Plaid and Fore! and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  Not that I’d want otherwise, I thought with glum realization, but nor was I willing to continue to pretend I wasn’t feeling used. The moment the staff had their marching orders and were making do, I headed back for my car, telling myself the next time Alicia called I’d ignore her.

  The sight of Leo Amstead hitting balls on the range stopped me and I watched for a moment. I wasn’t a huge golf fan or anything like that, but he seemed to have a great swing and from the appreciative murmurs of a few of the other golfers near him, he was doing well, at least on the driving range. I approached and nodded to him, to his bag of clubs.

  “You’re pretty good, huh?” Made me wonder why he was caddying for Jack instead of competing against him.

  Leo shrugged, still guarded but seemingly willing to talk to me, at least. “I should be touring,” he said without a trace of pride or hubris.

  “And you’re not because…?” I looked down the range as he teed up another ball and swung, a smooth, fluid motion that looked about as natural as breathing. We both waited for the tiny, white dot to touch down while he held his final posture, right back foot cocked on one toe, torso and hips turned toward the ball’s trajectory, head up, the metal shaft of the club sliding through his glove in a soft his until he stopped it with a fist half-way down to the head.

  “Because I made my best friend a promise,” he said, still not looking at me. “Whichever of us made it first, the other would support, no matter what.”

  “You put your own career on hold to make sure he succeeded?” Wow, I believed in friendship, but that was a massive choice.

  “I might have been a better technical player,” Leo said, “but Jack had a knack for game play that I just don’t.”

  I almost brought up the cheating allegation, but Gavin Maloney’s appearance put a damper on that decision. Mainly because he sidled up to me and gave Leo the once over with his beady eyes before sniffing loudly.

  “Might want to check your stance,” he said. “Looks like you’re overextending that left knee just a bit on your follow through.”

  Leo didn’t comment while I gaped at him. Instead, the caddy who should have been a pro teed up again and took another effortless shot. It was easy to see from the envy on Gavin’s face there wasn’t a thing wrong with Leo’s swing.

  Just how far would Gavin go to make another player falter? And how much did he hate Jack Nethersole? Enough to kill him if he caught him in the right circumstances? I needed to look into the teacher’s background and see if there was a connection to Nethersole that could suggest murder was an option.

  Turned out I didn’t need to go hunting for that info. Gavin himself was happy to supply it as he hiked up his plaid pants by the loops holding his belt and nodded at Leo.

  “You know I taught Jack everything he knows.” He grinned at me like he’d made a massive joke while Leo twitched and swung his club out toward Gavin, pointing it directly at the older man with his face red and contorted in anger.

  “You did no such thing,” he snarled. “Jack was a great golfer, a great friend. What he accomplished he did on his own.”

  Huh, hello animosity. Nice to see you.

  “Maloney!” Norman’s hulking form lumbered toward us while the teaching pro flinched next to me, face darkening all over again. The course manager joined us, ignoring me, ignoring Leo who went back to hitting balls like drama wasn’t unfolding beside him, cool as a cucumber. “That’s it, I’m done with you. Nethersole might be dead, but his complaint about you stands. Get your butt to the clubhouse and clean out your locker. You’re fired!”

  Huh. That kind of conflict was murder-inducing, wasn’t it? But could I bring myself to belief the braggart who stood before me was capable of murder?

  “You can’t do that!” Gavin went from sullen anger to grovelingly pathetic in a split second, making me wonder all over again if he even had it in him to end someone else’s life. His face fell, the deep lines pulling around his eyes and mouth, slackened expression making him look plastic. “I’m just talking to the golfers. That’s it. It’s my job, isn’t it? Norman, I’ll behave, I promise. You need me.” Wheedling, convincing, while being devoured by envy? Not the best combination, or the most stable. Certainly erased any trust I might have felt that he meant a word he said.

  Norman seemed to relent, the furious look on his face easing and he finally shrugged. “No more warnings. You steer clear of the event or you’re done. And your niece won’t be able to convince me to keep you on.” He turned and lumbered away, answering his cell phone as he went, even while Gavin scowled after him, expression shifting immediately to disdain.

