by Quinn, Lucy
“The club never has paid me any money,” Oliver said. “I’ve never filled out a timesheet to invoice the club, and I haven’t done any work for the club itself. I’ve never received any money from the club in any capacity.”
“You know that right off the top of your head, huh?” Trudi asked him.
“Maybe now isn’t the time,” I told her.
From somewhere over in the rough, a swishing sound whispered over the course. The whiff was followed by a muffled curse that was not a whisper and was definitely the expletive of an older man who had fought in wars. “—that devil ball!”
Oliver scowled at Trudi. “I keep mental notes in my head and comprehensive lists back at the office of places that I have not worked for, and therefore it would not be a conflict of interest for me to sue them,” Oliver said.
I felt my head tilt with disbelief. Defending a lawsuit right now would destroy CGC. “Were you planning to sue the club?”
Oliver shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not planning to. But you know, you have to keep a mental list of places that you don’t have a conflict of interest with. I am scrupulous about legal ethics, and legal ethics are primarily about whom you have taken money from. I try so hard to stay clean with attorney-client privilege and billable hours and conflicts of interest. I also don’t have a conflict with the grocery store, bowling alley, or the ice skating rink. Especially the ice skating rink. That’s also why I haven’t served on any club committees. It would be a conflict of interest if I were a club officer and then sued the club.”
From over in the rough, another swish and a string of truly imaginative profanity echoed over the bright fairway of the first hole.
Trudi asked Oliver, “Then why would your name be hidden on a spreadsheet that Ruddy had made?”
I touched her arm and whispered, “I don’t think we should do this.”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “I have no idea. I would tell you to ask Ruddy, but someone killed him for all the shady stuff he was up to.”
“How do you know that he was into shady stuff?” I watched Oliver carefully.
His dark eyes bugged out a little, and he flung his arms around with emotion. “Because he’s dead. People don’t get dead unless they’re into shady stuff.”
“Oh. So, you don’t know it for a fact,” I said, relieved.
“Well, I assume he must have been. Everyone knows that he was delinquent paying bills, and—”
Trudi asked him, “What did Ruddy Agani say to you at the glow-ball tournament?”
“Privileged,” Oliver spat out.
“Why was he so mad?” she pressed.
“Privileged,” he growled, getting even more angry.
“Why do you think Ruddy was dirty?” Trudi asked.
I listened while Oliver recounted Ruddy’s past crimes—all of which were actually occasions of being impolite and not paying vendors on time—and took my stance over my ball, readying myself to hit it down the fairway. It was all stuff that Trudi and I and everyone already knew, from Ruddy delaying payments to small business owners to him shorting people just enough that it wasn’t worth going to small claims court about.
More old-man swishing and cursing sailed through the warm, clear air.
A golf club bounced across the fairway behind us, turning end over end and flashing silver in the sunlight.
I smacked my ball hard, and it rolled up onto the edge of the green, leaving myself a long putt for a birdie.
We walked up to even with Oliver’s ball and waited for him to take his stance over on the right side of the fairway.
Oliver waggled his golf club as he readied himself. “I don’t know why you would even suspect me of that. I’ve been scrupulous about keeping away from any conflicts of interest.”
Just as Oliver drew back to hit his ball, Trudi asked him, “So why was your name on Ruddy Agani’s spreadsheet of embezzlement?”
Oliver swung and missed his ball, spinning around as he over-rotated. “Holy cow! I was in my backswing!”
Trudi continued, “From the position of your name on the table, you were listed as a vendor, and there should have been a list of paid amounts after your name. How much has the club paid you?”
“Nothing,” Oliver spat as he picked up his ball and slammed his club back into his bag. “Nothing at all. Not a doggone cent. I’ve paid my dues to the club in full every quarter, and I don’t appreciate being accused of having a conflict of interest. I should stop talking to people at this club. People ask me about this and that, who paid who and what amounts. I’m sick of you and Ruddy and all the other club officers threatening me just because I’m doing my job.” He turned his pushcart of clubs around, back toward the tee box. “I’m not golfing today. Good-bye.”
We watched him stomp back toward the first tee.
Shivers ran down my arms, and I toweled off the club heads sticking out of my bag to cover the shaking in my hands. “Oh, Trudi.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t think we would get anything out of him. No one’s going to confess just because you tell them about one piece of evidence. He sure doth protest a lot about his ethics, though, and he protested about his ethics more than about being accused of murdering Ruddy.”
“We accused him of embezzling from the club. By extension, we accused him of having a motive to kill Ruddy Agani. We also suggested that he isn’t nearly as ethical as he insists that he is. I’m not surprised that he got mad.”
