A Minor Case of Murder Page 9

  Andy wondered whether he had underestimated the ability of the birders to do damage to his business. Certainly they had been a problem when he first announced his plans to put a team in WhiteSandsBeach. Construction had run over-schedule and over-budget when the birders had successfully managed to hold up the issuance of permits. But once the stadium was complete, the birders had largely faded from sight, an annoyance at times, but not a threat.

  Andy dismissed the birders from consideration, turning his attention to the mail piling up in his inbox. There was the usual fan mail from preadolescent boys. The team turned a profit based on the loyalty of these young boys in their Sand Skeeter jerseys, but there were days that the mountain of fan mail reminded Andy of trash piling up in toxic landfills. Andy set aside the fan mail for cheerier correspondence. Heather Dean's unfortunate demise had set off a legal chain letter, as attorneys representing every imaginable interest checked in with their condolences and their threats. Andy especially enjoyed the letter from their supplier of novelty bats and balls, on sale in the Sand Skeeter gift shop.

  Dear Mr. MacTavish, (Andy read)

  On behalf of the owners of Dizzy Bat, Inc., their employees and families, I would like to express my sincerest condolences on your recent mascot tragedy. I understand that the woman's passing has been ruled accidental. We have, however, learned the hard way that injured parties often seek to assign blame for tragic accidents.

  It is for that reason that I must advise you that Dizzy Bat, Inc. accepts no responsibility if our product is used without regard for the instructions, limitations and warnings which are included with every product shipment. You will note that Dizzy Bat, Inc. clearly advises that its product is not suitable for use as a spinning device without proper training and supervision. On behalf of Dizzy Bat, Inc., I am requesting that you forward a copy of the training protocol used by the Sand Skeeter Baseball Club to insure that all participants in any dizzy bat entertainment are fully trained in the proper safety techniques. If you utilize the safety program offered by Dizzy Bat, you can simply sign and return the enclosed affidavit attesting to the fact that Ms. Dean completed the approved forty-hour dizzy bat safety training program prior to being permitted by the Sand Skeeter Baseball Club to participate in the aforementioned dizzy bat entertainment.

  I trust that it will not be necessary for Dizzy Bat, Inc. to take any further action to protect our interests as a result of this unfortunate accident. I thank you for your prompt attention to this matter. Again, my sincerest condolences on this most unfortunate tragedy.

  Sincerely, Saviano, Esq.

  Chuckling at the thought of his own attorney reading Mr. Saviano's letter, Andy took the correspondence from Dizzy Bat, Inc. and added it to the rapidly growing list of items earmarked for Mr.

  Garibaldi's action. Andy took solace in the knowledge that Mr. Garibaldi was about to earn his retainer.

  Andy returned to the pile of unread mail, finding yet another letter vying for his immediate attention. In light of the unfortunate events that marked the finale of the inaugural season of Sand Skeeter baseball, the limited partners were requesting a meeting.

  Like any successful businessman, Andy used other people's money to share the risk in exchange for a limited piece of the profits and an even more limited voice in the business decisions. It had been a mutually satisfactory arrangement, up until the moment Ms. Dean passed away on the pitcher's mound. Andy allowed himself to ponder what karmic atrocity could account for the sudden change in his fate before he snapped back into business mode, calculating how these new business circumstances could be used to his best advantage. Andy was interrupted in his calculations by a knock on his office door.

  Andy made it a point to know all of the officers in the White Sands Police Department. It was good business, he knew, to support the local PBA. Still, he did not recognize this young black woman standing in his doorway. "Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you?" Walking to the doorway in greeting, Andy added, "We can talk inside."

  The detective followed him back into the private office. "I'm investigating the disappearance of Donna Carter." She watched Andy closely, looking for the gesture that would tell her whether Andy's surprise was genuine.

  Andy spoke slowly, evenly. "I didn't realize that Ms. Carter's absence was a police matter."

  "At this point, we are treating her disappearance as a missing persons case."

  Andy remembered a recent conversation with his attorney. "At this point?"

