CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

 

Riley took a long, slow breath. She realized that Bill might not like the idea she was about to explain. But she was sure it was a good idea, and she really needed to talk him into it.

Squinting uncertainly over his burger at her, Bill asked, “By stealth? What do you mean by that?”

She said, “You just told me those clubs are insular, and that an FBI agent wouldn’t exactly be welcome, especially asking a lot of questions.”

“That’s right,” Bill said.

Riley shrugged slightly and said, “So you could go undercover.”

Bill’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Undercover as what?” he asked.

Riley said, “As a well-to-do golfer, just one of the guys there.”

Bill frowned.

Nope, Riley thought. He really doesn’t like this idea.

Riley continued, “Look, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone undercover.”

“Yeah,” Bill said. “But the last time was years ago, infiltrating a mob family. I was playing the part of a wannabe goon looking for a job as a hit man.”

“So?” Riley said.

“This is different,” Bill said. “I don’t think I can pass myself off as …”

Riley chuckled and added, “As respectable?”

Bill squirmed a little and said, “Well, as rich, anyway. And I’d really blow my cover if I actually had to play any golf.”

“You don’t know how?” Riley asked.

“I’ve played, but I’ve never been much good at it. And I sure don’t have time right now to hone my skills.”

Jared was looking at Bill with interest.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You might clean up OK.”

Bill smirked sarcastically. “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Bill stared at what remained of his burger and added, “Besides, I’m not a member of any of the golf clubs in Monarch. We’d have to go through the management of one of those places to get me in. That would take time.”

Jared was starting to look enthusiastic.

“You won’t need to be a member,” he said. “You don’t even need to play golf. All you’ve got to do is ride around in a golf cart.”

Bill let out a snort of laughter.

“A golf cart?” he said.

Riley instantly understood what Jared was getting at.

She remembered how Monarch had looked when she and Jared had driven there—how the whole landscape seemed to be nothing but golf courses. She’d seen almost as many golf carts as cars in the town.

She thought …

This annoying little guy just might be right—again!

Jared continued, “The town’s golf cart paths go everywhere.”

She said to Bill, “Jared’s got a point, Bill. You can get anywhere in Monarch in a golf cart, talk to anyone you want that way. You just need … well …”

Bill scoffed again.

“A set of golf clubs?” he said. “And a disguise? Good luck with that!”

Riley had to admit, that part was a tall order.

But Jared looked as though he thought otherwise.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said to Riley. “Agent Paige, I know I got kind of queasy when I saw Edwin Harter’s body in that hot tub. Even so, I got a good look at his corpse, especially when the ME’s people were hauling it away.”

Again, Riley caught his meaning instantly.

She said to Bill, “Edwin Harter was almost exactly your size and build.”

“So?” Bill said.

Riley said, “So, a rich guy like Harter living in that area must have been a golfer. He surely has equipment and clothes—and a golf cart too, I’ll bet.”

Jared let out a sharp, cynical chuckle and added, “Yeah, and he sure won’t be needing them now. You might as well make use of them.”

Bill looked back and forth at Riley and Jared.

With a deep sigh, he said, “So do you think we can get our hands on that stuff?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Riley said.

 

*

 

A few minutes later, Bill was driving Riley and Jared out of Birmingham and back toward Atlanta. Even though they could skirt around the city to get to Monarch, it would take them well over two hours to get there.

During the drive, they discussed their plans and agreed not to bother checking in with Callum O’Neill, Monarch’s police chief. They really had no new evidence to offer the local police, and nothing to discuss with them. And they didn’t want to explain what they were going to do.

It was another tedious ride, with Jared chattering even more than usual. Bill was especially grouchy and taciturn this time. Riley guessed that he still wasn’t entirely sold on their plans.

Soon after they pulled into Monarch, Bill gaped at a string of golf carts traveling a wide path alongside the street. In the center of the little town, a parking lot near the stores was completely filled with golf carts. Bill laughed out loud at the sight.

It’s making more sense to him now, Riley thought.

They parked the rented car in front of the Harter mansion, then went to the front door, where they were met by Vivian Bettridge.

