Was it something I didn’t want to learn?
Was it because I admired Willie Partridge so much?
I didn’t think so; I wasn’t even certain that Willie had been the fourth member. But I could ask him, tomorrow.
The baby stopped crying and a slight breeze came up from the sea; I slept.
The next day wasn’t quite as bad; the temperature was destined to reach only 108 at the Civic Center, a drop of two degrees. My dad was out in shorts, watering the shrubs when I came into the kitchen for breakfast around nine-thirty. He had evidently been serious about not working in this heat.
Mom put some pancake batter on the griddle and asked, “What makes the house look so small this morning?”
“Envy,” I said. “And it’s not an admirable trait. It’s a good thing you can cook.”
“And sew,” she added. “Your father was a mighty lordly man last night, wasn’t he? I’d say he was rude to Mr. Faulkner.”
Divide and conquer; Mom would be the next Faulkner target. I said nothing.
“You could really be something,” she went on, “if you listened to Mr. Faulkner. You’re awfully lucky to know him.”
“I’m going to be something, Mom,” I assured her. “I’m going to be Dennis Burke.” I put the paper to one side. “We were always a happy family, weren’t we?”
She frowned at me. “What did that mean?”
“Let’s stay that way. Let’s believe in each other.”
Dad came in to get the rose spray from the service porch.
He winked at me as he went by. Mom’s glance went between us and then back to the pancakes on the griddle.
I drank my tomato cocktail and thought back on that day long ago when I had come across the snake in the barranca.
Who had been the fourth member of that foursome? And what current meaning could the incident have?
I washed the Chev and took it over to the service station for a complete lube job. She wasn’t using any oil; if I took her on the road, that would be a saving.
From the service station, I drove to the club. Willie was down on the practice range, giving Mr. Balter a lesson, so I chinned with Jack in the pro shop.
Six of our stuffier members had their memberships up for sale, he told me, and even the card players and the low handicap men were now aware that murder had been committed on the grounds.
On the bench, there was a Los Angeles Star open to the page of the same local columnist who’d aired the trouble at San Diego. I read:
—rather strange that a young club-cleaner who mixes so frequently with his superiors should be the lad to find both bodies. Your reporter has learned the young man is no longer an employee at Canyon and was relentlessly questioned at the West Side Station yesterday until our estimable Chief of Police phoned to let him off the hook. The phone call came from Canyon, where our Chief is one of the most beloved members and—
I looked up to see Jack watching me. He was smiling.
I said, “I thought Henry was the only gossipmonger around here.”
Jack shook his head. “The place is jumping with them.” He nodded toward the paper. “As for that fink, he’s a public-course player—and bitter.”
I said nothing.
Jack was carefully winding a brassie. “I hear you’re going to play with the big boys, Denny.”
“You heard right.”
“It’s a rough game.”
“It pays, too—at the top.”
He nodded. “But only at the top. Well, what can you lose? You’re young and single. And the headliners are getting along in years.”
He was right about that. There’d be some shoes to fill. But also a lot of very fine barefoot boys around. So, who wants it easy? When was golf ever easy?
“What are you mumbling about?” Jack asked.
“Golf,” I said.
He shook his head. “Two murders and you’re still thinking golf. I guess you’ve got the right attitude, Denny.”
Charles came in, carrying Mr. Baiter’s clubs. He looked at me. “When do we leave, Denny?”
“It isn’t ‘we,’ yet, Charles,” I told him. “I want to consult an attorney and a CPA before I sell myself to you.”
Jack said, “Get the best of both; they’ll be up against their superior.”
Mr. Balter and Willie came in. Willie smiled; Mr. Balter nodded without smiling. Mr. Balter went into the grill.
“Well—?” Willie said. “Had lunch?”
I shook my head. “I ate a late breakfast.”
Willie looked quizzical. “Something’s bothering you.”
“I’ll have a cup of coffee while you eat,” I said.
Jack looked questioningly between, us and then concentrated on the club he was repairing.
Willie’s face was suddenly grave. “All right. Come along.”
It was still too early for the big luncheon crowd; we sat at a table near the windows overlooking the eighteenth green. Willie ordered his lunch and I ordered coffee.
“All right,” he said, “you’ve got some questions eating at you, I can tell.”
I nodded. “And I don’t even know what’s important about them. Do you remember the time I ran across that rattlesnake in the barranca when I first started to caddy here?”
He frowned and then nodded. “I do. I was playing in the foursome.”
“There’s something about it that keeps hammering at me,” I said. “Something in it that connects with Bud Venier’s death.”
Willie asked quietly, “Something about me?”
“Of course not,” I said, but he raised a hand.
“You’re a poor liar, Denny. I’m not insensitive and you’re not sly. I knew when I first saw you ten minutes ago that you had some doubt in your mind about me.”
“I couldn’t remember,” I protested, “whether you were in the foursome or not. I remembered Doctor Evans and Mr. Faulkner and Mr. Griffith, but I couldn’t think of the fourth person. And for some reason, it seems very important to me now.”
Willie said, “A man doesn’t usually forget a personal encounter with a rattlesnake. But that was a long, long time ago.”
