CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Before Bill had driven very far along the carefully manicured paths, he began to feel a guilty pang. He had to remind himself that he had a job to do, and that he was dealing with a murder case.
I’m enjoying this too much, he realized.
Indeed, he felt like a college kid driving a new sports car. The only thing that bugged him was Jared’s nonstop chatter. Pretty soon Bill said to him …
“I think a caddy is supposed to stay quiet until he’s spoken to.”
Jared immediately fell into a sullen silence. Bill couldn’t get very concerned about whether he might have hurt the kid’s feelings. He really liked how quiet the cart’s electric motor was as they wound along a path beneath trees that arched overhead.
As he looked around, he saw that quite a few other people were out enjoying the shade on the hot summer day. Other carts whirred past them from the opposite direction, and there were some joggers out using the paths.
Pretty soon, Bill realized that a few of the golfers in carts and an occasional jogger were looking at him and Jared with curiosity.
What’s up with that? Bill wondered.
He didn’t really want to attract a lot of attention. The opposite would be better for his purposes. He began to wonder if maybe he didn’t actually look the part he was playing.
Then three men in a canopied cart flagged him to a stop and pulled up beside him. Judging from their reddish faces and the goofy grins two of them wore, Bill guessed that they’d already been drinking a good bit.
One of the guys said to Bill, “Which club are you headed for today?”
Bill panicked a little. He felt stupid for not being prepared to answer such a question. But then, this wasn’t the sort of undercover work he’d ever even thought about doing.
Fortunately, Jared spoke up.
“We’re playing at the Cedar Creek Country Club.”
Bill breathed a sigh of relief. Jared had remembered the one golf club Harrison Lund had mentioned when they’d interviewed him. Dutifully playing his role as Bill’s caddy, he’d snatched the name of that club out of his head.
Bill thought …
Riley was right—the kid is of some use, after all.
Still, Bill worried—what if these guys were headed to the same course?
A guy who looked about Bill’s age said, “Good luck with Cedar Creek. It’s pretty hilly for my taste. You’ve really got to keep the ball in front of you and in play.”
The youngest of the guys said, “Hilly? Buster, you’re so full of shit your eyes are brown. There’s nothing wrong with that course.”
The oldest said, “There’s a lot of water at the Cedar Creek. I don’t like it much.”
The youngest guy said, “Wusses, the both of you.”
The oldest shook his head and said to Bill, “This guy gives me a lot of grief. I’m Zack Slattery, and I guess you could say I’m kind of the ‘elder statesman’ here.”
The youngest snorted. “‘Elder statesman’? What a crock.”
Nodding to the youngest, Zack said, “This idiot is Louie Frazier.”
The guy who was about Bill’s age said, “I’m Buster Eades.”
Bill quickly realized …
I don’t need to lie about my name.
“I’m Bill Jeffreys,” he said. “And Jared here is my caddy for today.”
Louie squinted at Jared and said, “A caddy, huh? I don’t remember seeing you at Cedar Creek or anywhere else around here.”
Sounding characteristically defensive, Jared replied, “I’ve been around.”
Zack peered at Bill curiously and said, “I take it you’re not from around here, Bill. Where are you from?”
Better not say Quantico, Bill thought. They’d surely assume that he was involved with the FBI or maybe the Marines.
“The DC area,” he said.
Zack asked, “What brings you around here?”
He quickly decided it might be strategic to bring Harter’s death into the conversation.
He said, “I’m Ed Harter’s cousin. I guess you probably heard that he passed away.”
Louie let out a yelp of laughter, obviously amused by the euphemism.
“Yeah, I heard something like that,” he said.
Zack glared at Louie and said, “Don’t act like a prick, OK?”
Then turning to Bill again, Zack said, “I’m sorry for your loss. This must be a tough time for you.” He nodded at the cart and added, “I thought I recognized that snazzy little cart. Harter used to drive it around here a lot. Hadn’t seen him in recent years.”