  Leo, meanwhile, had packed up his bag and turned, walking away without another word. I let him go, focusing on Gavin who snarled something I missed.

  “You niece?” I now had a suspicion and when he eye rolled I knew exactly who she was.

  “Alicia Conway,” he said, confirming his tie to the manager of the lodge. “Like she’s done me a favor with this job. This place is a nightmare.”

  Uh-huh. Well, I wasn’t going to argue with him there. “You said you taught Jack?”

  Gavin nodded enthusiastically, smiling, just wanting an audience apparently. “Sure did, back in the day.” He hiked his belt again, puffing out his chest. “After I got injured, I ran a school for up-and-comers. Jack and Leo both played at my place.”

  Interesting. “Was Jack always a great player?”

  Gavin shook his head, scowling all over again. “Arrogant, from the get-go. Wouldn’t listen to a word I said. Caused me nothing but problems.” There was the animosity, clear as day. What kind of problems, I wondered? “Leo, on the other hand…” he seemed genuinely regretful, as if I was only now seeing the real Gavin Maloney for the first time. And then he appeared to brush off the past and nudged me with one elbow like we were suddenly co-conspirators. “Leo was a good kid but Jack, yeah. I could have taken or left him.”

  “What exactly did you teach him if he wouldn’t listen?” I shouldn’t have gone that route but I was annoyed already and his attitude wasn’t helping.

  Gavin only then noticed, from his expression, I wasn’t exactly on his side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I leaned in and barely whispered, enough to heighten his attention. “I hear he was cheating.”

  The older pro grunted out loud. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” he said, genuine hate in his eyes. “He tried to ruin me, you know. Lost me all my students because of false accusations. Then laughed about it, bragged about it, even. You ask me, he got what was coming to him.”

  Wow. Okay then.

  In a flash, as though realizing what he’d just said, that he’d given me a reason to look deeper into his relationship and possible motive for murder, his entire attitude shifted. He actually gulped, an honest-to-god swallow of shock, before spinning on one foot—making a mess of the grass when his spikes dug at the sod—and marched off without another word.

  Confirmation he might have killing another person in him after all? Definitely something to look into.

  My phone rang as, sour of humor all over again, I headed for my car. At least it was Crew, so when I answered I felt a perk when his deep voice greeted me from the other end of the line.

  “Thanks for the info,” he said. “Jill passed it on.”

  “You’re welcome.” I know I must have sounded not myself, but Crew didn’t comment as I slammed my car door and welcomed the relative quiet of the cabin, though the heat of the day forced me to start it quickly and pump up the AC before I smothered.

  “I have my own info to share. Meet me for coffee,” he said abruptly. “Petunia’s.” And hung up.

  If it had been anyone but Crew? Yeah.

  Wasn’t in the mood for bossy.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  I joined Crew in the sitting room, my pug perched between us, so I could double duty watching the desk as the flow of guests continued around us. My fiancé’s first act upon seeing me, the
storm cloud hovering over my head, my cranky attitude about to get him an equally snarky comment about telling me what to do and when to do it and where I needed to be to have what he wanted happen primed and ready for action?

  Crew hugged me. Engulfed me in his big, strong arms, pressing me firmly into that broad chest that smelled like heaven so all I could do was mumble my dissatisfaction with the dissipation of my head of steam while his heartbeat filled my ear and his delicious boyness took over everything.

  No fair. I was ready to fight him, to get out my bad mood on him and he cheated.

  I loved him so much.

  Coffee in hand and his arm around my shoulders as we relaxed on the sofa, Petunia smacking her lips like we might have something tasty to offer, Crew filled me in on what he knew.

