“Swade and Yeller,” she repeated. “They were both up to no good at a tennis club. The Ache brothers and Aaron are connected to an agency who deals with tennis players. That leaves us with Deanna Yeller.”
“What about her?”
“Her sleeping with Duane. It can’t just be a coincidence.”
“So?”
“So how would she have met Duane?”
“I don’t know,” Myron said.
“Does she play tennis?”
“What if she does?”
“Keeps things constant.” She stopped. “I don’t know. I’m ranting. It’s just that everything circles back to tennis—except for Deanna Yeller.”
Myron thought about it a moment. Nothing clicked, but something did rumble somewhere in the back of his brain.
“Just a thought,” she said.
He sat up. “Before you said ‘supposedly’ killed Alexander Cross. What did you mean?”
“What real evidence do you have that Swade and Yeller murdered the Cross kid?” she asked. “They might have just been convenient scapegoats. Think about it a second. Yeller was conveniently killed by the police. Swade has conveniently fallen off the face of the earth. Who better to take the fall?”
“Then who do you think killed Alexander Cross?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Probably Swade and Yeller. But who knows for sure?”
More rumbling in the brain. But still nothing surfaced. Myron checked his watch. Seven-thirty.
“You in a rush?” she asked.
“A little.”
“I thought Duane Richwood doesn’t play until one,” she said.
“I’m trying to land a kid named Eddie Crane. He’s playing in the juniors at ten.”
“Can I come along?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“What are your chances of landing him?” she asked.
“I think they’re pretty good. His father might be a problem.”
“The father doesn’t like you?”
“I think he’d prefer a bigger agency,” Myron said.
“Should I smile sweetly at him?” she asked.
Myron thought a moment. “Flash a little cleavage. I’m not sure this guy’s into subtle.”
“Anything to get a client,” she said.
“Maybe you should practice a little first,” he said.
“Practice what?”
“Flashing cleavage. I’m told it’s something of an art.”
“I see. And on whom should I practice?”
Myron spread his hands. “I’m willing to volunteer my services.”
“The sacrifices you make for clients,” she said. “It’s heroic, really.”
“So what do you say?”
Jessica gave him a look. The look, actually. Myron felt it in his toes, to name one place. She leaned toward him. “No.”
“No?”
She put her lips to his ear. “Let’s try out my new oils first.”
One word: Yowzer.
27
Jessica hadn’t need to flash cleavage.
Both Cranes were immediately entranced. Mrs. Crane chatted with Jess about her books. Mr. Crane couldn’t stop smiling and sucking in his gut. At the start of the second set Mr. Crane tried to chew down the commission a half point. A very good sign. Myron made a mental note to bring Jess to more business gatherings.
There were other agents there. Lots of them. Most wore business suits and had their hair slicked back. They ranged in age, but most looked pretty young. Several tried to approach, but Mr. Crane shooed them away.
“Vultures,” Jessica whispered to Myron as one forced his card on Mr. Crane.
“Just trying to hustle business,” Myron said.
“You’re defending them?”
“I do the same thing, Jess. If they’re not aggressive they don’t have a chance. You think the Cranes are going to come to them?”
“But still. You don’t hang around like these guys.”
“What exactly am I doing now?”
Jessica thought a second. “Yeah, but you’re cute.”
Hard to argue. Eddie crushed his opponent 6–0, 6–0, but the match was not as close as the score indicated. Eddie lacked finesse. He relied on power. But what power. His racket ripped through the still air like the reaper’s scythe. The ball shot off the strings as though from a bazooka. The finesse would come. But for now the awesome power was more than enough.
After the players shook hands Eddie’s parents went onto the court.
“Do me a favor,” Myron said to Jess.
“What?”
“Get rid of the parents for a couple of minutes. I want to talk to Eddie alone.”
She did it with a lunch invitation. Jessica escorted Mr. and Mrs. Crane to the Racquets restaurant overlooking the Grandstand. Myron accompanied Eddie to the locker room. The kid had barely broken a sweat. Myron had exerted himself more just watching. Eddie walked with big, unhurried steps, a towel draped around his neck, completely relaxed.
“I told TruPro I wasn’t interested,” Eddie said.
Myron nodded. That explained Aaron’s generous offer to let Myron represent Eddie. “How did they respond?”
“They were pretty pissed,” Eddie said.
“I bet.”
“I think I want to go with your agency,” he said.
“How do your parents feel?”
“Doesn’t matter really. They both know it’s my decision.”
They walked a few more steps.
“Eddie, I need to ask you about Valerie.”
He half-smiled. “Are you really trying to find her killer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s just something I have to do.”
Eddie nodded. The answer was good enough for him. “Shoot.”
“You first met Valerie at Pavel’s camp in Florida?”
“Right.”
“How did you two become friends?”
“You ever been to Pavel’s academy?” Eddie asked.
“No.”
“You might not get it.” Eddie Crane stopped, brushed the hair from his eyes, continued. “It probably sounds weird—a sixteen-year-old girl and a nine-year-old boy being close friends. That’s pretty normal in tennis. You don’t make friends with kids your own age. They’re the enemy. Val and I were both lonely, I guess. And because of our differences we weren’t threats to each other. I guess that’s how it started.”
