interest in James’s agency, so it was hard to keep them apart. But I could do my bit at my game, at the very least.
James was a little hurt since he had no work that night, but said he understood. Millie the comfort dog looked pretty happy, though. She settled on his lap in front of the TV as I left, so I decided not to feel too terrible about not letting him come. There were lots of games left in the season. Missing one wouldn’t kill him.
The game was at seven and I did everything I could to get to Diamond Two without a minute to spare. I didn’t want to chat with her beforehand, or anything else. She got me on the team, but that didn’t mean we were going to be friends or anything.
Funny, actually. I wasn’t as worried about the ghost on second base as I was about a living person on the other team.
Karen looked surprised to see me and maybe a little disappointed, like she’d hoped that perhaps I wouldn’t have bothered coming back. Then she turned away from me, and stared at the opposition’s dugout.
It was obviously going to be harder to talk to her than I’d hoped.
I saw Sergeant Worth and waved weakly at her as I dove into my dugout and pulled on my cleats.
“You’re late,” Greg said.
“Sorry.” I whacked my glove against my thigh a couple of times to get rid of some of the dust. “Had to work late.”
“Well, I don’t have enough players to sit you. Get out there, but know I am displeased.”
He didn’t sound particularly angry, but I still felt a twinge of guilt. “I really am sorry,” I said.
<
br /> “Really?” He looked surprised, then smiled and patted my arm. “Forget it,” he said. “That’s just something I say. Trust me, nobody else on the team worries about being late.”
“Oh, we do,” Jamie the back catcher said. “We just don’t let you know. Otherwise you’d use it against us. You know, to get us here on time.”
“Or to practice,” Lily, the pitcher, said. “You’d probably want us to practice.”
“Practice would actually be good,” Greg said wistfully. “Do you know how much better you’d be as a team if you—”
“See, this is the reason we act like we don’t care,” Jamie said. “We can’t allow you to use guilt on us.”
“All right, fine,” Greg sighed. “Get out there, and make me proud.”
“One for the Gipper?” Lily laughed.
“Sure,” Greg replied. “What the heck. One for the Gipper.”
THE GAME WENT well, all things considered. I got on base twice and didn’t screw up too badly in the outfield. Sergeant Worth got on base once, but didn’t make it past second. Seeing her stand beside Karen gave me the heebie-jeebies.
Karen steadfastly ignored her, the way she did most of the live players. Just watched the game from her spectacularly good seat and ignored us all. Me included.
After the game, my team talked about going for a beer and a chat, and I was trying to figure out a nice way to say no when an oh too familiar voice floated into the dugout.
“Marie?” Sergeant Worth called. “Marie Jenner. You still here?”
She knew very well I was still there. I thought about ignoring her, felt every one of my team mates staring at me, and sighed.
“Hi,” I said. I threw my glove into my outsized bag and zipped it closed, hoping it sounded decisive.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” she asked.
Yay.
More stares and a few whispers as my team tried to figure out what the deal was while I studiously avoided their eyes, because it was none of their damned business.
“Sure,” I said. I pointed to the doorway of the dugout. “Meet you by the gate.”
I threw the bag over my shoulder and pushed my way through the gaggle of women. “Gotta go,” I said, as lightly and fluffily as I could. “See you next week.”
“So no beer?” Stacey asked. She almost sounded sorry that I wasn’t coming with them.
“Sorry,” I said. “I gotta talk to her, and then I have to go back to work.”
A small lie about work, but whatever. Stacey shrugged.
“Maybe next week,” she said. “Because we do beer and a chat after most games. Just so you know.”
I smiled at her, and she smiled back. Seemed genuine.
“I’ll remember,” I said, and then I was free.
Well, not really free. I still had to run the gauntlet that was Sergeant Worth.
SHE WAS LEANING on the fence, staring out at the ball diamond as two more teams warmed up for the late game. She snapped to attention when I shuffled up to her and dropped my bag at her feet.
“Good game,” she said. “Looks like Greg likes you.”
“Thanks,” I said. I leaned against the fence beside her and watched the pitcher warm up. Miriam Kendel and her wicked rise ball. “I don’t know how much he actually likes me, though. I think it’s more that he only has the nine players most of the time.”
“Oh no,” Worth said, shaking her head. “He looks happy.”
I blinked as I thought about that, because to be honest, the coach looked more like a chronically depressed basset hound than anything else to me. “That’s happy?”
“As happy as he gets,” Worth said. She turned and looked at me. “So, you enjoying yourself?”
I thought for a second and then nodded.
“Good,” Worth said. “I’m glad.”
She was silent again, so I went back to watching Miriam warm up as I waited for her to tell me what she really wanted to talk about. It wasn’t ball. I knew that at the very least.
But she said nothing. Just stared, silently, into the outfield.