Riley reminded herself not to make a mistake…

Remember, she calls herself a majordomo, not a butler.

Bettridge greeted Riley and her colleagues with her customary smirk.

“Our FBI friends again, I see,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

Before Riley or her colleagues could say anything, they heard a woman’s voice call from inside.

“Did I hear you say FBI, Vivian? Send them on in. I’m curious about what they want.”

Bettridge led them into the dazzling interior with its immaculate white sofas. For a moment, Riley barely recognized the woman who had called out to them. It was Tisha Harter, but quite a change had come over her.

Riley remembered the sassy, insolent young woman in shorts and a T-shirt that she’d met before. Now Tisha was dressed casually but elegantly in comfortable slacks and a loose-fitting blouse. Even her sandals looked expensive. Her whole body language was different from when Riley had seen her slouching around insolently in the recreation room. Now she looked relaxed but poised, mature, sophisticated, and very much in charge—and very happy with herself.

Riley thought …

It’s a new role for her to play—the “lady of the manor.”

It was obvious that the young widow was thoroughly enjoying the part.

Riley also noticed that the cumbersome bandage Tisha been wearing on her right hand was now gone, replaced by a much less conspicuous flesh-colored one on her pinky.

Riley doubted the broken finger was really healed. Tisha probably just hadn’t thought the bandage quite suited her new image and decided to do without it.

With elaborate graciousness, Tisha invited Riley and her colleagues to sit down and asked whether they might like Bettridge to bring them some tea or coffee. When they politely declined, she asked, “Tell me—are you making any progress toward finding my husband’s killer?”

Riley said, “We’re doing everything we can. We were wondering if maybe you could offer us some help.”

“Oh, certainly. Anything I can do.”

Tisha had been subtly flirting with Jared since they’d come into the house. Now she looked straight at the young cop, clearly expecting him—and not Riley or Bill—to explain what they wanted. Apparently falling under her spell, Jared did so, stammering from time to time like a timid schoolboy.

As manipulative as ever, Riley thought as Jared described what they had in mind.

Riley hadn’t liked Tisha very much when she’d been here before, and she didn’t like her now.

Nor did she trust her.

Tisha was beaming with girlish delight by the time Jared finished explaining their plan. Riley again glimpsed that less mature girl she’d met the last time she’d been here.

“Oh, that sounds … well, it sounds like fun.”

Eyeing Bill flirtatiously now, she added …

“And I’m sure Agent Jeffreys here will look quite dashing in my husband’s golf clothes.”

Riley cringed a little at her tone of voice.

Tisha turned toward Bettridge, who had been standing dutifully nearby.

“Vivian, would you help this young man fetch Edwin’s golf equipment—and his golf cart too?”

As Bettridge led Jared away, Tisha looked at Bill again. “Come with me, and let’s get you all fixed up.”

Riley followed Tisha and Bill into the elevator, which they took to third floor. Bill looked surprised as they stepped out into the hallway filled with incredibly valuable paintings.

With what Riley took to be feigned wistfulness, Tisha said …

“It feels odd, being free to come here on my own without Edwin’s permission. This entire floor was his private domain, you know.”

Tisha sighed and added, “Well, times certainly do change.”

She led Riley and Bill into the dead man’s vast bedroom. Of course Bill wanted to see the crime scene itself, so Riley took him into the adjoining bathroom and showed him the hot tub, which was now clean and empty.

Then Tisha held Bill’s chin and turned his face from one side to another.

“Your hair could use a little work. It’s just a tad too working-class.”

As much as she disliked Tisha, Riley had to agree. Tisha found a pair of barber’s scissors in a drawer. Riley made suggestions as Tisha ever-so-slightly trimmed Bill’s receding hair around the edges and combed it differently. She tried not to giggle as Tisha patted the results into place with a styling gel.

Then the three of them all went into Harter’s closet. It wasn’t nearly as big as Morgan Farrell’s closet in Atlanta, and there wasn’t any furniture. But it was still a whole lot bigger than Riley thought a closet had any business being, with rows upon rows of racks exhibiting hundreds of outfits.