  “Turns out Hudson Harriet is Tori’s step-father.” Grunt. Okay, so that filled in the reason for their familiarity and perhaps was the source of their animosity, though why they didn’t just come out and say they were related…? Felt suspicious to me. “Tyler Hendy is clean, as far as I can tell, though he doesn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder. Said he was alone reviewing tapes of his swing.” Crew seemed bemused by that, but after witnessing the endless rounds of fake golf played at the driving range? I bought it. “I’ve confirmed one of his clubs is missing, a six iron.” Yup, we knew that. “Doc is checking the wound against the remaining shafts to see if the metal is a match. But from what I could find out, Tyler’s just a good kid playing a good game.”

  “Not so innocent as all that.” We both looked up to see Petra Stowers framed in the sitting room doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. She seemed anxious, nervous about speaking up, maybe? Instead of joining us completely, she hovered there in the entry, like she planned a quick getaway just in case.

  “Why do you say that, Ms. Stowers?” Crew kept his tone at that lovely, even calm he used when he was interrogating people, the same tone that managed to put even the hardest heart at ease. Okay, I wasn’t biased or anything. Or curious as to why she suddenly decided to speak up after shutting me down. Maybe the fact I was with Crew had something to do with it?

  His quiet levelness seemed to work on her because she inhaled, took a half step into the room, stopped and replied. “Tyler was trying to ruin Jack.”

  “How so?” I sat as still as I could, let Crew do his thing while Petunia groaned softly and sank down to put her head on her paws as if giving in to my fiancé’s soft tone herself.

  Petra sat suddenly, perching on the edge of a chair, leaning in with her face twisting into concern and anxiety. Only then did I realize she was much older than she appeared, the faint lines of cosmetic surgery at her jaw and traveling into her hairline telling me she’d had work done to reverse the effects of aging, skewing the visual. Not that it mattered, really, but it was clear she’d been in the business a long time and didn’t take speaking up lightly.

  “He went to the PGA about Jack,” she said. “Accused him of cheating.”

  There was that not-so-subtle suggestion again. Crew nodded and she went on.

  “Tyler claimed Jack hid his cheating from the cameras, bragged about it even when they played together. Said that Jack stole the victory from him in Santé Fe when he moved his ball out of a difficult position when the cameras were turned elsewhere.” Petra tossed her hands. “It’s possible,” she said as if Crew had asked. “The smaller tournaments don’t have the level of camera scrutiny the big ones do. There’s a limited number of operators covering events and mistakes happen.” She hesitated then, came to a halt.

  “Mistakes,” Crew said, soft and non-judgmental. “Could Tyler have been mistaken?”

  She met the sheriff’s eyes with her own full of doubt. “Maybe,” she said. Cleared her throat. Looked away.

  Yeah, not likely.

  “Golf is a gentleman’s game,” Petra said then, tone firming up, jaw setting. “And without proof, Tyler just looked like a sore loser. His word against Jack’s.”

  “If true, though,” Crew said, “it cost Tyler the tournament, yes?”

  Petra nodded.

  “How much money would he be out?” I glanced at Crew, knowing his question was telling since financial resources were an excellent motive for murder.

  The sponsor’s lips twisted. “About half a million dollars,” she said.

  Not the millions up for grabs in the bigger tournaments, but still a fair chunk of change. And, if it came down to it, if pride was a part of the picture—which it had to be—that sounded like more than enough of a reason to want to do something permanent to Jack Nethersole.

  Hell, the guy rubbed me the wrong way in casual conversation and I would have smacked him in the head with a golf club.

  “The kid’s broke,” Petra said then, like she was betraying him, looking guilty but forging on. “I was considering offering him a contract, sponsoring him, but… if he killed Jack Nethersole…” She looked back and forth between me and Crew and I suddenly realized why she was being so forthcoming.

  “You need us to confirm he’s not guilty so you can carry on business,” I said. I hadn’t meant it to come out like a disdain-filled judgment, but there you have it.

  Petra’s flash of annoyance at me tensed her entire body and she seemed ready to surge to her feet and leave. Only my fiancé’s raised hand and calm demeanor seemed to keep her from hurrying off.

  Fee. Shut it and let Crew do his job already.

