Double Play (15 page)

“
I
thought you were asleep.”

“
I
was. The shouting woke me up—the first time. My apartment’s not
that big and sound travels.”

“
Mmm.
So the same people were present at both times?”

“
Yes.”

“
Five
people, you said?”

“
That’s what I said.”

“
You
know, we dusted a few things for fingerprints. There was a set that
didn’t match on one of the beer bottles in your recycling
bin.”

Cat narrowed her
eyes. “You went through my trash?”

“
We
ran them through AFIS but no hits came up. Maybe they belong to
your fiancé. He’s never been in any trouble, right?”

Cat felt her
hands tighten into fists and consciously relaxed them. Benji didn’t
have so much as an unpaid parking ticket and she was
n’t
about to let Quinn’s
trouble
s
sully his name.
“Leave Benji out of this. He didn’t even come out of the bedroom
that night.”

“
He
was out when I got there.”

“
I
mean before the accident.”

“
He
didn’t even have a beer with these guys?”

“
Nope.”

Detective Kahn
scratched his
smooth
chin thoughtfully. “That strikes me as odd. It’s your
apartment.”

“
Quinn
has a way of making himself at home.”

“
Did
you have anything to drink? Maybe a beer?”

“
Not a
drop.”

“
Hmm.”

“
Maybe
this set of fingerprints you’re so worried about belongs to the
liquor store cashier.”

“
We’ll
see. Fingerprints, much like the truth, have a way of coming to the
surface.”

She looked around
again. The waiting area was still empty, but it was only a matter
of time before Roger’s door swung open. “Then it sounds like you’ll
get your answer very soon.”

Spencer didn’t
even go over the speed limit, it wasn’t likely he’d ever come
across the police radar. Besides, he’d been over to their apartment
before. There would be legitimate reasons for his fingerprints to
be there.

He stuck his hand
out. “I’ll be in touch.”

She gave it an
overly firm shake. “I’m sure you will, but I hope not anymore
today. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“
Me,
too. I have to continue looking for a missing person. Give me a
call if you hear anything.”

Cat watched him
go, waiting until he turned the corner before she headed to Roger’s
office. Roger’s assistant, Aimee, came
waddling
down the hallway with a stack of files in
her hand
, hurrying as fast as
her short, stubby legs could take her.
She set the papers down on her desk and pushed a
mound of tangled brown hair off her forehead.

“
I
wouldn’t go in. Melissa Staats is still in there.”

Cat frowned.
“Still? What’s going on?”

Aimee’s nervous
eyes glanced at the door. “Well, apparently she was watching the
game in the owner’s box last night and she left right after it
ended to get Damien’s favorite dinner ready, you know, to
celebrate. He called her to say he’d be home right after his
interviews but he never came. She called Roger late last night when
he didn’t show but he didn’t think anything about it.” Aimee
dropped her voice to a whisper. “Probably because of Damien’s
reputation, you know, with the ladies. I happen to know it wasn’t
the first time she’s involved the team in their marital
troubles.”

Cat didn’t doubt
it. Melissa might’ve been the girl who cried wolf, but in this
case, the wolf was her husband.

“
Poor
thing waited up all night for him. You should’ve seen the bags
under her eyes. She came charging in here at eight this morning.
Roger wasn’t even in yet. She just sat in that chair over there,
crying her eyes out while she waited for him.”

“
Damn.”

“
First
our starting pitcher’s arm breaks and now our first baseman is
missing.” Aimee sighed. “Cat, I’m starting to think this team is
cursed.”

The team?
Cat thought.
And here I thought it was me.

The verdict may
have still been out about Cat, but eight hours later and three
innings into the second game, the Soldiers were looking to replace
the Gatorade cooler with a holy water stoup. Chicago had scored a
run off of Nick Haley each inning until the fourth, when a walk, a
hit and an error had loaded the bases with no outs.
It was one pitch away from becoming a
bloodbath.

The Soldiers’
manager finally strolled out to the mound and made a pitching
change, but it was clear to everyone in the press box that the game
was over. Even if the bullpen could straighten out their pitching,
the hitters’ minds weren’t in the game. The only thing good about
the blowout was that she’d had her postgame fallout written before
the Seventh Inning Stretch, which meant she’d be able to make it
another early night. She wished she could see the look on Detective
Kahn’s face when he saw that this “irregularity” was becoming quite
regular.

“
What
I find particularly remarkable about this one is its lifelike
strawberry
hair and
emerald
eyes. Note how
the hollow stare follows you while never actually acknowledging
your existence.”

Cat blinked her
eyes, finally aware of Spencer’s silly grin directed at her.
“What?”

“
I was
just saying that you’re my favorite exhibit here at the Buffalo Wax
Museum.”

“
I’m
sorry.” Her shoulders dropped. “My head was somewhere
else.”

“
What’s wrong with you tonight? I’ve gotten more conversation
out of this hot dog.” He pointed at the half-eaten hot dog on the
chair next to his laptop.

“
To be
fair, it’s been here longer. They had those on the rotisserie when
I came in this morning.”

“
That
explains the taste.” He tossed it in the garbage and shut the lid
of his laptop. “Come on, if we leave now we’ll be able to beat
these out-of-towners downstairs.”

“
But
the game—”

“
There’s a TV down there; we’ll catch the last out on it.” He
saw her hesitation and added, “It’s not like they’re gonna come
back from a seven run deficit in the next three
pitches.”

She relented and
packed up her computer. By the time they made it to the clubhouse
door, Tom Rodgers had struck out swinging for the twenty-seventh
out of the miserable night. They could hear the players trudging in
from the dugout entrance and a couple minutes later, the media door
swung open, giving them permission to enter.