  The detective chose not to respond to Andy's obvious question. "When was the last time you saw Ms. Carter?"

  Andy MacTavish explained the team's schedule during the final week of the season. The mascot did not travel with the team to away games. With three away games leading up to the final home game, it had been a full week prior to Ms. Dean's unfortunate accident since Andy had seen Donna Carter.

  It seemed to Andy that the detective was not convinced. "And you have no further knowledge regarding her whereabouts?"

  Andy was quick to respond. "No."

  "Well, anyway, thank you for your time, Mr. MacTavish."

  "Thank you, Detective …" Andy paused, realizing that she still had not told him her name.

  The detective turned to leave. When she reached the door, she paused for a moment, looking back at Andy MacTavish. "Oh, by the way, Mr. MacTavish, if you speak to your brother Billy, please let him know that Detective Sububie would like to talk to him about Ms. Carter." And with that, the newest member of the White Sands detective squad walked out the door, leaving Andy alone in an empty office, in an empty ballpark, in an empty beach town, alone with the rhythms of the off-season in WhiteSandsBeach.

  Andy dialed the telephone, unsure of what he wanted to say.

  "You have reached the voice mail of Cassie O'Malley. Please leave a message at the beep." Beep.

  "Uh, Cassie … it's me … Andy. Call me … no, wait, I mean … I miss you, Cassie. Somehow my house … I mean … anyway, I need your help with something … no, that doesn't sound right … I mean, I'm not calling because I need your help … well, actually, I do need your help, but I mean … I guess what I mean is … when can I see you again? Geez, this must sound pathetic, huh? Anyway, call me, okay?"

  At the other end of the telephone line, in her condo in Doah, Cassie listened to Andy struggling to leave a message. In the background, Cheyenne Harbrough was screaming at the television. The too-earnest nerd scientist was desperately trying to reach his ingénue assistant to warn her of the impending danger. But the ingénue assistant was too busy to answer the phone and Cheyenne was screaming at the ingénue to "pick up the telephone," but the actress wasn't taking Cheyenne's advice. Neither was Cassie.

  Cheyenne was disappointed by the ingénue assistant. Cheyenne was disappointed by Cassie. "Why didn't you pick up the phone?"

  Purgatory

  Time had never passed more slowly, Donna decided, than it had during the three days alone with Spit, waiting for the floodwaters to recede.

  "That's the charm of the neighborhood," Spit explained, "and the challenge."

  Donna laughed good-naturedly at Spit's explanation. "Doesn't a neighborhood imply neighbors?"

  Spit gave Donna's objection serious consideration. "I guess neighborhood is the wrong word for this place, huh? What would you call it, Donna?"

  Donna had a ready response. "Purgatory, Spit. This place is purgatory."

  "You may be right, Donna, but take a look. I think your wait is just about over."

  Donna looked. The floodwaters had finally retreated, the raised wooden path back to the mainland reasonably safe and dry. Even as they spoke, Donna recognized Madame Alexina making her way easily toward Spit's cottage.

  "Omigod, Spit, you're right." Donna had never been so elated by the promise of psychic assistance. "I'm going home." Donna wanted to run inside and pack, but she had arrived at purgatory without baggage and would leave that way as well.

  Spit loved it when a plan came together. "Let's wait and
see what Madame Alexina has to say."

  By the time Madame Alexina reached the house, Donna was hopping up and down on the deck, giddy with anticipation. "Wheeee. I'm going home!"

  But Madame Alexina counseled caution. "We still don't know what really happened to Heather."

  Donna wasn't listening. "Look, at the ballpark when Heather collapsed, I'll admit I was pretty freaked out, but c'mon, whatever happened to Heather was an accident, wasn't it?"

  Madame Alexina brought Donna up-to-date on the investigation. "The police have ruled Heather's death an accident, a case of heat stroke, the effects magnified by the alcohol and the costume."

  Donna was already running up the path when Madame Alexina called her back. "But I have also heard that the police regret that they closed the case so quickly. Something has come up, I don't know what, that has the police getting ready to reopen the investigation."

