
“Tarpons,” she said. “Fish. And there’s Memphis, in the middle of the desert.”
“Actually, it’s on the Mississippi River.”
“Spot any tarpons in the Mississippi River, Keller?”
“No.”
“And you won’t,” she said, “unless that’s where you stick Turnbull when you finally close the deal. It’s a deep-sea fish, the tarpon, so why pick that name for the Memphis team? Why not call them the Gracelanders?”
“They moved,” he explained.
“To Milwaukee,” she said, “and then to Seattle, and God knows where they’ll go next.”
“No,” he said. “The franchise moved. They started out as an expansion team, the Sarasota Tarpons, but they couldn’t sell enough tickets, so a new owner took over and moved them to Memphis. Look at basketball, the Utah Jazz and the L.A. Lakers. What’s Salt Lake City got to do with jazz, and when did Southern California get to be the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes?”
“The reason I don’t follow sports,” she said, “is it’s too damn confusing. Isn’t there a team called the Miami Heat? I hope they stay put. Imagine if they move to Buffalo.”
Why had he called in the first place? Oh, right. “Dot,” he said, “I was in the Tarpons’ hotel earlier today, and I saw a guy.”
“So?”
“A little guy,” he said, “with a big nose, and one of those narrow heads that looks as though somebody put it in a vise.”
“I heard about a guy once who used to do that to people.”
“Well, I doubt that’s what happened to this fellow, but that’s the kind of face he had. He was sitting in the lobby reading a newspaper.”
“Suspicious behavior like that, it’s no wonder you noticed him.”
“No, that’s the thing,” he said. “He’s distinctive-looking, and he looked wrong. And I saw him just a couple of nights before in Milwaukee at this German restaurant.”
“The famous German restaurant.”
“I gather it is pretty famous, but that’s not the point. He was in both places, and he was alone both times. I noticed him in Milwaukee because I was eating by myself, and feeling a little conspicuous about it, and I saw I wasn’t the only lone diner, because there he was.”
