Double Play (26 page)

“
That’s the team for you. Players don’t get religious until
they’re at the plate or a funeral.” She leaned back in the wooden
dining chair, watching Benji thoughtfully as he shoveled in a giant
spoonful of corn flakes. “What do you know about financial
advisors?”

He answered her
with a mouthful of cereal. “Are you asking me this because I’m
Jewish?”

“
Ha,
ha.” She smiled and gave him a playful kick under the table. “I’m
asking because I found out yesterday that Joel Faulk wants an
advance on his salary.”

“
For
what?”

“
I
don’t know. I know he bought a house in Amherst last year for like,
nine hundred thousand.”

“
An
advance, hmm. How much money does he make?”

“
Only
one-point-five million. He may not be indispensible, but he’s still
a bargain. He has to be in order for the owners to afford the
bigger names like AA and Brokaw.”

Benji raised an
eyebrow up to his disheveled
black
bangs. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say
‘
only
one-point-five million.’ ”

“
I
know it’s gross, but I have to grade on a curve. That’s still a lot
less than his teammates.”

“
I
don’t know how you stomach it day in and day out.”

“
I
just pretend it’s Monopoly money.” She shrugged. “Obnoxious as
these guys and their salaries might be, at least they have a
marketable skill. What’s George Hudson’s? Having a rich
daddy?”

“
So
why do you care what he wants the money for?”

“
I’m
just curious.”

Benji pushed his
cereal bowl back and rested his head on his hands.
“Cat.”

“
Fine.” She sighed; this is not how she wanted to start off the
day. “In all the hullabaloo yesterday, I didn’t mention that
Detective Kahn stopped by the office.”

“
Oh
God, what now?”

“
No,
no, don’t worry. I don’t think he’s gonna bother us anymore. His
case has hit a wall. Anyway, he did open up a little. He doesn’t
think Brokaw fell off our balcony.”

“
The
ground would beg to differ.”

“
No,
no. He thinks he was pushed and he thinks one of the other players
was the
,
uh,
pusher.”

“
Do
you?”

She hesitated and
wobbled her head from side to side. “I didn’t … but I’m
starting to wonder.”

Benji nodded
toward the hallway. “Why don’t you just ask Quinn?”

“
I
doubt he’d tell me the truth. Kahn thinks the guys are covering up
for whoever pushed him, you know, because it’s somebody the team
needs. I explained to him that these guys aren’t exactly the ‘all
for one and one for all’ type, but last night it occurred to me.
They
are
the types to blackmail and bribe. No one would
notice if Adam, Ryan or Damien had any extra cash; that’s like a
grain of sand on the beach. But Brother of the Year came here with
nothing and it wasn’t until after that poker game that he had
thousands to throw around on baseball games. Now Joel Faulk finds
himself struggling for cash?”

“
So
you think Faulk’s been paying the guys to keep quiet?”

“
I
don’t know, but if he’s been withdrawing funds, his financial
advisor would have some sort of clue, right?”

“
I’m
sure he—or she—would, but I doubt it’s something he’d share with
you. Besides, how would you even know who to ask, and then, how
would you get them to talk?”

She drew herself
up a little straighter and folded her arms across her chest. “You
underestimate me. As you know my paychecks are directly deposited
into our credit union, but player paychecks aren’t. Because so many
professional athletes squandered their millions in the nineties and
wound up bankrupt, their salaries now go into a Point Mutual
account where they are managed by a financial planner.

“
How
do you know that?”

“
Savvy
reporters like me have to pick up clues.
This clue was as big as a billboard—actually,
it
is
a billboard, right behind
center field.
Point Mutual is the official sponsor of the
Soldiers’ Bleachers
, a specific
party section of the ballpark—not only bleachers, but a patio and
food court.
They do several game day giveaways, they have a
club box, and … I asked an intern in the accounting
department.”

“
Ah.
Savvy.”

She turned her
laptop toward him. “Now, the Point Mutual office here in town has a
financial planner, Mr. Sam Masterhead, whose credentials include an
MBA from Northwestern, a love of sports and experience with many
high-profile clients. Also,” Cat cleared her throat and adopted a
phony southern accent, “a Judy from Texas Steaks just called to
verify that a two-hundred-thirty-dollar check we received from a
Mr. Joel Faulk for a real fine cut of ribeyes would clear. He told
us we could confirm it with a Sam something or other?”

“
Aren’t you just …” Benji mocked her accent, “slippery as snot
on a glass doorknob.”

Cat giggled and
resumed her regular voice. “She told me that would be
Mr. Masterhead, but he was out of the office.”

“
How
helpful. Sounds like they run a really tight ship.”

“
We’re
gonna find out because we have an appointment with him at three.
You’re done with your class at two today, right?”

Benji cleared his
throat. “Um … perhaps I’ve misled you, but I have no money to
invest in pork bellies or gold reserves.” His eyes began to twinkle
as he pointed at the life-size Chewbacca. “My portfolio is already
diversified through Wookiee bellies and gold
kryptonite.”

Cat glanced down
at her engagement ring, running her index finger over the gold
band. This wasn’t the first time she’d wondered if its 14K didn’t
stand for kryptonite rather than karat. It didn’t quell her
suspicions when Benji mentioned a desire that his own wedding ring
be a Lord of the Rings replica. She supposed she should be grateful
it wasn’t a Green Lantern power ring.

“
He
doesn’t need to know that you are a big dork with a Comic Con
credit card. I told his secretary we’re looking for a trustworthy
advisor to help us plan for a large sum of money you just inherited
from your Grandfather Levy.”

“
Grandpa Levy passed away when I was in high
school.”

“
What’d he do for a living?”

“
He
was a boilermaker.”

