The Pinch Runner Page 10

  Shocking Sandra, Cliff laughed at him. For a second, Sandra was certain Brendan was going to hit the pastor, but then he seemed to get control of himself and came into the dugout. Sandra held her breath. She could feel the anger rolling off him in waves of heat, and she pulled the stroller closer to her. Now she was really glad the Bickfords had shown up, so that Peter wasn’t allowed to go out onto the field with this man. Also because if Brendan got violent and decided to go after somebody else with an old bat, she was certain the Bickfords could take him.

  As promised, Pastor Cliff put Brendan into the game when New Hope took the field again, and it didn’t take long for Faith Community to figure out that the third base line was now the spot to shoot for. They fouled off a lot of pitches, leaving Pastor Cliff holding his lower back between offerings, but the ones that stayed fair promised them base runners. Though the short fielder played directly behind Brendan, it was still too much of a throw to first base.

  And so, slowly but surely, Faith Community crept back into the game. At the bottom of the sixth, Ton Truck again pleaded for reason. “Come on, man. I can end this.”

  Pastor Cliff pretended not to hear him. “This game is just for fun. It’s not about winning and losing.”

  Of course it’s not about winning if you insist on throwing every pitch. Sandra was a little embarrassed at how annoyed she was with the whole thing, and hoped no one could tell. Peter had taken Joanna to the playground, and she was grateful—her kids always knew when she was annoyed.

  “Is it always this dramatic?” Ethel asked.

  “No. The drama has definitely picked up since the Bickfords came aboard.”

  Lewis barked for the lineup, which was extra ridiculous this time since he wasn’t in it. Maybe he thought Pastor had put him in the game without telling him.

  Nevertheless, Sandra dutifully called out the lineup, taking a silent thrill in the fact that the next four batters were Bickfords.

  Chapter 27

  It was a squeaker, but thanks to the Bickford family, New Hope was victorious over Faith Community. Everyone celebrated except for Pastor Cliff, who pretended he did not care. Or maybe he truly didn’t. Sandra didn’t know.

  “Can you hang out here for another second?” she whispered to Ethel. “I’m going to go talk to Daphne.”

  “You mean you’re going to go snoop?”

  Sandra smirked.

  “Go, go, of course.” Ethel waved her away from the stroller and then engaged Sammy in a game of peekaboo.

  Sandra made a beeline for Daphne, before she could get away. She sat down in front of her on the bleachers and tried to give her a sincere smile. “I’m so sorry for all that you’re going through—”

  “Save it. I know who you are, that you like to pretend to be a detective, and I’m not telling you anything.”

  Whoah. “I’m sorry?”

  It was difficult to read her expression through her giant sunglasses. Had she put those glasses on to hide the fact that she’d been crying? “Just mind your own business!”

  “Daphne, I’m just trying to be kind here. I’m truly—”

  She stood up abruptly. “You’ve never been kind to me before. Now my father-in-law kills someone and we’re suddenly besties? I hardly think so.” She grabbed her daughter’s arm and began to pull her out of the bleachers.

  Sandra stood too and stepped in front of her. She lowered her voice. “You just said he killed someone. Do you really think that? Because I don’t.” She leaned closer to the frigid woman. “I want to help Richard.”

  Daphne pushed her aside with such force that Sandra almost toppled sideways out of the bleachers. “And I’m telling you that we don’t want or need your help!” She raised her chin and directed her voice out onto the field. “Yes, it’s true!” she cried out, her voice stronger than Sandra ever would have imagined it could be. “My father-in-law, Richard Barney, is an evil man. Always has been! So, now you all know!”

  Brendan came running at his wife with fire in his eyes. If she saw him coming, she didn’t care. The girl in her clutch started to cry, but Sandra didn’t know if it was from her mother’s grip or her horrific words. Sandra headed toward them with the intent of grabbing the child out of that painful grasp.

