Teddy Bears

Teddy Bears

Before they left the clubhouse and got into John Todd’s truck, Todd made Hank stop to look at “Bud” Abbott’s locker. It looked as it always had, except that the lucky teddy bear Abbott touched before every game was not on the top shelf. “Bud” would touch it before every game, but he would never answer any questions about it.

“That’s not good,” Todd said. He motioned for Hank to follow him out to the parking lot, and from there they got into the truck and began driving to the house where “Bud” Abbott was staying with a host family. It hadn’t really sunk in, until they were alone in the truck, that Hank was riding with a man he was sure had murdered “Bunk” Edwards.

“Forget about the ‘Bunk’ thing,” Todd said. It couldn’t really be considered mind reading, Hank thought, when the contents of his mind were so obvious. “We’ll talk about that later, when it’s time. You might even understand it. This is about ‘Bud,’ and the girls he’s killed. And the girl he’s going to kill if we don’t stop him today.”

“You’re sure?” Hank asked.

“Cops came around to ask him questions, and they talked to Taylor Nickles as well. They were asking about Audrey Sheldon, the elementary school teacher who got kidnapped last year. Apparently, someone at the All-Star game recognized him as the guy who took Audrey. They didn’t get to it right away because of everything that went on with Chuck Swede getting blown up after the game. And if you put a picture of Audrey next to a picture of Leigh Palmer, it’s pretty close. I know they’re thinking he got her, too. Maybe more.”

“He was one of the few of us who didn’t have a criminal record,” Hank thought out loud.

“He also wasn’t that good,” Todd said. “He never made it far in the minors or the other independent leagues. We talked to this guy, Seth, who runs a BBS where people can log on and talk baseball, and he said some guys in Arizona were telling him the other players on ‘Bud’s’ team were instructed to never let him walk out of the clubhouse alone when there were still girls in the stadium.” Hank nodded, recognizing Seth as one of the local baseball experts Ron Leeman had mentioned to him.

They were parking in front of an old, white home in East Waterloo. There was a giant, chicken-wired garden out back and Christmas decorations still on display in front. Small children ran into and out of the house.

“You here to see ‘Bud?’” a boy of about seven asked them.

“Is he home?” Hank asked. The kid had come up to him. John Todd was peering around like he had just gotten out of basic training. Looking at him, Hank couldn’t believe he had been a music loving, smiling, laid back ballplayer when he first joined the team. Taylor Nickles had really molded the man.

“No, he’s out with a lady,” the boy said. Then, more seriously. “Don’t go touching his teddy bears. He says that every time he goes.” The boy paused and dropped his eyes to the grass at Hank’s feet. “He knows if you’ve been in there, too.”

Todd went into the house, and Hank followed him. They nodded at the mother of the children, and host parent to ‘Bud,” as she talked on her cordless phone. Following the boy’s directions, they went downstairs and walked past a rec room filled with a giant big-screen television and torn leather coach. ‘Bud’s’ room was small, and located next to a small half bathroom. There were no pictures or mementos in the room; all the two ballplayers could see was a small bed with a line of 5 teddy bears on it.

The bears were all facing the wall, as if they had done something bad and needed to be punished. John Todd and Hank James both looked over their shoulders and, seeing as they were alone, moved closer to the teddy bears. The basement room was hot, and Hank felt a bead of sweat slide down the side of his nose and slowly drip down. Outside, they could hear a neighbor working a lawnmower up and down their lawn.

The stillness was interrupted by the sound of something clattering against the pile of toys heaped beside the sofa. The ballplayers turned, each one tensely forming their hands into fists. Behind them, the little boy from outside held a small plastic action figure — something bright yellow with a helmet and tall white boots — that he had fished from the pile.

“Don’t touch his teddy bears,” the boy said. “He said don’t touch them.”

“Okay,” Hank lied. Todd had not yet unclenched his fists.

The boy did not leave, so Todd shut the door. The men turned back to the bed, and the teddy bears. John Todd walked forward and nodded to Hank. Hank nodded back, and Todd touched the first teddy bear. Hank looked around nervously. Outside, the lawnmower had stopped.

Todd turned the teddy bear around and both men were facing what was almost a completely normal teddy bear. “Bud” had altered it only slightly. He had put make-up on the bear’s face. He had caked the lipstick and eye shadow on thickly, as if he wanted to make sure the whole world could notice. In the bear’s ears were earrings, and around its neck was a necklace.

With more urgency, Todd turned around the other four bears. Each had been made up by someone who clearly did not know the first thing about applying makeup. Hank had never applied makeup himself, but he had been married for enough years to have a better idea of how it was done. There was a new noise outside, but it didn’t sound like the lawnmower. To Hank, it sounded like the disjointed, terrifying music of the Rochester pipe organist.

“Which one do you think was Audrey Sheldon’s color?” Todd asked. “Or Leigh Palmer’s. And where’ s he taking the other bear to right now?”

Hank felt his face grown numb as he remembered the girls who had seen someone eyeing them from the bushes outside a HooseCows game. He had an idea of where “Bud” Abbott might be going, but he didn’t know if they’d be able to find the girl in time.

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