“I believe you,” I said, curious why he avoided my gaze. “Then what are you sorry about?”
“Kyle and Laycee met me for drinks after the game at Fifth Base. Kyle bailed at midnight. Laycee wanted to stay out and party. I didn’t feel like drinking alone so I brought her up to my house with me. We got smashed on a few bottles of champagne. She blabbed on about auditioning for some cable show, then started telling me about Forrest’s problems in the sack.” Jarret stopped and looked up. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t sleep with her.”
“I’m not here to judge, Jarret.”
“I passed out on the couch. A garbage truck outside woke me at seven. Hell, I forgot about her until I saw her asleep on the bed. I dressed for my run and left her there. When I got home, I—” His face twisted. “I found her covered with blood. She was dead, Liz. I went in the bathroom and vomited. That’s when Ira called me.”
“He called you?” Odd. “Ira told me you called him.”
Jarret shook his head. “You heard wrong. I was too freaked to move. Ira told me to wait for him before I called anyone.”
“Weren’t you worried the intruder might still be in the house?”
“The police asked the same question. The house was quiet when I walked in. I called Laycee’s name and when she didn’t answer, I assumed she was asleep. I stopped in the kitchen for a bottle of water, and then went in the bedroom to wake her up. That’s when I saw her facedown on the bed, covered with blood. I went numb. The room began to spin. As soon as Ira got there, we called 911. All hell broke loose. I spent the rest of the day with my lawyer, Ira, and the cops.”
“Did the police clear you?”
He glanced away. “They didn’t hold me. They made me repeat the story over and over and asked if anything was taken from the house. I won’t be able to get back into my house until the field investigation units finish with the property. My lawyer took me to the station to be fingerprinted. Ira got me the room here at the hotel. I’m sorry, Liz.”
“Why? There’s nothing to apologize to me for.” I reached across the table to take his hand.
“There is.” He pulled away. “If I had kept away from Laycee in the first place, you wouldn’t have…”
Me? I drew back, blinking. “I wouldn’t have what, Jarret?”
The waiter appeared with our food. He set the plates down on the table and asked if we wanted ketchup, honey, or more gravy.
“No, thanks, pal,” Jarret said, waving him off.
Before we could return to our conversation, a young boy stopped at the side of our booth with a baseball glove tucked under his arm. “Are you Jarret Cooper?”
“I am.” Jarret shifted into his public persona of the composed ballplayer. I waited with an affable smile, giving the boy his moment while an apprehensive knife sliced through my shoulder blades.
“What can I do for you, son?” Jarret said.
The boy shuffled his feet. “I was at the game Tuesday night when you hit that home run against the Cubs. I never saw a pitcher hit a home run before. That was pretty cool.”
“Thanks. Are you a Dodger fan?”
The kid shook his head. “Cubs. I’m from Illinois. My dad said you are, too. I pitch for the Aurora Scrappers.”
“So you’re a Little League man.” Jarret put up his hand and they exchanged high fives. “My respect. I played for the McHenry Stallions. Did you have a good season?”
“Not good enough, sir. We didn’t make the series.”
“Hang in there, kid. Baseball is about getting home safe. Remember that, keep up with your practice, and listen to your coach,” Jarret said. “Would you like me to sign your glove for you?”
After an excited scramble for a pen, the boy took his autographed glove, thanked Jarret, and hollered as he darted across the restaurant. “Dad, look what I got!”
I reached across the table and grabbed Jarret’s hand. “What were you about to say to me? If you stayed away from Laycee, I wouldn’t have what? Say it.”
He glanced through the restaurant then lowered his voice. “I saw your box of books missing from the kitchen when I went through the house with the police. Finding Laycee rattled me so much that I forgot you were coming to pick it up. I ended up telling the police the intruder must have taken it. Detective Pratt wanted to know if you were at the house the night before or that morning. I said no, and she asked if I was lying to protect you.”
“And you answered?”
“I told her I hadn’t seen you since the morning of the game. Did you come to the house yesterday morning?”
“Yes. For three minutes.” I repeated the story I gave Pratt. “Your neighbor saw me after I pulled out of the driveway. I had no idea Laycee was in the house, dead or alive.”
“What time were you there?” he said.
“A few minutes after eight-thirty. What time did you leave?”
“Same time I always leave for my run—eight.”