Page 14 of Eye on the Ball

The Dead End softball and baseball fields were part of a larger recreational area with a dog park, skate park, and volunteer-run snack shop. There was even a volleyball court and basketball court. The grounds were gorgeous, with the various areas bordered by masses of azalea bushes that trembled in the breeze, their lush pink beauty as much a treat for the senses as their vivid scent.

Our arrival must have sent a signal. Everybody else exited their cars and walked over to where we waited next to the home team dugout. I counted Brenda, the two old guys—whatweretheir names?—and two of the three Truckmans who’d been in my shop earlier.

Ace, the Riverton team captain, was nowhere in sight.

“Hi, everyone,” I said. “Where’s Ace?”

Mutt looked around, like his cousin might pop up from behind the dugout and surprise us. “I don’t know. We thought he musta drove here early without us.”

“He leaves us a lot,” Probie mumbled, looking resentful.

It must be hard to be at the bottom of the hierarchy in that family.

The two old guys shuffled up, and I was still struggling to remember their names. I should have texted Aunt Ruby. Forgetting someone’s name was the height of rudeness, according toThe Big Book of Southern Manners, which was entirely fictional and yet still imprinted in my brain.

They looked alike enough to be related. Both wore baggy dark pants, flannel shirts, and old denim jackets. Both were deeply tanned and bald but had bushy eyebrows. Both peered at us over thick eyeglasses. Even if I could have remembered their names, it might have been hard to tell them apart.

“Hello, Mr. Henry. Mr. Albert. It’s nice to see you again,” Brenda said. She shook hands with them.

That was it.Chester Albert from Dead End and Arthur Henry from Riverton. They’d come up with the idea of the friendly rivalry softball game a good thirty years ago, and the win/lose tally was pretty evenly split, except for our weird three-year losing streak just recently. Ever since Ace had taken over as captain, Riverton had been kicking our butts. Which had to be more correlation than causation because he wasn’t a spectacular player. He was fine, but not good enough to carry his team.

I mentally shrugged. We’d get them this year.

“Mr. Albert, Mr. Henry, good to see you,” I said. They knew I didn’t shake hands. “This is Jack Shepherd. He’s Jeremiah’s nephew, and he’ll be playing this year.”

Jack shook hands, and Mr. Albert grinned at him. “Still popping bubble gum all over your face, Jack?”

Jack looked puzzled for a moment, but then he laughed. “Wow. I’d forgotten all about that, sir.”

Mr. Henry chortled. “This youngster was always pestering Jeremiah for gum. One day he filled his mouth with an entire pack of bubble gum and blew a bubble bigger than his head.”

“When that thing popped, it went all over his face,” Mr. Albert said, grinning. “He had gum in his hair. Gum in hisears, even.”

“And my nose. Poor Uncle Jeremiah had to shave my head,” Jack said ruefully. “I spent most of my summer vacation wearing a hat every day.”

“That happened to Probie just last week,” Mutt crowed.

His cousin, whose crewcutwaslooking awfully short, elbowed him. “Shut up.”

I suppressed a grin. “Maybe try to call Ace and see how close he is?”

“Yes,” Mr. Albert says. “We need to get on with this. I don’t want to stand out here all night. My arthritis is acting up.”

“None of that,” Mr. Henry said. “We’re not going to start talking about our aches and pains like old people.”

I blinked. Since they looked like they were each at least a hundred, I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I said nothing.

Probie pulled out his phone, hit a couple of buttons, and we all listened to ring after ring. Then Ace’s voice came on:

“Say what you need to say, unless it’s stupid, in which case call somebody who gives a crap.”

“Charming,” Jack whispered near my ear.

“That’s Ace,” I whispered back, barely audible, knowing that Jack’s Superior Tiger Hearing would pick it up.

Mutt gave me a shy grin. “Tess, if he’s not here in the next five minutes, I’d be glad to stand in. I’m kind of the assistant captain.”

“No, you’re not,” Probie said hotly.