She flipped her
recorder on and followed Spencer inside. They were joined by the
other reporters as they made their rounds. No one mentioned
Damien’s absence, although it was on everyone’s minds after the
nine disastrous innings. The lump that had filled in for him at
first base was a glaringly poor substitute for both Damien’s heavy
bat and golden glove; the replacement went hitless the entire night
and had
a defensive
error
. Instead, the players spouted the usual disingenuous
rah-rah that took only a few minutes to plug into the
articles.

“
Sometimes you lose, but what matters is how you respond and
how you come back, and that’s what we’re going to be looking to do
in Chicago.”

“
It
would’ve been nice to go into their house up two games, but we’re
still in a good position to take the series.”

“
There’s still three more games in this series and we only need
two.”

“
Let’s
put this one behind us and go get them on Monday in the Windy
City.”

While sitting on
a weight bench, Cat typed in each piece of fluff and uploaded the
article to the website. After receiving confirmation, she shut her
laptop and made her way toward the parking lot.

She made her way
to the end of the first row where she’d parked that morning. When
her jeep came into view, she stopped in her tracks.

“
Son
of a bitch.”

Cat took the
apartment steps two at a time, bounding quickly in hopes that the
burst of energy would warm her. She was freezing under her soaked
jacket and drenched boots. The wet wool pea coat hung like leather
on her shoulders and the soggy suede boots weighed as heavy as two
bricks strapped to her feet. Each step made a squish and water
oozed out of her soles. She opened the apartment door and sloshed
in, unzipping her boots and kicking them off before she’d shut the
door. The coarse fabric of the entry rug was a welcome relief for
her cold, wet feet.

Benji rushed into
the hallway at the commotion. “What happened to you?” He picked the
wet boots off the floor and carried them toward the kitchen, trying
unsuccessfully to catch each drip from hitting the
hardwood.

“
Didn’t you hear? There’s a bounty on my head.”

He peeked around
the corner of the kitchen. “Are bounty hunters using Super Soakers
now?”

She followed him
to the kitchen, carefully dodging the puddles of boot
water.

“
No,
the wet t-shirt contest is my doing. I had to stop at the carwash
after work so I could wash my Jeep. Twice, actually.” She slipped
out of her drenched pea coat and wrung it out in the sink. “My
first time through the automatic stall got the egg yolks off the
ragtop and the shaving cream off the hood, but it couldn’t do much
with the Vaseline under my door handles or the ‘BITCH’ that was
written in orange Spirit Chalk on the back windshield. So I had to
get out and use the pressure gun. It was clogged or something and
back-sprayed all over me.”

She sat the coat
on the counter and began to squeeze the water out of her hair into
the sink.

Quinn came into
the doorway. “Yikes!” He grabbed the chrome toaster from the
countertop and held it up to her face so she could see her smeared
makeup, the streams of mascara bleeding down her cheeks and the
wet, frizzy hair clinging to her
pale face
like red seaweed. “Kids are gonna dress up
as you for Halloween.”

She ripped the
toaster out of his hands and sat it down on the counter. “You’re a
yuck a minute, Quinn. We’ll see if you have the same jovial
response when one of these pissed-off fans vandalizes your
Harley.”

She flounced past
him and headed to the bedroom. Benji followed, first stepping into
the bathroom to fetch a towel. She dried her hair and wiped her
arms before slipping on her oversized terrycloth robe, cinching its
perky pink belt with a little too much force.

Benji plopped on
the bed. “It’s because of the jackass reporters.” He immediately
widened his eyes and threw his hands in the air. “Oh! I mean—not
you, of course. The other guys, the bad reporters, especially the
ones on Channels Two and Five. They’re the reason the fans are so
upset.”

Cat groaned.
“What now?”

“
They’re all over the fact that Damien Staats was at the same
party—”

“
It
wasn’t a party!”

“
Their
words, not mine. Anyway, they keep linking the ‘beat reporter’s
loft’ with Damien missing and Ryan Brokaw’s injury. Like you
snapped Ryan’s arm in two and have Damien chained to our bathtub’s
clawed feet.”

“
I
wish I did. If we don’t get him back for Monday night’s game, we’re
screwed.” She paused and sighed. “No, I’m screwed. That detective
was back today and this time he was grilling me about
Damien.”

“
Damien? What do you have to do with him?”

“
The
detective brought along security footage of me speaking to Damien
in the parking lot.” She closed her eyes and added, “Apparently I
was the last one to see him.”

“
Oh.”
Benji ran his hands through his thick hair. “Surely he doesn’t
think you—”

“
Think
I what? Kidnapped him? No, he’s just trying to hassle me. He’s got
this fixation about the guys’ poker game and I think he thinks this
footage can be some sort of leverage for me to help
him.”

Benji rested his
hand on hers. “I’m sure you weren’t the last one to see him, just
the last one to see him on camera. I don’t understand what the big
deal about this guy missing is anyway. Isn’t Damien Staats the
player that you said missed a team flight home because he overslept
at some chick’s apartment in San Francisco? He’s probably shacked
up with some groupie right now.”

She shushed him
automatically, as if they weren’t alone in their bedroom. She’d
picked up the habit of making sure no one else was eavesdropping,
especially other journalists, before relaying any gossip. “I told
you that in confidence. He’s married.”

“
I
don’t care. I’m gonna tell the world if they don’t stop attacking
you. Maybe a scandal like that is exactly the kind of distraction
you need.”

She blew out a
puff of air. “If it was that easy, I would tell the world about
George Hudson’s brother and George’s wife, Kiki.”