Prairie Hardball (9 page)

The café was full. Not only with the former Belles and their families, but with many of the other women, too. News of Virna’s death had spread. There was a palpable sense of shock and gloom in the room. Those who were talking did so in lowered voices. My father was across the room, sitting with Morley Timms and Garth Elshaw. He waved when he saw us.

“I’ll just go and speak with some of the other girls,” Edna said.

My mother and I went to my father. I signalled a passing waitress, who brought us coffee.

“I’ve just been talking to Mr. Elshaw about his sister, Wilma,” my father said.

“Did she come back to Battleford often?” I asked.

“Not hardly at all,” he said. He had a deliberate way of speaking, with great pauses between sentences. “She came in the summers sometimes. Her and Virna, when Jack was a boy. But once he grew up, they didn’t come. I hadn’t seen him in more than thirty years until yesterday.”

“Not at your sister’s funeral?”

“Didn’t go.”

The way he said it told me not to pursue the subject, so I backtracked.

“What was Jack like as a boy?”

“He was a quiet one,” he said, after thinking for a few moments. “He didn’t raise heck like my wife’s two boys. They was always a bit rough for him. But he liked it on the farm all right, Jack did. He didn’t mind doing chores.”

“Garth taught him how to hunt and fish and the like, up at the cabin,” Timms added.

“The boy never had a father, so I did what I could for him.”

“That was nice of you,” my mother said. “I’m sure he appreciated it.”

“If it made any difference, I’m glad. But if it did, he forgot about it after.”

“He never even got a card at Christmas,” Timms said, indignant on his pal’s behalf.

“So you lost touch,” I said.

“After my wife passed, I invited Wilma to come home,” Elshaw said, “but she wanted to stay down there in the States.”

“And when she died, they had her cremated in Fort Wayne,” Morley Timms added. “Instead of buried in the family plot right here in Battleford. That’s not right.”

“It was Wilma’s wishes,” Elshaw said, quietly.

“Doesn’t make it right. You said so at the time,” he said, then turned to me. “They didn’t even have a proper funeral in a church. They had something called a celebration of her life, then Virna and Jack scattered her ashes at the ballpark. At the ballpark! Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“Let’s just drop the subject,” Elshaw said.

“Still say it wasn’t right,” Timms muttered.

We sat in silence for a few minutes.

“How did you two find out about the murder?” I asked.

“Morley heard it on the radio and came by,” Elshaw said. “I was waiting on Virna and Jack to go to the museum.”

“We drove by there first, but it was just the RCM Police and a bunch of fools who had nothing better to do than stare at them,” Timms said. “So we just came on over here. Figured someone here would know what happened.”

My mother looked at her watch.

“It’s almost one,” she fretted. “I wonder where the police are.”

“There’s always a lot more to do at a crime scene than you think,” I said. “They have to take photographs and look for fingerprints and fibres and other evidence before they even take the body away.”

“You know a lot about it,” Timms said. “I guess because the boyfriend is a policeman.”

“I read a lot of crime novels,” I shrugged. “Andy doesn’t talk about his work. But I’m a naturally curious person. That’s why I’m a good reporter. Anytime I’m around a crime scene, I watch and learn as much as I can. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get tired of covering baseball and become a crime reporter someday.”

“That’s not fit work for a woman,” Timms said, shaking his round head. I smiled.

“Crime and death, that’s men’s business,” he continued. “You should leave that alone. You wouldn’t have the stomach for it.”

“You’d be surprised what women’s stomachs can take these days,” I said.

“Mr. Timms, I suggest that you’re treading on dangerous ground,” my father said, mildly. “I learned long ago not to tell Kate what to do.”

“He’s a bit old-fashioned,” Elshaw said.

“Nothing old-fashioned about good moral values,” Timms went on. “When plain decency and common sense go out of fashion, that’s the day you can dig that hole and plant me in it.”

“I’m all for common sense, too,” I said. “And politeness. Especially politeness.”

Timms beamed.

“See, now. Me and Miss Henry get along just fine. We’re kindred spirits.”

“You bet, Mr. Timms,” I said.

“What did you do for a living?” my mother asked. “I guess you’re retired now. Did you farm?”

“No, I’m not retired,” he said. “I’m busy all the time.”

“What is it you do?”

“Most anything. Odd job man. Mr. Fix-it. That’s me. I never really took to farming. I have to be my own boss. I work when I want to and there’s no one to tie me down. Of course, the government pays me, too. For what I did in the war.”