  Spit sided with Madame Alexina. "Besides, do you really want to trust your life to the police?"

  Donna desperately wanted to go home, but something about Madame Alexina's counsel gave her pause. "But what about Billy? He must be going crazy by now. At least, I have to talk to Billy."

  Madame Alexina envied Donna's young love. "I know how you feel, Donna, really I do. But the truth is, it could be dangerous if Billy knew where you were."

  Donna jumped to Billy's defense. "C'mon, we're talking Billy here. Why would it be dangerous to see Billy?"

  Her years of performing psychic readings had taught Madame Alexina to deflect the tough questions with another question. "Why do you think it could be dangerous?"

  When Donna chose not to respond, Madame Alexina made a suggestion. "Let's go inside and sit down. Perhaps I could do a reading." With that, Madame Alexina entered the cottage, Spit just behind her. Nothing was stopping Donna from walking up the path and heading back to the mainland. Still, she told herself, it would be silly to disregard Madame Alexina's warning. Besides, after the reading, she could still make the decision to leave. Donna walked back inside Spit's stilt house.

  Madame Alexina was rummaging through her enormous handbag, shaking her head and muttering. "Damn, I must have left them in my other bag." Turning to Spit, she added, "Do you still have that deck of Tarot cards I gave you?"

  Spit looked away, avoiding her gaze until he came up with an idea, asking, "Could you use my baseball cards instead?"

  Madame Alexina prided herself on her flexibility. "I'll improvise."

  Spit kept his collection of baseball cards in an old shoebox. Madame Alexina spent the better part of an hour going through the box, feeling the vibrations in each card and checking the lifetime stats of the ballplayers before settling on some fifty-six cards.

  "These will do for the minor arcana." Madame Alexina turned toward Spit in challenge. "These are your common cards, Spit. I need your good cards for the major arcana."

  Spit briefly considered holding out, but he knew that Madame Alexina would only wear him down. He retrieved a smaller box from deep in his closet. Madame Alexina removed each card from its protective sleeve, rubbed the cards, even bent a few in half and sniffed the edges of the superstars before assembling the twenty-two cards that would represent the major arcana.

  Madame Alexina shuffled the deck expertly and dealt the cards expertly into piles between herself and Donna. ("In a former life," she confided, "I was a dealer in Atlantic City.") In what seemed to Donna to be a random pattern, Madame Alexina selected several cards and turned them face up—Derek Jeter, Ken Griffey Jr., Josh Beckett, Jason Kendall. Each time she exposed a card she grunted and buried the card deep in the deck. She repeated this routine four or five times without saying a word. Finally she announced that the cards were ready. Donna was too nervous by then to respond; she kept her eyes focused on Madame Alexina's hands and on the baseball cards that would reveal her future.

  Madame Alexina reshuffled the deck. "Normally I would do a general reading, to set the tone, before attempting to answer a specific question." She paused. "Under the circumstances, I think we can all agree to bypass the general reading and get right to the question at hand."

  Spit and Donna nodded in unison.

  Madame Alexina was pleased. "Good. Let's begin." With that she cut the deck and placed five cards out on the table, explaining her actions as she proceeded with the reading.

  "There are many different ways that the cards can be arranged, even more ways they might be interpreted. Over time, each spiritualist develops an affinity for the arrangement that is uniquely suited for his or her individual talents."

  Madame Alexina fanned out the five cards in an arc on the table. "Over time, I have found this design to be especially revealing."

  Madame Alexina peered directly at Donna. "Now tell me, Donna, what would you like to ask the cards?"

  Donna didn't know whether to laugh or cry, to scream or just to get up and leave. "Ask the cards if it's safe for me to go home."

  Madame Alexina turned the first of the five cards face up. "Gary Sheffield," she read aloud, "Florida Marlins." Turning her attention to Spit, she said, "Tell me something about Gary Sheffield."

  Spit thought for a moment. "Well, for one thing, I didn't realize he used to play for the Marlins." Spit explained, "He's the right fielder for the New York Yankees. A huge offensive weapon. Clutch."

