The Pinch Runner Read online

  Without smiling, Chip chuckled. He knew the pastor’s wife well enough to know how ridiculous that would be. She was far too mild-mannered to be handling a bat. If given one, she would probably polish it.

  “Did he talk to anyone at the game?”

  Sandra thought. “I don’t think so.”

  “No one talked to him?”

  “Not that I saw. And I think I would have noticed. He was the most interesting thing about the game.”

  “Well, thank you for your help.” Chip swung his arm back toward the church. “You’d better get back inside before the service starts.”

  Sandra didn’t want to go back to church. Her mind scrambled to think of something else to say, something to ask so that she could remain a part of this. “How did he die?” she spat out.

  Chip paused. “We don’t have an official cause of death yet,” he said slowly.

  Too late, Sandra realized the stupidity of what she had just asked. It was obvious from the scene that Phoenix had suffered a terrific head injury. The cause of death was that someone had clobbered him. “What I meant to say,” she hurried to save face, “is what did they hit him with?” She looked around the forest floor as if she were going to spot a crowbar that all these cops had missed.

  “Something big—”

  Slaughter interrupted him, “We’re not ready to share details of an open investigation. I’m sure you understand.”

  Much to Sandra’s delight, Chip completely ignored Slaughter’s redirection. “We haven’t found the weapon yet.”

  Chapter 7

  Pastor Cliff shared from the pulpit that he didn’t have any details, but that a man had been killed the night before in the woods adjacent to the church’s property. Sandra didn’t know how he knew it had happened the night before, but she didn’t challenge his assumption. They had a moment of silence and then prayed for all those involved. While everyone else had their heads down and their eyes closed, Sandra looked around the sanctuary, not even sure what she was looking for. Was anyone sad? Grieving? Did anyone know the man or appear to care that he was gone? Did anyone look guilty? But no one was racked with sobs, and save for a few rebellious children, no one else had their head raised.

  After the prayer and a series of announcements that could have been avoided if people would just read the bulletin, the music started, and everyone stood to sing. During the second verse, Ethel slid into Sandra’s row. This was a pleasant surprise. Ethel usually sat in the back with all her senior friends. “What did you find out?” she almost shouted over the music.

  “Precious little.” Sandra tried not to shout, but she knew Ethel’s hearing wasn’t the best. “The victim’s name is Phoenix Haynes. He was at the softball game on Tuesday, but I don’t know him, and I don’t know anyone else who knows him.” Sandra looked around to see if anyone was listening, but everybody around them appeared to be focusing on their singing. “Someone hit him in the head.”

  Ethel’s wrinkled hand flew to her chest as she gasped appropriately. “Oh my.” She knew from experience how unpleasant it was to be thumped over the head.

  When Ethel didn’t say more, Sandra tried to return to focusing on her singing, but it wasn’t easy. Her mind was spinning. Should she call on Bob? Of course she should. He would want to know. But maybe he already did know. He was an angel, after all. Angels knew things. And she knew her church had a church angel. Certainly that guy was aware of what was going on. Maybe he’d told Bob? Or maybe it was none of Bob’s business. Maybe this was above his pay grade.

  So, she shouldn’t call Bob. But she really wanted to. Would it irritate Bob if she called him? Did he want to be beckoned every time she was near a crisis? Maybe she should leave it up to God to assign angels to the world’s crises.

  She realized she was feeling shy about reaching out to her favorite angel. It had been so long since she’d seen him. Maybe she should just stay out of this one. She didn’t know Phoenix. She had no skin in this game. Maybe she should let the police handle it and not get thrown into another trunk or off another snowmobile.

  That settled it then. She would stay out of it. Her husband would be grateful.

