THE BEST NEWS OF THE LONG DAY for Stevie was that he was so tired when he went upstairs to bed he had no trouble sleeping. He tossed and turned briefly, wondering if he and Susan Carol would ever be friends again, but fell sound asleep soon after.
He hadn’t set an alarm and no one came to wake him, but he was still up by seven-thirty He went downstairs and, to his surprise, found Susan Carol sitting by herself drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.
“Mind if I have some of your coffee?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she said.
He poured himself some coffee and sat down across from her. She had the Herald’s Sports section in front of her, so he picked up the Post’s.
“What’d Tamara write about?” he asked, hoping to make conversation.
“Stan Kasten,” she answered. “She wrote about what it means to him to get this team into the World Series after starting from scratch the way he did back in Atlanta.”
“Good idea,” he said.
She sipped and read, so he sipped and read. He wasn’t really reading, though. He kept trying to read Mearns’s column but couldn’t seem to get past the paragraph where she described how Kasten, when the Nats were struggling, had handed out cards that said “Stan Kasten-Village Idiot” on them.
“Look, Stevie, I need to tell you something,” Susan Carol finally said, pushing the paper away. “I know Morra told you your meeting isn’t a setup, that she just wants to talk. She’s lying. It is a setup.”
“How? I mean, how do you know?”
She shrugged. “David sent me a text last night.”
“You guys communicating pretty regularly?”
“Yes,” she said, looking him right in the eye.
He decided to steer the conversation in another direction. “What do you mean it’s a setup?”
“They know you were in Lynchburg yesterday.”
“How?!”
“I don’t know, he didn’t say. But the fact that they know and they care makes me wonder if something isn’t rotten in Denmark.”
“ Denmark?”
She gave him the old “You are too stupid to live” look, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. “I forgot you only read Sports sections. It’s a line from Hamlet. It means something is suspicious.”
Of course it was a line from Hamlet.
“Sorry,” he said. And then, perhaps because she had almost smiled, he added, “And I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a jealous dope.”
This time she gave him the real Smile. “Thanks for saying that,” she said. “I haven’t exactly been easy to deal with the last couple of days either. Look, I’m honestly not sure what’s going on here. The story David told me in Boston was pretty convincing-and very sad. But based on what you learned yesterday, and the fact that they must be snooping around themselves, it makes me wonder if it’s the truth.”
“It’s possible that David doesn’t even know the truth,” Stevie said, surprising himself by taking a position favorable to David.
“Yes, that’s true,” she said. “But somewhere along the line the grown-ups-Norbert, Felkoff, someone-has involved David and Morra in all this. It wouldn’t shock me if the twins know about Felkoff sending Walsh down there.”
“Did you tell David how much I know?” he asked.
“No!” she answered, flashing anger again. “I didn’t tell him anything. All he knows is that you were in Lynchburg and that you and Bobby are looking into the accident.”
“Which makes them nervous because their father has been lying about what happened.”
She sighed. “Like I said, I’m not sure if he’s lying or not. Unfortunately, I made a promise, and even though I regret that promise right now, I’m not going to break it. But Morra is probably going to try to get you off the story today, and, well, I want to be sure you don’t let her do it.”
“You think she’s going to dazzle me with her beauty?”
She almost smiled. “Funnily enough, I don’t think you dazzle that easily. She’ll bat her eyes at you a lot and she’ll probably cry too. But more important, she’ll try to get you to agree to hear the whole story off the record. You can’t fall into that trap.”
“Is that what happened to you in Boston?” he asked.
“Sort of,” she said.
Stevie stayed quiet. He wasn’t really sure whether he wanted her to elaborate or not.
She sighed. “Look, he called me after you and I left the hotel. He wanted to know if I was doing anything that afternoon. I wasn’t, so I agreed to meet him at Faneuil Hall. It started very innocently, me just kind of babbling about how amazing his father’s story was becoming, especially with him starting in the World Series.”
“And?”
“He was talking about how proud he was of his dad, how much he’d overcome, more than anyone knew. That’s when he told me the whole story-I mean everything-and swore me to secrecy.”
“Do you think he was trying to make sure you didn’t pursue the story?”
“No,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I think he was trying to make me feel sympathetic toward him.”
“So he was trying to put the moves on you, basically.”
“Basically.”
Stevie’s stomach was twisted in a knot. The next question was obvious, but he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to hear the answer. He took a deep breath and asked anyway.
“Did it work?”
