Masters of Terror: A Marc LaRose Mystery

by R. George Clark

  “He’s got potential,” Marc replied.

  The second and third holes went just as smoothly. However, Marc noticed there seemed to be more than the usual number of security officers present, especially for a practice round.

  When they arrived at the fifth tee box, a female security guard with a K9 stood close by. Curious, Marc asked, “There seems to be a lot of extra security today. Expecting problems?”

  The guard hesitated before answering, “Nothing in particular, just a precaution.” She then pulled on the dog’s leash and moved away, apparently reluctant to discuss the subject any further.

  Marc recognized the dog’s breed as a Belgian Malinois, known for its keen sense of smell and commonly used by the police for locating contraband drugs and even hidden explosives.

  “I heard what you asked the guard,” Willum said. “I must say, it feels like we’re playing on a course back home. Intense security is the norm in South Africa.”

  “Up to today, I’ve only seen the tournament on television and I understand that thorough gallery screening is standard practice at the Monarch Golf Tournament. But somehow, I get the feeling this is a bit unusual.”

  “In our years on the tour, we’ve seen some crazy stuff. However, with your foreign secretary attending the Sunday round, I suppose the organizers would rather plan for the worst and hope for the best,” Willum said.

  “You’re probably right,” Marc replied. It was news to him that the U.S. Secretary of State would be attending the tournament. And although it would certainly be an honor to meet him, Marc knew that, at this moment, it was more important to concentrate on Jake’s progress.

  As they continued with the round, Marc could see that Jake’s self-confidence was building as he succeeded in reaching all par fives in just two shots, even making an eagle on the last. The few times that his shots were errant, rather than criticize, Marc simply encouraged Jake to put the wayward shot out of his mind. It was more important to recover and move on to the next swing. Also, Marc felt that as Jake’s confidence increased, his own ability to help Jake improved as well.

  When they completed the round, Jake and the South African player shook hands as did Marc and Willum. They wished each other good luck in the tournament, now less than twenty-four hours away.

  By the time Marc, Ann Marie, Jake and Laura returned to Aiken, it was late afternoon.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of making a reservation for the four of us at a nice Italian restaurant downtown. A place called Casa Della’s,” Laura said.

  “Sounds nice, but only if you allow me to take care of the check,” Marc said.

  Laura hesitated then retrieved her cell phone from her purse. “I suppose. I made the reservation for seven thirty, so let’s plan on meeting in the hotel lobby in about an hour. It’s about a ten-minute walk to the restaurant.”

  Jake was standing nearby. “Mom, would you mind if Ann Marie and I leave a little earlier? We’ll meet up with you at the restaurant.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. How do you feel about that, Mr. LaRose?” Laura asked.

  “Sure, why not. Sounds like the kids want some time by themselves.”

  At seven fifteen, Marc was sitting in one of the lounge chairs in the hotel’s lobby. A young man about Jake’s age was playing the piano. It took Marc a moment to recognize the tune. It was “Hotel California.” Although he’d heard the recording many times before, he’d never heard it played on the piano. Immersed in the song, he caught a movement off to his right from the landing that led to the elevators. It was Laura. She was wearing a dark green knee length skirt, a white blouse and a pair of black low-heel pumps. She was carrying a matching purse in her right hand. She seemed to focus on the guy playing the piano. Without her usual scowl, she was actually attractive.

  Remember Marc, he told himself, this is Rose Hill, not Hotel California.

  He stood as she descended the landing. His movement caught her attention.

  “Ah, Marc, there you are. I wasn’t sure if you’d be ready quite yet.”

  “I like to be prompt. Besides, I was enjoying the ambiance of the hotel’s lobby.”

  “Good choice, by the way.”

  The fact that she’d addressed him by his first name was not lost in the din of “Mission Bells” flowing from the piano.

  Laura glanced at her watch. “Yes, well, I’d love to stay and listen to the music, but I suppose we’d best be on our way.”

