Page 66 of Eye on the Ball
I closed the shop on the day of the big game every year, so I had one of my very rare leisurely Saturday mornings at home. We had breakfast, and then I took advantage of every minute, doing some of my weekly cleaning while I sang along with my favorite playlist. Sadly, the singing charm was completely depleted, so I was back to my normal voice. Jack escaped to “go for a run” when he saw me pull out the vacuum cleaner and put on my headphones, and even my cat ran to hide in the guest room closet.
Traitors.
The carnival started at noon, but we were meeting Aunt Ruby, Uncle Mike, and Shelley there at two, because there was only so much carnival I needed in my life. The pig racing was at five, which was perfect. We could see Hogatha Christie and her friends and still have time to change for the softball game.
Mutt Truckman called me at noon, which surprised me because I didn’t know he even had my phone number.
“Tess, sorry to bother you, but I’m getting worried. What if bad guys are just coming after random members of my family now?”
That seemed unlikely, but he’d also seen two of his cousins disappear this week.
“I think you’re probably safe. Is Ace doing any better?”
“They won’t let us in to see him, since the sheriff thinks Probie did it. Sheriff Lawless said, ‘all of you Truckmans are trash.’”
Anger rushed through me. “He shouldn’t have said that. He’s a horrible man. You are definitely not trash.”
“Aw, Tess. That’s nice.”
I sighed, hating it that someone saying that he wasn’t trash was being nice in his world.
“I hear he’s just the same, though. There’s a med mage coming to town today or tomorrow to see if he can fix Ace.”
“Probie’s still in jail?”
“Yeah, and so we’re down two of our best players for the game!”
Honestly, I couldn’t believe we were still holding the game. It seemed to me like we should cancel on obvious grounds. Or at least postpone it until Ace was better and Susan and Reynolds had solved this mystery.
When I’d suggested that, everybody on my team and—shockingly—everybody on Riverton’s team had soundly voted me down. Ace and Probie weren’t all that popular on their own team, evidently, so nobody was going to miss them.
Maybe they’d miss their softball skills, but the actual Truckmans, awful personalities and all? Nope.
Anyway, the game was still on, and I had things to do.
“Mutt, what do you want? Why did you call? I don’t mean to rush you, but I have to meet my family at the carnival soon.”
“Oh. Right. Do you think I could hire your boyfriend to bodyguard me?”
* * *
Jack was still chuckling when we parked on the outskirts of the ballpark. “Sure. Do you have any other old flames I can bodyguard, too? Maybe Owen has an evil dentist-stalker after him?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Leave Owen out of this. And Mutt genuinely sounded scared, which makes sense. Truckmans are disappearing left and right around him, or at least that’s how it must feel to him.”
Jack parked and turned to face me. “Tess, if you want me to, I’ll talk to him. Anything for you, you know that. But I don’t think Mutt is in any danger here.”
“I don’t think so, either. Logic doesn’t always help when you’re scared, though. Let’s get through this game, and then we can talk to him afterward. I hear those out-of-town cousins are great ballplayers. I’m worried about us losing again, as silly as it seems to focus on a ball game when Ace is still in a coma and Probie is in jail.”
“You tried to call it off.” Jack shrugged, pragmatic. “If we postponed our lives, every time somebody got stuck in magical stasis and buried beneath the pitcher’s mound, we’d never get anything done.”
We looked at each other and burst out laughing. It was horrible, but it was also true. I mean, switch “stuck in magical stasis and buried beneath the pitcher’s mound,” for “attacked by a mutant zucchini,” or “had an evil corporation commit crimes all over town,” or “found a fifty-year-old skeleton in the swamp,” then yeah. We’d never getanythingdone.
“Life in Dead End. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
He took my hand in his and squeezed it. “For you? Always. Now, let’s go see how fast Peter Porker really is.”
“With great power comes great pork roast,” I said solemnly.