“How was he?” I asked.
“After his pitching disaster? Can’t you guess? Pathetic. Bitched and moaned about tripping on the foul line. Blamed the pigeon. Carped about being hexed. You know how damned superstitious he is.”
I nodded. Jarret relied on his game day beliefs for a control mechanism to soothe his nerves and ease performance pressure on the mound.
“Laycee took Jarret’s crappy mood as a challenge and started hitting on him right off. He knocked back the booze pretty hard. So did she. I guess when I went to the bar to order another round they made a plan to hook up. I knew by the way she cooed at him for the rest of the night. Didn’t bother me.” Kyle smirked. “I got up at four yesterday to open the gym. I just wanted to go home and get some sleep. She wanted to stay. She asked Jarret to drive her back to the hotel.”
I held back from asking Kyle why, if he went home so early, he didn’t open the gym this morning. His feigned nonchalance didn’t mask the biting edge to his voice. Kyle took a backseat to Jarret’s fame since the beginning of their friendship. I often suspected that Kyle goaded Jarret into reckless behavior to knock him down a notch. Last night, Jarret wound up taking Kyle’s “date” home.
“So you left them at the bar?” I said.
“Yeah. It probably was Jarret’s idea to go up to his house after Fifth Base closed. He wouldn’t go with her to her hotel. She was staying down the block at the Sportsmen’s Lodge. He was too careful to be seen out with a married woman.”
I flinched at Kyle’s casual remark about Jarret’s amorous cautions, a subject I didn’t care to explore especially if those habits dated back to our marriage. “Did you see anyone you knew at Fifth Base?”
“Nah. The rest of the team went home after the loss. Why do you care about Jarret? You were too good for him, you know. You aren’t like the rest of the women who hang around ballplayers.” Kyle touched my bare knee, stroking his finger toward my thigh.
The jerk was making a move on me? Payback? Revenge? I moved his hand away, put my foot on the brake, and shifted the car into reverse. “I need to leave. I have an appointment to get to. Thanks for filling me in.”
Kyle shrugged off my rejection and opened the car door. Before he got out he said, “Jarret is keeping his cell turned off. If you call the hotel, ask for Bruce Sutter.”
I regretted engaging Kyle just to appease my curiosity. If I hadn’t gone to Jarret’s house this morning or Eagleton hadn’t called in Nick, I wouldn’t care what Kyle, Jarret, or Laycee did last night. Unless—was I still more connected to Jarret than I realized? I made a right turn out of the parking lot into the rush-hour traffic inching along Ventura Boulevard.
Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I replayed Kyle’s narrative in my head, unable to shake off the bitterness I sensed in his tone. If Jarret got convicted of murder, Kyle would be left with full ownership of the gym. What if Kyle had stayed up all night drinking and stirring his resentment? Maybe he didn’t like being used and decided to punish both Laycee and Jarret. Kyle knew Jarret’s garage door combination. What if he saw Laycee asleep and murdered her to frame Jarret? Possible. What about the symbol? A diversion?
My phone rang as I passed the Starbucks at Vantage and Ventura. Mom.
“Did you hear from Jarret?” she said.
“Nope,” I said, stopping for a red light at Laurel Canyon. “But I talked to his trainer.”
“What did he say? Is Jarret all right?”
“He’s fine. He’s staying at the Sportsmen’s Lodge and not answering his cell. Leave him alone, Mom. He’ll contact someone when he wants to.”
“Liz, he needs our support.”
The light turned green. I passed through the intersection, biting down hard to keep from yelling. Then I took a deep breath and said, “You know what, Mom? I could use your support. Please don’t draw me into Jarret’s drama. If he’s innocent, he has a team of lawyers and agents to help him.”
“What do you mean by if? Of course he’s innocent.”
“Then don’t worry about him. The truth will come out.”
“You’re upset.”
“I’m hot. I’m tired of talking about this, and I want to get home. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?”
“I love you, dear.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
When I turned the corner onto my street, the phone rang again.
“Jarret’s not registered at the Sportsmen’s Lodge,” Mom said, testing every strand of my nerves.
My rational side intervened. An outburst would be a poor prologue to my meeting with Carla. “He’s registered as Bruce Sutter,” I said, pulling into my driveway.
“Who is—?”
“Hall of Fame Cubs pitcher. Jarret’s childhood hero.”
“Isn’t that charming.”
Chapter Nine