Jesus. I realized that if I didn’t get things going conversation-wise, we’d end up standing here the whole night, watching another game.
“So, you wanted to talk to me?” I sounded a little snarlier than I should have, but I needed to get the conversation moving. I didn’t want to stay at the diamond too long. Didn’t want to get sucked into watching another dead game, to be honest, because I still wasn’t sure how I felt about all the ghosts. “What about?”
I played out a bunch of different scenarios in my head as I waited for her to answer. “Let’s be best friends.” Or, “I’ve decided you shouldn’t be playing softball anymore.” Or the more than famous, “We need to talk about your mother.” But it wasn’t any of that.
“Got time for coffee?” she asked. “I have a problem, and I think you can help me.”
I so dearly wanted to say no. Tell that little white “I have to go back to work,” lie. But I didn’t. All I said was, “Is Tim’s good enough?”
She said yes.
“Want a ride?” I asked.
“No. I’ll follow you. I only have a few minutes. I have to go back to work. But we really need to talk. You’re the only one I know who can help me.”
Huh.
THE TIM HORTONS was a couple of short blocks away from John Fry Park, and it was always busy on the nights softball played. Sergeant Worth and I both managed to find a couple of parking spaces and then stood in line, uncomfortably silent, as we waited for the line to snake up to the counter so we could order.
I considered trying some small talk, but shook off the fleeting thought as foolish. I didn’t do small talk very well at the best of times, and small talking with Sergeant Worth was definitely not the best of times. Luckily, the line moved quickly, and soon we were seated at a table surrounded by chattering families and groups of old men all enjoying the hell out of their Tim Hortons experience.
Me? Not so much.
I played with the top of my to-go cup as Worth mucked around with her herbal tea—dunking the teabag and staring at the hot water, then dunking again—until I thought I’d lose my mind.
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked. “You said you didn’t have much time.”
“Yeah.” Worth sighed and pulled the teabag from her cup. She took a sip and looked very much like she wanted to spit out what was in her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I hate this crap,” she said. “But my blood pressure’s through the frigging roof right now, so my doctor’s cut me off coffee.”
I stared down at my cup, trying to imagine a world without coffee. Looked back up at her. “That sucks.”
“More than you can possibly know,” she said, and pushed the herbal tea away. “At least my head doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode all the time now, though. So, I guess that’s good.”
She didn’t look like she thought it was good. She looked like she thought it sucked lukewarm crappola. Which it did.
We sat for a couple of uncomfortable minutes, then she sighed, and looked at me. “A friend of mine from Calgary called me looking for people to play in a tournament,” she said. “Is it all right that I gave them your name?”
This was what she’d dragged me to Tim Hortons to talk about? Playing for another team?
“I suppose,” I said. “But I’m not very good.”
She looked at me intently and almost smiled. “I think you have exactly the skills my friend needs,” she said. “She’ll call you about it, soon.”
“All right,” I said. “Thanks for thinking of me.” I pushed my coffee cup back and prepared to stand.
“Oh, we’re not done,” Sergeant Worth said. “Not even close.” She glanced around, as though checking to see if anyone was listening to our conversation, then looked back to me. “I have a problem,” she whispered. “And I want you to help me with it.”
I honestly thought she was going to t
ry to talk me into doing something edging toward illegal for her through the detective agency. You know, James and I breaking into some place and getting some information for her to help her solve a big case, or something.
Was I ever wrong.
She whispered, so low I could barely make out what she was saying. “I’m being haunted. And I want you to help me.”
I couldn’t have heard her right. “You’re being what?”
She looked suddenly furious and glanced around again. When she turned back to me, I could see a vein pulsing in her forehead. “I am being haunted,” she said again. “You know? Haunted?”
It was my turn to look around. This was not a conversation I wanted to be having in a crowded coffee shop. To be honest, it was not a conversation I wanted to have with Sergeant Worth at all.
“Did you say you’re being haunted?” I whispered back.
“Yes,” she hissed.
“By a ghost.”
“Yes. Jesus. Keep your voice down.” She looked around a third time, the vein pulsing harder.
“Maybe we should go outside. You know. Away from all these people.”
“No.” She wiped her forehead and took in a gasping breath. “No, this is fine. Just keep your voice down.”
“’Kay.”
Another brief silence as we both thought about things. The things I was thinking about included getting up and running away, but before I could act on it, Worth leaned forward again, her face haggard.
“I know about you, and your mother. About your abilities.”
“Did Officer Tyler tell you that?” I asked, my voice high and tight. He was a cop from Fort McMurray. He had known my mother, thought he knew me, and he never could keep his mouth shut. “He’s full of crap, just so you know.”
“All he did was confirm what I knew. Word got around, before. About your mother. She helped someone from our department—a cold case—and that’s how I heard about her. And you. So, you can drop the act. I know you can work with ghosts.”