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  Double Play

  A Cat McDaniel Mystery

  by

  Jen Estes

  Published by Camel Press

  PO Box 70515

  Seattle, WA 98127

  For more information go to: www.camelpress.com

  www.jenestes.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Sabrina Sun

  DOUBLE PLAY

  Copyright © 2013 by Jen Estes

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-941-1 (Trade Paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-942-8 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012955397

  Produced in the United States of America

  * * * *

  To Tony

  Acknowledgments

  My appreciation to all the wonderful people at Camel Press, especially Catherine and Jennifer. Further thanks to my agent, Dawn, for her support and hard work.

  Much gratitude to my Harley expert, Jeff, and as always, thank you to all my family and friends who have supported me in my writing endeavors.

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  Cat’s eyes snapped open.

  What was that?

  At first, she was grateful for the abrupt end to the wedding nightmare. It was the third night in a row she’d dreamt about her upcoming nuptials and tonight she’d been marching down the aisle wearing only a wedding veil. This was worse than the earlier dream where she’d lost her engagement ring in the Niagara River, but not as bad as last night’s, when she’d been drowning in frosting atop a giant wedding cake.

  Did all brides-to-be dread their own weddings? She adored Benji. How could she not? He was a sweetie pie—or at least, he seemed like a sweetie pie. Maybe he only wanted her to think he was a sweetie pie and the second they said “I do” her sweetie pie would sour. She looked at the man sleeping next to her. His head was buried face down in the fluffy pillow, and all that was visible was a pile of wavy black hair. She reached out to touch him, as if to reassure herself that the rest of him was really there.

  Her hand froze in mid-air.

  Uh-oh. There it was again. A scratching sound. Like a tree branch grazing a window or a feline sharpening its claws. She searched her groggy mind for a rational explanation. Their loft was on the second floor of a three-story renovated warehouse in what used to be the industrial section of Buffalo, New York, but the balcony overlooked a treeless parking lot and therefore no branch could be responsible. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to talk Benji into a pet; therefore no kitten was engraving the coffee table. She lay very still, listening intently to the scratching coming from the living room.

  She wished she could turn off the ceiling fan above the queen-sized bed; its rhythmical whomps were making it difficult to concentrate.

  Scratch.

  She blinked and peered toward the doorway, waiting for her eyes to adjust so that she could make out more than the green glow of the alarm clock.

  1:52 a.m.

  Maybe it was coming from downstairs; Old Man Finley doing another one of his craft projects, perhaps whittling bird figurines on his own balcony. Unlikely. The crotchety neighbor turned in at dusk and didn't hesitate to ring them with an angry phone call if the television was too loud during the Top Ten list. He was a miserable grouch, but at least he was quiet.

  Concentrate! she told herself, giving her head a quick shake. What was that noise?

  She squinted into the doorway but could only see two feet into the hallway.

  Scratch.

  There it was again. She heard it perfectly this time and it was definitely not coming from the neighbor's. Worse, it sounded closer than it had before. It was a methodical scraping, with the chilling follow-up of a rattle. She sat up in the bed and shook Benji’s bare shoulder.

  “Benji,” she whispered.

  He groaned and rolled his head to the side, opening one eye. “Again? You’re insatiable.”

  She frowned at the dopey smile sneaking across his square-jawed, lightly stubbled face. Apparently, Benji’s sense of humor didn’t require eight hours of sleep. “Wake up. There’s a noise.”

  “I’ll call the super in the morning.”

  The rattling repeated, as if calling attention to itself.

  Benji shot up and cocked his head. “What was that?”

  “The aforementioned noise. Thanks for joining us,” she hissed.

  He threw the covers off and got out of bed. Cat followed on her tippy toes, reassured by his strong, five-foot-ten inch frame. Her heart pounded. She hadn’t been this wide awake at two in the morning since the Soldiers’ record-setting twenty-four inning game earlier in the season.

  Benji grabbed the Louisville slugger off the top of the dresser.

  “Just in case,” he told her.

  Cat wrapped her fingers around the barrel. “Hey, hey. I just got that at Cooperstown and it’s autographed by Andre Dawson. I waited in line for an hour and a half for it. If you want to arm yourself, use your red laser sword thingy.”

  He turned around, squinting at her in disbelief. “Oh, okay, I’ll just let us get murdered in our sleep. Wouldn’t want your fan memorabilia to depreciate.” He paused for a beat. “Besides, the lightsaber was damaged in the fatal battle against Obi-Wan. That’s what makes it so valuable.”

  She started to chuckle, but another scratch stifled her amusement.

  “Shh!” She touched her finger to her lips. “There it is again. It's coming from the balcony.”

  Cat gulped. She’d figured her imagination was getting the best of her, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  They both poked their heads out of the bedroom door and into the narrow hallway. First they looked to the right of the rectangular loft. The front door was still secured. Cat whirled her head to the back of the apartment and crept down the hallway to get a better look at the balcony.