  As the two walked out of the hotel’s entrance, Marc couldn’t shake the feeling, is this really heaven, or could this be hell?

  Chapter Eight

  The following day the weather turned nasty, especially if you were playing golf. Winds averaged around 20 mph, gusting to 25. Although the rain was light, it was steady, just south of a heavy mist. No lightning was in the immediate forecast, which insured the tournament would go off as planned. Because all patron tickets were presold long before the start of tournament, other than the hot dog vendors, the biggest losers would be the fans who had coughed up big bucks to see the best golfers in the world play while holding an umbrella and/or wrapped in one of the cheap see-through ponchos that were sold in the gallery golf shop. Although the weather conditions had a perceivable effect on fan enthusiasm, the turnout, as well as the abundance of security, appeared about the same as the day before.

  Jake declined the umbrella and was happy with his rain suit; however, Marc kept the umbrella handy to keep the golf clubs and score card dry. It was the first day of regulation play, and although Jake had made it this far, to make the cut and play the final two days would require above average rounds. The cut line depended on how well the leaders played. Jake and Marc knew that making it into the final two days would be an achievement in itself, let alone even thinking about winning. After all, the field of 120 players included some of the best in the world.

  Jake was paired with a previous Monarch champion, Teddy Doubles. Doubles had won the Monarch twice before and Marc knew he had his sights set on a third win. It was common knowledge that Doubles was a fan favorite and although Jake was a virtual unknown, being teamed with this prior champion would bring more attention to Jake, thus increasing the pressure on him to succeed.

  “Just play your own game. Remember whatever Doubles does, we have to keep our cool and take it one shot at a time,” Marc counseled.

  Marc hoped the “we” would give Jake some comfort, that he was not in this alone, and that they were a team.

  Jake’s face broke out in a wide grin, “Marc, I not only appreciate your advice, but at this stage of the game I would be completely lost without it.”

  “You’ve got game, Jake. Just trust your ability and we’ll do fine.”

  Marc knew that playing in the same group with Teddy Doubles, a previous champion, would bring a large fan following, plus extra media coverage. Of course this had the effect of increased scrutiny of not only Doubles, but of Jake’s play as well.

  Doubles’ first drive was not just long, but also very accurate, leaving him with no more than a pitching wedge to the first green.

  Jake’s drive was almost as long, but his ball leaked off to the right side of the fairway into the first cut of rough. When they arrived at Jake’s ball, Marc saw that although it was not far off the fairway, the grass was thick. The one bright spot was that Jake had caught a break. The ball was held up by the thick mat of grass, making his attempt to get it on the green doable.

  Doubles’ pitch was accompanied by cheers as it landed in the middle of the green, but the cheers quickly turned to moans as his ball checked up, then spun back off the front of the green.

  Jake’s pitch landed at the front of the green, then rolled to about three feet left of the flag. This was followed by light applause, except for Ann Marie who squealed with delight. Laura was much more subdued, offering applause and a smile.

  Doubles went on to make his par and Jake’s birdie putt found the middle of the hole.

  “Nice recovery and a good start to the round. Sure
you haven’t played here before?” Doubles said with his natural grin.

  “No, not before this week,” Jake answered.

  At the second tee box, Marc spotted the same security guard with her K9 that he had spoken to the day before. As the men approached, the guard again pulled on her dog’s leash.

  “Good Morning, officer,” Marc said in an attempt to get a response. She gave Marc a quick smile and a nod, then slipped away toward the ropes that separated the fairway from the gallery.

  Oh well, worth a try, Marc thought.

  The two men continued to play well for the remainder of the day, with the lead between them trading hands. When they finished the round, Doubles was one stroke ahead of Jake and just four strokes behind the leader.

  The mini tournament between Jake and Doubles had been good, especially for Jake. Marc believed it was because both men had something to prove. Doubles, the accomplished champion didn’t want to be outshone by this newcomer, and Jake intended to show that although he was an amateur, he had something to prove. Marc also suspected that Jake needed to show his mother he was good enough to play on the pro tour.