She looked out the window for a second, which scared him, then back at him. “Almost,” she said. “When we went for a walk on the Freedom Trail, he tried to hold my hand and I let him. Then, at the end, he tried to kiss me.”
She stopped, leaving Stevie in a cold sweat. “I’m not going to tell you I wasn’t tempted, Stevie. He’s handsome and he’s smart and I did feel for him after he told me the story. So in that sense his plan worked. But I stopped him and told him I had a boyfriend.”
Stevie felt his heart start to pump again. He felt an adrenaline rush. “Has he tried again?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “But I’ve made a point of not being alone with him since then.”
“Really?” Stevie said. He felt overwhelmingly grateful for this news.
For the first time in what felt like weeks, she gave him the Smile. “Remember what I said? I have a boyfriend. If he still wants to be my boyfriend.”
She gave him the Smile again. That was all the encouragement he needed.
He stood up, walked to where she was sitting, leaned down, and kissed her. He was about to put his arm around her when he heard Tamara’s voice behind him.
“Well, isn’t this a sight for sore eyes,” she said.
Stevie jumped back, embarrassed but fully aware that he had a silly grin on his face.
Tamara was smiling but was too polite to say anything more. “I guess I need to make more coffee,” she said, looking at the empty pot and the half-empty mugs on the table.
“Sorry,” Susan Carol said. “I should have made more.”
“No worries,” Tamara said. “I think your time was well-spent.”
She was still grinning. So was Susan Carol. Suddenly, Stevie’s day was looking up.
Kelleher showed up in the kitchen a few minutes after his wife. Susan Carol volunteered to make eggs for everyone, and they spent a while discussing that night’s pitching matchup- Boston ’s Jon Lester against Washington ’s Jordan Zimmerman-while they ate.
“Lester is a great story himself,” Kelleher said. “Cancer survivor. Came back to pitch the clinching game in the 2007 World Series and then pitched a no-hitter last year.”
“And his story’s the real deal,” Stevie said, feeling emboldened after his conversation with Susan Carol.
“As far as we know,” Tamara said.
Stevie showered after breakfast, called his parents to tell them everything had gone fine in Lynchburg-he was grateful his dad answered and didn’t ask for details the way his mom would have-and then called Morra Doyle’s cell phone number shortly after nine o’clock. She answered on the first ring.
“I was afraid you might not call,” she said.
She had, he noticed, just a hint of a Southern accent. It wasn’t as pronounced as Susan Carol’s, but it was there.
“Of course I’d call,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She didn’t respond to the question. “Is there any way we can meet for lunch?” she asked. “We’re staying downtown at the Renaissance Hotel on Ninth Street.”
“I can find out where that is, I’m sure,” he said. “I’m staying out in Maryland. Is there anyplace to eat nearby?”
“We ate at a place called Clyde ’s the other day,” she said. “It was very good. It’s right near the Verizon Center.”
Stevie knew the Verizon Center was the downtown arena where Washington ’s NBA and NHL teams played.
“I’m sure I can find it. Why don’t I meet you there at noon?”
“Great!” she said, sounding a little bit, Stevie thought, as if they’d just made a prom date. “I’ll see you then.”
Stevie told Kelleher about the conversation. “ Clyde ’s is easy,” he said. “It’s a few blocks from my office. I need to go in for a couple hours today anyway. I’ll drop you off, and then you can walk over there and meet me when you’re finished.”
“When do we talk to Doyle or Felkoff?” Stevie asked.
“Easy there,” Kelleher said. “Let’s see what Miss Morra has to say first.”
Stevie killed the rest of the morning reading the papers-easier to do when he wasn’t a nervous wreck-and, grudgingly, trying to finish The Great Gatsby. Susan Carol reminded him one more time about not being charmed by Morra before he and Kelleher left.
“If she comes on to you, remember to tell her you have a girlfriend,” she said, smiling. She leaned down and gave him a quick kiss as he was going out the door, causing Stevie to climb into the car with what he knew was a goofy grin.
“So all is well in paradise again?” Kelleher said.
“Yup,” Stevie said. “He came on to her, but she told him she had a boyfriend.”
“You see?” Kelleher said. “You should never underestimate Susan Carol.”
“I should know that by now, shouldn’t I?” Stevie said.
The trip downtown passed quickly. Traffic on a Saturday morning was light. As Kelleher pulled up to the restaurant, they could see Morra Doyle waiting outside. The day was warm, and she was wearing a light blue sundress and high-heeled sandals.
“Whoa,” Kelleher said. “She’s come to play. You be careful, now.”
