“I’ll figure it out. You guys take care of yourselves, okay?” She gave Tessa a swift hug. “I’m really glad I got to meet you.”
“We’ll see each other again,” Tessa assured her. Sadie forced a smile. The way Caleb had acted, she wasn’t so sure about that.
“I hope so,” she murmured.
Back in the restaurant, she said a quick good-bye to the twins, who seemed unfazed by the change in plans. The poor Hartwell family must be used to crazy disasters striking out of nowhere.
In the end she called Caleb’s friend, Mike Solo. He didn’t hesitate or ask questions. He met her outside Caleb’s apartment, where all the lights were off and there was no sign of either Bingo or Caleb. She left the Jeep, then texted Caleb that the keys were in the mailbox.
No answer.
Feeling numb and confused, she climbed into the passenger seat of Mike’s old Chevy Cavalier. Mike’s tousled hair looked as if a family of squirrels had spent the night there.
“I heard the news on the radio,” he told her right away, to her enormous relief. She hadn’t looked forward to filling him in. “This is going to really mess with Caleb. I know the dude pretty well, but there’s a whole lotta shit that’s off-limits with him.”
“Yeah,” Sadie said with a hint of bitterness. “I’m starting to figure that out.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence. Sadie had the sense that Mike was turning something over in his mind, but everything that wasn’t Caleb seemed very far away and uninteresting to her. Had Tessa managed to find him? Were they having a heart-to-heart about their wayward father right now? Why wouldn’t he even give her a chance? She kept remembering the way he’d tossed those keys at her, as if he didn’t want her to come one step closer.
She directed Mike to her house, and as soon as they reached it, jumped out. Before she could close the door behind her, he leaned across the passenger seat. “Don’t give up on him, Sadie. If you care about him, hang in there. He’s going to need you, whether he knows it or not.”
A thousand replies shot through her mind. How was she supposed to “hang in there” when he wouldn’t even allow her to be “there”? If he turned to his sister during a crisis, what was she to him other than a fun time in bed? Of course she cared about him—she loved him. But that didn’t mean he felt the same. Maybe she was just a . . . a driver of his car. A chauffeur with benefits.
She needed to get off this crazy train, fast. “Thanks for the ride, Mike. And the advice. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but she didn’t give him a chance, fleeing up the path to her front door and slipping inside. The dim glow under her mother’s bedroom door told her the television was on, but Brenda often fell asleep to the tune of QVC shopping or late night Law and Order episodes. Not that her mother would be much help. Sadie could practically write the script for her.
I told you to stay away from boys. They might seem like smitten kittens at the beginning, but you can’t trust that. It’s after you’ve given them everything you have that you find out their true nature, Sadie. How many times do we have to learn the same darn lesson, sugarpie? How many times are you going to put me through this?
No, better to let her mom sleep. She’d get the news soon enough, if not from the newspaper, then from the ultimate source of news in Kilby. The Kroger checkout counter.
The next morning, a text from Tessa told her that Caleb was safe at home and she and the twins were headed back to Plano. No matter how often she checked her texts, nothing showed up from Caleb. With a leaden feeling she drove to work at seven-thirty, a full hour and a half early. Black coffee in hand, she spread the newspaper out on her desk and plunged in. The main article was written by Burwell Brown; the sight of his byline felt like a stab in the back.
Thurston Hartwell II is still in custody in the Kilby County Jail today, one day after the news broke that he was allegedly spearheading a bookmaking operation centered around minor league baseball. Bookmaking is illegal in the state of Texas. At Caleb Hart’s home, detectives were seen removing a computer and other files. None would comment on who the computer belongs to or why they were seizing it.
The accompanying photo of two uniformed police officers leaving Caleb’s house, loaded down with boxes and a computer, made Sadie feel ill.
Gambling on baseball is legal, either through a land-based or online sportsbook, though there has never been much interest in large-scale betting on the minor leagues. Proposition bets—on relatively trivial issues such as who will get the first hit or how long an inning will last—are fairly common among the fans in the stands. Such gambling is considered harmless and entertaining.
