Dying on Second Read online

  The Marie Jenner Series

  Dying on Second

  Stalking the Dead

  Drowning in Amber

  Seeing the Light

  Dying on Second

  Published by Tyche Books Ltd.

  www.TycheBooks.com

  Copyright © 2017 E.C. Bell

  First Tyche Books Ltd Edition 2017

  Print ISBN: 978-1-928025-72-6

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-928025-73-3

  Cover Art by Guillem Marí

  Cover Layout by Lucia Starkey

  Interior Layout by Ryah Deines

  Editorial by Rhonda Parrish

  Author photograph: Ryan Parker of PK Photography

  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 by any information storage & retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright holder, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this story are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead would be really cool, but is purely coincidental.

  This book was funded in part by a grant from the Alberta Media Fund.

  To the Edmonton Ladies Softball Association,

  and to sixty more years.

  Prologue

  IN 1974, THE City of Edmonton built five diamonds at the Southside Industrial Park, which backed onto Palm Dairy on the southern edge of town. They were built so the Ladies Fastball League could be moved, quickly and quietly, out of the McCauley neighbourhood and the city could build a stadium for the Commonwealth Games in 1978. The Commonwealth Stadium was going to be one of the city’s crowning achievements, and after the Games, the Edmonton Eskimos, the local football team, was going to use it. But before that could happen, the city had to move the women and their softball out of the way.

  All the diamonds at the Southside Industrial Park were originally supposed to be for women’s softball. The park was also supposed to have a concession and bathrooms. It was supposed to be fantastic, so the women wouldn’t feel so angry about having to move.

  Of course, none of that panned out, exactly. Goldstick Park and men’s baseball got the concession and washrooms, and two of the diamonds at Southside were designated for men. Diamond One was for baseball and Diamond Three was for men’s softball. Diamonds Two, Four, and Five were built for the Ladies League. A league that fielded one hundred teams a year, and they got three diamonds.

  I was dead, but even I knew a rip-off when I heard one.

  MY BODY WAS buried just behind second base on Diamond Two in the spring of 1974, before the diamonds were finished. Before the city of Edmonton named the ball park John Fry, after a local politician and do-gooder. Before the lights and the shale were put in. Before everything.

  The park was a cold, quiet place that year. All I could do was watch the workmen as they finished the diamonds and added the bleachers. Then, I sat in those newly built bleachers and wished that somebody would find me and get me the hell out of there.

  I even had dreams, in those early days, about finding my family and somehow letting them know what happened to me. My parents must have been going out of their minds, wondering. It would have seemed to them that I’d fallen off the face of the earth. Like I hadn’t cared how much I’d hurt them. Like I’d just walked away, without a backward glance.

  But I couldn’t find the gumption to leave that spot, and the dreams about my family faded. The living women showed up in the summer of 1975 and started to play softball, and my nightmares about how I died slowly faded, too.

  Then the dead came, and all I thought about was softball . . .

  I hadn’t played softball growing up. Lots of girls did, but my parents didn’t see what use a game like that would give me later in life.

  “You need to learn how to type, and how to keep a clean house,” they’d say to me. “So you can get a man.”

  That bit of advice is kind of what got me stuck at Diamond Two, if you want to know the truth. But that was ancient history. Better left buried. Just like me.

  I learned to play from the other dead who came to the diamond after me. They’d known the game, loved the game, and wanted it to keep going. The diamonds were only used by the living twice a night for most of the spring and summer. We had the rest of the year to play our own games, whenever we wanted.

  Until Marie Jenner wandered onto Diamond Two.

  Then, it all blew up.

  Stage One

  Learning the Game

  Marie:

  Oh Yeah, Sunshine and Fresh Air

  Will Fix Me Right Up

  “YOU GOT YOUR glove. Right?”

  That was James Lavall. It was the third time in as many hours that he’d asked me about that stupid glove he’d found for me in the back of his closet when I first mentioned that I might be thinking about playing softball. I answered him for the third time. As sweetly as I could. Like he wasn’t driving me absolutely bonkers.

  “I already answered that stupid question! It’s in that bag thingy you gave me. With my sneakers and hat. Are you going senile or something?”

  Okay, so maybe I wasn’t being as sweet as I could have, but wow, James. Take a pill.

  All James did was smile that patronizing, condescending smile that could drive me right around the bend as he pulled the Volvo out of the parking lot behind the Jimmy Lavall Detective Agency, where we worked.

  Millie the comfort dog was curled up in the back seat. She’d been my mother’s dog. After Mom died, my sister Rhonda had offered to take her, but Rhonda had three kids, which made her place way louder than Millie liked so I was very glad when James scooped the little dog up into his arms after the funeral. “She’s coming home with me,” he’d said. And that had been that.

  I didn’t look at her, but knew that if I did, she’d be giving me the same condescending smile as James. Comfort dog, indeed!