Trudi regarded the long green fairway stretching in front of us. “Yeah, well, he didn’t particularly do anything to make me think he didn’t do it. He would have denied it either way. If he’d had business with the club, coming clean and giving us a reasonable explanation would have lowered our suspicions. But from what he said, he didn’t give us any explanation about why his name was on a spreadsheet that was probably full of payments for embezzlement, which means he might be guilty.”
I didn’t like it, but I had to agree.
My uncle’s robotic golf pushcart zipped up and stopped beside us, with my Uncle Arnie following it and thumbing his remote control. “Got out of the rough in one.”
“That’s amazing,” I said to him. “Indeed, it’s simply unbelievable.”
He flicked his hand toward where Oliver Shwetz was stomping down the golf course. “Where’s Ollie going?”
“He decided not to play today.”
“Oh, needed more time to get ready for that inquiry from the state law board next week, did he?”
I turned and regarded my uncle. Sunlight showered over his chalky skin polka-dotted with dark liver spots as he squinted toward the clubhouse. “I beg your pardon?”
“The state law board is investigating him for some ethics breaches. He has to appear before them next week. I forget which day.”
“How do you know that?”
“Oh, you know. You talk with people while you golf. Sometimes, they say stuff they probably shouldn’t.”
“Who said that?”
“I couldn’t say.”
Dang it. Arnie was a cheating, gossipy old coot, but he held some of his best gossip close to his vest so he could pop it out for best comedic effect.
Chapter 15
AFTER Trudi, Uncle Arnie, and I finished playing our nine holes of golf without talking any more about Oliver, I grabbed my extra bag of clothes from the trunk of my car and took a quick shower in the ladies’ locker room, scrubbing myself all over with the club’s balsam shower gel to rub Oliver’s anger off of my skin.
I didn’t like it when people were angry with me, especially since Oliver was the one with a conflict-of-interest problem.
More club business waited for me in my office, so I trudged up there to work on more paperwork.
Part of my paperwork was a budget for the summer months, which was an exercise in optimism considering that the club was still running a major deficit. We needed more members soon, and I began listing the phone numbers of guests who had been at the First Annual Nighttime Glow-Ball Golf
Tournament to call and ask if they had any questions about the club.
I should write a canned response for when anybody asked about the murder that night.
Perhaps something along the lines of reassuring them that the Canterbury police department was investigating and no one from the club had been indicted or arrested for Ruddy’s murder.
Maybe that was too cold-hearted.
It felt cold-hearted.
And yet we needed to call these people if the club was going to survive.
My to-call list had grown to forty names when my cell phone rang. I didn’t even look at the contact name displayed on the screen before I answered, which was always a mistake. “Hello?”
“Hello! I was wondering if you had a moment to talk.”
I recognize the woman’s voice right away, and I wished that I had never answered my phone. “Oh. Hi, Lale. It’s so great to hear from you again. That was a really long piece you published in the Canterbury Tales about the club.”
“That’s exactly what I’m calling you about. I’m calling all four of you who found Ruddy’s body that night.”
A groan nearly escaped my throat, but I coughed instead.
Lale said, “I was hoping that you had more information on Ruddy Agani’s murder. Do they know who did it yet? Do you hear any gossip in the club that might be important?”
“The Canterbury Golf club has no information, and we do not have a comment at this time. Please contact the Canterbury Police for more information about this matter or any other crime.” I thought that sounded rather professional and hoped it would end Lale’s questions.
“I’ve already talked to them. They won’t tell me a thing. However, I’m writing another article about the murder—”
A huge sigh floated out of my lungs, but I managed to cover the phone before Lale heard me.
“—Because it’s the most interesting thing that’s happened in Canterbury in years.”
Yes, it certainly was, and it was the very worst time of all for the Canterbury Golf Club to be featured as an interesting story.
“I can’t use family gossip, of course, so I have to look for other sources.”
Family gossip? “Are you related to Ruddy Agani?”
“Oh, yeah. He was my uncle. As a matter of fact, since he cut two of his kids out of his will six months ago, I’m going to inherit quite a bit of money from him.”
I rocked back in my chair and grabbed the edge of my desk to keep from falling over backward, my feet pointing at the ceiling. Lale Kollen, who had been at the glow-ball tournament, would inherit money if Ruddy Agani was dead?
I wanted to press her.
I wanted to ask her every question that was boiling in my head.
I wanted to stand up in a crowded room and point to her and insist that she confess.
However, Lale Kollen could write another scathing article about Canterbury Golf Club, which would ensure that no one in the small town of Canterbury would be interested in joining the club.
So, I said, “I am so sorry for your loss.”