  “I was planning to dump Jack Nethersole anyway,” Petra said then, swallowed. “I let that caddy of his talk me into signing him one more time, but instantly regretted it.” She clenched her hands in her lap, angry enough, but aimed at herself. “I know that makes me sound like I might be guilty of something, but I swear I had nothing to do with his death. I didn’t want the controversy following our brand.” She shrugged, looked suddenly helpless. “I love the sport, played pro myself in the LPGA for a few years when I was younger. It’s my passion and I hate to think anyone I am involved in could besmirch the sport.”

  “Your bosses couldn’t have been happy with the allegations,” I said. There I was, speaking up again.

  This time Petra just nodded and answered. “I shouldn’t have caved,” she said. “I’ve put my job at risk. While it wasn’t common knowledge Tyler accused Jack, there’s enough of us in the industry that know about it to make my employer uncomfortable.”

  “So why sign?” Surely not out of the goodness of her heart. Hmmm. That guilty look that flashed over her face, did it perhaps have something to do with the conversation she was having with Vivian French?

  “I thought I might be moving positions,” Petra said carefully enough, before making a face and releasing her hands from their death clutch on her thighs. “But the job offer wasn’t what I was expecting.”

  “Blackstone,” I said, jumping to conclusions while Crew twitched next to me.

  Petra looked startled. “What do you know about it?”

  I shook my head. “Not much. But I can say if you decided against a job with them you probably dodged a bigger bullet than Jack Nethersole.”

  Petra seemed suddenly thoughtful and less angry. “Good to know,” she said. “They wouldn’t specify what the job even entailed, just a vague offer to do with a new branch of their corporation to do with tourism.” She exhaled and sat back. “I’m glad I trusted my gut.”

  Blackstone. My encounter with them had been more of the sabotage a small town and turn it into a black hole of nothing variety. I hated I still had no idea who was behind them or what they were up to and why, oh why, the corp seemed so interested in Reading.

  “Can you tell me where you were that night, Ms. Stowers?” Crew had perfected that lovely just chatting, nothing to worry about here tone of voice that made me melty inside, bringing us back to the matter at hand.

  Petra blushed suddenly, looked away, but she answered, arms tucked around herself. “I was with Gavin Maloney.” She jerked her head around as if expecting us to judge her for tha
t dalliance. I managed to keep my face from registering my shock at the ickiness factor while she exhaled and sagged back into the seat.

  “So you’re alibiing him as well?” I glanced at Crew. “From what I understand, he and Jack had history.”

  She didn’t seem surprised by my question. “Gavin likes to blame other people for his own failings.” Wow, that sounded pretty personal, like she knew from experience. “We used to have something,” she said, sounding sad, tired suddenly, lost in the past. “He wasn’t always the bitter and angry man he’s become. There was a time he had a swing like an angel singing and could make a ball do anything he wanted…” She sat up straight again and relaxed her grasp on herself. “Jack might have bad mouthed Gavin’s teaching, but it was his own fault. He quit the tour claiming an injury he faked because he was afraid. And he was a terrible teacher.” Sounded pretty no-nonsense to me, and about accurate, likely tied to the deep seated animosity Gavin carried around. Nothing to do with the outside world, but reflected on everyone. My empathy for him returned, though only he was responsible for his failings. “It was a mistake, one made with a few too many drinks in me. He’s been pestering me ever since. But it was nice to reminisce, even if for a few hours.”

  My intuition was right, then. He might have been trying too hard to prove he was important, but Gavin wasn’t a killer.

  Petra stood then, nodded to Crew and, to my surprise, in my direction, too. “Please let me know if I’m making a mistake with Tyler,” she said. And walked away.

  I wanted to ask her about Leo, about Tori, but she was already gone. I let Crew’s arm hug me close, fingers traveling over Petunia’s soft triangle ear while he breathed in mine.

  “Petra and Gavin?” He didn’t sound convinced, but not of their old flame. “Seems unlikely those two would pair up to kill Nethersole. She might have a strong attachment to the game, but Gavin doesn’t seem the type to actually take steps. Prefers to complain instead of act.”