“I see,” I said, not seeing.

“Every month, they send me a cheque. It doesn’t make me rich, but I get by.”

“It’s the disability pay,” Elshaw explained. “He’s been getting it for fifty years.”

“And you said last night that you never married?” I asked.

“Like I said, I never wanted to be tied down.”

“So you’re just the happy bachelor?”

“Footloose and fancy free,” he said, with a loopy grin. “And Garth, here, he’s the merry widower.”

“You make quite the pair, then,” I laughed. Timms joined in. Elshaw didn’t.

“Have you been friends for a long time, then?” my father asked.

“Practically from birth,” Timms said. “We went to school together. Played ball together. When the war came, we joined up and served together.”

“In what branch?”

“Don’t laugh, now,” Timms said. “We were in the navy.”

“Why should I laugh at that?” I asked.

“A couple of prairie boys who’d never even seen an ocean before,” Elshaw said. “Some thought it was strange.”

“I’d say it was pretty adventurous,” I said.

“That’s what we thought at the time,” Elshaw said, his eyes going cold. “Some adventure it turned out to be.”

“At least we made it home,” Timms said.

“Yes, we made it home,” Elshaw agreed. “Some didn’t.”

Silence fell at the table. I looked around and noticed the thin Mountie from that morning standing at the door. When he saw me, he came and introduced himself as Constable Louis Tremblay.

“Ms. Henry, would you come with me, please?”

Constable Tremblay took me to the second-floor boardroom and led me into a big room with a blonde oak table in the middle, covered with papers, Styrofoam cups, and muffin crumbs. Inoffensive paintings of prairie scenes hung on the walls. There were ten chairs arranged around the table, four of them occupied.

“Sit down, please,” said Sergeant Deutsch, strangely formal. “As you know, as head of the General Investigation Section, I’m in charge of the investigation into the death of Virna Wilton.”

As he spoke, a constable next to him turned to a fresh page in his notebook. It was the same guy who had been in charge of the log at the crime scene.

“Constable Resnick will be taking notes. Corporal Hugh Grenfell is my senior investigator. And, of course, you know Inspector Munro, who will be sitting in.”

Andy winked at me. I stifled a smile.

“There are various reasons we want to talk to you,” Deutsch said. “The first is, obviously, your family connection. Second, you were there at the crime scene. You have been talking to some of the women, and Inspector Munro tells me that you are a good observer. He also tells me that you have formed a relationship with the victim’s son, and we would like to talk about that, too. Is there anything you would like to ask before we get started?”

I glanced at Andy. He gave me a barely perceptible shake of the head, hardly more than a twitch. I figured the signal was so subtle I could ignore it.

“How did she die?” I asked. “I didn’t see any blood.”

“We’ll know more after the autopsy. The body is on the way to the pathologist in Saskatoon.”

“But what’s your gut feeling?”

Deutsch gave me a faint smile.

“Gut feelings aren’t evidence, as you know, Ms. Henry. But we’re not ruling out strangulation.”

“Can you tell where she died?”

Andy gave me a shut-up look, which I ignored.

“I mean, if she died somewhere else, it would take someone strong to get the body here,” I said. “Wouldn’t that rule out most of the women?”

“I don’t know,” Deutsch said, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Some of those little old ladies aren’t so little, or so old, either. There are a couple of them I wouldn’t care to take on at arm wrestling. I think it’s fair to say that the field of suspects is wide open.”

“Well, I can account for my whereabouts,” I joked.

“If she says she was with me, I’m afraid I can’t testify,” Andy said. “I was asleep at the time.”

Oh, weren’t they just having fun? They had obviously already decided how to humour me.

“All right, I give up,” I said. “Ask your questions.”

Over the next hour, Deutsch led me back over the events of the past few days, from the arrival of the threatening letter at Indian Head to Ruth Fernie’s scream. He was a good interrogator, leading me along gently but firmly, stopping me from time to time with probing questions that made me remember things I had forgotten. I was impressed. After taking me through my conversation with Virna’s son for a second time, he was apparently satisfied.

“Anyone else have something?” he asked. Both Andy and Corporal Grenfell shook their heads.

“Thank you, Ms. Henry,” Deutsch said. “You have been extremely helpful.”

“Fingerprints,” Grenfell said.

“Oh, yes,” Deutsch said. “All evidence is being sent to the RCMP Forensic Laboratory in Regina, and they will need a set of prints from you for comparison with those on the letters and at the crime scene. Constable Tremblay will do the honours as you leave. Thank you once again for your cooperation.”

