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The Arts Festival was over, and the heat of August dominated. I was trying to arrange a week off to take the boys camping
this year. As usual, my reputation seems to take me well beyond State College.
Chuck Hardy, a journalist with the Centre Daily Times, had been renting since Harry left soon after the case of "Imprintable
Impressions" Chuck and Paul Wynn both took care of the Little Brothers when they came over to play in my absence.
It was a Friday night in mid-August when Chuck stopped at my office with a proposal.
"Bud, How'd you like to go to New York next week?"
"With you?"
"Yes"
"Who'd take care of the boys?"
"Paul can still watch them."
"How long will we be gone?"
"I need someone to check the books of the Mutual Baseball League. They seem to have had some trouble, so they want me to investigate
fraud."
"So, I take it that you need me in that investigation?"
"It's your expertise, Bud."
"Paul is going to want free rent."
"You can afford it. Just take it off your Schedule E".
"When do we leave?"
"Monday morning. I have the hotel reservations."
Just then, Buddy came into my office.
"Sir, when are we going to camp this summer?"
"Maybe the end of the week. Chuck and I are going to New York on business. You and your little brothers are to behave for
Paul when you're here."
"Where in New York?"
"Mutual Baseball League"
Buddy's azure eyes beamed. "May we come to a baseball game?"
"I don't know how long we'll be there, but I will be sure to mention it. Now go and play."
Buddy ran out the door, his blond hair towsling in the wind. He joined Pete and Marty, who were playing in the backyard near
the woods.
"George's going on another caper with Chuck again!" he informed the boys. Marty was just coming into earshot.
"My Big Brother is on another adventure?" Marty quizzed.
"It looks that way," Pete confirmed.
"If we behave for Paul, George says we can go to a baseball game in New York," Buddy added.
Marty's face reddened with the thought. "I always wanted to go to the Metropolo Field."
Pete chimed in, "Did George say when we might go?"
Buddy looked embarrassed. "No, only after their business is done."
Monday morning we bade the boys goodbye for the week. Chuck and I could not take the boys along. Paul wasn't happy either,
playing double Big Brother to three boys, but he consented.
We met that afternoon in Manhattan at the office of the commissioner, Bob Matlock. Neither Chuck nor I had ever met the man.
We found ourselves on 34th Street in front of a huge building.
"He's on the 34th floor," Chuck informed. We walked across the lobby toward the elevators. My eye caught a familiar face in
the lobby.
"Chuck, Isn't that -- "
"I believe so. What's Noah Kirkegaard doing here?"
Kirkegaard, nearly two meters tall and having long strides, stormed out of the lobby before we could confront him. When we
reached the office, the receptionist was absent and the inner office reeked of conflict.
"If the players' union should think we'd cave into such demands, they'd be severely deluded," Matlock spat. "We'll do our
own investigating of the finances."
The secretary was just leaving the inner office when she saw us in the outer office. "Your investigators are here," she said
as she leaned back into the office through the doorway.
"Good. Send them in."
After we shook hands and sat down, Matlock began the narrative.
"Our league has been losing money over the past few years, and it's been the worst here in New York."
"Did you contact the Manhattan District Attorney?" Chuck jumped in.
"They've been useless because we cannot locate the source of the losses. The office blamed it on Covid, but as you know, we're
well recovered from it."
"What does the management think generally?" I asked.
"The Commissioner, Bill Lemony, dismissed our concerns. So I want you to go undercover to investigate the problem".
"How are we going to do that?" Chuck questioned.
"There's a dispute with some of our players over salary. So we need Buddy to examine the books as the excuse and cover of
the investigation. Chuck, I need you to explore the grievances of the players and sniff around the headquarters."
"What does Lemony think of this idea," I inquired. "Is he against the idea?"
Matlock smiled, "I haven't told him yet. I intend to wait as long as possible."
"Does anyone else know?" Chuck added.
"Right now, it's a secret mission."
"I don't like it, Chuck," I intoned after we left the office. "I suspect we're being used."
Chuck gave me a sideward glance as we walked. "We don't know that yet, Bud."
"I'd rather speak with Lemony first."
"We'll see him tomorrow. I surely don't want to waste an opportunity to mingle with the players. Just remember, I'm the assistant
to the auditor."
"This auditor remains suspicious," I replied. Then I thought about it. "We usually got out of scrapes before, even when I
was solo."