  The sermon stretched on and on. Usually, Pastor Cliff’s lessons were short and pointed. And maybe this one was too; maybe she just wasn’t getting it. She was too busy thinking about what was going on outside. What if she were the detective? What would be her first move? Find the murder weapon. But she, Sandra Provost, church mom, theater mom, soccer mom, fearless church softball scorekeeper, would not be able to find a murder weapon that fifty cops couldn’t find. She didn’t see a way that she could be helpful or useful with this one, and she reminded herself that she’d already decided to stay out of it anyway.

  With her mind somewhat settled, she tried to concentrate on the sermon. She felt good about her decision. She would focus on the many other parts of her life that needed her attention, and then she wouldn’t need to bother Bob. Because if she didn’t get herself mixed up in this mystery, then he wouldn’t need to get mixed up in this mystery. As she tried to follow the pastor’s words, she felt as though someone was staring at the back of her head. For several minutes, she fought the urge to turn around and look, but the sensation only grew stronger, and finally she gave in. She tried to be discreet, pretending she was looking at the clock in the back of the room, and what she saw standing under the clock made her face explode into a smile.

  There stood Bob, looking at her, his eyes wide as if to ask, “What are you doing in here when there’s a murder victim outside?”

  Chapter 8

  Pretending she needed to go to the bathroom, Sandra left the sanctuary before the service was over and looked around for her oft invisible friend. She found him in the hallway and watched him duck into the dark library. She followed him inside and flicked on the light. She wondered why he’d chosen the library, but then realized no one ever used the room, and he probably knew that.

  “Nice to see you!” She ignored her urge to give him a big hug.

  “You as well. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  Her stomach tightened. “What?”

  “I can’t help you with this investigation.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her was devastated. Part of her didn’t believe him. “Why?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Let’s just say that the powers that be weren’t very happy with my little jaunt out to the theater last winter.”

  “The powers that be? You mean God?”

  He didn’t agree, and she took this as disagreement. “I can’t say.”

  Of course he couldn’t. “Did you get into trouble?” She really hoped this hadn’t been the case. She didn’t want that on her conscience.

  “Not exactly. But I don’t want to get in trouble, so I’m sorry, I have to sit this one out. That’s not to say that you can’t pray for help if you get into a pinch. I’m sure God will send someone.”

  A lump formed in her throat. Was this really happening?

  “Besides, you don’t need me. You do most of the work on your own anyway. I just push old men out of bogs.”

  She snickered. “You do a lot more than that, and you know it. But, I think, under the circumstances, I should sit this one out too.”

  “That’s probably wise.” He nodded awkwardly. “Okay, well I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “You don’t get to rest on Sundays?” She didn’t want him to leave.

  “I do, but there are a lot of sports camps going on right now, and every coach thinks his or her sport is the only sport their kids play in the summer.” He took a deep breath. “They keep me busier in the summer than during the actual seasons.”

  She was grateful that Peter only played one sport. Summer soccer took up enough of their time without adding another demanding coach to their schedule. She didn’t know what else to say. “All right then. I still hope to see you again?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you will.” He didn’t sound convincing. H
e hesitated and then stepped forward and gave her the hug she’d been wanting to give him since she’d seen him under the clock.

  And then, before she’d even let go, he vanished, and tears sprang to her eyes. She wiped them away quickly. It was silly to cry over this. He was an angel. He couldn’t be her best friend. They couldn’t just hang out whenever she wanted. He had a supernatural schedule to stick to. She turned the light off and left the library, trying to be grateful that she’d gotten to spend as much time with him as she had.

  By the time she got back to the sanctuary, people were spilling out of it. She was glad. She was no longer in the mood for church. She just wanted to be alone.

  Peter caught her eye. “We’re staying for the potluck, right?”

  Oh no. She’d completely forgotten about it. “Sorry, I forgot there was a potluck, and I didn’t bring anything—”

  “Not to worry!” Ethel materialized beside her. “I brought enough for four families! Come on downstairs and relax!”

  Sandra didn’t want to go downstairs. Church potlucks were the opposite of relaxing. She wanted to go home and grieve in solitude.

