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Amy had taken her daughter to Denver only a dozen times or so in her young life, and each time it seemed their destination was LoDo — short for lower downtown. It had two of Taylor’s favorite attractions: the world-renowned roller coaster at Elitch Garden Amusement Park and the Colorado Rockies professional baseball team at Coors Field. Of special moment that Wednesday night was “hat night” at the ballpark. The first ten thousand fans through the gate would receive a free baseball cap. Taylor was certain that fans would be coming from places as far away as Pluto for such a tempting giveaway. Mommy had to take her. On the heels of the break-in at their apartment, some time away from Boulder would do them both good.
Built of red brick and green steel, Coors Field was one of the league’s new breed of “baseball-only” stadiums that had the aura of an old ballpark. A natural grass playing field and intimate seating arrangement gave ball games the feeling they used to have, before domed stadiums and artificial turf became so popular. Even the nostalgia buffs, however, appreciated the modern touches, such as big-screen scoreboards, plenty of concession areas, and enough rest rooms to ensure that a second-inning trip with Taylor to the potty didn’t mean a return sometime after the seventh-inning stretch.
It was a cool summer evening, perfect for a ball game. They sat in the cheaper seats in right field. Taylor brought her baseball mitt to catch any long home runs. The free cap was several sizes too big and kept falling over her eyes, completely blocking her vision. Every twenty seconds it was “What’s happening now, Mommy?” Amy had to play radio announcer for the entire first inning until Taylor finally tired of the silliness and agreed to lose the hat.
By the sixth inning, Taylor’s eyes were getting heavy. She was starting to slump in her seat. Amy, too, had drifted away from the game. She was thinking of the conversation she’d had with Marilyn Gaslow. She could actually see Marilyn’s office from the stadium. The lights burned late on the forty-second floor. She wondered if Marilyn was still there. She wondered if Marilyn had spoken to anyone about their conversation.
She quickly shook away her doubts. Talking to Marilyn was like talking to Gram. Without the guilt.
Still, it was bothersome that Marilyn didn’t quite seem to believe her. Amy wasn’t sure which part of the story had been so difficult for Marilyn to swallow. Maybe she didn’t believe a word about the two hundred thousand dollars in the first place. Maybe she didn’t believe Amy had no connection to the dying old man who had sent it. Worse yet, she wondered if Marilyn had conveyed her own hidden sentiments when she’d warned that others might call her a whore.
Good thing she hadn’t mentioned that his son Ryan was a heartthrob. It would only have fueled Marilyn’s suspicions.
“Me tired,” said Taylor. She was half in her own seat, half in Amy’s lap.
Amy stroked her daughter’s forehead, then took her in her arms. “It’s time to go anyway.”
“I didn’t catch a ball yet.”
“Next time.”
They walked hand in hand down the cement ramps. Taylor was struggling to keep up as Amy walked with purpose, on the verge of a decision. It was time to regroup. Astronomy was history. She had already missed the Monday deadline to reenroll in the doctoral program for the fall, and she had lost the cash that would have made that possible anyway. The job now was to regain Marilyn’s confidence and prove she wasn’t making up stories about the money. That was something Ryan Duffy could help her with. Last time they’d talked, she had given him one week to come up with a legitimate explanation for the money. The deadline was Friday. She would go through with the follow-up meeting, she decided, even though the money was gone. She would tape-record their conversation and let Marilyn listen. It wouldn’t bring the money back, but it would restore Marilyn’s faith.
A roar of the crowd disrupted her thoughts. The Rockies had scored. She and Taylor kept walking, leaving through the turnstile and chain-link gate to the north parking lot.
Amy had never taken Taylor to a night game before. Leaving early had a different feeling at night than in broad daylight. Vapor lights gave the grounds an eerie yellow glow. Trash bins at the gate were overflowing with cans and bottles that had been confiscated from fans on their way in. Ticket stubs lay scattered on the ground. The crowd noise faded behind them. The parking lot was jammed, without another soul in sight. It was an uneasy feeling of solitude, as if forty thousand people had vaporized with the sunset, leaving Amy and Taylor alone in a sea of cars.
Amy picked up her sleepy daughter and walked faster toward her truck.
The walk back to the parking space always seemed farther than the walk to the stadium. That was never more true than when you were alone in the parking lot with a sleepy four-year-old in your arms. They passed row after row of empty vehicles. Amy was certain she was in section E, but the rows all looked alike. For the second time she saw the same red Honda. She headed in the other direction this time, searching for her distinctive old truck. Taylor was sound asleep on her shoulder. Amy’s arms were getting tired. Her back was aching. Taylor wasn’t such a little girl anymore. Finally, she spotted her truck in the next row.
She cut between two parked cars and dug out her key. She opened the passenger door with one hand and placed Taylor in the car seat. She closed the door and hurried around the back to the driver’s side. She stopped short, startled by a noise. A blur leaped from behind the truck. Someone jumped up and grabbed her from behind. She started to scream, but a huge hand covered her mouth. A cold knife was at her throat.
“Don’t move,” he warned.
She was shaking but unable to move, pinned against the truck.
He spoke right into her ear from behind her. “We saw the police report. You didn’t mention the money. Smart move.”
She didn’t even breathe. It was her worst fear — the thugs behind the money.
“Stay smart, lady. Tell no one about the money. And stay away from the cops.” He twisted her arm, heightening the pain. “Now get in your truck and get the hell out of here. You scream, you ever talk to the police again, it’s your daughter who pays.”
He knocked her to the ground and sprinted away. Amy hurried to her feet and looked around, gasping for breath. She didn’t see him anywhere. She reached for the rape whistle on her keychain and brought it to her lips, then stopped. His warning stayed with her.
She jumped in the truck and started the engine. Taylor was still asleep in her car seat. The sight of her little one brought emotions to a head and moisture to her eyes. She leaned over and hugged her with one arm while steering with the left. Her whole body trembled as she drove quickly from the parking lot.