Green Monster Read Free Page B

take it outside.”
    Sam gave her his cell number. He was pretty sure she said she’d call him back, so he let Ted hang up the phone and took his beer across the room and out the front door. Sam sat down at one of the wrought-iron tables on the sidewalk in front of the bar, sipped his beer, watched the condensation drops trickle down the glass, and waited for his phone to ring. Something about going to Boston. He hadn’t been there in ten years. Who did he even know there anymore?
    The cell phone rang, and he said, “Sam Skarda.”
    â€œHello, Mr. Skarda.” It was a younger woman’s voice. “My name is Heather Canby. I work for The Kenwood Companies in Boston. We have a job for you, if you’re interested. Can you be here by tomorrow?”
    â€œDepends on the job, I guess. Who did you say you work for?”
    â€œLouis Kenwood.”
    Now the name registered. Lucky Louie Kenwood, owner of the Boston Red Sox. Why in hell would he want to hire Sam?
    â€œThe Red Sox owner?” Sam asked, to make sure.
    â€œYes, that’s right.”
    â€œWhat you need is a young power hitter, not a detective.”
    â€œThis is serious, Mr. Skarda.”
    The voice on the other end of the phone sounded all of about twenty-five. It sounded pretty, too. “Please, call me Sam. Now, what’s the problem?”
    â€œI can’t talk about it on the phone,” she said. “It’s…extremely delicate.”
    â€œHow’d you find me?”
    â€œI talked to a Lt. Stensrud, at the police department.”
    â€œDoug, my former boss. How’d you get my name in the first place?”
    â€œYou were recommended by a very good friend of Mr. Kenwood.”
    That would almost have to be David Porter or Robert Brisbane, who had hired Sam at Augusta National. None of his contacts in Minnesota were pals with Lucky Louie.
    â€œI guess I could catch a plane tomorrow,” Sam said. He took another long sip of his beer.
    â€œWe’ll cover all your expenses,” Heather Canby said. “We’ll put you up at the Taj Boston.”
    â€œWhere’s that?’
    â€œJust a few blocks from our downtown offices. It’s the former Ritz-Carlton.”
    â€œI know the place.”
    â€œWe have a day game tomorrow. If you could be at our office by eight tomorrow night, we’ll explain everything to you.”
    â€œYou’re in a hurry, aren’t you?”
    â€œYes, we are.”
    â€œWhy not get a local guy?”
    â€œMr. Kenwood doesn’t trust anyone here for a job like this. That’s why he consulted with…friends.”
    â€œDavid Porter?”
    â€œThat’s correct,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “He said we could trust you with our lives.”
    â€œIs it that serious?”
    â€œNo. It’s more serious than that. Please call us the minute you arrive. We’ll have Mr. Kenwood’s chauffeur meet you at Logan and drive you into the city.”
    She left the Kenwood phone number.
    â€œDon’t you want to know my rates?” Sam asked.
    â€œThat’s not important.”
    â€œIt is to me.”
    â€œWhatever you charge, Mr. Kenwood will pay you substantially more.”
    â€œThat works,” Sam said.
    â€œOne other thing,” she said. “You can’t tell anyone you’re meeting Mr. Kenwood. Don’t even tell anyone you’re going to Boston. I mean it. This has to be kept absolutely quiet.”
    â€œI’ll have to tell my faithful Filipino houseboy where I’ll be the next few days,” Sam said. The beer was starting to have an effect.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNever mind.” She was too young to get the Green Hornet reference, or too serious to have ever read a comic book. “I won’t tell anyone anything. That’s one thing we private eyes are good at.”
    â€œSee you tomorrow, Mr. Skarda.”
    Sam was supposed to meet with