“I know. I’m not claiming that I make sense, but why should the memory keep heckling me? There’s still something there I’m missing. Something that was said or done.”
His face was impassive, his eyes were blank. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. You’re not listening to the rumors around here, by any chance, are you?”
I stared at him. “Which particular ones?”
“Concerning my bad temper.”
“That’s ridiculous, Willie, and you know I wouldn’t give a rumor like that a second thought.”
“I don’t know anything, any more,” he said peevishly. “This mess has turned everybody upside down around here. Let’s talk about something else. Or not talk,”
Willie had never gone out of his way to win friends and influence people; I could guess there were a number of members who would take delight in giving him a bad time. I left before he’d finished his lunch and went into the locker room.
Royal was listening to an eastern baseball game on the radio. All the major league scores already in were chalked on the blackboard next to his little room.
“Hi, criminal,” he said. “You’re sure getting the ink.”
I nodded.
He chuckled. “You nasty little man.”
I looked at the scrubbed spot on the floor where Henry had died. I went down to the two doors and opened the one that led to the parking lot. Then I walked the rows of lockers back there, reading all the names of the members.
Some of the lockers had no names on them, but were locked. I came back to ask Royal, “Have all the occupied lockers got the members’ names on them?”
He nodded and looked at me questioningly.
“And did Henry come in here pretty often?”
“Too often for me. Not every day, though.”
“Where’s Bud Venier’s old locker?”
“Up there, in front, near the entrance to the bar.” He scratched his head. “One-twelve, I think; he’s not one of my boys.”
“And Mr. Faulkner’s?”
“Four-seventeen. What’s on your mind, Denny?”
“I don’t really know, Royal. I’m trying to find a pattern but I’m not sure I can build anything from it.”
He nodded. “That makes sense, only not to me. Stay out of that sun, boy.”
“I’ll try,” I promised him, and went back along the corridor and out the door that led to the parking lot.
I went over to look at the outside of the locked door and studied the drop and the cover a man could find after the drop.
Charlie Ley came along the walk and stopped to look at me. “Well, joined the Force, Denny?”
I smiled and shook my head.
“I heard you quit us,” he said. I’m sorry to hear it, Denny.”
“Thank you, Charlie,” I said.
“You were the only one in that pro shop who got here early enough for us real golfers,” he went on. “That Jack sure loves to sleep, doesn’t he?”
“He puts in a full day,” I said.
“Maybe. But there’s no point in my leaving my clubs in the pro shop if I can’t get them in the morning, is there?”
“I guess not, Charlie,” I said. “But beefs will have to go to somebody else; I no longer work here, remember.”
He laughed. “The indignant member. Man, you must have had some job holding your tongue at times, I’ll bet.”
I smiled and said nothing. He wished me luck and continued along the walk. Something he’d said had rung another bell.
That Jack sure loves to sleep…Was that it? No, but the whole tone of it was connected with another memory image struggling to break through. Most of our early morning players carried their own clubs and either kept them in their cars or their lockers. A few of them didn’t, but most of them did. Mr. Griffith had been one of the few who didn’t. He wasn’t playing in the early hours these days, but a few years ago he’d been one of that small gang who were ready to play when the club opened in the morning. So what? That led me where?
Then I remembered that he had kept his clubs in the pro shop and had been quick to complain if the shop was opened five minutes late in the morning. Which led me—? Nowhere.
Two memories, now, and no reason for them. But there must be a reason for them. And another reason why the significant item in the picture continued to escape me.
Didn’t I want to know who the killer was? Would the knowledge hurt me? Would the knowledge hurt me more than ten thousand dollars’ worth? And then suddenly I knew.
Key, snake, daughter…I knew. Or thought I did. I had a suspect at any rate.
I was sorry I knew. But maybe I didn’t. Despite the ten thousand dollars, the completed picture wasn’t anything I could get enjoyment from. It was still only a suspect; I tried to bolster it in my mind.
Chopko had said, “Don’t go to Morrow; come to me.” But why? Because he would never go to Morrow so long as his victim had money; the killer could stay free by staying solvent.
And Henry with his big ear had put together the pieces that had now formed a pattern in my mind. Henry, like Chopko, had looked for the big dollar in his picture. He had died because of that, I was certain.
Chopko would be more careful.
I was climbing into my car when Pat drove into the parking lot. He goosed the Jag and came sliding alongside. “A stroke a hole,” he said. “Come on, be my guest.”
I shook my head.
“Sissy,” he said. “The heat too much for you, boy?”
“I guess, Pat. I’m not feeling very well.”
“You don’t look well. You might need salt tablets, Denny.”
“I’ll get some,” I promised. “I’ve got to run, Pat. I’ll be seeing you.”
He nodded and winked. “Sure thing. And don’t surrender, boy.”
Had Pat discovered what I had and therefore withdrawn from the hunt? He didn’t need the money. Chopko probably knew and he needed the money. I would be doing the killer a favor by going to the police if Chopko knew what I did. Or what I thought I knew.
How could I be sure? And how could I make the accusation?
