“Need a hand, buddy?” asked a voice that was familiar to him.
Chapter 6
By noon the day after their lunch in Crane Cottage, Emily and Naomi had become fans of the history of the island. That meal was only the beginning of their exploration of the historic district. They had left Detective Lewis in the courtyard sipping his second cup of coffee while they arranged to go on the tour of the cottages. Naomi asked him to join them, but he declined.
“Work,” he said.
Murder, Emily thought, and was glad she was out of it. She had few fears she and her daughter would run into Toby while on tour. Learning about the Jekyll Island Club and its members, the Vanderbilt, Field and DuPont families who came to the island for a simpler life didn’t seem to Emily to be the kind of activity Toby would enjoy. But eating piggy was. Besides, making friends with the barbequers was the assignment Lewis had given him, so she warned Naomi to stay away on the weekend.
“Look, Mom, I’ll be with Lewis and, so what if Toby knows then we’re here. We’ll be leaving Sunday morning. By then the competitors will move on, and Toby will be back in his shack on the Kissimmee. Lewis will see to that.”
Emily had no doubt Lewis was smarter than Toby and was a good detective, but she also knew how slippery Toby could be. And she didn’t trust he might not have some scheme cooked up for getting back at them.
“I’m keeping a close eye on him,” Lewis assured them when they set out to explore the historic village.
Neither Naomi nor Emily had seen the detective since their lunch together. Emily envisioned him getting reports from Toby about the barbeque contestants and discovering which one of them killed Everett Pratt. Yet, the rumor the victim was a womanizer kept coming back to Emily, and it convinced her that his death was not related to barbeque but to zipper problems. Maybe not the wife, thought Emily, but perhaps a girlfriend who resented his other honeys?
Toward the end of the week the two of them were picnicking on the beach near the new convention center. The barbeque contest and festival had set up in the center’s parking lot, but Emily and Naomi avoided it, using a beach access stairway closer to the campground.
“Boy, this is a bigger contest than the one back home,” Emily eyed the large number of tents and trailers housing the festival contestants as they lugged their beach gear around the side of the parking area and out onto the beach.
“It’s a regional cook-off.” Naomi spread a blanket and set their cooler on one end of it. She stabbed the end of the beach umbrella into the sand and flopped down.
Emily shaded her eyes and looked up at the sky. “No sign yet of that storm predicted to roll in.”
“I’m glad we decided to spend the afternoon here. I think I’ve had enough history for a while. I just want to relax and take in a few rays. Here, Mom, would you put some of this sunscreen on my back?”
The two women took turns slathering each other with lotion, then settled into their beach chairs.
Later in the afternoon, the wind blew more strongly, yet the sky remained bright blue with no sign of storm clouds.
“I love this beach, but I’ve got to say, the water is brown and muddy looking. Not my preference for a swim.” Naomi rolled over onto her side and scanned the waves coming in.
“I only swim in pools,” said her mother.
Naomi sighed, and Emily could tell her daughter was bored with simply sitting and watching the choppy water.
Emily sipped the last drop of her soda and dropped the can into her beach bag. “The wind is whipping the sand into my face and hair. I’m getting a wind burn and a sand blasting. My face is going to look like I’ve had a chemical peel.”
“Back to the village to look around some more?” Naomi’s tone said she wasn’t excited at that prospect.
“I think we’ve heard enough about the wealth of the members of the club at the turn of the last century. It’s made me feel very poor.” Emily glanced at her watch. “Maybe we can get nine in before the sun sets.”
“Golf. Now that was an exclusive club. Still is in some places. No women, no minorities. You had to be from the right family, the Vanderbilts or the Morgans.”
“Don’t you think it’s interesting that the Jekyll Island club membership allowed women? Pretty progressive for the late eighteen hundreds,” Naomi said.
“There must have been a very good reason for that, and I’ll bet it had to do with money and not equality.”
“Mom, you are so suspicious.”
“I am usually so right.”
Naomi smiled. “You and Lewis. Never wrong about anything, or at least you never admit to it.”
