Samuel Reed Kept an Old Wooden Bat Behind the Pantry Door for Twenty Years

The blocks thumped against the truck bed.

Then Frank set one down and wiped his hands on his jeans.

“I need to tell you something, and I don’t want you to hit me with a salt block.”

“I’ll aim low.”

He cleared his throat again, heavier this time.

“Daniel went to a man I know.

Len Parker.

Over in Calhoun.”