  When moving in eight months ago, she had told Benji that the sliding glass door was a liability. He’d tried to appease her by inserting a wooden dowel into the track, but she’d pointed out that all a burglar would have to do was lift the old door up and off its track to defeat it. He’d laughed at her, saying no one was going to bother climbing up to their apartment to break into their balcony. An intruder would have to use the fire escape ladder, which was much too rickety to provide a stealthy entrance. “Except when we’re gone or asleep,” she’d countered, but Benji had argued that there were enough nosy neighbors around at all hours to keep a decent crime watch. Nevertheless he had promised to fix it; he simply hadn’t gotten around to it. After all, Benji knew firsthand what Cat had been through in the past year—the close brushes with death in Las Vegas, Santo Domingo and Miami. She had more cause than most for paranoia.

  Especially now. She froze at the sight of an intruder in the living room. He'd obviously entered through the lax balcony door, just as she'd feared. Benji’s doubt had struck her as condescending at the time, and now, seeing the figure twenty feet away, she found that her vindication provided little comfort.

  The man was illuminated by the moonlight streaming in from the balcony. He was reed slim and as tall as the top of the glass door he was currently manhandling—definitely over six feet, maybe 6’4”? His elongated shadow spilled onto the living room floor, reminding her of Randy Johnson in a late afternoon game. The man looked like a shadow himself, with his head to toe black leather ensemble. Still unaware of them, he was attempting t
o wiggle the door back on its track.

  “Cat, call the police,” Benji said, keeping a steady gaze on the back of the intruder.

  The figure spun around at the sound of Benji’s voice. His face was hidden underneath the shell of a motorcycle helmet.

  Cat took a step backward, toward the kitchen, her eyes locked on the scene.

  Benji ran toward the leather-covered figure, jousting with the bat.

  The man extended one long arm toward Benji and snatched the bat out of his hand.

  Cat gasped and started to turn around, desperate to get to the front door.

  He pointed the bat at her. “Stop.”

  It was his voice, not the command, that made her obey. Her shoulders relaxed, only to tighten again from annoyance.

  “Quinn.” She didn’t say it with a hint of inquisition. She’d know that velvety, unmistakably arrogant voice anywhere.

  “Hi, Sis," he said.

  Benji, still reeling from the shock of the bat being ripped from his clutches, jerked his head up. “Sis?”

  Chapter 2

  Cat reached around the wall into the kitchen and flipped on the overhead light. Storming into the living room, she clicked on the lamp, too.

  Quinn finished securing the patio door and stepped into the living room. He wiggled his head out of his motorcycle helmet and his straight hair tumbled around his pale face. He pushed the strawberry-blond strands back.

  Cat approached him, tucking her own red strands behind her ears before she tightly crossed her arms, hoping to make it clear that her long-lost brother shouldn't expect a hug. Quinn’s posture was still atrocious. But even hunching, he towered over her and Benji both. She’d forgotten how tall he was. He’d shot up to basketball player height the same summer he’d stolen half of Grams’ kitchen and seemed to have gained a couple inches since then. His once bright-red hair had faded to a soft fire and sunshine, parted down the middle and so long it hung to his ears. She had no doubt that his aversion to short hair was more out of laziness than rebellion, same as the scruffy goatee that hid his cleft chin. The twosome may have only been half siblings, but the redheads also shared a set of striking green eyes and alabaster skin, all courtesy of Michael McDaniel.

  “These doors are really a security risk,” Quinn finally said.

  Benji wiped his brow with the back of his hands, still staring at the both of them, his expression a mixture of confusion and anger. “Yeah, I’m beginning to see that.”

  Quinn let his duffel bag slide off his shoulder onto the carpet and propped the bat against the sofa. He twirled his helmet around and plunked it atop the bat. Then he plopped down on the couch, kicking his black Red Wings up on the glass coffee table.

  Cat pointed at his bag in disbelief. “How did you get up here carrying all that?”

  Quinn flashed his reddened palms at her. “Climbed the rusty fire escape. Now are you going to introduce me to my soon-to-be bro-in-law or what?”

  Cat flailed a helpless arm in his direction. “Benji Levy, Quinn McDaniel.” She sighed and shrugged her shoulders at Benji. “My half-brother.”

  “Brother? Cat, a word?” Benji walked through the living room and headed down the hallway, turning the quick corner into the kitchen.

  Cat narrowed her eyes at Quinn and held her index finger in the air, letting him take it as either an instruction to wait or be quiet, both of which she desperately wanted but doubted he would grant her.

  Benji was waiting, hands on his hips. Dark circles framed his wide blue eyes. “I keep thinking any day now that the secrets will stop and yet here I stand, at two o’clock in the morning, finding out you have a brother. A brother! How have you kept that a secret?”

  “Half-brother. It’s not a secret. You just ….”

  He raised his eyebrows, daring her to finish.

  “Never asked,” she squeaked out. She pursed her lips, knowing the excuse sounded even worse out loud.

  “Cat.”

  “I know, but can we talk about this later?”