Stevie smiled. “I’m fine,” he said, although he had to admit, if he didn’t know he was being set up and if he didn’t have a girlfriend, he would be pretty fired up about a lunch date with Morra Doyle.
“Call me when you’re done,” Kelleher said as Stevie got out. “I’ll tell you how to get to my office.”
Stevie slammed the door just as someone behind Kelleher honked at him to get moving. Morra Doyle was waiting with a big smile on her face.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“Bobby Kelleher,” Stevie said, remembering that Morra had never met him. “He works for-”
“The Washington Herald,” she said. “I’ve been reading his columns after I read your stories.”
Stevie was almost tempted to laugh. He wondered if pretty girls went to some school to learn how to make teenage boys do their bidding, or if it was just genetic. They walked inside and a moment later they were escorted up a flight of steps into a massive dining room. Clyde ’s had to be the biggest restaurant Stevie had ever been in.
“Nice place,” Stevie said as they settled into a booth.
“They serve everything here,” Morra said with a smile. “Since I don’t know what you like, I figured this was a good choice.”
They ordered, then small-talked about the game the night before and the importance of the Nationals evening the series that night.
“Manny Acta told Dad he might pitch game six or he might pitch game seven, depending on the circumstances,” she said. “Of course, we have to make sure we get to a game six or a game seven first.”
“Wow, game seven of the World Series, that would be amazing,” he said. “Could make for a real Hollywood ending.”
He said it intentionally, hoping to draw a response. If he caught her off guard, she didn’t show it, just smiled again without saying anything. She took a couple more bites of her crab cake and put her fork down.
“So, you probably think I asked you to lunch so I could talk to you about your trip to Lynchburg yesterday,” she said.
He had to give her credit for coming right to the point when she thought the time was right. “It did cross my mind,” he said. “How’d you know I was there?”
“You have to understand something about my dad and David and me. There are no secrets. His new agent told Dad that the first thing any publisher or movie studio will want is to be sure that the story they’re buying is the real deal-especially these days. That’s why he sent his assistant-”
“You mean Walsh?”
“Yes, him-to Lynchburg. Dad didn’t know what was in the police report. I don’t think he really wanted to know. But Mr. Felkoff said we needed to know.”
“But how did he know I was going to Lynchburg too? The cop I went to see-”
“Hatley.”
“Right. He said that Walsh told him I’d be coming.”
“Susan Carol told David you were going.”
Stevie was tempted to call her a liar, but she put up a hand as if anticipating what he was about to say. “She didn’t do it to give anything away. She asked David if there was anything you might find that he hadn’t told her.”
“What did David say?”
“That he didn’t know. Because he didn’t.
“I know what you found out down there now,” she continued. “That there was only one car involved in the accident that killed my mother.”
Clearly, Walsh had carried that information back to the Doyles and Felkoff. Since she had to know he’d looked at the report too, he shrugged and said, “That’s what the police report said.” He stopped there, not willing to tell her anything more.
“Except it’s not true,” she said. “There was another car.”
“But-”
“I know what the report says,” she said, smiling to remind him, he guessed, that they were still friends. “But there was another policeman at the scene first, before Officer Hatley. I’ll bet you didn’t know that.”
Interesting that she would bring up Joe Molloy, he thought, but he decided to play along and see where she was going.
“What are you talking about?” he said.
“His name is Joseph Molloy,” she said. “He’s a big shot down there now, I think a deputy chief or something.”
“And?”
“Dad told him about the other car before Officer Hatley got there. Molloy called him a liar, with my mother lying there either dead or dying.”
“Why would Molloy do that?” Stevie asked. “And why didn’t Hatley mention the other car in the report?”
She was nodding as if to say he was asking the right questions. “Molloy hated my father,” she said. “He and my dad pitched on the same team in Sumter, South Carolina, four years before the accident. Sumter is where my parents met.”
This didn’t jibe at all with what Molloy had said about not being a baseball fan. Stevie was tempted to take out a notebook to write all this down but resisted. He wanted her to keep talking. If she was lying about Molloy, it would be easy enough to check out.
“Go on,” he said.
“Joe Molloy was dating my mom when she and my dad met. She dropped Molloy to go out with my dad. No big deal, she just liked him better.”
Stevie sat back in the booth. He was beginning to wonder if anyone involved in this story was telling the truth.
“My father did not cause the accident,” she continued. “A pickup truck going way too fast swerved into his lane, and he yanked the wheel to avoid hitting him.