  “Relax, Marie,” James said. “I just want to make sure you show up for your first game with all the equipment you’ll need. You know?”

  “I know.”

  “You’re going to have fun.”

  “Sure.”

  We were heading to John Fry Park, on the south side of town, so I could play my first softball game of the season. I stared down at my hands and wished desperately that the phone on my cute little receptionist’s desk had rung before we’d left the office. If it had rung, and there had been a big enough case, I could have convinced James to forget about coming to the game. Heck, I might have even been able to miss out myself.

  It hadn’t, of course. So there we were, driving to my first official softball game in what felt like a million years.

  “Besides,” James continued, as he wove the Volvo through the stop-and-go traffic on Ninety-Ninth Street, heading south, “Dr. Parkerson says that sunshine and exercise will help.”

  “Yes,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “She did say that, didn’t she?”

  I’d taken self-defence classes as my first foray into the exercise thing, but my shrink, Dr. Parkerson, hadn’t been convinced that self-defence was the best way for me to work through my issues.

  That was what she called nightmares and panic attacks and not being able to sleep for more than five hours a night after my mother died. Issues.

  I wonder what she’d call them if she knew about the ghosts?

  I’d been able to see ghosts—and interact with them—forever. Didn’t like it much, but I�
��d let my mom talk me into helping them move on to the next plane of existence.

  That might have been all right if Mom hadn’t abandoned me shortly after I’d made that promise. All right, so she hadn’t really abandoned me. She’d died. But for people like us, dying was hardly ever the end, so I’d fully expected her to show up after her funeral and follow me around for a few years, driving me crazy as she taught me everything I needed to know about moving spirits on.

  She should have. I wasn’t prepared. I’d barely decided to join her in the family business before she died. But she didn’t come back to me. Not once.

  And I couldn’t even talk to my shrink about it.

  “Maybe I should have picked golf or something,” I said. “Then you and I could play together. You know?”

  “Golf would drive you crazy,” James said, shortly. “And besides, softball’s fun. Once you get to know the rest of your team, you’ll have a good time. And you’ve played before, so you’ll get the hang of it quick enough. I know it.”

  Personally, I doubted that very much.

  When I was twelve, Dad had decided to help coach my softball team. I’d lasted three seasons. I’d liked the game, but Dad never got off my back the whole time, so the idea of playing again left a bad taste in my mouth.

  So, if I didn’t like playing softball, and didn’t want to play softball, how had I ended up playing softball? It was all Sergeant Worth’s fault.

  She’d “invited” James and me back to her office at the downtown police station once we’d returned from Fort McMurray. She wanted to confirm—with her own eyes—that James had actually passed his private investigator’s test and had his licence to practice, so he could reopen the PI office his uncle had willed to him.

  That was when she’d seen that I wasn’t in very good shape, emotionally. She was the one who’d suggested I go to a shrink, and she was the one who’d suggested I play softball when James told her I needed to get out and exercise “for my mental well-being.”

  She’d given me the name of a coach who was looking for players. “Don’t worry,” she said as she handed me the scrap of paper with Greg Robertson’s name and number on it. “We won’t see each other. Much.”

  Yeah. She played softball, too. Which meant I was going to see her out on the diamonds, at least twice that season. Which made golf seem even more appealing, but James had been so enthusiastic about me playing, I got caught up in the whole “let’s sign up” thing.

  So, there I was, on my way to my first official softball game since I was fifteen. What had I gotten myself into?

  “Do you want a coffee?” James asked.

  My nerves were jangling, and I could feel an absolute river of nervous sweat running down my back. Probably the last thing in the world I needed was a coffee.

  Whatever.

  “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

  He pulled into a Tim’s and got into the line of cars waiting for the drive-through.

  “I’m not going to be late, am I?” I looked at the spot where the clock had been on the Volvo’s dash, but it was still black, like a dead eye. I’d managed to knock a cup of coffee onto it on my way to Fort McMurray eight months before, effectively killing it. There was no point in looking at the Timex on my wrist, either. It had been my mother’s and when the battery ran down I hadn’t had the heart to change it, so now it was a reminder of her, not a timepiece. “What time is it?”

  “We have lots of time,” James said. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping track.”

  “Wonderful.”

  It actually didn’t take too long to snake our way through the drive-through, and then we were back on Ninety-Ninth Street, heading to the ball diamonds.

  “I should have practiced a bit,” I muttered. “This is going to be just horrible.”

  James stopped at the corner, waiting for the traffic to clear so he could make his turn. “I told you I’d practice with you,” he said. “But you said you didn’t want to.”

  Screamed it was more the truth, I thought, and sipped the coffee.

  “I’m just nervous,” I said.

  “Everything will be fine,” he replied. “You did bring your glove, didn’t you?”

  “Yes!” I yelled. “I already told you that!”