Emily shaded her eyes from the sun and looked over at her daughter. I’m glad we finally found each other after all these years, she thought, and happier yet we’ve had this time together. If Naomi’s abusive ex-husband crossed her mind these last few days, she hadn’t said anything to Emily. She looks so content, thought Emily.
“Okay. Golf it is.” Emily grabbed her cell and connected to the course. After she clicked off, she stood and began packing up their blanket, chairs, and cooler. “If we hurry, there’s a spot open in half an hour. Let’s go.”
As Naomi pulled into the golf club’s parking lot, a large cherry red Cadillac entering from the opposite direction cut them off. Naomi honked at the driver who rolled down the Caddie’s window. “Sorry, honey,” said the woman in a honeyed southern drawl. Naomi nodded and proceeded into the lot. The Caddie stopped to let them into a parking place, then moved ahead nearer the clubhouse into a handicapped slot. As Naomi and Emily extracted their clubs from the boot, Emily noticed the driver of the Cadillac was struggling to remove a wheel chair from the back of the car.
“Here, let me help you with that.” Emily ran ahead and reached into the back seat to move the chair to the pavement.
“That is so nice of you, and after I almost plowed right through y’all.” The woman was tall, and had auburn hair. Kind of reminds me of Clara, thought Emily. The woman set up the wheel chair, opened the front passenger’s door, and held out her hand to someone inside. A frail-looking older man with wispy white hair emerged, and with her hand to support him, dropped into the chair. She tossed the Caddie’s keys to the cart attendant who smiled and opened the car’s trunk.
Another attendant appeared and strapped Emily and Naomi’s clubs into a cart.
Naomi handed the attendant two dollars and jumped into the cart. “I’ll meet you out back.” She drove off in the direction pointed out by the attendant while Emily entered to pay and get a course card.
Through the back windows overlooking the course, Emily could see the attendant pull up with the elderly gentleman in the cart. He parked it next to the one in which Naomi waited, took the tip offered him by the man, and nodded his thanks.
Emily stepped up to the desk as the woman from the Cadillac finished paying. “That’s wonderful.” She turned to look toward Emily with curiosity. “I mean, taking him out on the course with you.”
“Oh, he plays. He loves to play, doesn’t he, Dan?” she said addressing the pro.
The tanned and muscled pro shook his head and grinned. “That he does.”
The woman headed out the door to join her companion.
Now that must be something to behold, thought Emily. It had to take them four hours to play the front nine. Spare me being hooked up with them in a foursome. We’d be playing with flashlights.
“Well, you’ll get to see him play up close. I paired you and your daughter with them. You’re a foursome. Hope you don’t mind, but we’re jammed up today.” Dan continued to produce his hundred watt, Rembrandt white smile as he spoke, and his eyes told Emily he knew just what she was thinking. The jokes on me, thought Emily.
As Emily approached the carts, the woman stepped up to her. “Well, I declare. It’s you two. I guess we’d better introduce ourselves. I’m Daisy DuBignon St. Simonton, and this here is my hubby Rodney.”
Emily introduced them and tossed her arm ar
ound her daughter. “Wonderful. This will be great.” She felt her daughter give an inward groan.
“Great,” said Naomi.
“Oh, don’t you worry, sugar,” said Daisy. “We won’t hold you up.” Naomi continued to smile but her eyes said she doubted that. “Promise.” Daisy crossed her fingers and her heart, then giggled.
“Want to wager on the holes?” asked Rodney.
“Don’t you do it,” warned Daisy. “He’s a ringer.” She laughed. Emily and Naomi laughed. Rodney looked hurt.
“It’s no fun if there’s not some money at stake,” said Rodney.
Emily hesitated giving an answer as Daisy stepped into the tee box. Rodney leaned on his driver and looked as if he might keel over onto the fairway before he could step up to take a swing.
“Sure. Why not? How about Bingo, Bango, Bongo?” Emily was about to say a dollar a point, but Rodney interrupted her.
