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CHAPTER 88

His car roared away while I stood in stunned silence.

“What the hell’s in the box, sis?”

I walked to the table and lifted the lid, handing one of the Plexiglas-encased balls to my brother. It was marked with a small plaque showing the name and date.

“Holy shit, it’s a Babe Ruth.”

When word went out on the street that Big Jim, the local fence, would pay ten grand for Reed Tyler’s autographed baseball collection, I had no idea exactly which balls I was after. I just figured that some dumbass rich jock could afford to lose them. I didn’t know Reed’s father gave them to him. I looked down. There was one more in the box. I peeked inside with my brother peering over my shoulder.

I picked it up.

Jon whispered, reverence dripping from his voice. “Joe Jackson. Holy shit, that’s Shoeless Joe’s signature.”

“Shoeless Joe?”

***

Sleeping next to my sister on the soft, lumpy bed didn’t keep me from tossing and turning. Baseball’s Holy Grail collection was stashed under the box holding up the mattres
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