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“You have a player on the team?”
She looks at me. She’s pretty. Late twenties. A little weariness around the eyes, maybe. “No. My husband is the coach. But I used to play, so I can’t stop myself. I sort of want to get out there.”
“What position?”
“Short stop.” She looks at me. “For the Hopkins Lions.”
The hitter smacks the ball high out to right field, and it’s easily nabbed.
“Did your husband play baseball?”
“Yep. We were high school sweethearts.”
The next batter comes up. She helps Junior clap.
“Cute. How old is he?”
“Fourteen months.” She gives him a kiss. “Samuel Ezekiel Swenson. Long awaited child.” She looks at me. “We’ve been married seven years, so Samuel is a real gift.”
She leaves out the details, but I can guess. Infertility struggles probably, given the delay.
The batter hits a line drive through the shortstop’s legs and the crowd groans at the base hit.
“Gretta would have caught that,” says someone nearby and beside me, Angie stiffens.
“Gretta?” I keep my voice easy.
“Our short stop. She was…well, she, uh, she passed away.” She looks straight ahead, and swallows. “Yesterday.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Mmmhmm. C’mon, Hornets!” She glances at me, cuts her voice down. “She was a little troubled. Ran away from home. Robert was trying to help her. He met with her once in a while to talk.”
I think she sees Burke standing a few feet away because she stills, then glances at me. “Are you with him?”
I nod slowly. “But we’re just having a friendly chat. I was a little curious, however, about something.”
She looks back at the game. It’s two-and three, full count. The crowd is cheering. “Who are you?”
“My name is Rembrandt Stone. I’m a detective.” I slide out my ID, let her have a quick glance, then tuck it away.
“What do you want?”
“Just a couple quick answers to a couple quick questions.”
She doesn’t respond so I dive in. “What’s your husband driving these days?”
She looks at me, one brow down. “A Corvette.”
“Except on practice days, I’ll bet, huh? Because he has to take the caravan to the field to haul equipment.”
Her mouth tightens. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“Hard to get the car seat in a Corvette.”
She looks at me and frowns. “Mmmhmm.”
My mind is pinging back to Teresa’s comment about the cars outside. Nothing out of the ordinary.
