Better Late Than Dead: Episode 9

 This is episode nine of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday. However, it can be purchased on Amazon in the Kindle or paperback versions.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins. . 

Episode 9 (Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)

A week passed. Rich met with Hiram or Miss Winslow every day. Rich steered clear of anyone from the newspaper. A reporter whom he knew slightly contacted him twice, but Rich did not give him an interview or a comment. He directed all communications to his lawyer.

As expected, the newspaper painted Rich in an unfavorable light. He couldn’t go anywhere without stares and whispers. He stayed to himself. He took occasional drives on country roads that led to nowhere. He drove once past his parents’ home but did not even slow down. The home seemed to him as dead as his parents.

A funeral was held. The funeral home made a provision for Rich to sit in a private room. He did not attend the graveside service. Not attending might be viewed by some as a sign of guilt. And attending might be viewed as a sign of gall.

Rich spent a lot of time reading alone in his room. One day in his room, the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Hey, Rich, this is Stan.”

“Getting ready for high school football season?” Rich asked.

“Yeah,” Stan said. “Our alma mater ain’t lookin’ so good this year.”

“What’s up?”

“Can we meet at the city park tomorrow morning at the shelter house?”

“How about the bleachers at diamond number two?” Rich said.

“That’s fine,” Stan said. “7:15?”

“I’ll be there,” Rich said and hung up.

Rich called Hiram immediately. Hiram told him to be cautious and aware that Stan might be wearing a wire or a recorder.

The next morning, Rich arrived shortly past seven. He sat on the bleachers. Stan showed up right on time. They greeted each other.

“Let’s take a walk,” Rich said.

They walked down the third baseline of the ball field. 

“You don’t trust me, do you?” Stan said.

“It’s not about trust,” Rich said, “it’s about being cautious.”

As they walked away from the bleachers, Rich handed him a note. “It’s a beautiful morning, wouldn’t you agree?”

The note said, If you are wired or we are being recorded, clear your throat and say, ' It sure is.

Stan cleared his throat. “It sure is, but I really hate it when the barometric pressure is high. I get a headache.”

“You know something,” Rich said, “it has the same effect on me.”

“How have you been doing?” Stan asked.

“I’m fine,” Rich said.

“How are things at the paper?”

“You know,” Stan said, “news is news.”

“Any chatter around the office about me?”

“Not much.”

“My back is kind of against the wall,” Rich said. “I have a good lawyer. There are some gaps that need to be filled, but he’s pretty confident my alibi will hold.”

“Rich,” Stan said seriously, “we’ve become good friends. One of my best friends I’ve ever had, and I hope you feel the same about me.”

“I don’t make friends easily,” Rich said, “but we’ve hit it off good. I can really trust you. I mean, you are willing to be seen with me and take some time to talk with me this morning; that’s big.”

“Look,” Stan said, “if you need me for an alibi, I’m willing. If there’s a time frame you need, I can say we had a couple of beers together.”

“Thanks, Stan,” Rich said, “but I don’t need an alibi. When I left home, my parents were alive and well. I knew nothing of their death until the police told me. If there’s a gap in my alibi, there’s a gap. There’s nothing I can do about the truth.”

Rich stopped walking and turned back toward the infield. “You ever play ball on this field?”

“A couple of times,” Stan said. 

“I played third base on this field,” Rich said. “I made a backhand grab on a grounder, deep behind the bag. Perfect throw to first. Beat the runner by a step. First baseman dropped the ball.” 

Stan placed his hand on Rich’s shoulder and grasped it. He smiled.

“I suppose you'd better head to work,” Rich said. “Thanks for the time.”

“Take care, Rich,” Stan said.

They shook hands and had a secret smile. Stan walked away, down a brick park pathway.

“Hey, Stan!” Rich cupped his hands around his mouth. Stan stopped and turned around.

“The barometric pressure will be lower tomorrow,” Rich said.

Stan gave a thumbs-up.