“I’ll remember that if I learn anything,” I promised him.
It was one o’clock; I went into the grill for lunch. Most of the tables were occupied, so I sat at the bar. Henry was working, and I ordered a drink, first.
“Some mess, huh?” he said.
I nodded.
He was mixing my drink. “A dame involved, I’ll bet.”
I said nothing.
Henry set the drink in front of me. “There was a dame waiting for him Saturday night, in his car.”
“How could there be?” I asked. “He brought Miss Faulkner to the dance and probably expected to leave with her.”
“There was a dame,” Henry repeated. “His car was parked right next to mine. I left around three o’clock, after cleaning up, and I saw her sitting there, smoking a cigarette.”
“Did you recognize her?”
Just a moment’s hesitation before Henry said, “No, I didn’t.” He mopped the bar, though there was no moisture there. “It was too dark.”
“Maybe you’d better tell Sergeant Morrow about that, Henry,” I told him. “It might be important.”
“You mean that skinny cop you talked to?”
“That’s the one.”
“I’ll tell him,” Henry promised.
I don’t know why I had a feeling Henry was lying about not recognizing the girl, but the feeling persisted. Perhaps he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to be guilty of gossiping. That was probably it, I told myself.
Both Willie and the assistant pro were in the pro shop; I went in to take a quick shower.
Each shower has its own dressing cubicle and evidently the pair in the next two showers hadn’t seen me come in. Because one called over to the other, “That Burke kid is moving right into the Faulkner family, isn’t he?”
And the other man said, “You can say that again. I’d always heard that the ideal wife is a nymphomaniac who owns a liquor store, but Denny’s got something more in his line.”
“What’s that?” the first man said.
“A low handicap girl with a millionaire father. That’s what a golfer dreams of.”
Laughter.
I pulled the curtain to the cubicle, screening it from the corridor. I counted up to ten and began to undress slowly.
And then the first man said, “Well, I hope he makes it. He’s a real good kid, that Denny.”
“And a real good golfer,” the second man said. “If I could hit a ball like he does, I’d be playing with the big boys.”
I didn’t know who they were, but they’d redeemed themselves.
At five o’clock, Sergeant Morrow came back, and I told him what Henry had told me. He went into the bar to talk to Henry.
When he came back, Morrow said, “That could mean Venier was looking for a chance to start trouble, couldn’t it? I mean, if he had a girl waiting, he also had one to get rid of. And you were tailored for the job.”
I shrugged.
Morrow said, “He told his parents, last night, that he was going to Vegas, and he’d be gone for a couple of days. His car is parked in front of that house up on the cliff. Now, what in hell could that mean?”
“It could mean,” I said, “that he knew the people who own the house. And they might have given him a key. Did the caretaker know him?”
“He claims he didn’t. But the people who own the house could know him. They’re members here.”
“What’s their name?”
“Griffith.”
“They know Bud,” I said. “Young Fred Griffith played with him a lot.”
Sergeant Morrow looked thoughtful. “So that could be it. Venier was using the place, bringing dames there, and this caretaker won’t admit it, because he’ll get in trouble with the older Griffiths. So a husband catches them there, and—” He looked questioningly at me. “So now would be a time for some more of that country club gossip.”
I shook my head. “I can’t help you there. I’m an employee, not a member.” I thought of what I’d overhead in the showers, and added, “But I’m sure you’ll find plenty of gossips around if you dig a little.”
Morrow rubbed the back of his neck. His voice was tired. “I’ve a feeling you’re not cooperating as much as you could, Burke.”
I didn’t answer.
“I’ll be back,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you again.”
“I’ll be here,” I told him.
I saw the shot again, the wild shot Judy had played when stymied. If she hadn’t hit that shot that way, I wouldn’t have discovered Bud Venier’s body. Though maybe it was better that I did; it should make me seem less likely to be guilty in the eyes of the police. Maybe.
Willie came in from the bar and said, “Why don’t you go home, Denny? It’s been a bad day for you.”
“Thanks,” I said.
His voice was gentle. “And I think you could make out on the trail, Denny. Not right away; nobody does. But you’ve got all the shots.”
“I’ll probably try it,” I said. “I’ll probably follow it just as far as nine hundred dollars will take me.”
In the parking lot, my Chev had been standing in the sun for nine hours. I opened the windows before getting in. The interior was stifling.
A low handicap girl with a millionaire father…She’s been gone on you for nine years. Play it cold and smart, boy…
Maybe I wasn’t cold enough. I’d always tried to play it cool, but cold was something else. The Chev went clickety-clacking along Sunset, way over in the dawdler’s lane.
Mom was in front, digging out crab grass. She looked up as I stepped from the Chev. She was frowning. “What did that man phone me about the movie for?”
I smiled at her. “Just routine, Ma’m, like in Dragnet. A man named Roger Venier was killed last night. I found his body.”
She stared at me. “Do they—”
“The police know nothing, yet,” I told her. “It looks like he was dropped from the cliff above the course, from Griffith’s back yard.”
“But why,” she demanded indignantly, “should they check on where you were last night?”
