Page 71 of Eye on the Ball

“Assets?”

Molly nodded her head at someone standing behind me. I looked back to see Shelley. My sister’s face was scrunched up in distress.

“Tess, you need to come now. There’s a big problem.”

Another one? How many problems did one pawnshop owner have to face in a week?

I didn’t say that, of course. I just put my ball cap on and took a deep breath. “Lead the way.”

Shelley led the way to our dugout and went straight to the null container that held the trophy. “I opened this to get the trophy out when Uncle Mike asked me for it, so he could give it to two old guys.”

“Okay. And what happened?” I crouched to look into her face. “Shelley, what’s wrong?”

She frowned. “The man. The one who wasn’t dead? Buried at the pitcher’s mound?”

“Yes,” I said encouragingly. “Ace Truckman. What about him?”

“The magic on the trophy is the same as the magic that was on him.”

* * *

Isettled Shelley in the stands with Aunt Ruby. Uncle Mike was up in the announcer’s booth that Dead End had paid too much for, but I’d been outvoted when the resolution came up for approval.

Her news about the trophy had sounded like a huge revelation until I told Jack about it, and he’d just nodded.

“Well, right.”

“What do you mean, right?” Then it hit me. “Oh. Right. The trophy was in his house, where somebody hit him with the stasis spell. It only makes sense that it would have residue of the same magic. Darn. I hoped we’d discovered something.”

We walked while we talked, lining up in front of our dugout for the opening ceremonies, while Riverton did the same in front of the visitors’ dugout.

When Mr. Henry and Mr. Albert shuffled past us toward the umpire at home plate, Jack lifted his head and sniffed, scenting the air. Then he narrowed his eyes and held out an arm to block their way.

“I don’t think so, gentlemen.”

Mr. Henry looked alarmed, but Mr. Albert just looked half-asleep, like usual.

“What’s wrong?” I asked Jack.

“Move aside, young man,” Mr. Albert blustered. “We need to get the trophy to the opening ceremonies.”

“I don’t think so, sir,” Jack growled when they tried to push past him, and they both froze.

I knew Jack wouldn’t lay a finger on two helpless old men, but they didn’t know that. Sometimes speaking softly was just as effective as carrying a big stick.

Jack looked at me. “They smell of the same magic as Ace and the trophy.”

“Right. Because they carried it into Beau’s to give me, remember?”

“No. This is fresh.”

Mr. Henry shot a look up into the stands before he put an impassive expression on his face. I followed his gaze and saw … Celine. She was sitting with an older woman who looked a lot like her.

“Oh,” I said, realizing what that might mean. “Remember what Andy said? When Susan asked her about the missing trophy, Celine was offended and told Susan her grandmother helped fabricate the thing with Mr. Henry and Mr. Albert? Celine said she never would have messed with the game or the trophy.”

By this time, Aunt Ruby and Uncle Mike had climbed down to join us. Susan walked over from where she’d been warming up.

“Tess, what’s going on?” my uncle asked.