  “Please?” Peter begged. At least he wanted to hang out at church now. There was a time when that hadn’t been the case. But lately Peter had grown more popular with the ladies.

  Nate came up behind Peter. “Did we bring anything for the potluck?”

  Sandra restrained her eye roll. Had he seen her sneak a casserole into the minivan this morning?

  “I brought your family’s contribution, so let’s get downstairs before all the good stuff is gone!”

  Grudgingly, Sandra followed Ethel down into the basement fellowship hall.

  “Why don’t you want to stay?” Nate asked. “Were you planning on starting your investigation immediately?”

  She didn’t like his tone. “There isn’t going to be any investigation,” she snapped and then made a beeline for the deviled eggs, wondering why some church potluck enthusiast hadn’t renamed them angeled eggs by now.

  Chapter 9

  The summer days flew by: swimming lessons, soccer practices, softball games—it was a blur. Yet, Sandra still made time to watch the news and check the internet news sites. But there was no word about the man who’d been found dead in the Plainfield woods. She’d even bought the paper—because the grocery store clerk had given Sandra the hairy eyeball when she’d tried to read it standing beside the newsstand—but nothing. Either the police were really good at keeping secrets, they weren’t progressing much in their investigation, or they weren’t trying to progress in their investigation. Maybe they were too busy. Their kids had soccer camps too. Whatever the reason, it was driving Sandra crazy. A man had been killed, for crying out loud. She couldn’t stand not knowing who had killed him and why.

  When she ran into Detective Slaughter in the potato chip aisle at Shop ’n Save, she was certain the meeting was the product of divine intervention. “Hello!” she sang out with too much cheer.

  Slaughter managed to not snarl, but just barely. “Hello.” She quickly turned her attention back to the multiple flavors of kettle cooked chips.

  “I recommend the sour cream and onion.”

  “I hate onions.”

  Of course she did. “Oh, sorry to hear that. I’m afraid they don’t make them with just sour cream.” She tee-heed nervously, and Sammy gave her a worried look from his shopping cart perch. She reached for a bag of the aforementioned sour cream and onion even though she’d originally had no intention of buying them. She was so nervous she didn’t know what her hands were doing. “How goes the investigation?” She tried to sound casual and failed.

  “I’m not discussing that with you,” Slaughter said, barely opening her mouth. She would make a great ventriloquist, except that ventriloquists were funny.

  “Does that mean there’s actually something to discuss?” Sandra allowed her frustration to ring through the words.

  Slaughter’s eyes snapped toward Sandra. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean,” Sandra said slowly, “that according to the news, there doesn’t seem to be much investigating in this investigation.”

  Slaughter’s lips parted just a hair, and for a second, Sandra feared she was going to hiss at her. But instead, words came out. “I know you think you have a clue, but you don’t. I’m knee-deep in unsolved cases, and we’re not going to spend all our time on one homeless man.” Without looking, she snatched a bag of kettle cooked sour cream and onion potato chips with such force that the crunching sound served as a fitting exclamation point to her statement. Then she spun on her heel and stomped away, her unwanted oniony chips in one hand and her empty shopping basket in the other.

  What a fearsome woman, Sandra thought. She put her own bag of unwanted potato chips back on the shelf and grabbed the cheesy tortilla chips that the rest of her family would eat. She tossed them into her cart, though it was more like tossing them onto her cart, as it was already brimming over with both staples and sweets. Staring at the bag of chips perched on the mountaintop, she had two thoughts. One, how much was this going to cost? And two, Slaughter had only carried an empty basket. Maybe she didn’t have a family. Maybe she didn’t have anyone. A pang of sadness stabbed at Sandra’s chest. Then she reminded herself that Slaughter had suggested she cared less about finding Phoenix’s killer because he was homeless, and then she didn’t feel so bad for Slaughter.