“Every member of the club and every employee will probably be checked,” I assured her. “Don’t fret about it, Mom. This is a big case and the police aren’t going to overlook anybody.”
“You never should have gone to work there,” she said. “They aren’t your kind of people, Denny.”
After dinner, I walked into the center and got the late edition of the Mirror-News. They had a name for it, “The Country Club Murder.” There was a picture of Bud, of his parents and of the arroyo. I was mentioned as the man who had found the body. There wasn’t anything in the article I didn’t already know.
Around eight o’clock, I was watering the front lawn, when the Imperial pulled up to the curb.
“Nice night for a ride,” Judy called.
I turned off the water and walked over to the car. “You’re a lot more cheerful than you were this noon.”
She looked at me gravely. “I’ve been talking to Pat. I guess Bud was a—a pretty messy gent, wasn’t he? You see, I’ve been away for so long—”
“I don’t know much about him,” I said. “Judy, why are you here?”
She looked at me humbly. “Was it wrong? Don’t you want me here?”
“Of course I do, but—” I shook my head vexedly. “Oh, what’s to be gained?”
“We’re friends, Denny,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to put any more construction on it than that. We’ve always been friends.”
“No, we haven’t. I was your caddie.”
“Dad’s caddie. Not mine. And now you’re a college graduate, you’re a big boy. And you’re embarrassing me.”
I said evenly, “Come on in and meet Mom. Come in and see our humble abode.”
Mom was in the kitchen, reading Vogue, and she was a lot less flustered than I’d expected. She admired Judy’s dress right after the introduction, and they were out of my world for ten minutes.
It
was a dress Judy had labeled a “cheap little cotton” but that only meant it was under a hundred dollars. Mom showed her the dress she was sewing for Linda Macklin, and they’d have been talking yet, probably, if Dad hadn’t come in.
He was walking on air; he had just sold a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar policy, an all-time record for him. He had a bottle of champagne under his arm.
“That’s my cue to leave,” Judy said. “This should be a family celebration.”
“Nothing of the kind,” Dad told her. “This will be cold by the time I’ve finished eating, and then we’ll all celebrate.” He looked at me. “Maybe we could even have a game of Scrabble?”
“I’d love it,” Judy said. “Denny, please say yes.”
I tried to sense whether Judy was patronizing us or not. If she was, she hid it very well. Between her charm, and Dad’s wit, it was a fine evening all around.
When I walked out to the car with her around midnight, she told me, “I can’t remember ever having a better time than I had tonight. Your dad is some personality, isn’t he?”
“He was wound up, tonight,” I told her. “You see, until he got into the insurance business three years ago, he couldn’t seem to make a go of selling. But he’s doing all right, now.”
“He certainly should,” she said. “He’s fascinating.” She patted my arm. “Good night, sour-puss.”
I stood there on the curb until the Imperial’s lights were no longer in sight.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE BIG AMERICAN STORY is the immigrant boy who made good, or the boy from the wrong side of the tracks, or the handicapped boy. It’s supposed to be more difficult for them to achieve the big buck.
I don’t know why; they’ve got nothing to lose and one hell of an urge to get out of the muck. At least, the ones with any gumption are bound to try for the jackpot.
It’s the middle-class kid who meets all the stymies. His life isn’t so bad that he has any great urge to chance it and his pride is too strong to let him play the toady.
I lived in a very ordinary house in a district all the local papers always referred to as “fashionable Pacific Palisades.” About ninety percent of the area’s inhabitants are lower middle class, but the papers love to judge by the upper ten percent.
It was a good place to live and my job wasn’t much but it was close to the thing I loved best—golf. And there were ways to make an extra dollar out of it.
Why should I go out in that beat-up Chev and get slaughtered by the giants?
At breakfast, Mom said, “What a lovely girl. What a lovely, lovely girl.”
“Nice kid,” I agreed.
“She’s not a kid, Dennis; she’s a young lady and a very sensible young lady.”
“Okay, Mom,” I said.
Dad smiled and read the sports pages.
I said, “She thinks you people are wonderful. She thinks Dad is fascinating.”
“It’s too late for that,” Dad said. He patted Mom’s hand. “I’ve got all I can handle right here.”
Mom poured him some more coffee, and said to me, “You should have told us she was dropping over last night, Denny. I’d have picked up a little around the house.”
I opened my mouth, and closed it.
Dad smiled and said, “Don’t pry, Enid.”
She stared at him blankly. “Pry?”
“Denny didn’t know she was coming over, and you know he didn’t know it. I’ve had the same problem, myself. After a big game, there would be girls parked all around my fraternity house, just waiting for their hero to come home.”
Mom sniffed.
I said, “Our looks and our athletic ability, that’s the curse Dad and I share, Mom. We’re going to have to get an unlisted phone number, like the movie people.”
She sighed and reached for the society section of the paper.
Light talk on a bright morning, and I could take it easy because I wasn’t due at the Club until ten, today. The Times had nothing new on the murder, just a picture of the Venier home.
Dad left at eight-thirty and Mom had the dishes done by then. There was nothing for me to do; I went over to the Club.