As added concern in this case is that Hartwell is the father of an active player. It is against the rules for anyone connected with baseball to place any kind of wager on a game. The notorious case of Pete Rose still haunts Major League Baseball to this day. Many questions are still open. Did Caleb Hart’s father use his access to a player to gain an edge in his illegal gambling schemes? Did Caleb Hart know what his father was doing? Did he ever succumb to the temptation to throw a game to benefit his father—or even his own pocketbook?
The general sense among Catfish fans calling into the local radio sports show this morning could be described as “wait-and-see” with a healthy dose of outrage.
“I’m not saying this happened, because no one’s saying exactly what happened yet,” said one longtime Kilby baseball fan who uses the name Dagwood, “but the way Hart was pitching, like he was on some kind of roller-coaster ride, it almost makes you wonder if there wasn’t a reason for all those crappy starts. If he pitched bad just so he could collect his winnings, well, that’s just darn pathetic.”
None of Hart’s teammates on the Catfish would comment. Crush Taylor, owner of the Catfish, had this to say: “In this country, you’re innocent until proven guilty, and I hope everyone will remember that. I hope they get this sorted out fast so we can get back to playing the great game of baseball.”
Mayor Trent could not be reached for comment either. The mayor has recently begun working with the Catfish on a promotional campaign on behalf of the endangered horn-toed slug. A representative of the group, reached late last night, said, “If this brings attention to the plight of the slugs, then maybe some good will come out of the situation.”
Something else, perhaps not so good, has definitely come from the situation. Caleb Hart had been scheduled to join the San Diego Friars to fill the spot in the lineup left by injured pitcher Ian Sullivan, but a call to the San Diego front office revealed that those plans are now cancelled, pending more details about the case.
Oh, poor Caleb. Sadie dropped her head onto her desk, inhaling the scent of newsprint and coffee. Everything had just been ruined for him in one fell swoop. The news was much, much worse than she’d feared. Never in her most dire imaginings had she thought that Caleb himself might be implicated.
But he wasn’t, not for sure. She scanned the article again. Everything was questions and speculation—there was nothing that actually said the authorities were looking into Caleb’s possible involvement. Didn’t they know he had a horrible relationship with his father? Didn’t he tell them that? How could such a one-sided article go to print?
On impulse, she picked up her phone and called Burwell Brown. When he answered, her anger almost got the best of her. “Nice article.”
“Thanks. What’s up, kid? It’s crazy over here today. I haven’t gotten this much attention from an article since I reported on the UFO spottings over the bell tower.”
The exultation in his voice made her even more furious. “That’s what this is about for you, isn’t it? Maybe you’ll get your name in the national news. But if you’d done the least bit of actual investigating you’d know that your insinuations about Caleb are complete crap.”
“Caleb Hart? What do you know about it? Ah, that’s right. You’ve been working with him on the slug thing.”
“Why didn
’t you call me for a comment? I could have told you that whatever Bingo did, it had nothing to do with Caleb. He doesn’t even like his father. He’s the furthest thing from a con man that he could be.”
“Sadie—”
“I’ll give you a comment right now. No way on God’s green earth did Caleb do anything the least bit illegal. You should be ashamed of yourself, Burwell.”
She realized her voice had risen nearly to a shout. Standing up, she glanced around the cubicle area, relieved to find she was still the only one at work.
“Are you . . . involved with Caleb Hart, Sadie?” Brown’s voice had shifted, become more alert.
“Um . . . no comment.” He couldn’t print that. Quite honestly, she wasn’t sure if she was involved with Caleb anymore. She might be nothing but his chauffeur with benefits.
“Because I have to warn you that it’s not going to look good for you at the mayor’s office. The slug connection is one thing, but if the mayor’s assistant has been dating a Catfish player linked to a gambling scandal . . .” He whistled. “Hoo boy, things are gonna get nasty if that’s the case.”
