Red, White & a Dog Named Blue: A Chloe Boston Mystery by Melanie Jackson

Author:Melanie Jackson [Jackson, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 9781460911709
Publisher: CreateSpace
Published: 2011-05-04T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

The next day I showed up at the ball field, Blue glued to my hip, right after work so I’d be early for practice; only there was another team on the field. And they were really good. Blue and I watched in awe the precision with which the strangers executed their drills. Their coach barked orders at the team as they dashed between bases, fielded grounders, and threw to first. All the while someone was at home plate hitting fly balls to the outfielders. Their moves were perfectly orchestrated and carried out with grace.

The intruders were dressed in matching team uniforms, their shirts proclaiming them to be from the Hope Falls Sanitation Department. I had heard of these guys. They were the best, winning the league championship every year. I seemed to remember hearing that the police precinct team had yet to beat them. I knew this was the kind of statistic that must irritate Gordon to no end.

Walking up behind the dugout, I found Gordon hanging onto the fence with his fingers laced through the wires watching the demonstration. He was chomping on a toothpick and looking unhappy.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” I commented.

“The best,” Gordon acknowledged dreamily before he recognized who he was talking to. “Boston, you’re late,” he then snapped.

“I am not,” I insisted.

“I was here before you, that makes you late,” he said, jabbing a finger at my chest. “I have half a mind to take your equipment manager responsibilities away from you.”

I decided to let it go. It was obvious that Gordon was upset about having another team on his field. He paced back and forth a time or two, and then he crossed his arms and glared out onto the diamond, obviously unhappy.

“Come on, Thompson,” Gordon finally called. “Your time is up. It’s time to turn the field over to the professionals.”

“The professional greens keepers you mean,” a blond, Adonis of a man ran over to the fence to reply.

“Ha, ha. Very funny. Now, clear the field.”

“Suppose we’re not ready?”

“Suppose I don’t care?”

“Suppose I call you a whiner?”

“Suppose I call you a high-priced garbage man?”

This clearly pressed one of Thompson’s buttons.

“Suppose we play you for the field?” he said.

Though I had never encountered the phrase, I immediately recognized these as fighting words. The blond Adonis had challenged Gordon to play a game to see which team won the right to the playing field. I knew that no one in his right mind would accept such a challenge from such a team; so naturally, I laughed at the offer.

“Alright, you’re on,” Gordon replied.

Thompson smiled and turned to run back out onto the diamond and talk with his assistant coaches. When they heard the news, there was an audible cheer. Gordon continued to stand with his arms crossed grinding his teeth on a toothpick. It looked as if he was having a waking fantasy of stomping the other team into the dust of the infield.

“Well, what are you doing, Boston?” he said, suddenly coming back to reality.

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