I got up and went into the hall. While Constable Tremblay did his thing with the inkpad and fingerprint card, I heard laughter from behind the closed meeting-room door. Three guesses who they were laughing at. Tremblay gave me a tissue which was pretty much useless at cleaning the ink off, and sent me on my way.

I thought of going to Jack’s room, but decided not to disturb him, in case he had managed to sleep. In fact, I didn’t feel comfortable going to his room after Deutsch’s remark about our “forming a relationship.” He would be up soon on the interview list, and I didn’t want to be accused of tampering or something. Instead, I went to our room to scrub my hands, then rejoined the bunch by the pool.

Garth Elshaw and Morley Timms had left, and their places at the table were taken by the Goodmans. The table was littered with lunch dishes, and I realized I was starving. It was almost three, and all I’d had for breakfast was coffee. I sat down and picked at some leftover French fries from my mother’s plate.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“Talking with the police.”

“What did they ask you?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it, I don’t think. It was just general stuff. Who said what, when. Who I saw with Virna in the bar. What about the threatening letters, stuff like that. They’re trying to talk to as many people as possible before everybody leaves.”

“Well, we’re not going anywhere,” my father said. “I’ve arranged to stay on. They have given us a special discount. We’ll just call it a holiday.”

“Some holiday,” Shirley Goodman said. “Trapped in this hotel wondering who’s going to be next.”

“We just have to be careful,” my father said. “No one should go anywhere alone.”

I looked around.

“Where’s Edna?” I asked.

“The police just came for her,” Shirley Goodman said. “It’s her turn. Then it’s mine.”

“Well, she’s here alone, so we had better watch out for her,” I said.

“Of course we will, dear,” my mother said.

“If you’re not next to be interviewed, you should go lie down for a while,” I suggested.

“Kate, I’m just old. I’m not an invalid,” my mother said.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I’m not feeble,” she grumbled.

“All I’m saying is that it’s been a tough day,” I said. “I’m probably going to lie down myself. Forget I said anything.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just feeling a bit strained. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“We’re all under stress,” Shirley Goodman said. “And it’s no wonder. There’s some madman out there with a grudge and the police can’t do anything about it.”

“If only they had taken those letters seriously, this might never have happened,” my mother said.

“Or if Virna had taken it seriously,” Shirley Goodman said.

“That was never her style,” my mother said. “She was always one to take risks.”

“How’s her son?” Shirley Goodman asked.

“He’s shaken up, obviously,” I said. “He’s gone to his room to make some phone calls.”

“I think I’ll go and see if he wants anything,” my father said. “I told him I would, and he might like some company. Will you come, too, Helen?”

“No. Go without me. I’m going to take Kate’s advice and lie down for a little while.”

“Do you think you should be alone?” Shirley Goodman asked.

“I won’t open my door to anyone,” she said.

“We’ll come up with you, then, and make sure you get to your room all right,” Shirley Goodman said.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” my mother said.

“Better safe than sorry,” Shirley Goodman said.

After my parents and the Goodmans left, I looked around for company and saw the Denekas across the room. They seemed happy to have me join them. I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and ate it while we talked.

“You look so much like your mother did,” Mrs. Deneka said. “You’re older than she was when we played baseball, of course. But you have the same curly hair. She was quite a beauty, you know. She broke a lot of hearts. I bet you have, too.”

“I’m afraid it’s been the other way around,” I said.

“Never mind. You have a nice young man now,” she said.

“Thank you. I’m afraid I’ve lost him for the moment, though. He’s busy being a policeman.”

“Oh, well, it gives the rest of us a chance to visit.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful to meet all my mother’s old friends,” I said. “And to find out about the league, too. My mother hardly ever talks about it. She says she doesn’t remember.”

“Well, dear, it’s different for me,” she said, with a little smile. “I remember it as if it were yesterday.”

“You remember it better than yesterday,” Peter teased, and was rewarded by a smile from his wife.

“Well, that’s just the way my brain works now,” she said to me. “I may have a few screws loose, but I don’t let it worry me, or else I’d turn into a sad old lady.”

“Never you, Meggie,” her husband said. “Besides, I like it that you think of me as the handsome young man I once was.”

“Yes, except when I wonder who that old goat is who wants to get into bed with me.”

I laughed, astonished. Meg put her hands over her mouth like a naughty girl. Peter grinned. They were a pair.

