Free Big Leagues by Jen Estes Page B

chose her words carefully. “That
Hohenschwangau Stadium is evil?”
    “Don’t do that. Don’t make me sound like a
crazy person.”
    “I’m not.”
    “You’ll see. After that girl left, König was in
a jam. That’s when he poached my Brad from Seattle. We were so
happy there.” Deidre closed her eyes for a moment. “So happy until
we came here. I watched this place kill my husband. It took three
years, but it finally did.”
    She shot a quick glance at the doorway and
brought her wild eyes back to Catriona.
    “They’re coming. We don’t have much time.” She
squeezed Cat’s hand. “You have to listen to me. This place will
destroy you, too.”
    Otis appeared in the doorway with another
uniformed security guard. He smiled at the two women. “There ya
are, Mrs. Derhoff. We’ve got a game about to start. Would you like
me to escort you to your car?”
    “Do I have a choice?”
    “Of course, ma’am. You’re welcome to stay and
watch the game from the owner’s box, if you wish.”
    “No. I think I’ve had my fill of this place.”
She focused on Catriona. “Good luck to you, miss.”
    Otis placed his hand on Deidre’s shoulder and
led her out of the room. Cat watched them exit down the hallway.
Peering over his shoulder at Cat, Otis rolled his eyes. Choosing
not to respond, she turned her attention to the field.
    During the commotion, the stadium had come
alive. The visiting team jogged out of the dugout to take the field
for batting practice. Some Chips players were visible in the
dugout, where they were preparing for the game through an amusingly
choreographed set of handshakes and high-fives that made her
snicker. Fans began to filter into the stadium seats. She spied one
man bearing a typical assortment of stadium food: a beer in one
hand and a chocolate malt in the other, a pretzel jutting from his
mouth and a hot dog sticking up from his pocket. The presence of
fans meant one thing: the gates had opened.
    “Ms. McDaniel?”
    What now?
    Cat twirled the chair around to a blonde woman
painted with more makeup than a carful of clowns. Circus music
immediately danced in Cat’s head.
    Da-da-da-da-da-dum-dum-dum-dum.
    She chided herself to focus. Putting on a tight
smile—her face was beginning to ache from an entire day of
insincerity—she answered, “Um, yes?”
    The Cirque Du Soleil stand-in grinned back and
Cat found herself blinded by a set of shiny white veneers, stained
with red lipstick. Cat forced her eyes not to settle on the layers
of blue eye shadow.
    “I’m Shannon, the press box attendant. Can I
get you something to eat or drink?”
    Shannon pulled out a small notepad from a lap
apron that covered more flesh than the tiny khaki shorts hiding
underneath.
    Press box attendant?
    Cat was beginning to understand why the Chips’
ticket prices were so high. Most of the newer franchises in
professional baseball charge a modest fee for their seats, unlike
the original ballclubs, whose legendary teams come with legendary
payrolls. While the Chips didn’t have a high-priced roster or
generations of fans to compete for seats, they still charged as if
they did. An average ticket at Hohenschwangau Stadium came with the
third highest price tag in the league.
    Not that anyone minds.
    Erich König was known to charm the press by
answering a legitimate question with a cute German adage, a ploy
the local media ate up with a spoon.
    A silver spoon.
    His latest press pleaser had been in response
to Andy St. John’s inquiry into rising ticket prices. Erich had
simply shrugged, winked at the camera and quipped, “ Ohne Knete
keine Fete! ”
    No money, no party. A motto, I’m guessing, only
the rich adopt.
    Cat supposed that most fans didn’t mind forking
over a day’s pay for a ticket to a baseball game, as long as there
was a good chance they’d see a win. Though some might change their
minds if they knew a percentage of the ticket price would go to a
press box servant for the media.
    Cat snapped