Now Bill realized why people had been looking at the cart. They, too, had recognized it. Bill wondered if maybe people had also recognized the clothes he was wearing.
He sighed and said, “Yeah, I hear that Ed pretty much quit golfing. Well, I can’t say he and I were close. But I was asked to come down and help settle his affairs. It’s all kind of a mess, if you want to know the truth. I thought I’d escape for a while, enjoy the outdoors.”
Buster and Zack nodded sympathetically.
Then Zack said, “Hey, Bill—we’re headed over to the Estes Golf Club for some brewskis. We’re members there. Care to join us before you head on over to Cedar Creek?”
Bill smiled. This was exactly the kind of contact he’d been hoping for.
“Sure, thanks,” he said.
Bill followed their cart about a mile to the Estes Golf Club, where they parked in a lot just for golf carts. Then they walked around the main building toward a pleasant little dining area with an open roof overlooking the course. As the men started to sit down at the table, Bill gave Jared a look warning him not to join them. Bill knew that caddies were excluded from these gatherings.
Jared obediently skulked away to a table on the edge of the eating area.
A waiter came by, and Buster ordered a pitcher of beer and three glasses. Bill wondered how much beer the guys had already been drinking today.
The beer was delivered and as they began imbibing, Buster asked Bill, “So what’s your handicap?”
Bill felt unprepared again. The truth was, he was pretty much a bogey golfer—when he played golf at all, which wasn’t often. But would these guys shut down on him if he said that?
He reminded himself that he wasn’t planning to play golf today. He didn’t have to be honest.
An average handicap might sound OK, he thought.
“Fourteen point seven,” Bill said.
When the guys reeled off their own handicaps, Bill was glad he’d lied. They sounded like exceptional players.
Unless they’re lying too, he thought.
Then Zack said, “Terrible thing about what happened to Harter. And I hear two other fellows were killed, probably by the same guy. Are the police anywhere near finding who did it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Bill said, pleased at the opening in the conversation. “Were any of you friends with him?”
Louie shrugged. “I never actually met him.”
Buster said, “Me neither.”
Zack said, “I talked to him a few times. Never got close to him.”
Bill asked, “Do you know anybody who did? Get close to him, I mean?”
Zack thought for a moment.
“Nobody I can think of. Harter wasn’t much for making friends. He was kind of … I don’t know …”
Buster scoffed and said, “He was really a snotty, superior son-of-a-bitch.”
Zack chuckled. “Yeah, he was at that. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead. But you won’t find many folks around here crying about him.”
Bill’s interest quickened.
He asked, “Do you know anybody who might have wanted him dead?”
Zack tilted his head and said, “I can’t think of anybody who cared enough about him to bother.”
Louie rapped his knuckles on the table and said, “You know what? I think I know who offed him. It was that pretty young wife of his. I got a look at her a couple of times. Damn, but she looked fine.”
Buster winked. “I’ll say. And I bet she’s a regular merry widow. I wonder if she’s looking for … well, a little action. I wouldn’t mind making myself available.”
Louie laughed. “Be careful what you wish for. You might meet the same fate as Harter. Besides, you’re a married man.”
Buster grunted and said, “Don’t remind me. Besides, it’s not like that ever stopped me before.”
Zack looked at Buster and asked, “How are things between you and Marilou these days?”
Buster swallowed a large gulp of beer, then said, “Not good. I’d be glad to be rid of her, except she’d find a lawyer to take me for everything I’ve got.”
Zack said, “You a married man, Bill?”
Bill gulped a little. He really wasn’t prepared for the conversation turning personal.
“Divorced,” he said.
Buster let out a grunt of disgust.
“Lucky man,” he said. “You’re well out of it.”
Louie said, “I’ll bet you’re playing the field like some kind of Casanova.”
Bill felt a sharp pang of sadness. He briefly considered covering his feelings by boasting about sexual conquests that had never happened.
After all, lying was what going undercover was all about.
But somehow, he couldn’t make himself do it.
Instead, he said quite sincerely, “The wounds are still too fresh. I’d just as soon be alone for a while.”