“Last night you called my father Carl,” I said. “Tell me why. Was there a Carl in Mum’s life then?”

“Well, I don’t want to tell tales,” she said.

“It’s too late for that,” her husband said.

“It was a long time ago, remember. Before she met your father. Yes, Carl was her beau. He was a big, handsome boy. He was of Norwegian stock from right there in Racine. There are a lot of Norwegians in Wisconsin. He wasn’t blond, though, like so many of them. I can’t remember his last name. Jorgenson, Johannsen, one of those names. Anyway, he sure was stuck on your mother, and she was fond of him, too. I wonder what happened to him?”

“Did all the girls have boyfriends?”

“Let’s just say there were always plenty of boys waiting outside the stadium. And they weren’t looking for batting tips.”

“But I thought you were strictly controlled. Didn’t you have curfews and chaperones?”

“Of course. That was part of the fun, sneaking past them.”

“How?”

“Some of the girls were very good at climbing out of boarding-house windows, I can tell you that much. Of course, I didn’t go in for that kind of thing. I had my sweetheart at home.”

“You?” I asked Peter Deneka.

“Me,” he said. “I was back on the farm, waiting for the postman.”

“We wrote each other every day,” Meg explained. “Even when he was overseas.”

“I guess a lot of the girls in the league had people in the service,” I said.

“Oh my, yes. Every time the Western Union boy came, it would throw terror into all our hearts. Terror. I lost my baby brother. Poor Virna lost her husband. And there were others, too.”

“When was it that Virna’s husband died?”

“I don’t exactly remember. It happened over the winter, I know, because when she came to spring training, with her little baby, she told us. That was little Johnny, we called him. Of course he’s Jack, now. Hasn’t he grown up to be a handsome lad?”

“Yes, he has,” I said. “Was Virna a good mother, or did he cramp her style? I guess she must have been a pretty wild one.”

“No, not really. Virna could be a little madcap, but she was all business when it came to baseball. It was her life, and after baseball, it was Johnny. She was devoted to him. Absolutely devoted. We all were. He was such a little angel.”

“How did she take care of him with the team travelling?”

“Oh, she just brought him along. She was our biggest star, so she could do whatever she wanted. When he didn’t come along, he stayed at home with her landlady. I guess she paid a little extra. Or, probably, the league paid for it. I don’t guess I ever knew about that.”

“Who was her husband? Did you know him?”

“I don’t recall him. I think she got married in the winter between the first and second seasons. I remember being surprised when she told us she was married, so I don’t suppose I ever met him. He was from Davidson, she said, her high school sweetheart. I remember that. He went overseas that year, 1944, and died the next winter. Yes, that was it, because I remember now that Johnny was just a tiny baby when the war ended, in 1945.”

“And afterwards? Did she date?”

“Like I said, she was all baseball and that baby. Not that there wasn’t interest. Even now you could see she was a beauty.”

“Yes, she was,” I said.

“Although I do remember a fellow one time, so handsome in his Royal Canadian Navy uniform. Or was that Wilma’s beau? I get confused.”

She smiled at me, apologetically.

“You’re doing very well,” I said.

“If I only did so well with things that happened last week, I’d be fine.”

She laughed, a warm, contagious sound.

“Were you in the league right from the beginning?” I asked.

“Your mother and Virna and I were, yes. Edna came the next year, 1944, along with Wilma. Shirley, or Rosie as we called her then, came in 1945. That’s when the team really came together.”

“The year the war ended.”

“Yes. And we won the championship the next year. Did you ever meet Wilma Elshaw?”

“No, I never did.”

“She was a beautiful player. She ran like a deer, could catch anything hit to centre field, and she had an arm like a gun. And she could hit, too. She averaged over .300 every year. She was a treat to play with.”

Her recall of fifty years ago was sharp and true. As she reminisced, she reminded me of old major leaguers, coaches, and scouts I have talked to who can remember exact details of games played in the thirties, down to the exact pitch hit, and what the count was at the time. It’s something about the baseball mind, I guess. Or the ego of an athlete.

After a while, she began to tire, and drifted more and more into her reveries. I could see that it was pointless to ask her any more questions. I smiled at Peter Deneka.

“I’ve taken up too much of your time,” I said. “You’ll want to rest up before talking with the police. Maybe we can get together later this evening.”

“Yes, dear. Let’s stick together,” she said, then sang: “We’re all for one, we’re one for all.”

“We’re All-American,” I said.

“You bet.”