Chapter 4: The Envelope

Moberly saw me over the widow's head and opened his arms.

"Joel! Look at you, coaching."

"Look at you, shopping," I said.

He laughed for the people walking by.

"Short careers suit coaching," he said. "You'll be good at it for about three weeks."

He patted the roof of the widow's Buick and walked to his car, a black one with a gold Crown plate.

The widow got into her Buick without a word to either of us and drove away.

On Sunday I drove to Encino.

Her house was a long low ranch behind two big oaks, with a full blue pool in the back.

She let me in and put coffee on the kitchen table without asking how I took it.

The envelope sat beside the sugar bowl.

It was still sealed.

"You want to know if I'll sell," she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sit down, young man."

I sat.

"My husband bought the Owls five years ago for a million and a half dollars," she said. "He died fourteen months ago."

She folded her hands on the table.

"I pay those children out of his life insurance. Two thousand a month each, and the rent in Reseda."

"And four million pays for all of it."

"Four million pays for this house, and my grandchildren's college, and a nurse when I need one."

She said it.

"I'm seventy-one," she said. "I know exactly what I am to a man like Glenn Moberly."

"I can't match his money," I said.

"I know you can't."

"Can I ask for one thing instead?"

She waited.

"Let them ask you. Not me."

She looked at me over her coffee for a while.

"Fine," she said. "But they come here. I'm not driving to Reseda on a Sunday."

I texted the team.

Forty minutes later, five people were standing in her driveway.