  She headed for the checkout, and then checked the clock every thirty seconds as she waited in line. It was almost time to pick up Joanna from soccer, and she didn’t want to be late. She didn’t want to scare Joanna, and she didn’t want to burden the volunteer coaches with after-practice childcare that they’d never signed up for. She bounced up and down, and Sammy caught her anxiety and began to cry. This made the cashier work faster, and soon it was Sandra’s turn to give the store all her money.

  With her wallet empty and her cart full of bagged groceries, she headed out into the hot sun. Unloading the cart into the back of her van made her miss Peter, who usually did this for her, but he was at a friend’s house, unfortunately. She wiped the sweat away from her eyes as she returned the cart to its corral, and then she scooped Sammy out of it so she could buckle him into the sizzling hot van. He screamed in protest and she tried to comfort him, but what was there to say? It was going to be mighty uncomfortable until she got the A/C going.

  Five minutes later, the heat’s brutality had been pushed out by the cold air blowing out of her dashboard, and Sammy was either happy or asleep. She didn’t know which, and it didn’t matter.

  She pulled into the school parking lot with several minutes to spare. She saw Nate’s car in his designated principal parking spot. Though he didn’t need to be there during summer school hours, he usually made sure that he was. Should she pop in and see her husband or recline the seat and relax for five minutes? She put her hand on the recline lever and Sammy started crying. Visit the hubbie it was.

  Nate’s face lit up when he saw her, and she breezed into his office praising his air conditioning. Only once she was inside did she see he had a student there with him. “Oh! Hello,” she said awkwardly, a little embarrassed that she’d been that excited about cold air.

  He gave her a half smile but didn’t say anything.

  “Mrs. Provost, this is Adam. Adam, this is my lovely wife.”

  Adam looked at the floor.

  “Nice to meet you, Adam.”

  He did not look up.

  She didn’t take it personally. First, he was in summer school. Then, he was in the principal’s office. He probably wasn’t having a good day. “Well, I just came to pick up Joanna. I just thought we’d say hi. Don’t forget you’ve got a softball game tonight.” She turned to go.

  “Hey, what a great idea!” he exclaimed.

  What? Had she had an idea? She turned back.

  “How do you feel about softball?” Nate was looking at Adam.

  Adam shrugged. “I like it, I guess.”


  “Excellent! Because we need some more players. Why don’t you come play for us? Game starts at six, but we start throwing the ball around at five-thirty.”

  Adam didn’t look convinced.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “Can my brothers come?”

  Nate hesitated. Sandra didn’t think Adam would be able to read this hesitation, but it was clear to her that whoever Adam’s brothers were, Nate didn’t really want them to come. “Sure! The more the merrier!”

  Chapter 10

  Adam showed up in the church parking lot at five-thirty sharp. He came bouncing in, along with two other young men, in the back of a stove-up Toyota pickup. Sandra assumed they were Adam’s brothers. Then two more men spilled out of the cab. Or maybe those were the brothers. She looked at the field. Pastor Cliff was there, of course, along with Richard and Brendan Barney, Boomer, Nate, and Loriana, the sole female representation for the day. Six originals plus five newcomers meant they could field a team with a sub to spare. She flashed Nate a delighted smile, but it fell from her face when she saw his expression. Why did he look so nervous?

  At first, no one spoke to the guests, but something jerked Nate into action and his face sprang into diplomat mode with a broad smile. “Welcome! So glad you could come!” He began shaking hands and introducing himself and the others. The men grabbed balls out of the bucket and walked out onto the field. They started tossing the balls back and forth, notably not playing with any of the originals, but this was to be expected, wasn’t it? There was an even number of them. It would be weird if they mingled right away.

  Nate plopped down beside her on the bench and made a silly face at Sammy.

  “What’s wrong?” she muttered.

  “Nothing,” he said through closed teeth. “I invited him to play because I was trying to get him away from his family. Now he’s just brought them all along.”