Lemony's office was even higher in a skyscraper. It had been in the Twin Towers, but the league had moved to this building
before the attack in 2001.
Lemony greeted up cordially, we exchanged pleasantries, and then we explained our task.
"I suppose it's necessary to review our books", he sighed, "but I don't think you'll find anything."
Lemony gave us the address of the department, so Chuck and I left for the location.
"We'd better make it look good," Chuck said as we waited for the elevator. Then it occurred to me that we may need clearance.
I left Chuck at the elevator as I retreated to Lemony's office.
I approached cautiously as I heard Lemony berate Matlock, who had accompanied us.
"You made a mistake, Matlock! What if they should find out?"
"Shh, Bill. Someone might hear us. We have to put on a show. Besides, they won't find out. I guarantee it."
Upon hearing it, I discreetly retreated to Chuck. After I told Chuck, he shrugged and said, "We will have to be more on guard."
The next few days fell into routine, as I drove through the finances of the Mutual Baseball League. Chuck went around investigating
the players.
Then I began to find some curious expenses in the books. I decided to keep my suspicions quiet until I could confirm them.
Chuck and I were back at the College Court Motel that evening.
"Bud, the players have their own CPA, and wants to see the books as well."
"Chuck, I'm finding irregularities in the expenses. It doesn't add up; The expenses themselves look too high. Who's their
CPA?"
"Let me find out who and when you can meet."
A few days later, Chuck had the information. When I had returned to the motel, Chuck greeted me with the simple words. "It's
tonight."
"When?"
"Right now. I'm driving."
"Wait. I'd thought we had to show what I suspect."
"Bud, they want to hear you out first."
So, we drove across Manhattan to another motel in the early evening. Traffic caused us to take nearly an hour to get there
in New Jersey.
Before we egressed the vehicle, I asked which room.
"Number 10, Bud."
I blinked at the motel.
"Do you see a light on in there?"
"No. Are you sure it's 10?"
"Chuck, maybe this Dave Brown didn't show up."
Chuck walked up to the door.
"Maybe I have the wrong room."
Chuck turned the doorknob, and his face changed in the dim light. He opened the door and scrambled for a light switch. By
the time I was in the doorway, the light went on.
The room was a mess, looking ransacked. Under the bed lay evidence of accounting. Chuck went around the bed and gasped.
"There's a body lying on the other side."
He knelt behind the bed, searching for a pulse. He was still down when he said, "We'd better call the police."
"Shouldn't we get out of here first?"
"Let me look around a minute."
Chuck stood up, observed what he could, then waved me to leave. He turned out the light, closed the door with a cloth, and
joined me back at the car.
"Okay, call the police and tell them about a murder in a motel room."
"He's dead?"
"At least an hour, Bud."
We drove back to Manhattan in silence, but the conflict played inside my head. I could see that Chuck was contemplating the
situation, too. I finally broke the silence when we arrived back at the motel.
"So, we continue to play as if nothing had happened?"
"Bud, you know it's the best way to solve it."
I frowned as I lifted my eyes. "Yes, it must be the way."
The following morning, Matlock called me into his office. I knew already what he would say.
"Brown was embezzling, so they fired him," he spoke in an angry voice. "I think you'll find the evidence in the books, but
I want you to wrap up the investigation this week."
Matlock thus told me how much time I had to uncover the real culprits. I left, and I went back to the office of the controller.
It was there I found a curious change in the QuickBooks. Until then, I didn't have access to the audit function in it.
It had to be a mistake -- or was it? The audit showed Brown did nothing to the books. However, the audit showed Lemony had
been using an account for sales that Matlock had entered. I looked it up, and I searched the internet for the firm. It didn't
exist! Millions had been sent to this façade over the last year, and it was out of the players' pension fund!
I checked the previous years. It had started small, then grew in services. Of course, I thought. Services would have no physical
evidence!
After a quick glance around the room, I took my cellphone and called Chuck. He didn't answer. I almost panicked. Then I decided
to send the evidence to my edress. I no sooner sent it when I felt a pin prick on my neck. I went to reach it when I lost
consciousness.
Chuck was getting nowhere with the players and their union. Matlock had told them their pension account had been losing money
because of bad investments. Chuck had given up for the day and returned to the motel. He waited for me until 6 PM, called
the office, and Matlock told him that I hadn't showed up.