  She didn’t wait for a response before charging back into the living room.

  Quinn grinned at her, his hands linked behind his head.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed, making sure Benji couldn’t hear her over the rustling of the kitchen cabinets and the running water from the sink.

  Quinn unzipped his leather jacket and displayed a Hooters Santo Domingo t-shirt. “I wanted to say thanks for the present.”

  “You’re supposed to be in Key West.”

  “I was. Grams came to visit with that rich boyfriend of hers. Are we supposed to call him Grandpa? Because I’m thinking about trying it out and seeing if it gets me anywhere.” He rubbed his thumb against his fingertips.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought it was time for a change of locale.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Jesus, little Sis. If this is how you treat family members who stop by? I shudder to ask what happens when a Jehovah’s Witness stumbles across your doorstep. Which reminds me … Levy. That’s Jewish, right?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  He shrugged. “None at all. Just curious. Does he know you were quite the little Catholic schoolgirl?”

  The coffee maker began to gurgle and with every drip, its aroma became stronger and spilled into the living room.

  “I have a whole life here and I can’t have you—”

  Benji came back around the corner and ran his hand through his hair. She silenced herself.

  “So, Quinn, you’re Cat’s brother.” He shot her another dirty look.

  Quinn stretched his arms above his head. “Yup.”

  “Half-brother.” Cat tossed Benji’s glare at Quinn, as if they were all playing a game of Hot Potato.

  “Semantics. We share the same dad and our moms are cut from the same Jell-O mold. Mine’s a waitress in Chicago and Cat’s is an out-of-work actress, which is Hollywood for waitress.”

  Benji walked over to the armchairs, his flannel pajama pants dragging across the carpet. His eyes fluttered at the motorcycle boots on the coffee table but he didn’t say anything. He sat back in the chair and crossed his arms over his bare chest. It was just as well they both preferred to sleep in PJs, she thought, suddenly wishing she had flannel pants of her own. She pulled the long Soldiers’ t-shirt down for a bit more modesty.

  She met Benji’s curious gaze and gave him a helpless smile.

  “Anyway, if Cat had told me you were coming, we would’ve waited up.”

  “Aw, don’t blame the Red Robin. I wanted to surprise her,” Quinn replied.

  Benji studied him. “Is that why you broke into our apartment at two in the morning?”

  Cat walked over to the couch, kicking Quinn’s long leg with her bare foot. “I’m guessing he knew I wouldn’t answer if he came to the front door.”

  Quinn pulled his foot off the coffee table and grinned a cocky half-smile. She couldn’t even remember what his genuine expression of happiness looked like; this ornery air of satisfaction was his trademark. “There was that, too.”

  Cat looked down at the stuffed duffel bag. “That’s a lot of baggage.”

  “Not really. It’s all I got to my name.”

  Cat’s expression hardened. “You can’t stay here.”

  “Cat.” Benji gaped at her.

  She shrugged. “We don’t have the room.”

  Benji stood up. “Why don’t you help me get the coffee in the kitchen?”

  Cat took a deep breath, avoiding the knowing smirk planted on Quinn’s face. “Fine.”

  Benji’s hisses started the second they rounded the corner. “What is wrong with you? He’s your brother and he needs a place to stay.”

  “Half-brother. I haven’t even seen him since I was nineteen, yet I’m supposed to open my home up to a virtual stranger?”

  “He’s family.”

  Cat brushed past him and jerked the coffee carafe from the maker, slamming it on
the tray. She pulled three of the mugs off the metal tree rack from where they hung, their bright colors an ironic commentary on her black mood. “You’d really let a guy you haven’t seen in a decade stay with you just because you share some sibling DNA markers?”

  “I— I don’t know. I’m an only child.”

  “So am I. I grew up with Grams. He was raised by his mom in Chicago. He only stayed with us during his mom’s rehab stints, the last of which was when he left with Gram’s Depression Glass collection.”

  “He stole it?”

  “She didn’t press charges,” she replied, as if that answered his question. In the McDaniel world, it was innocent until fingerprinted. She pointed at the shared wall between the living room and the kitchen. “We don’t want him here. He’s trouble.”

  Benji continued to whisper, “I don’t think he has anywhere else to go.”

  “Why is this my problem? Let him go to a shelter with the rest of the bums.”

  “You don’t mean that.” He sighed and picked up the serving tray. “I don’t think you know how lucky you are. I would’ve loved to have a brother, even if it was just part-time.”

  “That’s easy to say, but trust me, this is not a guy you want in your life. He doesn’t have a job, he doesn’t have any money and apparently he doesn’t have a house.”

  “Uh, I hate to break up the whisper convention but your walls aren’t exactly soundproof.” The shout came from the living room.

  Cat knocked her shoulder against the corner as she rushed back into the living room. Giving it a soothing rub, she said in a clipped, barely civil voice, “Would you keep your voice down? This is a peaceful building. You’re lucky one of our neighbors didn’t see you climbing up our fire escape.”