  Madame Alexina quietly soaked in Gary Sheffield's aura. "Some people don't think the first card is terribly important, but in some ways it is the key to the success of the reading. You can't possibly expect to get the right answer unless you ask the right question. The purpose of the first card is to help us to understand that question."

  Donna wasn't sure if she was supposed to say anything, if she was allowed to say anything. "So what does Gary Sheffield mean to you?"

  "I might just as easily ask what Gary Sheffield means to you." Madame Alexina paused, before continuing with her reading. "Gary Sheffield is the ten of swords. He tells me that you must treat your question with the respect that it deserves. You are asking the right question, but you fail to recognize how incredibly serious the question is. You wish to minimize the danger, but Gary Sheffield tells me that things truly are as bad as they appear. And so we must approach the question with a seriousness of purpose, for the consequences of a wrong answer could be devastating.

  "The second card will help us understand what's important in the background." Madame Alexina challenged Donna with her eyes and she turned over the second card … Billy Ripken. Madame Alexina turned again to Spit. "I thought his name was Cal Ripken."

  Spit looked confused. "So did I."

  Madame Alexina examined the card more closely, reading aloud. "William Oliver Ripken … Baltimore Orioles …1987 … teamed up with his brother Cal, Jr., and his father Cal, Sr. It doesn't take a psychic to interpret this card. Anyone?"

  Spit raised his hand as if he were back in high school. It was rare that Spit knew the answer and he waved his arm excitedly. "Ooooh, pick me."

  "Spit?"

  Spit was beaming. "Family, right?"

  Madame Alexina grinned. "Maybe." Shifting her attention, she added, "Donna, what do you think?"

  "I don't think so."

  Spit's face dropped. "I was sure I had that one right."

  Madame Alexina, too, thought Spit might be right, so she decided to probe more deeply. "Tell me a little bit about your family."

  "I don't have family." Donna was almost belligerent in her response. "I left home when I was fourteen. It's been eight years since I've seen them."

  Madame Alexina recognized that Donna wasn't ready to talk about her family. "Tell you what, let's just take a look at the third card."

  Madame Alexina flipped over the next baseball card … Mickey Mantle.

  The Mick's presence at the reading excited Spit. "Holy shit … I didn't even know I owned a Mantle." Spit's interest in the reading was renewed by the Yankee superstar. "What can you tell from the Mick's card?"

  Madame Alexina thought for a moment. "Wel
l … either Donna is a switch-hitting farm boy with bad knees, or she's a dreamer … her head in the clouds … when it's not in the bottle."

  Donna felt a sudden yearning for a shot of peppermint schnapps. "Am I allowed to have a drink?" Donna saw the look on Madame Alexina's face and quickly added, "Maybe later."

  Madame Alexina turned over the fourth card, revealing Osbourne Earl Smith, all-star shortstop, St. Louis Cardinals. She examined the card closely, letting Ozzie work his magic. "The world is a place of extraordinary forces, forces pushing us to find our center and at the same time pulling us into temptation. The trick is to find a way to balance these forces."

  Donna was puzzled. "Do you mean moderation in all things?"

  Madame Alexina snorted at the mention of moderation. "If I meant moderation, I would say moderation. Balance, Donna, the key is balance."

  "I don't understand."

  "Okay, think of it this way. Imagine a seesaw, you know what I mean, right?"

  Donna nodded and Madame Alexina continued.

  "Okay then, the key to balancing the scale isn't to limit yourself to small weights. The key to balancing the seesaw is equal, but opposite, weights."

  "Equal, but opposite?"

  "Yes, Donna. The key to balance is to embrace the opposite."

  Donna was beginning to understand. "So I have to find my opposite, to balance me on the seesaw."

  Madame Alexina smiled. "Almost, Donna. But you're not sitting on one end of the seesaw. You are the seesaw. Be the seesaw, Donna."

  Spit gasped. "Wow, you're good."

  Madame Alexina laughed heartily. "And I still have one card left."

  Madame Alexina revealed the final card … Blue Moon Odom. She stared at the card, saying nothing.