No Nest for the Wicket(4)

Unless the other game had ended earlier than ours. What if it had, and the other players wandered over to watch our game? I needed to call Dad and—

“Minerva’s here,” the chief said, interrupting my worrying. “We’ll be out as soon as we can.”

Minerva? Much as I liked Mrs. Burke, I wondered why he’d bring her to a crime scene. Not my business to pry.

“Fine,” I said aloud. “What do you want me to do until the officers arrive?” I was hoping he’d order me to go back to the house. Away from the body.

“How much of a crowd do you have gawking at the body?”

“No crowd at all,” I said. “This isn’t exactly a spectator sport.”

“The other players aren’t standing around gawking?”

“The field’s at least two acres,” I said. “I can’t even see the other players at the moment.”

A short silence.

“I’m sure it will all make sense when I see it,” he said finally. “Don’t touch anything till I get there.”

With that, he hung up.

“Meg!” my radio squawked. “Your turn.”

I realized Rob had probably been calling me all during my conversation with Chief Burke. I grabbed the radio.

“I’m still looking for my ball,” I said.

I heard tittering. Probably from Mrs. Pruitt and the other Dames.

“Try closing your eyes and letting the ball call to you,” said another voice. My cousin Rose Noire—Rosemary Keenan to the IRS and our mothers. “Imagine the ball emitting a guiding beacon of white light.”

“Can we get on with it?” Mrs. Pruitt snapped.

“Not until I find my ball,” I said. “And no sneaking extra shots while I’m looking. Everyone stays right where they are—understood?”

“Roger. Everyone, report your whereabouts!” Mrs. Fenniman said in her best field marshal’s voice. “Claire and I will stay here by the turning post.”

Claire, presumably, was the woman I still couldn’t bring myself to call anything but Mrs. Wentworth—wife of the history department chairman.

“We’ll concentrate on beaming positive energy for your search,” Rose Noire said. “Won’t we?”

“Or if you want some real help, give us a call,” Mrs. Pruitt said. I heard her in the background, rather than directly, so evidently she was with Rose Noire.

“Could someone please come and chase this cow away?” Lacie Butler whined. “I think it’s planning to attack me.”

“Good grief; it’ll be killer rabbits next,” I muttered, though not into the radio. I’d never met anyone as timid and anxious as Lacie. I hadn’t quite decided whether I felt sorry for her or just found her terminally annoying. Maybe if I ever ran into her when she wasn’t gophering for Mrs. Pruitt and Mrs. Wentworth, I’d find out.

“I’ll bring Spike,” Rob said.

“Oh, would you?” Lacie asked. Lucky for us, Lacie was a good fifteen years older than Rob, and married to boot. That breathless damsel in distress routine was exactly what my overly susceptible brother fell for—if the damsel was beautiful and on the fair side of thirty.

“I’ll be right over as soon as I chase Duck away from wicket three,” Rob said.

“Oh, did she lay another egg?” Rose Noire asked.

“Just sitting on some smooth rocks,” Rob said. “But we don’t want her getting used to nesting on the field.”

No, especially now that the field had become a crime scene. I put the radio down and tuned out the continuing chitchat from the other players. I opened my cell phone again and called Dad.

“I’m up at the house,” he said before I could speak. “I’m keeping a close eye on them—you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Except perhaps Dad looking too closely over someone’s shoulder and getting accidentally whacked by a sledgehammer. Or the very real possibility that the Shiffleys would mutiny against their unwanted overseer and go home to sulk. That was the downside of working with the Shiffleys—they were quite clannish. Offend one and you offended them all, and fat chance of getting anyone to do your carpentry, plumbing, wiring, tree cutting … .

“That’s nice,” I said. “We have another problem.”

“What?”

I took a deep breath. Dad, an avid mystery buff, wouldn’t see a problem, but a golden opportunity to kibbitz on Chief Burke’s investigation.

“We have a suspicious death,” I said. “Chief Burke is on the way, and he needs our help.”

“He needs me to examine the body,” Dad said, jumping to a predictable conclusion. “My medical bag’s in the car.”