  “You can all say what you want about him! I don’t care! We’ll be moving away from all you ignorant hicks soon enough—”

  Sandra reached them at the same time as Brendan, and in the end, didn’t need to do anything, because when Brendan grabbed for his wife, she promptly let go of her daughter. He hissed something into her ear and then dragged her toward the SUV with such force that it jostled her glasses off her face. Her girls trailed behind her and the oldest one stooped to pick up the glasses as she walked by—notably unrattled by her circumstances.

  The field was completely silent. Those who had already headed for their cars peppered the parking lot. They were half-changed out of their sweats, standing there with their trunks open or their fingers on their door handles—the entire scene had frozen when Daphne had delivered her diatribe, and no one seemed to know how to thaw it. Pastor Cliff slunk away with his duffel bag over his shoulder.

  Suddenly, Bob appeared directly behind Sandra. She started to whirl around. He grabbed her elbow to steady her. “Don’t look at me.”

  She nodded her understanding and muttered through closed teeth. “Did you hear all that?”

  “Sure did. Now do you think he’s guilty?”

  “Sure don’t.”

  Bob chuckled, a response she still found rewarding. Making an angel laugh never got old. “I wonder if these people are ever going to leave? Are they hoping for more of a show?”

  At first, she didn’t say anything. She pretended to scratch her nose so she could cover her mouth while she spoke. “I’m not sure, and I’m not sure how to make them leave.”

  The lightning was so bright it hurt her eyes, and simultaneous thunder cracked so loudly that everyone jumped. Sandra almost fell out of the bleachers again, but Bob grabbed her to steady her. The heavens started gushing rain before she’d figured out what was happening. Everyone sprang into action, grabbed their children, their gear, and their lawn furniture and rushed for cover—including Ethel, who came toward her pushing the stroller over the uneven ground.

  Sandra found her voice. “Did you just make this happen?” But when she turned to look at Bob, he was gone again. She ran toward Ethel and grabbed the stroller. “I’m so sorry!”

  “Don’t be sorry! You didn’t make it rain!”

  But hadn’t she? Sort of? “Thank you so much for your help! I owe you huge!”

  “You don’t owe me a thing!” At least, that’s what Sandra thought she said, as the tail end of her statement was carried away by the wind that had come from nowhere and was now blowing Sandra toward her minivan. She squinted through the downpour to check the swing set, but her kids weren’t there. Oh no. Her panicked eyes checked the distance to the van and were so grateful to see that Peter and Joanna were closer to it than she was. Peter was dragging Joanna by one arm, and Joanna didn’t even look mad about it. They jumped into the van and then the van started to move. For one panicked second, Sandra thought her husband had forgotten about Sammy and her, but then she realized he was coming for her.

  He stopped right in front of her. “Grab Sammy and get in the front!” he hollered. “Forget the car seat! I’ll get the stroller.” She did as she was told, and as she climbed into the front, she felt the wind from the back gate being open. The van had become a wind tunnel. She looked back at Ethel. “Get in the back! We’ll drive you to your car!” She slammed the front door.

  Joanna moved to the way back of the van to make room for Ethel as she climbed in. Then Nate shut the liftgate and the van became a quiet refuge—a quiet that was interrupted when Nate opened the driver’s side door to throw himself inside. But then he shut it again and placed his hands on the steering wheel as he caught his breath. “What was that?” he finally said.

  “What
do you mean? Daphne’s announcement or the storm?” Sandra handed Sammy back to Peter. “Can you strap him in, honey, so I don’t drown trying?” Then she looked at her husband, waiting for an answer.

  “Both, I guess.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He looked at her, and his bangs dripped into his eyes. “I didn’t see any clouds beforehand.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Was Nate accusing Bob? “Yeah, but we were all fixated on the game and then on Daphne’s little performance.”

  “What performance?” Peter asked. “What did she do?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Sandra said dismissively.

  “No, you won’t,” he griped.

  She turned to look at him. “No, I really will. I like having your help with my cases.”