To complicate matters, Paul had called and told Chuck that the boys wanted to some and see a game at Metropolo Field. Paul
had taken the liberty of buying five tickets for the following day. He wanted to know where they could meet and tour New York
afterwards.
When I didn't show that evening, Chuck decided to use that excuse to see Matlock the following morning. He was determined
to uncover with undercover.
Chuck wondered what had happened, while receiving no answer when he called.
Matlock appeared puzzled when Chuck came.
"I have no idea where Król is."
Chuck could feel the anger rise. "Where was he last?"
"Auditing, I believe>"
"Show me the room."
Matlock led Chuck to the room. He entered alone, looked about the room. He sat down at the desk, and turned on the computer.
It slowly came on, but Chuck noticed the program was missing!
"Why would the program be missing?" he thought.
He knew the league used QuickBooks.
"If I should mention it to Matlock or Lemony, then they would accuse Buddy of stealing the program."
Chuck decided to simply leave. Paul and the boys would be meeting him at the motel for the afternoon game. He suspected Matlock
and Lemony were laying a trap, so he had an excuse to be at the game. Besides, he wanted a closer look at Kirkegaard, who
was pitching today.
Back at the motel, Chuck used the tracer on the cellphone, once he received the coördinates from Paul.
"You didn't know the coördinates?" Paul asked when they met.
"I didn't expect to search for Buddy on this case," Chuck replied irritatedly.
"Fortunately, I needed them when I began playing Big Brother, so I could find out when he was returning."
The three boys became concerned after they became settled in the room.
"Is George missing? Buddy vocalized that concern.
"At this point," Chuck assured. "They have goofed a few times already. It's too early to inform the police about a missing
person."
"Was there any sign of a struggle in that room?" Paul added while tousling his blond hair.
"None; nothing broken, no blood, I'm sure it was a setup to make it look as though Bud had absconded. I noticed neither Matlock
nor Lemony mentioned it."
"So the idea is to keep them away from what we're doing.."
"Paul, I found the cellphone!" Chuck exclaimed. "I don't believe it. The signal's coming from the stadium!"
Paul's jaw dropped. "The phone's at Metropolo field?"
"Boys," Chuck addressed Pete, Marty, and Buddy. "We may need you for more than a ballgame."
"How're we going to do that?" Paul wondered.
"The game is this afternoon. We'll be there with a crowd, so the boys could help us find Bud. Once we locate the phone, we'll
be more than enough to snoop."
"Shouldn't the police be involved?" Paul objected.
"We don't know whether he's alive,: Chuck noted. "If we let them know he's missing, they might make sure."
"Do you think he's dead?" Pete worried. "I've already lost a father, I don't want to lose a Big Brother."
"e don't know it," Chuck cautioned. "We're assuming nothing, but we're going to find out."
"What can we surmise?" Paul inquired.
"Let's figure it must be something to do with the pension plan of the players. It must also involve the players. Bud told
me that Lemony and Matlock were arguing over the investigation. They must have used us as some kind of coverup."
"Didn't you mention that Kirkegaard was there at the time?" Paul probed.
"Paul, isn't Kirkegaard pitching today?"
"Of course, Chuck. I just realized it, too."
"We came to see Kirkegaard," Marty interjected. "He's on a winning streak and a great leader of the team!"
"Didn't the league inform the police?" Paul added.
"That's just it. They probably think we informed the police. They denied that Bud had been kidnaped, so we have no proof.
We must use it to our advantage."
The group of five arrived at Citipolo early afternoon.
"Stay together, boys. Let's follow the signal," Chuck commanded. Then he looked puzzled.
"What is it?" Paul broke in.
"The signal is coming from the bottom of the stadium. The cellphone may have been discarded.
"Then we'll never find George," Buddy concluded.
"Now, boys. Don't give up already. Let's find the sourced of that signal first."
They slowly crept downward past closets and storerooms.
"Where are we?" Paul said after a few minutes.
"I think we're behind the dugouts. I've been here before in previous cases. The signal is around here, maybe another hundred
meters," Chuck replied.
"Hey, What're you doing here?" a security guard called out, sending shock waves through the group.
"Scatter, boys. We'll rejoin with our signals," Paul interjected. "We have connected signals in our phones in case one of
the boys gets lost," he informed Chuck.
"Where're those kids going?"
"Split up!" Chuck commanded. "They'll never believe our story. Maybe someone here knows me."
| A computer-generated image of Paul Wynn, who's a |
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| composite of two of my best buddies. |
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