  We didn’t speak again as we passed the first two diamonds. Vehicles were huddled around them on both sides of the street, and women streamed out of the cars, pulling equipment bags and carrying bats. A couple of women had kids in tow, but mostly, they were alone. There was a lot of hugging and chatting as they began warming up. It looked like they were having fun.

  James and I had Googled John Fry Park that afternoon, and we knew these were Diamonds Four and Five. We were looking for Diamond Two.

  “I don’t have a bat,” I muttered.

  “Your team will have some,” James said. “You can use one of those.” He still sounded snippy about me yelling at him, so I left him alone until we pulled into the big parking lot edging Diamonds Two and Three.

  I watched the cars streaming into the lot and felt woozy. Then I stared at the big set of bleachers surrounding the diamond closest to the parking lot, and felt like maybe I was going to throw up. There was enough room for a thousand people in those bleachers. Did people actually come and watch these games? Why hadn’t I been warned about any of this? Why?

  “You’ll be fine,” James said.

  “Yeah.” The bile was really rolling around, and I was afraid if I said one more thing, I would actually vomit.

  “Don’t forget your glove,” he said then leaped out of the Volvo and strode across the gravel toward Diamond Two.

  He had to come back to get Millie, and I felt a small mean bit of humour watching him try not to make eye contact with me as he pulled the dog out of the back seat. He walked away as I opened my ball bag and checked to make absolutely certain that I had been telling him the truth about the glove.

  There it was, in all its faded, beat-up, second-hand glory, lying in the bottom of the dusty bag along with my brand-new hat.

  “All right,” I muttered, slamming the door of the car shut and crunching through the gravel to Diamond Two. “Here we go. Fresh air and sunshine. This is going to be great.”

  Yeah. Right.

  Karen:

  First Game of the Season

  A GOOD SOFTBALL game needed decent weather and two teams. Oh, and a ball and bat. In that order. But in early May in Edmonton there could be snow just as easily as there could be rain. Either one would ruin a game.

  Back in the mid-70s, most diamonds still had dirt infields and when it rained the mud was horrible. The only diamond that had shale—Diamond Four—was set up as an experiment to see if shale was better to play on than dirt. It was, of course—a game could be played on Diamond Four even while it was raining, for heaven’s sake—so eventually, all the diamonds were redone in shale. I’d half expected my body to be found when they shaled Diamond Two, but it wasn’t. It had been buried too deeply, and so, I was able to stay.

  Even with the shale it was always interesting to see if the living games were actually going to be played, early in the season. Often teams would get to the diamond, only to find out the game had been cancelled. But that night, the weather was clear and warm, and all the games were going to play.

  I watched from my spot by second base as the living teams assembled, each to their own side. They dragged sleeping bags and blankets into the dugouts, because it got cold when the sun went down—and in May, the sun went down early. I recognized most of the girls, because, like I said before, I’ve been here forever.

  There were lights on both the diamonds, but the guys who maintained them always seemed reluctant to turn them on. That made it tough for the living to finish their games, and when they complained, the maintenance guys would mutter under their breath about the women being bitches, or lesbians, or on the rag. As if that explained everything.

  The dead didn’t bitch about the dark, of course, and it wouldn’t have helped if we ha
d. None of those idiots could hear or see us. Thank goodness.

  I glanced up into the bleachers to see if Andrew was there yet. I should be used to it, after all these years, but as I looked my stomach tightened, that old familiar fist in my gut. He was there up near the top of the bleachers behind the backstop. He looked old. Used up. But not dead. Not yet.

  I looked away, willing myself to ignore him. Just ignore him. You knew he’d be here. He wouldn’t miss the first game of the year. He wouldn’t miss any of the games.

  He never did.

  I’d never told the rest of the girls about Andrew because he’d been coming to the diamond longer than most of them had been dead. Some of them knew him from before—when they were alive and thought of him as just one of the old coots who liked to watch softball. A fixture at the diamond. Like the shale, or the bases. To me, though, not so much. But over the years, I’d managed to ignore him. Mostly.

  He’d missed two seasons in the early eighties, and I was certain he was dead himself. Half of me wanted to track his spirit down and beat it into the ground, but the other half was just glad he was finally gone.

  He came back and never missed another game after that. No one talked about what had happened to him those two years and, because I didn’t want anyone to wonder why I’d care about a guy who just liked watching softball, I never asked. But the fist in my gut returned when he came back. And it never, ever went away. It lessened after time, of course—even a nightmare can get boring if you have the same one night after night forever—but the fear was always there.

  Just like him.

  The living women rolled in and arranged their gear down the fences on either side of the diamond. A lot of the women were tugging at their uniforms like they grabbed in the wrong spots. It was the winter expansion thing. Happened every year.

  There were a few new faces on each team. No surprise, because every year, people dropped out—some were pregnant or had recently had kids, and some of them just gave up on the game. And every once in a while, somebody died. So those ones—plus the ones playing college ball—had to be replaced.