“When Hatley showed up, Molloy was screaming that Dad had killed Mom and that he was sure he was drunk. When Dad told Hatley there was another car involved, Molloy kept insisting he was lying. So then Hatley pulled rank and told Molloy he was going to take over the investigation.”
“But if Molloy was convinced your dad was drunk, why didn’t he accuse Hatley of a cover-up after he wrote the report?”
“I don’t know, and neither does Dad. All he knows is Hatley told him not to worry about it, that he’d taken care of it.”
“You realize,” he said, “if it comes out that Hatley covered up for your dad, the movie and the book are probably out the window.”
“He didn’t cover up!” she said, raising her voice for the first time. “My dad’s not a liar. If he said there were two cars, there were two cars. Molloy is the liar.”
“Then why didn’t Hatley mention the second car in his report?” Stevie said. “Is he a liar too?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know exactly.” Stevie thought her eyes were glistening just a bit. “I didn’t even know what was in the report until yesterday, remember?”
Stevie nodded and decided to let the silence be his next question.
She leaned toward him and smiled again, eyes still glistening.
“Can I tell you something completely off the record?” This was happening just as Kelleher and Susan Carol had predicted it would.
“Actually, I’d prefer you didn’t,” Stevie said. “I can’t take a chance that you’ll tell me something I already know, or might find out later, and then won’t be able to use because I agreed to let you tell me off the record.”
For the first time since they had sat down, the look on her face betrayed a hint of anger. “You mean after all I’ve told you, you might still write a story?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Stevie said. “But I can’t put myself in a position where I can’t write the story.”
“But I told you what happened,” she said. “You can easily check what I told you about Molloy and Dad playing in Sumter. I’m not lying about any of that.”
“I’m not saying you’re lying about anything,” he said. “But you don’t have all the answers either: your dad says two cars were involved; the police report only mentions one car. Was your dad drinking? One cop-who you say hated your father-insists yes. The other cop-your dad’s friend-says nothing about it in the report. And the fact remains that the version of the story your dad has told you may not be the way it happened at all.
“But what really bothers me is that David Felkoff, apparently with your dad’s approval, sent Walsh to Lynchburg to check the report and then sent him to tell-and I assume pay-Sergeant Hatley to keep quiet about it all. That doesn’t exactly make your dad out to be innocent.”
“But I told you why Felkoff wanted to do it. He wanted to be sure no questions would come up later about Mom’s death.” Her tone had changed from flirtatious to angry. “He didn’t know what was in the report either. Walsh was sent there to make sure the report jibed with what had happened.”
“Well, if your dad’s buddy Hatley wrote it, why wouldn’t it jibe? But it doesn’t jibe, does it?”
He realized he was cross-examining her and that wasn’t the best way to get someone to talk to you. But there were so many holes in her story.
“Don’t you understand?” she said, her voice rising. “Dad didn’t do anything wrong that night, but the truth is not what publishers and Hollywood producers want to hear. The truth ruins the story.”
He leaned across the table. The tears in her eyes were, Stevie guessed, real.
“Morra,” he said softly, hoping to convince her he was still her friend, even though it was probably way too late for that. “Did your dad and Felkoff send you here today to try to get me off the story?”
“No!” she said. “They don’t even know I’m here!”
For some reason he was instantly convinced she was telling the truth-at least about this. Still not raising his voice, he said, “Morra, I know you don’t want to hear this, but the truth is the story. It’s the only story. And if your dad is lying on any level, it’s going to come out.”
WHACK!
Stevie felt his face sting and burn all at once and realized, since he hadn’t seen it coming, that she had just slapped him. He wondered if they taught that at pretty-girl school too.
“Turns out David was right,” she said, standing up. “He said I’d be wasting my time trying to convince you there was no story to write, that you were so insanely jealous of him you’d want to get Dad no matter what.”
“But this wasn’t a setup, right?” he said, gritting his teeth a little because he was in pain. She was stronger than she looked.
And she looked as if she might hit him again-but she didn’t. Instead she just said, “I thought journalists were supposed to be the good guys-not people who ruin people’s lives.”
She turned on her heel and stormed away from the table and out of the restaurant. Stevie looked around and saw people staring at him. The waiter hustled over to the table.
“Is everything okay, sir?” he asked. “Do you need some ice or something?”
Stevie figured his cheek was probably bright red, judging by the burning he was feeling. “No ice,” he said. “Just the check would be good.”
He sat back in the booth again. Covering the World Series was becoming less and less fun by the minute.