But he wondered whether what he just said was really true. Was he starting to enjoy working with Riley a little more than he should? Sometimes it felt like their old attraction might still be there, but then he thought that maybe he was just flattering himself.
Anyway, Riley had a boyfriend—a really good guy, actually—which put her off limits as far as Bill was concerned.
Meanwhile, the guys were watching his face, waiting for him to say more.
Bill sipped on his beer and said, “I guess Maggie didn’t feel the same way—about fresh wounds, I mean. She’s already remarried. Took our kids to another state. And I …”
His voice faded away as he choked up a little.
Why did I let myself get into this conversation? he wondered.
He was glad to hear Buster speak up.
“Marilou’s still going to that damn group of hers.”
“LifeGrasp, you mean?” he said. “God, I hated it when Jenny was going there.”
Zack shook his head and said, “I was sure glad when Roberta gave up on it.”
Bill felt a quickening of interest.
“Are you talking about some kind of support group?” he asked.
Louie chuckled cynically and said, “Yeah, the wives around here join up with it whenever they decide they’re unhappy with their husbands—namely us. Seems like we all have to deal with it sooner or later.”
Bill couldn’t help but wonder …
Might Maggie have gotten some good out of that kind of group?
Could it maybe have saved our marriage?
Zack explained, “LifeGrasp’s kind of a New Age fad. It can’t end soon enough as far as the husbands around here are concerned. Its motto is something like, ‘Every crisis is an opportunity for spiritual growth.’ Roberta kept coming home with all kinds of damn fool ideas when she was going there.”
Buster said with a growl of dismay, “All it’s doing for Marilou is making her feel more superior. I’m not good enough for her anymore—not ‘evolved’ enough, she says.”
Louie laughed harshly and said, “You do have kind of a caveman thing going for you, Buster.”
Buster glared at Louie. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Still laughing, Louie said, “Well, maybe she’d think you were more ‘evolved’ if you didn’t knock her around so much.”
Buster’s face reddened even deeper than it had been already.
He snarled at Louie, “You’ve got a hell of a nerve.”
Louie shrugged. “Just saying,” he said.
Buster said, “Don’t tell me you never smacked Jenny.”
“Only when she really has it coming,” Louie said. “For you it’s like some kind of sport.”
Looking quite drunk now, Buster rose to his feet, scowling. Cursing, he cocked one fist back.
Louie leaped up, too, with both fists raised.
Before the two could start swinging at each other, Bill had instinctively gotten up and moved between them, separating them.
Buster turned his fury on Bill and took a swing at him.
Bill deftly grabbed Buster’s arm and twisted it behind his back.
Seeing that, Louie stepped back and sat down, looking thoroughly intimidated.
Zach laughed and said, “Hey, Bill, you’ve got some good moves there. Where did you pick those up?”
Bill suddenly felt flustered.
Damn, I almost blew my cover.
Then he said, “I’m a former Marine.”
“Thank you for your service,” Zach said. “Sit back down, let’s all relax.”
Still looking surly, Buster sat back down, but Bill stayed on his feet.
He felt a strange tingle.
All this means something, he thought.
Finally he said, “Listen, guys, thanks for the beer. I ought to get going.”
Zack looked embarrassed.
“I’m sorry for how the guys are acting,” he said. “They’ll be better now. Don’t let them drive you away.”
“Oh, it’s not that,” Bill said. “It’s just …”
He took a few dollars out of his billfold and put it on the table.
Then he said, “Here’s for the tip. Maybe I’ll see you guys around.”
Bill strode away from the table toward where Jared had been sitting and watching the group.
Bill said to him, “Come on, we’re leaving.”
Jared got to his feet. “Hey, don’t I get a tip?”
“No,” Bill said.
His head was buzzing after the conversation about the support group.
“What’s going on?” Jared asked as they trotted toward the lot where the cart was parked.
Bill didn’t reply.
The truth was, he didn’t yet know.
But he was sure of one thing …
I’ve got to call Riley right now.