“It isn’t,” she said quickly. “Like you said, I’ve been working with Caleb and I’ve gotten to know him. I’m just telling you what I know about him, that he has a lot of integrity and loves baseball and would never do anything to harm his career like that.”
“Is this an official quote, as Mayor Trent’s assistant? Because I would suggest you talk to your boss before you go making any public statement. I’ll take a quote, don’t get me wrong. But I’m looking out for you here, Sadie.” His voice was kind, maybe kinder than she deserved after her accusations against him. “Do you want all the gossip to start up again?”
Oh fireballs. He was right. “I . . . I’d better wait and talk to the mayor.”
She hung up, feeling about as low as she ever had in her life, as if she’d just abandoned Caleb when he needed her most.
Chapter 22
CALEB WAS TRAPPED in a nightmare, one he’d lived before. The cops knocking at the door. Carting off his stuff. Bingo taken to jail. Calls to lawyers. Calls from his agent. The press. Duke, Crush, Mike Solo.
Okay, some of the details had changed, but the essence hadn’t. Once again his life had been thrown into chaos by Thurston “Bingo” Hartwell II.
The Friars put him on personal leave. They couldn’t suspend him because there was no proof he’d done anything wrong. But still, it meant no baseball. No escape from the events unfolding around him. No safe haven where he could focus on ball, motion, glove.
He wanted to call Sadie, nearly called her a million times. Maybe more. But the bad news cascading around him made it impossible. He didn’t want to drag her into his mess. That wouldn’t be fair to her. If she was really smart, she’d use this as an opportunity to put him in the rearview mirror¸ like a bad taco joint that had given her a stomachache.
Against the advice of his lawyer, he visited Bingo in the Kilby jail, located in the Kilby County Courthouse, around the corner from City Hall. All on their own, his eyes scanned every inch of the blocks surrounding the city government structures. Was that her, the girl reflected in the window of the coffee shop? Or the girl jogging in place, staring up at the statue of Colonel Kilby on his rearing horse? Every flash of red clothing put him on alert; every time it didn’t belong to Sadie, his heart fell.
It was for the best. He had Bingo to deal with, and she had a reputation to salvage. No matter how much he longed to see her—even a glimpse of her, from a distance—protecting her was more important.
So he put her from his mind and strode into the county jail. After following the all-too-familiar check-in procedure, he sat down at the designated table and waited.
Bingo looked rumpled and panicky, and he wore the same clothes he’d been wearing the last time Caleb saw him at the baseball game, which felt like a thousand years ago.
“You hate me,” he said right away, stopping halfway across the room, the guard nearly stumbling onto his heels. His cerulean blue eyes were round as a baby’s, or a naughty kid facing a spanking.
“What do you think?” Caleb ground out the words, because he didn’t want to let Bingo off the hook, but it was so much more complicated than “hate.” Hate would be easy. But this, this confusing stew of worry, shame, and fury . . .
“It’s not what it looks like, Caleb. I swear it isn’t.” Bingo plopped down onto the seat across the table.
“Wow, this is going to be good. What are you talking about?”
“I’m innocent.” A lying, choirboy face like that ought to be illegal.
“Good. Because the police are analyzing my computer right now. The computer I fucking forgot I even had, stuck in a box somewhere. They won’t find anything because you’re innocent, right? No bets, no bank transfers, no e-mails, nothing?”
Bingo blinked rapidly. “Okay, not that kind of innocent. But it’s not what you think.”
“Did you need the money that bad? What about your job at the coffee shop? Was that just a front? Something to throw me off the track?”
Bingo thrust his hands into his hair. “I wish I could explain.”
“I’m not stopping you.”
“I . . . I can’t.” He shook his head violently.
Of course he couldn’t. Because there was no explanation besides the obvious one. He was a freaking criminal. “Just tell me this,” he said savagely. “Did you bet against me, Bingo? Did you make a profit from my slump? That’s all I want to know, then you and I are done.”