“
He
taught at Purdue?”

Benji laughed.
“No, a
boilermaker
, as in, he welded huge steel containers
that hold liquids and gases under massive amounts of
pressure.”

“
Oh.”
She blushed. “I just thought, since you and your dad were both
teachers, he probably was, too.”

“
My
dad was able to get his teaching degree because of his dad’s hard
work.”

“
Aww.”
She tapped her finger on the table. “That’s a nice story, but not
for a banker. We need something that sounds a little more
one-percenty. How about an oil tycoon?”

Benji laughed.
“There aren’t a whole lot of Jewish immigrants sporting bolos and
cowboy boots in Long Island.”

“
Okay,
then let’s go with real estate investor.”

He gave her a
sidelong glance.

“
What?
" she asked with faux
innocence.
"
He
had a house, didn’t he?”

Benji grabbed an
issue of the
Wall Street Journal
from the office’s coffee
table and held it squarely in front of his face. “Who am I supposed
to be again?”

“
Shh!”
She stole a look at the receptionist’s desk, but the
headset-wearing blonde was busy reading a book. She pulled the
newspaper down to his lap. “You’re you.”

“
Then
who are you supposed to be?”

“
I’m
me. We’re not undercover, we don’t have aliases, we’re just Cat and
Benji … looking for a secure place to put our money.”

“
Right. Grandpa Levy’s legacy. Oil.”

“
No,
real estate.”

“
Real
estate. Did he have a monocle? I’m picturing a monocle.”

She frowned. “He
had whatever you want him to have as long as it comes with an
inheritance.”

“
I
think he had a monocle then. And one of those black top hats.” With
a mock dreamy expression, he sighed, “Dear ol’ Grampy
Warbucks.”

The
receptionist’s phone beeped and she carefully folded down the page
of her book before wiggling out of her seat. “Mr. Masterhead
is ready for you.”

She escorted them
down the hallway, where a
trim,
handsome man in his early forties met them in
the doorway of a corner office.
Sunlight poured through a picture window and reflected off
his short, spiky blond hair, accentuating his bronzed face.
He
drew a
hand out from
the pocket of a crisp pinstriped suit that might grace Gordon
Gekko’s closet
and offered it
to Benji
.

“
I’m
Sam Masterhead. You must be the soon-to-be happy
newlyweds.”

Cat grimaced.
This bothered her more than the nightmares: people jinxing them
before they even got started. How did they know they were going to
be happy? There was almost a fifty percent chance they’d be
squabbling over the crystal before the end of the
decade.

She pasted a
smile on anyway. “Yes, I’m Catriona McDaniel and this is Benjamin
Levy.”

Benji
took the proffered
hand. “Of the
Nevadan Levys.”

Cat suppressed
the urge to shoot him a dirty look as they
occupied
the seats in front of the large
desk. Across from them
the
picture window painted
a spectacular
tableau
of downtown Buffalo, eight stories
below.
The neighboring
skyscrapers weren't crammed into a claustrophobic cluster, but
rather spread out to accommodate trees with fiery foliage of
orange, red, copper and yellow leaves.

“
Nice
to meet you both. I’m very sorry to hear about your
grandfather.”

Benji stared
blankly at him before he blinked with recognition. “Oh, thank you.
Grandfather was a wonderful man; it’s still hard to believe he’s
gone. We shared so many interests—polo, water polo, Ralph Lauren
Polo, and of course, yachting. In fact, I can still picture him out
on the ocean. I like to imagine he’s out there now, still sneering
at the smaller yachts through his monocle.”

Cat avoided eye
contact. One look at
Benji's
dancing blue eyes and she’d blow it. “He did
love the water,”
s
he
added.

Sam cleared his
throat. “Yes, well, I’ll be honest, inheritance assets and estate
management aren’t my specialty, but I’m told you asked for me
directly. Can I ask how you heard about me?”

“
I
work for the Buffalo Soldiers and one of my colleagues gave me your
name. Joel Faulk? I think he’s one of your clients?”

“
He
did?” Sam’s eyebrows met in the middle of his
tan
forehead.

Cat nibbled on
her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, am I mistaken?”

“
No,
it’s not that. I’m just a little surprised Joel would recommend
me.”

“
He
said you were the best.”

“
Huh.”
Sam’s scrutinizing forehead finally relaxed. “I guess I can’t
complain about that. Surprising, though.”

Benji cleared his
throat. “Mr. Masterhead, forgive me for being frank, but is
there something we should know?”

“
No,
no, not at all.” He hesitated and looked back and forth between the
two of them. “I shouldn’t say anything.”

Benji sat forward
in his seat. “I’m sure you agree that an honest and open
relationship is a necessity when looking for a good fit between
clients and their prospective planners.”

Sam nodded. “The
thing is, Joel’s a good kid but uh, well, he sunk some money—a lot
of money—into a high risk investment. I told him it was a bad idea
but he did it anyway.”

Cat shared a
knowing glance with Benji. “We’re kind of high risk people,
too.”

Benji nodded
affirmatively. “Grandfather used to say the first billion is the
hardest to make, but if invested, the second one is pretty
easy.”

Cat
ha
d heard enough of Rich Grampy
Penny
bags. She kicked
his foot, just hard enough to make a point but not so much that Sam
would think it anything but accidental.

Sam was too busy
chortling to notice. “Trust me, you’d have to be high for this
risk.”

“
What
was it?”

“
Oh, I
really shouldn’t—”

“
Mr. Masterhead, with all due respect, I’m not sure we can
invest our money with you if we’re not on the same page.” Benji
scooted closer to the desk and smiled
, a charming half-smile with a dimple to boot
. “Let
us in on the joke.”