I took a bag of practice balls and my middle irons and went down to the practice fairway. The easiest clubs in the bag, but they had never been for me. On the trail, I’d be playing only the back tees, and that would make these the important irons for that crucial second shot.
At twelve, I’d owned only one club, a five iron, and I’d played it for maximum distance. That meant forward of center, to eliminate backspin as much as possible. It was a bad habit, now that I had all the clubs, and it should have been eliminated years ago.
By the time I went to work, an hour later, I was doing a lot better with it. I hadn’t touched the four or the six.
At both ends of the fairway, I was above average; my putting was sound and I had the big tee shot. Playing with the giants, I’d need this and the fairway game and a hell of a lot of luck, too.
In the pro shop, Willie said, “You could try San Diego. That might be a test.”
I stared at him for a few seconds before I realized what he meant. The San Diego Open started Friday and there was pretty good money being spent for such a small meet.
“That way you wouldn’t have to quit here,” Willie pointed out. “You could try a couple meets within a day’s travel, just to get your feet wet.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to the Club,” I said. “You’ve already given me more leeway than I deserve, Willie.”
“It’s more than fair to the Club when they mention the Canyon Country Club in the papers.”
I said, “How much of a test would it be? The big boys are all in Milwaukee for that meet.”
He smiled. “Why don’t you go down and find out how much of a test it would be? Clare Dunning and Ray West will be there, I think you’ll find them a test.”
West was the Southern California amateur champ and Clare the state PGA king. Both of them had followed the big swing for a year without any notable success. They were probably avoiding Milwaukee in the hope of mopping up at San Diego.
It wouldn’t mean any money for Ray, but the record would look good when he turned pro and started shopping for a sponsor. The real big boys are backed by the big sporting goods manufacturers and that obviates the need for cheap meals and cheap hotels. One important meet like the Masters or the Open brings in financial rewards far beyond the purse.
“Clare and Ray will be fine stones to sharpen your game on. They’ve been out with those—those pirates.”
Willie liked to think of golf as a gentleman’s game and not all the boys on the trail were that. But they were all golfers.
“I’ll see,” I said finally. “I’ll have to check with Sergeant Morrow.”
I’d played the Beach course at San Diego when I was in college. I tried to remember all the holes as I went to work checking stock. It wasn’t much of a test; the tournament boys would eat it. But very few of the tournament boys would be there.
At one o’clock, I went into the grill for lunch and found Charles in a corner, sorting out the lost and found. I asked him if he’d like to caddie for me at San Diego.
“It will cost me the big week-end here,” he said doubtfully.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get Red.”
“That’s worse than carrying your own,” he said. “I’ll go. I know that course.”
It was a little late to enter, but Willie fixed it up with a phone call and I got permission from Sergeant Morrow through another phone call.
I tried to forget all that had happened since last Saturday and think of nothing but golf. I tried to insulate myself, to get the Hogan attitude. It wasn’t easy.
Wednesday afternoon is always a busy one; I kept occupied until quitting time. And Willie told me, “Why don’t you take off tonight? You can get a couple practice rounds in tomorrow.”
I phoned a motel and made a reservation, explaining that I would be getting into town late.
; Charles and I left the Palisades about seven-thirty. From there to Laguna Beach, the lights are frequent and the traffic heavy. Beyond Laguna, we made better time. It still took three and a half hours for the hundred and twenty miles; it was eleven o’clock when we checked in at the motel.
It had been a tiring drive after a full day, but I couldn’t get to sleep. I stretched and yawned and thought of the probable competitors in the field. I thought of the hazardous twelfth hole, with that long carry over the water. And finally, just before falling asleep, I thought of Judy and realized I hadn’t heard from her all day.
It had been a clear night; it was a misty morning. I opened my eyes to see Charles putting on a brand-new pair of slacks. Ready on the bed was a clean and colorful polo shirt.
“You amaze me, Charles,” I said.
His smile was sly. “Around the Club, it doesn’t pay to dress good. I always try to keep in mind the best possible return.”
“That’s sensible,” I said.
He didn’t look at me. “Are you going to marry Miss Faulkner, Denny?”
“I doubt it. That would give me the best possible return, wouldn’t it?”
“I wasn’t thinking of that,” he said. “She’s a lovely girl.”
“My mother’s words, exactly.” I got out of bed. “But from now until Sunday night, I’m going to think about one thing only. Golf. And that’s all I want to talk about, too.”
“Right,” he said. “Absolutely.”
We had breakfast at the motel lunch counter, and then drove directly to the Beach Country Club. Neil MacDonald is the pro at Beach, and both Charles and I knew him well. Neil had been on the circuit for six years and had one year in the black out of the six. He told us about the hot-shots who were entered. None were in the first ten, money-wise, but a number were bona fide traveling pros. There would be some golf played over this rolling layout before Sunday’s sunset.
Charles knew the greens a lot better than I did, so I followed his advice there. Only a few of them sloped the way they seemed to; some architect had engineered a fine set of illusions.
Practicing, I made the turn one under par, which wasn’t comforting on a course this short. I started the second nine with a birdie on the tenth and scored better from then on. I finished with a 68, four under par.
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