“I didn’t. No,” Bingo said hoarsely, fixing his eyes desperately on Caleb. “I didn’t make any profit.” But then he snapped his mouth shut, his cheeks bulging with the air he’d just sucked in.
“No profit? I guess there’s not much money to be made on a minor league fuck-up pitcher. I don’t know why you even wasted your time on the Catfish. Why couldn’t you keep your dirt out of baseball?”
Bingo clapped his hand over his mouth, every bit of his face turning red with strain. It looked like he was trying to physically keep something inside. More excuses? Explanations? Rationalizations? The webs this man could spin would put Spider-Man to shame.
Caleb decided he’d had enough. He rose to his feet. “I’m putting your stuff in storage. I asked about bail, but since you violated your parole with this crap, there’s no chance of that. You’re probably safer in jail anyway. Crush Taylor is one pissed-off owner right now.”
Bingo dropped his hand, looking crushed. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I don’t know what else to say. I wish I could say more, but I can’t. It’d just be worse, trust me.”
“Trust you? You betrayed me. I took you in, I gave you a second chance, and you screwed me to the wall. Who’s supposed to take care of the kids now? Where’s the money supposed to come from? I was heading to the Friars, and you fucked it up. Now you’re sorry?” Incredulous, Caleb shook his head, then turned to go.
“You didn’t,” burst out Bingo.
“Didn’t what?”
“You never gave me a second chance. You never will.”
“You got that right.”
After Caleb left the jail, he was too filled with adrenaline to do anything but walk, just as he had the night the news first broke. He walked fast and furious, picking empty side streets and vacant lots. The heat beat down on his head, generating a flow of sweat down his temples and the back of his neck. It felt good. He wanted to be wrung out. Exhausted. Spent.
He left the quaint downtown area in short order and found himself in a more run-down part of town, where kids played basketball in the middle of the street and no blade of grass felt the benefit of a sprinkler.
He shouldn’t complain. He had a healthy body, a valuable skill, a baseball contract. Most people around the world would envy him. He wasn’t complaining. But sometimes he felt that his entire life was a banquet he couldn’t touch. He was a major league pitcher who couldn’t pitch in the fucking majors. He was a man who fell for a woman he couldn’t
be with. A son who wanted so badly to help his father—but couldn’t.
The truth of it struck him hard. Inviting Bingo to move in with him had been his way of trying to build a bridge between them. But once Bingo was there, he could barely look at him. Bingo was right. He’d never given his father a real second chance. He didn’t want him to attend his games, he didn’t spend any time with him. When he did—because sometimes he couldn’t avoid it—he practically wanted to jump out of his skin.
Was this partly his fault, because he’d been so hard to get along with? If he’d been more welcoming to Bingo, if he’d hung around him more, maybe none of this would have happened. For one thing, his father wouldn’t have had time to get into trouble. Damn, he should have hired the man as an assistant and kept an eye on him 24/7.
He paused next to a group of kids playing whiffle ball. One wore a Yankees shirt with the number 36. Beltran. Outstanding hitter, especially in the postseason. He could read the curve ball like nobody’s business. Better to start him with a slider, or maybe a split-finger fastball. Always a chance he’d swing at an inside fastball.
He realized he’d spoken out loud when the kid stopped and stared at him. “This is whiffle ball, man. Ain’t no inside fastball here.”
“Yeah. Sorry. Have fun, guys.” He walked on as the kids shrugged and went back to their game.
It might be whiffle ball, but it had a lot in common with baseball. The game went on, no matter what any one individual did. That thought lightened his mood a little. The game had survived Pete Rose, the Black Sox scandal, and the dead ball era. It would survive Bingo and Caleb Hart.
He might not be around to enjoy it, but it was something.
Mayor Trent was out of the office all morning, but as soon as she strode through the door around three, she beckoned Sadie to follow her into her private office. With her heart in her mouth, Sadie closed the file she was working on and joined the mayor inside. The tense silence was punctuated by the lazy buzzing of a fly that kept bumping into one of the windowpanes.
All of Me Page 23