“What about her?”
“Her sleeping with Duane. It can’t just be a coincidence.”
“So?”
“So how would she have met Duane?”
“I don’t know,” Myron said.
“Does she play tennis?”
“What if she does?”
“Keeps things constant.” She stopped. “I don’t know. I’m ranting. It’s just that everything circles back to tennis—except for Deanna Yeller.”
Myron thought about it a moment. Nothing clicked, but something did rumble somewhere in the back of his brain.
“Just a thought,” she said.
He sat up. “Before you said ‘supposedly’ killed Alexander Cross. What did you mean?”
“What real evidence do you have that Swade and Yeller murdered the Cross kid?” she asked. “They might have just been convenient scapegoats. Think about it a second. Yeller was conveniently killed by the police. Swade has conveniently fallen off the face of the earth. Who better to take the fall?”
“Then who do you think killed Alexander Cross?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Probably Swade and Yeller. But who knows for sure?”
More rumbling in the brain. But still nothing surfaced. Myron checked his watch. Seven-thirty.
“You in a rush?” she asked.
“A little.”
“I thought Duane Richwood doesn’t play until one,” she said.
“I’m trying to land a kid named Eddie Crane. He’s playing in the juniors at ten.”
“Can I come along?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“What are your chances of landing him?” she asked.
“I think they’re pretty good. His father might be a problem.”
“The father doesn’t like you?”
“I think he’d prefer a bigger agency,” Myron said.
“Should I smile sweetly at him?” she asked.
Myron thought a moment. “Flash a little cleavage. I’m not sure this guy’s into subtle.”
“Anything to get a client,” she said.
“Maybe you should practice a little first,” he said.
“Practice what?”
“Flashing cleavage. I’m told it’s something of an art.”
“I see. And on whom should I practice?”
Myron spread his hands. “I’m willing to volunteer my services.”
“The sacrifices you make for clients,” she said. “It’s heroic, really.”
“So what do you say?”
Jessica gave him a look. The look, actually. Myron felt it in his toes, to name one place. She leaned toward him. “No.”
“No?”
She put her lips to his ear. “Let’s try out my new oils first.”
One word: Yowzer.
27
Jessica hadn’t need to flash cleavage.
Both Cranes were immediately entranced. Mrs. Crane chatted with Jess about her books. Mr. Crane couldn’t stop smiling and sucking in his gut. At the start of the second set Mr. Crane tried to chew down the commission a half point. A very good sign. Myron made a mental note to bring Jess to more business gatherings.
There were other agents there. Lots of them. Most wore business suits and had their hair slicked back. They ranged in age, but most looked pretty young. Several tried to approach, but Mr. Crane shooed them away.
“Vultures,” Jessica whispered to Myron as one forced his card on Mr. Crane.
“Just trying to hustle business,” Myron said.
“You’re defending them?”
“I do the same thing, Jess. If they’re not aggressive they don’t have a chance. You think the Cranes are going to come to them?”
“But still. You don’t hang around like these guys.”
“What exactly am I doing now?”
Jessica thought a second. “Yeah, but you’re cute.”
Hard to argue. Eddie crushed his opponent 6–0, 6–0, but the match was not as close as the score indicated. Eddie lacked finesse. He relied on power. But what power. His racket ripped through the still air like the reaper’s scythe. The ball shot off the strings as though from a bazooka. The finesse would come. But for now the awesome power was more than enough.
After the players shook hands Eddie’s parents went onto the court.
“Do me a favor,” Myron said to Jess.
“What?”
“Get rid of the parents for a couple of minutes. I want to talk to Eddie alone.”
She did it with a lunch invitation. Jessica escorted Mr. and Mrs. Crane to the Racquets restaurant overlooking the Grandstand. Myron accompanied Eddie to the locker room. The kid had barely broken a sweat. Myron had exerted himself more just watching. Eddie walked with big, unhurried steps, a towel draped around his neck, completely relaxed.
“I told TruPro I wasn’t interested,” Eddie said.
Myron nodded. That explained Aaron’s generous offer to let Myron represent Eddie. “How did they respond?”
“They were pretty pissed,” Eddie said.
“I bet.”
“I think I want to go with your agency,” he said.
“How do your parents feel?”
“Doesn’t matter really. They both know it’s my decision.”
They walked a few more steps.
“Eddie, I need to ask you about Valerie.”
He half-smiled. “Are you really trying to find her killer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s just something I have to do.”
Eddie nodded. The answer was good enough for him. “Shoot.”
“You first met Valerie at Pavel’s camp in Florida?”
“Right.”
“How did you two become friends?”
“You ever been to Pavel’s academy?” Eddie asked.
“No.”
“You might not get it.” Eddie Crane stopped, brushed the hair from his eyes, continued. “It probably sounds weird—a sixteen-year-old girl and a nine-year-old boy being close friends. That’s pretty normal in tennis. You don’t make friends with kids your own age. They’re the enemy. Val and I were both lonely, I guess. And because of our differences we weren’t threats to each other. I guess that’s how it started.”