  Nate gave her a dirty look which made her laugh, and her laughter made her kids laugh, which made Ethel laugh. Then even Nate had to laugh.

  “I guess these storms can just come out of nowhere sometimes,” Sandra said.

  His smile faded. “But it wasn’t even hot enough for a thunderstorm, and we didn’t get any warnings on our phones?”

  She really wanted him to drop it. She knew from experience that she was never going to know who made the storm come or why. She doubted Bob had that kind of juice, but if he did, and if he’d used it, he was never going to admit it.

  “Can you please drive Ethel to her car?”

  “Yes, or course.” He put the minivan in drive.

  “Maybe the angels are crying about the man who died,” Joanna said in her softest voice.

  Nate adjusted the rearview so he could see his only daughter’s precious eyes. “You know what, honey? I bet you’re right. I bet that’s exactly what happened.”

  Chapter 28

  With the kids tucked into bed, Sandra nestled into the couch near Nate. The television was on, but he was mostly paying attention to his phone. “The rain stopped,” she said, trying to get a conversation going.

  “Mm-hmm.” He did not look up.

  She stared at the television for a few minutes but couldn’t make herself focus enough to figure out what was going on on the screen. “So, what did you think of Daphne’s outburst?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  She stared at him for a second and then cleared her throat.

  He finally looked up at her. “What?”

  “I asked you a question.”

  “What?”

  She considered strangling him, but she liked him too much. “I asked what you thought about Daphne’s outburst?”

  He let out a slow breath and returned his eyes to his phone. His thumb began to swipe up. “Honestly? The whole bunch of them scare me a little, and I’d rather not think about them at all.”

  “The whole bunch of who?”

  “The Barneys.”

  She found it amusing that her husband was more comfortable around the Bickfords than the Barneys. “I don’t think they’re all bad.”

  He snorted. “Really? I’ve never heard you say a nice thing about them.”

  “Well, I like the kids.”

  He laughed a genuine laugh, and her chest swelled with happiness. She loved to make him laugh.

  “But really, I know Brendan isn’t very pleasant, maybe a bit arrogant, but that doesn’t mean that Richard is a murderer.”

  “I never said he was a murderer,” he mumbled. “I just said they scare me a little.”

  She was finally frustrated. “What on that phone could possibly be more interesting than one of our neighbors being accused of murder?”

  With a straight face he turned the screen of his phone so that she could see it. “I’m a zombie and I’m trying not to get hit by a train in the subway.” His boyish expression suggested that he thought she would find this cute and amusing.

  She did not. “Do you think he did it?”

  He put the phone down, dramatically, making it clear that he was now engaging in this conversation against his will. His eyes settled on the television. It took her a full minute to locate the remote control and press the mute button.

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I am asking you to talk to me without watching television at the same time. So? What do you think?”

  “I told you. I don’t know!”

  She thought about easing off, letting him slip back into his mind’s nothing box. She didn’t want to exasperate him. “I just don’t think Richard did it. It doesn’t make any sense. And the fact that Daphne was so willing to publicly declare his guilt makes me more suspicious. I think she’s try to cover for her husband. Or maybe she did it.”

  Nate tipped his head back and laughed at the ceiling. This time, the laughter was not encouraging. This time he wasn’t laughing because he thought she was charming and funny. This time he was laughing at her.

  “What?” She sat up straighter, ready to defend herself.

  “Nothing. I just don’t think Daphne could hurt a fly. She’s like the perfect trophy wife. I’ve never seen anyone so put together. Her kids never even have wrinkles in their clothes.”

  She scowled. Was he criticizing her? She wasn’t sure. “You mean, she reminds you of a Stepford wife?”

  He looked at her. “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Just go back to television.” He had a point, though. She didn’t think Daphne would risk breaking a nail in order to bludgeon someone with a bat.

  Nate squiggled closer to her and put a hand on her knee. “We can watch something else if you want to pick a show. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. I just don’t know what’s going on and I find the whole topic morbid. It makes me feel kind of helpless knowing that a murder happened practically in our own backyard. Can we dwell on something else?”

