Page 11 of Conrad

Next time she texted,he wouldn’t wait two weeks to answer.

Conrad sat next to Penelope at his assigned table, watching her tell the other eight guests about her previous murder-podcast investigation—one involving country-music star Oaken Fox, now his brother-in-law, and the attempt on reality-show star Mike Grizz.

She was animated and brilliant, and he still couldn’t believe she’d taken him up on his invitation to invade the men’s room.

Gutsy.

A server leaned over him and took away the plate of quail, new potatoes, and asparagus. Penelope had barely touched hers, but she’d been laughing at his stories. Like they might be teammates, hosting the table.

Of course she’d won the auction for him—outbidding the nearest offer by miles. The gesture stirred the heat inside him that had grown to a simmer over the evening.

Maybe he’d text her first next time.

A speaker got up, and he remembered Penelope calling her Tia, her sister. Pretty, with shoulder-length black hair and a solid, determined look about her, she thanked everyone for coming and then explained their organization as well as key accomplishments for the last year.

“We believe sports are life, and when children are able to be physically fit and participate in a team, they build confidence and life skills that help them heal.” She then showed a short video of three kids who’d survived violence in their community and then thrived—one on an inner-city baseball team, another with a community hockey team, a third on her local volleyball team, all sponsored by EmPowerPlay.

“Our biggest need is for coaches to volunteer,” she said as the lights came back up. “And, of course, funding. You’re changing lives. Be generous.” She then invited guests to visit the various rooms on the second floor, where team members waited to meet them.

“And then be sure to stick around for the dancing.” She grinned, winked. And Conrad saw the family charm in her smile.

“How did EmPower start?” he asked Penelope as servers set down chocolate cake at their places.

“My dad’s idea. We had a friend whose family survived a hostage situation, and he wanted to help them heal. Children heal better when they feel strong and safe.” She picked up her fork, considered the cake, then put it back down. Glanced at him. “Should we go visit the rooms?”

He, too, pushed away the cake, excused himself from the table, and followed her through the crowd, down the stairs to the second floor. Already, guests mingled in the rooms. Three rooms—volleyball, baseball, and hockey. Inside each, mounted posters on easels depicted teams, and action shots hung on the walls. Representatives fielded questions and handed out team brochures.

“Each team is funded both individually and through the main foundation,” Penelope said. “We usually have a younger-teen and an older-teen group. The difference is that our coaches aren’t there to make champions but to invest in lives. The teams do compete with small private schools or other community teams, but really it’s about drawing kids out of themselves and helping them trust and try.” They had walked into the baseball room, and she greeted the representative, took a brochure. “Did you ever play baseball?”

He nodded. “One year. And I hated it. All that waiting around for the ball to come to you? No, give me the fast action of hockey all day.” But he pocketed the brochure, perused the signs. “Is this just a Minneapolis/St. Paul organization?”

“Oh no. We’re in small towns too—in fact, we’ve discovered that many small towns don’t have the money for local teams, so we have a number of sponsored teams around Minneapolis. And we’re growing—thanks, Stef.” Penelope lifted a hand to the representative and led him out of the room. “We have a team in Duluth, and one in Grand Rapids, and even over in Moorhead.” She walked into the volleyball room. “The only criteria is that the players aren’t already in a school sport.”

“It costs money to be in an extracurricular sport,” he said, reading the boards. Again, teams and action shots and even a couple medals from local tournaments. A teenager, maybe sixteen, with long blonde hair, wore an EmPowerPlay T-shirt and dress pants, and he shook her hand.

“I’m Emily,” she said, turning a little red.

“Conrad.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“You from here?”

“Out west. Waconia area. I play on the Northwest Smash.” She pointed to an action shot of herself three feet off the ground, mid-spike.

“Nice moves.”

She grinned.

He greeted the coach, a woman in her mid-thirties who held a volleyball casually under her arm.

“Lydia is a coach for a local high school. Donates her time.”

“Are most of the coaches professional?” He followed Penelope out of the room. She headed for the hockey display.

“Not all of them. Some. Most of the time they’re former players, or just people with experience.” They entered the hockey room.

This one contained a couple trophies along with team posters and more action shots. A man, late twenties, stood talking with a couple near a window. He seemed familiar but Conrad couldn’t place him.Or wait?—

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