Free Die Like an Eagle by Donna Andrews

Biff not there to coach his team.”
    â€œWell, that too, but Shep was scheduled to be the umpire.”
    â€œWait—my sons’ team was going to play Biff’s team, and Biff’s brother was going to be the umpire? Outrageous! In what universe is that fair?”
    â€œWelcome to the Biff zone. And Shep’s only his half brother, so it’s only half outrageous. I’ll go order the porta-potties and head right over.”
    I hung up, still fuming, and turned back to see what was going on around the porta-potty. Cousin Horace, Caerphilly’s official crime scene technician, had arrived. He might not look very professional, wearing his Eagles t-shirt, Eagles hat, and faded blue jeans, but I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was one of the few people for whom today was going to turn out utterly satisfying. Not just baseball, but a crime scene followed—we hoped—by baseball! He and Dad were a matched set sometimes.
    At the moment, Horace was standing in the doorway of the porta-potty, talking over his shoulder to the chief, who was making notes.
    â€œWhat’s going on here?”
    Biff had arrived.
    The chief turned around. I saw him start to hold out his hand to shake Biff’s and then stifle the impulse.
    â€œMr. Brown?” he said. “I’m afraid I may have some bad news for you. It appears that your brother is dead.”
    â€œHeart attack, right?” Biff shook his head. “The doctor kept warning him those bacon cheeseburgers would get him in the end.”
    â€œI’m afraid it looks like homicide,” the chief said.
    â€œHomicide?” Biff’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
    The chief gestured to the porta-potty. Horace stood aside, and to my relief both he and Dad had solemn, concerned looks on their faces. Biff stepped closer and peered in.
    â€œThat’s him,” he said. “Son of a … yeah, that’s him. Shep Henson. My brother. Half brother, technically. Damn.”
    â€œWhen did you last see Mr. Henson?” The chief had flipped to a fresh page in his notebook and was scribbling.
    â€œYesterday afternoon, or maybe you’d call it early evening,” Biff said. “He works for me at the construction company. I got there at about six thirty—no, make that closer to seven—and shortly after I arrived he told me he was taking off. I stayed on and worked for a couple of hours in my office, and then—well, I’m sure you heard about the break-in at my supply yard.”
    â€œI’ve read the reports from deputies Shiffley and Butler,” the chief said. “I thought it was a false alarm.”
    â€œDepends on your definition of false alarm,” Biff said. “There was definitely someone stumbling around out there. I heard them, and when I went to investigate, I found Shep had left the side gate unlocked. At least I assume it was Shep; locking up’s his job most days. I didn’t know if it was thieves or just kids playing a prank, so I called nine-one-one. Couple of your officers helped me check the whole supply yard. We didn’t find anything missing, but it’s a big yard, and there’s a lot of random stuff out there. I called Shep a couple times to get him to come back and help out, but he never answered. You don’t suppose he was already…”
    Biff’s voice trailed off, and he frowned down at his dead brother as if angry with him. But maybe he was just one of those men who hid real feeling under a pretense of irritation.
    â€œDamn,” he said. “He was supposed to umpire today. How am I supposed to find someone else on such short notice?”
    The chief and I glanced at each other. His face seemed to show the same surprise I felt. Then, with a visible effort, he assumed his usual calm, professional expression.
    â€œI’m sure there will be plenty of time to arrange