  She thought about it for a minute and then gave up. She loved her husband, but he was no Bob. She was grateful God had sent her a different partner for sleuthing. But, where was this partner now? She turned her own eyes back to the TV and even though she didn’t bother to try to follow the story, the flickering bright lights were oddly relaxing.

  Within fifteen minutes, her husband started snoring softly beside her. She glanced at him and his eyes were still open. Talk about creepy. She grabbed a nearby afghan, gently covered him up, and then slowly stood, taking care not to wake him. When she looked back down, his eyes had slipped shut. She went through her back door, sat down on the back steps, and looked up at the night sky. Plainfield was a small enough town that there wasn’t much light pollution and she could see thousands of stars, not nearly as many as she knew were there, but plenty enough to wow her. She wondered where Bob was. She wanted to further discuss Daphne’s outburst. But did she even need to discuss it with him? She knew how she felt about it. No one acted like that. If Daphne truly thought Richard was guilty, wouldn’t she be embarrassed? Wouldn’t she be quieter about it? The only reason Sandra could come up with to publicly spout such venom was that Daphne was trying to divert attention away from the person who was actually guilty, which was either her husband or herself. It was easier for Sandra to picture Brendon being the killer than it was to picture Daphne swinging a bat in the woods in her perfectly pressed slacks, but Daphne was the one who’d had the outburst—not Brendan. She put her head in her hands. This was too much. She needed to stop thinking about it and just let the police work it out.

  TobyMac started belting out “Speak Life,” and Sandra scrambled to her feet and ran inside, letting the screen door bang shut behind her. In the quiet house, it sounded like a gunshot. Please don’t wake Sammy, please don’t wake Sammy. She lunged for her phone and answered it before Toby could start the chorus over again. “Hello?” She tried to catch her breath.

  The line was silent.

  “Hello?” she said again, more loudly.

  Still nothing.

  She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it to see who was calling. It was a Maine number, but she didn’t recognize it. It was after ten o’clock. Who on earth was calling her
and why weren’t they saying anything? A chill ran across her shoulders. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  She thought she heard a faint whimper, but just as quickly worried she had imagined it. “Hello? Are you okay?”

  More silence.

  She pulled the phone away again and saw that the call had ended. The timer on her phone was no longer running. What on earth? With quick, practiced fingers that almost rivaled the dexterity of her technically advanced eleven-year-old son, Sandra pasted the mystery number into the search box. Within three seconds, she learned that the digits belonged to Hope House of Lewiston, Maine. Her breath caught. Someone had called her from Hope House? It was Tiara. It had to be. But what was she going to do about it?

  She looked at the clock again as if some part of her wished it had just miraculously become daylight and a reasonable hour to pay a visit to Hope House. But of course, it remained the middle of the night. She couldn’t call Hope House back, because she would get the front desk, wouldn’t she? It wasn’t like she had a direct line to Tiara’s room. She groaned in frustration. The girl had actually called her, but Sandra couldn’t do anything about it. She collapsed in her kitchen chair and put her head on the table. What a bummer.

  An inch away from her head Toby started singing again, and she jumped so efficiently that she rapped her knee on the underside of the table. She cried out just as she answered the phone, so her hello sounded a bit like a cat being forced into a Cat Vac. She forced herself to lower her voice to a more reasonable register and said hello again.

  This time, someone spoke. “Hi. It’s Tiara, Phoenix’s friend.”

  Chapter 29

  “Tiara, hi!” she cried, too late realizing she sounded far too excited. She forced herself to wait for Tiara to speak.

  Finally, she did. “I wasn’t sure if I should call ... I’m still not sure.”

  Sandra hesitated, making sure not to talk over her. “I’m glad you did.”

  “I just can’t stop thinking about him.” Her voice cracked. “I’m not even sure if I want to know what happened to him. But it’s just not fair. He was just getting his life together, and then they did this to him.”