CoverBoys & Curses (32 page)

Chapter
Ninety-Three

All
About the Diamonds

HEARING
BROCK PULL up the driveway, I ran out to greet him. He’d told me to plan for a
long afternoon. I understood. Mount Laguna was about a three and a half hour
drive and he said he couldn’t pick me up until after eleven. He also told me to
pack an overnighter, ‘just in case’.

           
“What’s all this?” I said, climbing
into the high front seats of the white Range Rover.

           
“This is the makings for one fine gourmet
picnic.”

           
“We’ll never get there in time,” I
said.

           
“They’re not expecting us until
after six, and that’s when Sterling figures she’ll be arriving.”

           
“Brock, why didn’t you tell me? I
could have worked for another couple of hours, and besides, we’ll never make it
back tonight.”

           
“I thought you said you were all
clear on the work front.”

           
“I’m not sure I’ll ever use those
words for
CoverBoy
, but things are
pretty quiet. Geoff and Sukie flew up to Victoria to get some model shots. I’d rather
run with more skin than more of those damn investigative reports. Still, I
didn’t think we’d actually be gone the night.”

           
Brock turned down the music, my
favorite Sheryl Crow CD. “Mike—now Anthony Find, owns a small bed and
breakfast. Actually, just a few cabins. They’ve made them up for us. They’re
really excited to meet you, Lauren.”

           
“They’re excited to meet all of us,”
I said.

We
headed toward The Hollywood Hills. I guessed that Brock planned to picnic at
Griffith Park. Alarm set in as we neared the old Centre.

“I hope
this isn’t some sick joke,” I said, as Brock drove around the backside of the
all too familiar grounds.

He
pulled around the corner to what was the main entrance to the compound, then
shut off the engine.

“Now
what?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound stable.

“I was
at the dealers, ready to order myself a Mercedes
Maybach
.
Then I got to thinking. It just made no sense to me.”

“What
are you talking about?”

“All
that money for four tires. Money that could be put to good use.

“Come on,”
he said, pulling the blanket and basket out of the back seat, along with a set
of architectural plans.

I felt
panic. And I felt trust.

           
We walked to the heart of the
grounds and I admit I felt saddened at the sight of once tended gardens,
already succumbed to the heat. The lawn hadn’t been mowed. It now looked more
like wheat than grass.

Brock
spread out the blanket and set about pulling food from the basket.

“What’s
this?” I said. “You call this gourmet?”

He
unwrapped two hot dogs and then opened a large bag of potato chips.

 
“This is prime property, you know. Prime and
perfect. It’s going to make a great baseball park. There’s a lot to work to do,
but every owner in here will get more than an equitable price for their lot. My
new Realtor has talked to all of them and you can bet all of them want to move.
And I’ve already been assured by Detective Wray that most of the proceeds can
go to the Victim’s Assistance Fund they’re setting up.”

He
unrolled the blueprints. Although rough, three baseball diamonds had been
sketched, along with the much needed parking lot and even some concession
stands.

           
Brock said, “There’s no decent
baseball park around here because the dirt is too damn expensive. And you and I
both know poverty isn’t too far away from all these white mansions around the
block.”

           
“When did you have time to do all
this? It looks like you’ve been planning it for years,” I said.

           
“Because I have been planning. I
just never found the right property. But it has to be good with you, Lauren. I
don’t want to do it if you feel this property is stigmatized.”

           
“You mean with my curse?”

           
He shrugged, but again with only one
shoulder.

           
“That’s it, isn’t it? Your shoulder?
You’re not going back next season?”

           
I watched his face carefully for
signs of regret, anger, and even pain. Instead Brock flashed me a full dimpled
smile with his chin dribbled in yellow mustard.

           
“I don’t want to just own the dirt
and a fancy sign with my name on it. I want to be out here with the kids,
giving them something of me,” he said.

           
“Hell, we all know it’s my shoulder.
But I’ve been ready to give up the groupies throwing their panties at me for a
long time.”

           
He laid out flat on his back and
stared straight up, then turned to me, “Are you okay with this?”

           
I nodded. A nod with a smile.

           
“Great!” He jumped up. “Reach into
that basket. We need a drink to wash all this junk down.”

           
I pulled out the bottle of chilled
champagne and two plastic glasses. Inside the bottom of one was a miniature
leather catcher’s mitt.

           
“I hope I’m not supposed to catch
little tiny balls with this,” I said.

           
He laughed and held the glove out
for me to see. “You don’t have to catch anything unless you want it. But you
need to know my plans always called for diamonds.”

           
“You were lucky to get three on this
parcel.”

           
“I didn’t say you had to catch
anything because that mitt already has done the catching.”

           
I grabbed the tiny hand-stitched
leather mitt, pulling back the fingers one at a time until I found the fourth
diamond. Brilliant. Dazzling.

           
Brock pulled out his phone and
turned up the tune.
 
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
began filling my ears.

           
“Don’t worry. It doesn’t have to be
our wedding song.”