  After returning to the hotel, Ann Marie announced that she and Jake had made plans to go to a restaurant later that afternoon, and made no secret that they wanted to be alone. Laura, although not outwardly pleased with this announcement, seemed resigned to her son’s intentions and simply indicated that she’d probably find something to eat at the hotel before turning in for the evening. It was still relatively early, so despite the lingering mist that had plagued their day at the Savannah River Golf Links, Marc drove the rented SUV to The Palm Tree Golf Club to see if his new-found friend, Ned Bunker, was still minding the store.

  As he pulled into the clubhouse parking lot, he noticed only three cars there and figured that one, an older model Buick parked between a late model Lexus SUV and a Land Rover, was probably Ned’s.

  Inside the clubhouse, Marc found Ned was still busy with the memorabilia he had been working on the day before, dusting and cleaning before returning them to their traditional places of honor. Marc could see there would be no problem determining which pictures went where because of the outline shapes that each portrait had left on the faded wallpaper. Ned again was wearing a bow tie; however today it was slightly turned to an 8-2 position.

  “Hello, Mr. LaRose. Didn’t think we’d be seeing you around here so soon now that your amateur is faring so well at the Monarch. Looks like congratulations are in order.”

  “Jake had a good day, but there’s still tomorrow. And with the rain and softening course conditions, anything can happen.”

  “I’ll say. So, what brings you here on such a dreary afternoon?”

  “I just stopped by to thank you for that little tip you gave me.”

  “Tip? What tip was that?”

  “The one about how some putts tend to turn toward the Savannah River, even when they’re on a flat lie.”

  Ned hesitated as he continued to straighten one of the pictures he had just re-hung to its traditional position on the wall, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, then looked over at Marc and gave him a quick wink.

  Marc remembered. Ned’s “tip” was to be kept between the two of them. “Don’t worry, that’s our little secret.”

  Ned didn’t reply and continued working, apparently not wanting to broach the subject any further.

  Marc decided to ease out of the conversation with some idle chit-chat before returning to the hotel. “Looks like the weather’s put a damper on your business today.”

  “Yeah, well, the weather’s had some effect on play, but that’s not the only reason for the day’s low turnout.”

  “Oh? I understand The Palm Tree drains pretty well, even in the wettest of conditions.”

  “You’re right. We do have a fine course, and, like you just mentioned, it drains really well, even after a good soaking. But that’s not the main reason for the lack of play. One of our members passed this week.”

  Marc hesitated before answering, “Sorry to hear that. Hope it wasn’t too unexpected.” Marc had heard that a few of the club’s members were octogenarians and older.

  “As a matter of fact, Mr. Saylor was one of our younger members, forty-five or so. Seemed healthy as a horse. Plus, he was a scratch golfer.”

  Marc thought a moment, “Oh yeah, I recall overhearing his name mentioned last time I was here. Something about an accident at work?”

  “That was him. Don’t know exactly what happened. Just that it was deemed an industrial accident of some sort.”

  Marc hesitated. “Yeah, didn’t he work at a plant that produced PVC piping or something?”

  “You have a good memory, Mr. LaRose. Apex Irrigation is the name of the place. Zach, er, Mr. Saylor, had worked there for years. Not certain, but I understand that Apex was bought out last year. ‘Twas a small, family-owned enterprise specializing in custom irrigation work. It was rumored, however, the business was circling the drain, so when an out-of-town buyer approached them, the owners apparently jumped at the offer.”

  “Did Mr. Saylor leave a family?”

  “Just a wife. His second. Zach remarried when his first wife ran off and left him. That was just after their third wedding anniversary. Story goes that despite working at an irrigation supply plant, old Zach was sorely lacking in the plumbing department, if you catch my drift,” Ned said with a wink of his eye.

  “Poor guy, unlucky at love, and unluckier at work, I guess,” Marc said.

