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“Thanks for coming,” Mike White said in a grave tone. “We’re grateful you are here. We are really hurting for refs. I’ve even had to do some middle school games.” His tone made it clear that such an activity was miles beneath him. “And we’ve even had to cancel a few games.”
“Aren’t you a college ref?” Robert, scratch that, Dwight asked, and Sandra wondered if he would always be such a brown-noser, or if it was a practice he saved for first impressions.
“I am. But when there is a hole and no other official to fill it, either I do it, or we cancel. I don’t like to cancel games on middle schoolers.” He managed to sound as though he really cared about the children. For a second, Sandra forgot she was looking at someone who might be a murderer.
“Does that mean I’m going to get stuck with all the middle school games?” Dwight asked.
“I would like to volunteer to do solely middle school games,” Sandra piped up.
Mike smiled at her. “You’ll both be doing middle school this year. Maybe a few JV games if there is no one else to cover, but let’s get some experience under your belt before we get too excited. Now, first things first.” He slid a rule book across the table to each of them.
Sandra opened hers and squinted down at the tiny print.
“I’m going to assume you know the basics, so I’ll just go over recent rule changes with you today.”
Sandra wasn’t sure this was good news. Just how basic were the basics? If he meant that she needed to know the difference between a corner kick and a goal kick, she might be all right. But if the basics were anything more complicated than that, she might be in trouble.
Mike jumped right in, and he was a fast talker when he wanted to be. Sandra scrambled through her purse for a writing utensil, and panicked when all she could find were two broken crayons and a dried out eyeliner. Mike White read her mind, though, and slid his pen across the table to her. She began to scribble notes, but it was mostly no use. She had a question for nearly every statement he made, and she didn’t have the courage to ask them. She knew they were stupid questions, and she didn’t want these men to know just how clueless she was.
About fifteen minutes after he started, Mike stopped his instruction and asked if there were any questions. Still, she couldn’t think of one that didn’t make her sound like a complete moron.
Dwight had a question, of course. “There’s a written test, correct?”
Oh man. Of course there would be. She was in trouble. Maybe Bob could help her. That would only be cheating if she really wanted to be a soccer ref, right? She was just doing this to try to solve the Frank Fenton puzzle. Once she’d done that, she would retire back to her normal life. So no, she didn’t think it would count as cheating. It would just be part of the undercover process. She fervently hoped Bob would agree to her shaky detective ethics. She could feel him standing behind her and wished she knew what he was thinking. She hoped he was picking up some clues, because she wasn’t getting anything. Mike White appeared to be an upstanding professional at the moment.
She realized Mike was talking about the written test and forced herself to focus. “As long as you get it done within a few weeks, you’ll be fine.”
“And is there a field test?” Dwight asked.
Mike shook his head. “I’ll set you up to shadow a mentor ref, pronto. You’ll do a game with him or her before you do one on your own.” Sandra thought he’d probably added the “for her” for her benefit, and found the gesture to be a kind one.
“Listen to the feedback from that mentor official. I’ll put you with ones who know what they’re doing. Then, I’ll give you a game where you’re live, but you’ll still be working with that same mentor official. Don’t worry, you’ll get paid for both games.”
It hadn’t even occurred to her to wonder about that, but now that he’d mentioned money, the idea cheered her.
“And if the mentor ref thinks you need another shadow game, we can do that too, but that rarely happens. It’s a simple game. You guys will be fine.”
Right. She’d be fine. What could possibly go wrong?
Mike handed each of them a short stack of paperwork. “Everything else you need to know is right here. Please read through it, and if you have any questions, email me or call me anytime.” He looked into her eyes. “I mean it. If you need anything. I want you to be successful, and I’m here for you.”
A little freaked out, she dropped his gaze and studied her paperwork. Then, before she was ready, he dismissed their meeting. She panicked. She had not learned a single thing about their case. She searched her brain for a question, any question, she could ask. “You own this funeral home?” Her cheeks grew hot. What a stupid question.
He gave her a broad smile, and there was a twinkle in his eye. Oh great. Not only was it a stupid question, but now he thought she was flirting. “I do, but it’s not as weird a profession as you might think.”
“I was wondering about that,” Dwight said quickly, as if he was jealous that Mike was talking to her instead of him. “How did you ever get involved in this business?”
Mike shrugged. “I’m all about job security,” he said and laughed at his own joke. Sandra got the impression it was a joke he’d cracked many times before. She didn’t smile, and Dwight laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
Sandra strained to think of another question, but her mind was blank. She finally allowed herself to look at Bob, hoping he could telepathically communicate an intelligent detective-like question, but he, apparently, was in no mood for telepathy.
“Don’t mention Frank. Play it cool,” he said right out loud.
She jumped and looked around wildly to see if the men had heard, but they clearly hadn’t.
Mike put a hand to the small of her back. “Are you okay?”
Being this close to him, her womanly sixth sense sounded all kinds of alarms. For sure, the guy was a creep. Maybe not a murderer, but definitely a creep. She stepped away from him and nodded. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding skeptical. “You looked like a goose walked over your grave.”
“Uh ... no... no goose here,” she said and then practically ran out of the funeral home.
She jumped into her minivan to find Bob already inside. She held up one hand. “I know, I know, you don’t have to say it. I really stink at this. I’m sorry.”
His eyes grew wide. “What are you apologizing for? I thought you did great!”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re just saying that because you’re an angel, and you have to be nice.”
He snorted. “I don’t have to be nice. That’s not in the angel handbook, and really, you did fine.”
She paused, trying to collect herself. “Is there really an angel handbook?”
He laughed. “That’s proprietary. And you should really drive away. He’s watching.”
She hurried to start the van. “Really? Why’s he watching?” She stared at the funeral home, but she couldn’t see anyone watching. Dwight was still in there, so she thought Mike was probably otherwise engaged. Or maybe they were both watching.
“I don’t know why he’s watching. I can’t read minds. Maybe he’s watching because you’re sitting in your minivan talking to yourself.”
She laughed loudly, and she felt the tight cord of anxiety she’d been living with release with a pleasant snap. “He can’t see me. It’s dark out.”
“I know, but he might wonder why you’re still sitting here. You should get home. You’ve got some studying to do.”
She laughed again. “Do I ever. I’m going to be the worst soccer ref in the history of soccer refs.”
“Maybe. But by the sounds of it, they probably won’t fire you.”