“Five bucks a point.”
The Cadillac told her they probably had money, and they were known here, so that told her they played often, but she felt guilty taking advantage of a guy in a wheelchair and his wife whose swing looked like she’d just bought her clubs at Wal-Mart.
“You’re on.”
Naomi grabbed her mother’s shoulder and steered her away from the tee box. “What are you doing? These people are old and crippled to boot.”
“He said he likes to play for money. We’ll buy them drinks afterward with the money we win. That’ll kind of even things up.”
On the first hole, Daisy hit first, a nice straight shot that went a good two hundred yards, stopping just short of a small stream that cut across the fairway.
“Nice lie,” said Naomi. “A hybrid should put you right on.”
Rodney still leaned on his driver, his face expressionless. Emily thought there was a chance he’d fallen asleep and would topple over before he could take his shot, but when his wife called to him, he sprang forward with surprising bounce in his thin legs. Daisy teed up his shot for him. Rodney stepped forward, addressed the ball and hit. The ball arced high into the air, sailed straight over the stream and landed about thirty yards short of the green.
“Astounding,” chorused Emily and Naomi.
“What was that? A two hundred seventy yards maybe.” Emily looked at the small white ball nestled in the middle of the fairway then back at the specter of a man who hit it there.
“Lucky shot,” whispered Naomi to Emily.
“Yeah, he’s still fresh. We’ll see how he does after he’s taken a couple of swings.” Emily was certain the man had expended more energy in that swing than he had the past five years of his life. Well, almost certain.
Both Emily and Naomi hit their shots directly into the stream. The remainder of the hole went the same. Bingo—Rodney was first onto the green. Bango—Daisy’s third shot put her only five feet away from the pin. Bongo—Rodney put in an amazing twenty foot putt. Flubbo—Emily and Naomi took drops on the other side of the water then both lost their balls in the woods. When they found them, Emily’s lie was so bad she hit the side of a large oak two times. When she finally hit out of the rough, she landed in the sand trap. Naomi fared better, hitting the green on her third shot and three putting it. Daisy and Rodney patiently waited for them to finish the hole. The foursome behind them asked to play through.
“Not bad, honey. That’s two points for you and one for me. Sorry, girls. Bad luck. You’ll do better on the next hole.” Daisy said all this without a note of condescension in her voice. Emily felt the woman was actually rooting for her, and the confidence she expressed in Emily, although knowing her for only several minutes, made Emily feel she would do better.
They hopped into their carts and headed for the second hole. On this one Rodney needed help from his wife to make it out of the cart and onto the tee box. Emily and Naomi gave one another knowing looks. Another straight hit, over two hundred and fifty yards.
And so it continued. To her credit Emily did do better than on the first hole. She didn’t lose a ball, and she managed to get out of the sand trap on five in two strokes.
By the sixth hole, neither Emily nor Naomi had earned a single point. Emily was entertaining all kinds of unkind thoughts and feeling guilty about them—a strong wind to blow Rodney over when he teed off, an alligator on the fairway to grab Daisy’s ball and chase her away, or, at the least, a thunderstorm with ground lightening. None of these materialized, and Emily was thankful the golf gods were not as petty as she was.
Yet by the second hole the foursome spent as little time focusing on their play as they could get by with and still contend they were playing a round of golf. They told golf jokes, talked about southern cooking, exchanged preferences for cocktails and discussed family.
At the end of nine holes with the sun only a smidgen above the horizon, they walked off the course laughing at how they had scored. Emily and Naomi owed Daisy and Rodney one hundred thirty dollars. She’d made five bucks on the eighth hole with a lucky one putt.
Emily gulped when she totaled up their loss. “I don’t suppose you’ll take a credit card?”
Rodney laughed. “Not on your life, but I will take both of you to dinner.”
“We can’t do that, Mr. St. Simonton. We made the bet and owe you.”
“Listen, I had the best time today I’ve had in months. Everyone around here knows me, and no one will take my wager. You did.”
