“Over there to the right,” Kelleher said, pointing. They began walking in that direction. Stevie was a step behind Kelleher when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure seated at a small table.

It was Susan Carol. He’d know that ponytail anywhere.

And sitting across from her was David Doyle. He was leaning forward in his chair and appeared to be talking with great feeling. Stevie stopped dead in his tracks, staring. Fortunately, David Doyle was so intent on his conversation with Susan Carol that he didn’t see Stevie. Stevie was pretty convinced that he could burst into flames and David wouldn’t notice because his eyes were so completely locked in on Susan Carol.

Kelleher had apparently reached the table, put his food down, and then noticed that Stevie wasn’t behind him. He walked back to where Stevie was standing.

“Stevie,” he said. “What’s up? Something wrong?”

Unable to find his voice, Stevie simply gestured with his Coke hand in the direction of the table where Susan Carol and David were sitting.

Kelleher looked. “Oh, it’s Susan Carol,” he said. “Who’s that she’s with?”

“David Doyle,” Stevie said through clenched teeth.

For a split second Kelleher didn’t respond. Then, apparently, he got it. “Okay,” he said calmly. “Come with me and let’s sit down before he notices you shooting daggers at him.”

Stevie went. He wanted to do two things: find out what the hell was going on at that table and eat his pizza. For the moment, he would have to settle for the pizza.

Stevie sat so he could see Susan Carol and managed to eat his pizza without ever taking his eyes off the two of them. They were both leaning forward as they talked, and although Stevie couldn’t be sure, he was convinced they were holding hands.

“Let’s not overreact here,” Kelleher counseled. “There may be a perfectly simple explanation.”

“Really?” Stevie said. “They just met this morning and last saw each other all of two hours ago. What could possibly have happened to get them together here now, looking as if someone’s life was at stake.”

Kelleher semi-laughed. “Given your history, isn’t it at least a possibility that someone’s life is at stake?” he said.

Stevie had to concede Kelleher had a point. But he didn’t think it was likely. He had seen the way the two of them had looked at one another back at the Ritz.

“I’m going over there,” he said, starting to stand up.

“Oh, no you’re not,” Kelleher said, pulling him back down. “You’re going to sit here and eat your pizza and wait until later to see if Susan Carol tells you what happened on her own. If she doesn’t, then-and only then-do you consider asking her about it.”

“But look at her!” Stevie said, exasperated.

Kelleher glanced over his shoulder. Stevie might have told him not to look, except that there was no way either one of them was going to notice.

“I will grant you,” Kelleher said, “that it doesn’t look great. But you have to admit that there have been many times when things were not what they appeared to be.”

“Yeah, but… look at how he’s looking at her.”

Kelleher smiled. “I know how you feel,” he said. “But you don’t know how she’s looking at him. Or why. So you’ve got to be patient.”

He pointed at Stevie’s empty plate. Stevie had completely devoured the two slices of pizza without even noticing.

“You want more?” Kelleher said.

“Absolutely,” Stevie said, starved, hurt, and angry all at once.

“Come on,” Kelleher said. “We’ll get some more and then go eat outside.”

Stevie started to argue, then stopped. This wasn’t the time for a confrontation. And as much as he wanted to know what was going on, he was fairly convinced that he wouldn’t like the answer.

7: UNANSWERED QUESTIONS

KELLEHER WAS SMART ENOUGH not to try to engage Stevie in further conversation. They walked outside with their fresh pizza slices, while happy throngs of Bostonians enjoyed the brisk October sunshine all around them.

“Just try not to jump to any conclusions until Susan Carol has a chance to explain what was going on,” Kelleher said as they rode the escalator back up to the hotel lobby. “I know that’s hard, but there’s no sense making yourself crazy over something that may turn out to be nothing.”

Stevie nodded. “I know you’re right,” he said. “But I’ve already jumped to about a million conclusions-none of them very appealing-and it’s pretty hard to unjump.”

Kelleher put his arm around Stevie. “Let’s just wait and see what we see,” he said.

Stevie went back to his room and turned on the TV. He sat watching some talking heads analyzing game one for the fiftieth time and then noticed a crawl on the bottom of the screen that said, “A published report claims that Norbert Doyle will start game two of the World Series tonight in place of Ross Detwiler. ESPN’s Peter Gammons reports that Nationals manager Manny Acta is refusing comment.”

Stevie couldn’t help but laugh. ESPN couldn’t confirm the story, so they had found a way to report it and make it sound shaky all at once.

His phone rang.

“You watching ESPN?” It was Kelleher.

“Yeah.”

“Typical of them. I love it.”

He hung up. Stevie tried to focus on what was being said on the screen but couldn’t. His mind kept flashing back to Faneuil Hall and the sight of David Doyle and Susan Carol talking. There had to be an explanation, right? But what in the world could it be? Several times he reached for the phone to call her but stopped himself. He would play it Kelleher’s way and see if she mentioned it without his asking.

The droning voices made him drowsy. He figured he would rest his eyes for five minutes. The next thing he knew, the phone was ringing. He looked at the clock and saw it was 3:30. Uh-oh, he was late.

“Stevie, where are you?” a voice said when he picked up. It was Susan Carol.

For a moment he forgot everything. “Sorry,” he said. “Fell asleep. Give me a couple minutes.”

“Hurry. Bobby and Tamara are here, and they’re ready to go.”

Stevie splashed some water on his face to wake up. Then he grabbed his jacket and his computer bag and raced to the door. He was in the jam-packed lobby five minutes after Susan Carol’s call.

“Catching up on your beauty rest?” Susan Carol said, giving him the Smile when he walked up to them.

“I guess I don’t have the energy some people have,” Stevie said, causing Kelleher to give him a look.

Stevie saw Tim McCarver, the longtime Fox TV analyst, crossing the lobby and heading in their direction. Stevie liked McCarver’s work, and he had a soft spot for him, since he had finished his playing career with the Phillies.

Every time he saw him, Stevie was reminded of a story his dad had told him. Near the end of McCarver’s playing days, his main job had been to catch Steve Carlton, the temperamental Hall of Fame pitcher. Carlton was so adamant about McCarver catching him that McCarver once said, “I think when Steve and I die, we’re going to be buried sixty feet, six inches apart”-that being the distance between the mound and home plate.

McCarver shook hands with Kelleher and Tamara and said, “Don’t think me rude, but I’m actually hoping you’ll introduce me to young Mr. Thomas here.”

Kelleher laughed. “Gee, I wonder why you want to talk to him, Tim. Steve Thomas, this is Tim McCarver.”

McCarver shook hands with Stevie, then introduced himself to Susan Carol, impressing Stevie when he said, “I’m Tim McCarver, nice to meet you.” Stevie had noticed that a lot of celebrities either didn’t even speak to people they didn’t “need” at that moment or blew through any introduction that was made.

McCarver turned to Stevie. “Bobby’s right, of course. I need your help,” he said. “We like to tape our opening when we get to the ballpark. We’ve been trying to get the Nationals to confirm your story about Doyle pitching, but they’re playing it very close to the vest. Can you just give me an idea of how well-sourced you are on this?”