  “Unlucky may be a little understated. I believe the funeral is tomorrow. Won’t be much to see though. I heard they’ve cremated what was left of him.”

  “What was left? You mean there was a fire?”

  “I guess. Not much’s being said about that. Understand they had things pretty much cleaned up by the time the fire department arrived.

  “They? You mean the company, Apex Irrigation?”

  Ned was quiet a moment. “You’d have to ask them, but don’t expect much. They’re pretty hush-hush about the whole thing. There wasn’t much in the paper about it either. Just a column about an apparent spill, followed by a fire. As you can imagine, that covers a lot of territory.”

  As Marc was thinking about Ned’s recollection, a flash of bright light from one of the side windows filled the room. This was immediately followed by an explosion of thunder causing the old building to shudder.

  “That was a close one,” Ned said. “I only have a couple twosomes out on the course. I suppose I should get them in before we lose another member.”

  With that Ned laid his dusting cloth on the counter. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. LaRose, I should activate the inclement weather warning alarm.”

  “Need any help, Ned?”

  “No, thanks. We use a public address system. I don’t even have to go outside.

  “Okay,” Marc said as he glanced at his watch. “I probably should be heading back to the hotel.”

  “Stop in again when the weather gets better,” Ned said as he turned toward the check-in counter.

  “Will do, and good luck getting your members out of the storm.”

  As Marc left the clubhouse, he heard the blast of a horn over the club’s PA system. This was immediately followed by another rumble of thunder coming from somewhere in the distance.

  You wouldn’t have to warn me to come in out of the rain when there’s lightening in the area, especially if I was standing in the middle of an open fairway holding a four iron above my head, Marc thought as he climbed into the safe confines of the SUV.

  When Marc arrived back at Rose Hill, he noticed Laura was seated in an overstuffed chair in the hotel’s lounge. She was nursing a glass of white wine and appeared quite content. The evening’s entertainment was provided by a young lady strumming softly on an acoustic guitar. Marc recognized the tune. It was “Lara’s Theme,” Lara, Laura, close enough. Wonder how much she tipped the girl to play a song she probably thinks was written just for her? he m
used.

  Marc lowered his head and continued toward the landing and the hotel’s elevators just beyond.

  “Mr. LaRose. You’re not trying to avoid me, are you?”

  Was I that obvious? Marc stopped in mid-step, one foot still on the landing, “Oh, hello, Laura. Sorry, I was just thinking about the tournament tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure you were,” she said with little conviction. “But look, the evening is just getting started. Let me buy you a drink.”

  Although Marc felt uneasy about Laura’s offer, he let his foot slide back off the step, then glanced at his watch. “I suppose I have time for one. There’s a few things I need to do to get ready for tomorrow.” Hope that didn’t come across as lame as it sounded.

  “Oh, come now. Jake and Ann Marie haven’t returned from dinner yet. Come, sit by me,” she said, patting the seat of a chair next to her.

  Cautiously, Marc took the proffered chair. “Alright, but only on one condition.”

  As Laura drained her glass, Marc suspected that was not her first for the evening.

  “And, what condition would that be?” She asked, setting the empty glass on the table between them.

  Marc felt the radiation of her provocative stare that bore into his eyes. “Two conditions actually.”

  When Laura looked like she was about to protest, he held up a hand.

  “First, no wine. Bourbon, Woodford Reserve.”

  “My, I’m already beginning to like your conditions. And the second?”

  “Drinks are on me. You’ve already done enough.”

  Laura seemed to give Marc’s suggestions some thought.

  “Sure, why not,” she said with a light smile.

  Marc got the waiter’s attention and ordered the drinks. As the attendant turned to head back to the bar, the guitarist finished the set and announced she was taking a five-minute break.

  “Potty time,” Laura said.

  Marc started to get up from the chair.

  Laura put a hand on his knee, “Not me, I meant the girl playing the guitar. Sounds like she’s in need of a bathroom break.”