Tisha was having a great time now as she browsed the hanging clothes until she found her dead husband’s sporting outfits. She pulled out a white polo shirt and white pants and found a pair of white golfing shoes. At a glance, it looked to Riley as if everything was going to fit Bill well—even the shoes.

Bill then exited into the bathroom while Riley and Tisha waited in the bedroom. When Bill emerged after a few minutes, Riley gasped at what she saw and thought …

Oh, my!

Bill truly was transformed, and he was incredibly good-looking in his all-white outfit.

Riley felt her face redden as she was suddenly reminded of just how attractive Bill really was. He was strong, lean, and solid, and she thought he could be a professional model the way he displayed those clothes. Even the touch of gray in his thick dark hair helped give him an air of seasoned sophistication.

Riley remembered how attracted she’d been to Bill when they first began to work together years ago, and how her attraction had flared up from time to time since then, sometimes with embarrassing consequences. And Bill had sometimes let her know that he felt the same way about her.

At the moment, Bill seemed self-conscious enough not to notice that Riley was blushing. He was carrying a white golfing cap in one hand, shifting it from one hand to the other, undecided whether or not to put it on.

Fortunately, Tisha seemed much too delighted by Bill’s transformation to notice Riley either.

Riley forced her feelings down. Bill was recently divorced, and so was she—but she was just now striking up a relationship with Blaine Hildreth, a perfectly lovely man she knew better than to take for granted. She didn’t dare spoil whatever was happening between them. To say nothing of the possible complications if FBI partners became romantically entangled.

Steady, she told herself. Stay professional.

She turned away and headed for the elevator. Bill and Tisha caught up with her and they all took the elevator back downstairs, where Vivian Bettridge was waiting for them. The majordomo was looking very happy with herself.

“Come on outside,” she said. “I have something to show you.”

Bill, Tisha, and Riley all followed Bettridge out of the house. In the driveway just outside, a red electric golf cart was scurrying around in circles. In spite of the bag of golf clubs in back, the vehicle looked more like an undersized sports car than a golf cart. Riley guessed it probably cost more than some ordinary cars.

Jared Ruhl was in the driver’s seat, obviously having a great time.

Vivian Bettridge commented, “Mr. Harter hadn’t golfed in years, but he did keep his equipment up to date and in excellent condition.”

When he saw them, Jared pulled up nearby and stopped the whirring little vehicle.

He said to Bill, “Hey, Agent Jeffreys! You don’t look half bad! Come on, we should get going.”

Bill frowned and said, “What do you mean, we?”

Jared shrugged and said, “Well, I’m going to be your caddy, aren’t I?”

Riley couldn’t help but be amused by the suggestion—and by the scowl it provoked in Bill. The fact was, Jared really did look the part. Along with his regular summer clothes, he was wearing a caddy’s bright red utility bib, which Bettridge apparently had found with the rest of the golfing equipment.

Bill growled, “Why do I need a caddy? I’ve already got a golf cart.”

Tisha said, “Actually, Agent Jeffreys, having a caddy might be a good idea. The upscale golfers around here like to have both a caddy and a cart.”

Jared added, “And I know what I’m doing. I worked as a caddy a couple of summers while I was in school.”

“But I’m not even planning on playing golf,” Bill said.

Jared shrugged and said, “Well, even so. You need to look like you might play golf.”

Riley nudged Bill with her elbow and whispered to him, “Take him along, just for appearances’ sake. Besides, you never know when he might prove useful.”

Bill shook his head and walked toward the cart.

“OK. But move over, kid. I’m going to drive.”

Jared grumbled, but he moved into the passenger seat, and Bill got behind the wheel. Riley stood there watching as the little vehicle whirred away. She hoped she wasn’t sending Bill on a pointless excursion. Meanwhile, she needed to spend some time going over her own notes and information on this frustrating case.

As she turned to follow Tisha and Bettridge back into the house, Riley thought …

Three men, all very wealthy, all cruel—and all dead.

Why had the killer selected these particular men?

The golfing connection was tenuous and possibly meaningless, but so far it was all they had to work with. She hoped Bill’s masquerade would help them find something more solid before another man wound up dead.