“Good. Why don’t you come to my room with your computer? You can tell me about the Doyle kid gawking at Susan Carol while you write.”

Stevie almost gagged when he heard that. He looked at Susan Carol, who he knew would pick up on anything he said in response. “Sounds good,” he said, keeping his voice as even in tone as he could. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

He snapped the phone shut. He and Susan Carol walked the rest of the way to the hotel in silence.

IT DIDN’T TAKE STEVIE VERY LONG TO WRITE the story about Norbert Doyle replacing Ross Detwiler on the mound for game two of the World Series. Kelleher was delighted with the details of Acta walking up during breakfast to give Doyle the news while he was sitting with his kids.

“You two really have a knack for walking into stories,” Kelleher said. “And this one doesn’t even involve getting yourselves into trouble, the way you guys usually do. You can write the profile on Doyle later and plug in details on how he pitches tonight for the late editions. Good job breaking this, though-no one else will have it, that’s for sure.”

Stevie laughed weakly. “Better to be lucky than good,” he said.

“Best to be both,” Kelleher said. “Tell me about the Doyle kids. Were they nice? Was David completely tongue-tied meeting Susan Carol?”

Stevie shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “If anything, it was the other way around.”

Kelleher looked up in surprise. “What? Susan Carol? I’ve never seen her tongue-tied.”

“Me neither,” Stevie said. “David is really tall and really good-looking.”

Kelleher waved a hand. “She’s been around good-looking guys before. I wouldn’t worry about it. You were jealous of Jamie Whitsitt, and there wasn’t anything to that, was there?”

“No, there wasn’t,” Stevie said. “But Jamie was four years older than she was and not too bright. David is our age and smart. She went all Southern belle as soon as she laid eyes on him.”

Kelleher shrugged. “Be honest, Stevie. Are there girls at school you think are good-looking? Of course there are. It doesn’t change the way you feel about Susan Carol. She was probably caught a little by surprise. It’s human nature, nothing more.”

Stevie knew he was probably right. Still, he couldn’t shake the queasy feeling in his stomach.

Once Stevie had filed his story, Kelleher suggested they take a walk through Faneuil Hall. “Where’s Tamara?” Stevie asked.

“She went to tape something for TV,” he said. “ESPN keeps asking her to come on because they want to hire her. She knows it’s a really bad idea, but they’re throwing a lot of money around, and it doesn’t hurt to let the newspaper know they’re interested in her. And given what’s going on in the newspaper business, she has to give it some thought.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t blackball her just for being married to you,” Stevie said.

“Maybe they think I’d be less critical of them,” Kelleher answered, laughing.

“I doubt that.”

“Me too,” Kelleher replied. “Come on, let’s go.”

Stevie tried to call Susan Carol, first in her room and then on her cell, to see if she wanted to go with them. There was no answer, which surprised him a little.

“Maybe she turned her cell off to take a nap,” Kelleher said. “We’ll find her when we get back.”

Given the coolness between them on the walk back, Stevie thought some time apart might not be a bad idea. So they headed out the door of the hotel for what Kelleher said was a short walk to Faneuil Hall.

“That’s the great thing about Boston,” he said. “When the weather’s good, you can walk just about anyplace. It’s a major city but a small town-at least geographically.”

While they walked, Kelleher explained some of the history of the place. The original Faneuil Hall had existed during the Revolutionary War. It was a thriving marketplace for years, which led the city to build the even bigger Quincy Market next door. It had all fallen into disrepair, but then the city came up with the idea to turn the area into a place with shops and restaurants, and now it was thriving again.

“We’ll go to Regina ’s for pizza,” Kelleher said. “It’s as good as any in the country. But first I want to show you Red.”

“Red?”

“You’ll see,” Kelleher said.

They walked under an archway into what looked like a small town. There were cobblestone walkways and, on either side, long brick buildings that housed stores and restaurants. The smell of food drew Stevie toward an open doorway, but Kelleher headed straight down the cobblestones until he came to a bench.

“Red,” he said.

He was pointing at a statue of a man sitting on the bench with a cigar in his hands. The statue was life-size and looked almost real.

“Red Auerbach,” Stevie said.

“Very good, Stevie,” Kelleher said. “You pass today’s history test.”

Stevie was reading the plaque next to the statue. It said that Arnold “Red” Auerbach had led the Boston Celtics to fifteen NBA titles as coach and general manager of the team.

“Fifteen titles, that’s amazing,” Stevie said.

“Actually, it was sixteen,” Kelleher said. “Look at the date on the plaque-1985. The Celtics won another one in 1986. Just before Red died, I was in town, and I called him from right here to tell him I was sitting next to his statue.

“First thing he said to me was, ‘Did they fix that damn plaque yet to make it sixteen championships?’”

“How did you know him?” Stevie asked.

“Believe it or not, he lived in Washington,” Kelleher said. “He had a group of buddies that went to lunch every Tuesday, and I used to go. There were some basketball people, but there were also a couple of lawyers, a couple of Secret Service agents, some of Red’s doctors-a very eclectic group. Red knew everyone. Might have been the most fun I ever had.”

“I guess the group broke up after he died,” Stevie said.

“Actually, no,” Kelleher said. “We still get together every Tuesday. It’s not the same without Red, it can’t be. But we all know Red would have wanted it that way. At the end of lunch we open a fortune cookie for Red and read it to him.”

“Sounds like you really miss him,” Stevie said.

“Oh yeah,” Kelleher said. “You don’t get to meet too many guys who are truly larger than life. Red was one of them. He had this incredible feel for people-no matter what they did. He was always asking questions, trying to learn, to be smarter, even though he was really smart. And he was the most competitive person I ever met. He wanted to win at everything all the time.”

He put his hand on top of Red’s head and held it there for a moment. “Come on, let’s go get some pizza,” he said.

Stevie followed Kelleher down the cobblestoned walkway and into the most delicious-smelling building he had ever been in. There were places to get lobster and shrimp, crab cakes and chowder, hamburgers and hot dogs, Chinese food, ice cream, apple pie, fried dough, Italian sausages-just about any food Stevie could think of or imagine. Kelleher stopped in front of a place that said Pizzeria Regina. It didn’t look like anything special to Stevie, but he had learned to trust Kelleher on the subject of food.

“Couple slices?” Kelleher asked. “Or should we just split a pie?”

“I think a couple of slices will be plenty for me,” Stevie said.

“We’ll see about that,” Kelleher said.

He ordered four slices and a couple of Cokes. Balancing the pizza on paper plates, drinks in their other hands, they continued down the hallway.

“There’s tables and chairs in the middle of the building,” Kelleher said. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find a place to sit.”

The dining area had a vaulted ceiling and was gigantic, with tables and chairs in the middle, and tall tables around the edges where people could stand and eat.