This was a lead I should take to Morrow. Why wasn’t I on the way there now? Didn’t I trust him? Or had the imminence of a ten-thousand-dollar prize put me on the other side of the law?
The Chev went chugging along toward the Palisades.
I drove up Galloway and slowed in front of the Fritzell home. But then I drove on. She, too, would be under the Chopko thumb. I didn’t think she’d be glad to see me.
At home, Mom said, “Judy phoned. I promised her you’d phone back as soon as you came in.”
“I’ll call her later.”
Mom started to say something, and then didn’t. She came over to hold my chin between thumb and forefinger. “You’re not looking good, Denny.”
“I’m not feeling good. Did Judy say what she wanted me for?”
She shook her head. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
I went into the kitchen and drank two big glasses of milk. Dad was out in the back yard, lying on a blanket on his stomach. He turned over as I came out.
“You’ll burn,” I told him. “You haven’t had much sun this year.”
“Or any year, lately. I intend to get more of it. You look worn out, Denny.”
“I am.” I sat down on the grass next to him. “I think I know who killed Bud Venier. And I think I know why.”
He sat up and stared at me. “How sure are you?”
I told him all I’d learned and all I’d remembered.
When I’d finished, he said, “It’s all guessing, really, Denny. Especially the part about this Olive. You could check that, of course.”
“I intend to.”
His smile was humorless. “And then?”
“I’m a citizen. What’s my duty?”
His smile had more humor in it. “Your duty, I suppose, is to go to the police.” He paused. “Now. But that might cost you the reward.”
“You’re not making it easy on me, are you?” I asked him.
He smiled and lay down again. I went in and phoned Judy and learned she wanted to play golf.
“Not today. I’ll see you tonight, though.”
“What’s with today? Business or pleasure?”
“Neither. Something very important We’ll talk about it later.”
“Okay,” she said. “Could I talk with your mother now?”
I called Mom and went in to take a shower. I was wringing wet from the heat and I hadn’t exerted myself at all. I put on cotton slacks and a very light shirt.
Then I drove over to see one of the old settlers on Radcliffe. Out here, an old settler is anyone who has been a resident more than thirty years. He told me what I wanted to know.
I drove along further on Radcliffe and cut off on a dirt driveway that led to an ancient frame house. This place, too, was now dim in my memory. I hadn’t been here since I was fourteen. And where had she been then? At school? At some fancy, private boarding school?
It was a big lot for such a dilapidated house; probably the remnants of a former ranch when this was wild, open country. It was a valuable lot, today.
I was looking over the rim of the canyon toward the ocean when the new Ford Victoria came along the dry road, raising a haze of dust.
It stopped on the packed earth next to a leaning tool shed and Charles waved at me from the driver’s seat. He was out of the car by the time I got back from the canyon rim.
He looked at me curiously. “Come to talk terms?”
I shrugged.
He looked at the Chev. “We could take my car. I wouldn’t charge you much extra.” He nodded toward the house. “Come on in, Denny.”
In the living room, the furniture was Coolidge-era mohair, sagging and faded. Charles said, “Sit down; I’ll get a pitcher of lemo
nade. What a miserable day this has been.”
“I’m not thirsty, Charles,” I said.
He paused on his way to the kitchen. He turned slowly and looked at me doubtfully. “Something’s on your mind.”
I sat down on the davenport.
“What’s on your mind, Denny?” he asked me.
“Sit down,” I said.
He looked suddenly much older. He slumped into a chair that faced the davenport and stared at me dully.
I said, “I may be way off base, but I think that day you caddied for Judy and me started my suspicions.”
“The day you found Venier?”
“That’s right. It was obvious, even to me, that Judy’s ball had gone down into the arroyo. And I was never the caddy you are. But still you looked for the ball up on that plateau.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Maybe not. But maybe, too, you didn’t want to go down into the arroyo. Maybe you knew Bud’s body was down there.”
His eyes were bleak. “Go on.”
“And then I remembered a time you and I were caddying for a foursome and I ran into a snake. Do you remember that, Charles?”
He nodded.
“And we all talked about snakes and you mentioned that your daughter had almost been bitten by one recently, your daughter, Olive.”
“My only daughter,” he said quietly.
I nodded. “It surprised me because I hadn’t known you were married. Nobody ever thinks of you as married, and I’d forgotten that, since.”
He said nothing.
I took a breath. “And then Henry was killed. And this morning I remembered when you used to caddy for Mr. Griffith, and he’d want to get in to get his clubs. You had keys for everything, didn’t you? I remember you used to get into the locker room through that doorway we can’t use any more.”
“You’re a smart boy, Denny,” Charles said. He didn’t sound disturbed. “And thinking what you’re thinking, you still came here alone. Why?”
“Because I’m not Henry and I’m not Bud Venier. And I’ve known you so long.”
Silence, and then he asked, “Would you like to hear my story?”
I nodded.
He looked past me, into a better time. “My wife died when Olive was born. It hit me pretty hard. I got on the booze and wound up caddying. I got off the booze, but I stayed with the caddying. A man can learn a lot about what’s going on in the world from the people I caddied for. I kept my ears open.” He looked up, as though listening. There was the sound of a car engine.
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