Emily blushed. “You know why we did. We underestimated you because of your…”
“Disability? Because of this wheelchair?”
“No, not that. We figured you had to be a bad player if you used thirty year old Ping clubs with brass heads.” Emily pointed toward the ancient irons in his bag. “I should have had at least fifty yards on you with my Big Bertha.” It was a lie, but only a little one. Emily did think his equipment was dated.
Rodney threw back his head and laughed loudly enough to catch the attention of the other players coming off the course.
Pro Dan heard the laughter too. “You ladies must have given Rodney a run for his money. How much did you win off him?”
Emily walked toward the door of the club house and held her five dollar winnings over her head.
“Sassy little thing, ain’t she?” Rodney asked his wife who nodded her agreement. He continued to laugh as Daisy pushed him across the parking lot. Emily and Naomi stashed their clubs in the Mustang and followed the couple to their car.
Daisy settled her husband into the passenger’s seat. Rodney continued to grin.
“He’s not kidding about dinner and either am I. Meet us at the Jekyll Island Hotel in an hour,”
“Didn’t you think my Big Bertha would do it for me?” asked Emily of Naomi.
“Not after I saw him hit one off the tee with that ratty old driver of his. I knew then we were sunk.”
“If we were playing eighteen,” Emily said to Rodney, “I could have won a lot more off you.”
The couple laughed so loud, Rodney almost fell out of his seat. Daisy shoved him upright and got into the car. As they drove off, Emily and Naomi could see their heads bobbing merrily through the back window.
“I guess we made their day,” said Naomi.
“I appreciate the invitation to dinner, but I’ve still got to cough up the money to pay him. A bet’s a bet, especially in golf.”
“There’s something more serious to consider, Mom.”
“What’s that?”
“What can we pull out of our duffle bags presentable enough to wear in the Jekyll Island Hotel’s dining room?”
Now that was serious. Dressing for dinner trumped debt every time.
Chapter 7
Emily hated to spend the money, but swim suits and shorts would not do for dinner that night. She and Naomi stopped off at the Jekyll Island mall located across from the convention center. It held several gift shops, a bicycle rental store and a small grocery. They rushed into the gift store which sold island clothing and purchased two beach cover-ups tha
t could be belted to make them presentable as dresses. Emily hoped she wouldn’t see the identical outfits on others tonight, but reasoned no one but some gals from rural Florida would have the bad taste to wear beach togs into the fancy dining room. Gold belts and black flip flops completed the ensembles. They were as presentable as two women camping in a tent could be.
At the hotel, the maitre d’ gave them a haughty look that seemed to suggest they had lost their way to the hotel coffee shop. Before he could speak, Emily indicated they were joining Mr. and Mrs. St. Simonton for dinner. He replaced his unwelcoming look with a syrupy one. Emily thought the sour demeanor was a better fit for him. Daisy and Rodney waved as he led them across the large dining room which was filled to capacity. Everyone stared.
“Must be the haute couture we’re wearing that’s catching everyone’s eye,” whispered Naomi to her mother. The toe guard of Emily’s flip flop pulled free of her sole, and she stumbled as they reached the middle of the room. She reached down and pulled the sandal off her foot.
“I’m sorry, Madam, but you can’t go barefoot in here,” said the maitre d’.
If he thought a mere sandal malfunction could put them out of the dining room, he was mistaken.
“Here hold this.” Emily shoved the beach bag she was using as a purse into his arms and poked the toe guard back into the sole. “There. So hard to get quality Ferragamos today. I think I’ll have to go with Jimmy Choos from now on.” She looked around the dining room and smiled a dazzling Hollywood star smile. Putting on the Ritz, she thought. Several men and a woman smiled in return.
The maitre d’ continued forward, the large purse hanging off his arm, nose in the air. At the table, he held out her chair and handed her the bag. “Madam’s, uh, bag, I believe.”
“Madam is so pleased you could hold it.” Emily tried the same high wattage smile on him. His expression changed in warmth not quite two or three degrees.
Grilled, Chilled and Killed Page 5