“Well, it’s not much of a loss. He was awful at family get-togethers. He could start a fight with anybody. I’m not surprised at all that he started a fight with Oliver Shwetz that night. At Thanksgiving last year, he started a fight with both of his grown kids who had left town, three of my cousins, and my aunt Virginia Cohen. His kids haven’t come back since, not even for Christmas or Easter. I thought Aunt Virginia was going to deck him.”
“You don’t mean Virginia Cohen who lives over on Pink Myrtle Street? She knits afghans for orphans and single-handedly buys most of the food for the food bank over in New Thames.”
“He accused her of doing all that just so other people would talk about her. She also helps refugees from war zones get settled, you know?”
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
“Aunt Virginia tries to keep stuff quiet. Anyway, I would have thought that half of my family had a reason to murder Uncle Ruddy, except that most of my family lives out of town now because he drove them out of Canterbury.”
I couldn’t help myself, but I instantly regretted asking, “So, you are one of the few members of his family who was in Canterbury that night, right?”
Lale’s voice dropped an octave as she asked, “Are you implying something?”
“Oh, no. Of course not. I would never suggest such a thing, and it seems like there are too many suspects as it is.”
The long pause on the line suggested that I had said too much.
Lale asked, with an artificial lightness and a smile in her voice, “Other than you and Oliver Shwetz, who else is a suspect in the murder of Ruddy Agani?”
“I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s just a figure of speech. The Canterbury Golf Club has no comment at this time about the untimely and tragic death of Ruddy Agani. I’m so sorry for your loss.” I jabbed at the red dot on my phone to hang up the call.
My cell phone’s screen went black, and I sucked in air, panting at how stupid I had been.
When my racing heart slowed, I called Trudi so I could make her tell me that I hadn’t been stupid and hadn’t ruined everything.
After she answered the phone and I finished confessing what I’d said, Trudi sighed and said, “Well, she’s going to run with that piece of information. I can hardly wait to see what she writes in the Canterbury Tales tomorrow morning.”
“I can’t believe I said that. I ruined everything.”
“I think it’s interesting that she gave herself a motive for killing her uncle. She could’ve easily grabbed a knife from any one of the dinner tables right in the clubhouse and gone outside after Ruddy. She’d even seen Ruddy and Oliver have an argument, which would throw suspicion off of her. This is weird.”
“There are just so many people who wanted to kill him,” I said. “I hope I never make that many people angry at me.”
“Oliver Shwetz had that argument with him right there in public. Pauline Damir hadn’t been paid for months and was about to lose her business. Ruddy’s wife, Linda, was ready to divorce him and leave,” Trudi said.
Footsteps plodded down the hallway toward my office. “It’s like you’re keeping a list.”
“It’s the ex-scientist thing, again. I tend to keep a running list of alternate hypotheses. Did I forget anyone?”
I shrugged, even though Trudi couldn’t see me over the phone. “Anybody else he owed money to. Evidently, quite a few of his family members, including his adult children, disliked him. Even Virginia Cohen had words with him.”
“Virginia Cohen, who lives over on Pink Myrtle Road and spends most of her pension buying supplies for the food bank?” Trudi asked.
I nodded. “Yep, that Virginia Cohen.”
“Wow, you’ve got to be some kind of a jerk to make Virginia Cohen mad at you,” Trudi muttered.
The footsteps were right outside my door now. “Hey, Trudi, I’ve got somebody coming toward my office. I can hear the intent to talk to me in their footsteps. Toodles.”
We hung up.
Sherwood Kane stepped around the edge of the doorway and into view. He leaned against the side of the door frame, his strong arms crossed over his burly chest.
I force a smile onto my face. “Hello, Constable. What can I do for you today?”
Chapter 16
SHERWOOD Kane grinned and walked into my office. He never wore a uniform, of course, because he wasn’t a police officer, just an elected official who oversaw the town’s interests in a lot of different matters. “Have you killed anybody else lately?”
I rolled my eyes. “Sherwood, I told you that I didn’t kill Ruddy.”
“Oh, I’m just kidding around. I can’t imagine you killing anybody.” He poked one finger around the arm of the small chair that I kept pushed against my office wall in case someone dropped by to talk. “I just stopped by after playing a round of golf to see if you found that list of people that the club owes money to because Ruddy wasn’t paying them.”
Sherwood folded the papers and tucked them in one of his back pockets. “Not that we’re making much headway in the case anyway. The state forensic department still hasn’t analyzed the murder weapon for fingerprints.”
“Just so you know, they’re probably going to find Erick Walters’ fingerprints on that knife. When we found Ruddy, he bent over and grabbed the knife to pick it up before we could tell him not to touch it.”
Sherwood Kane tugged his phone from his hip pocket, touched the back to open it, and started thumbing the screen. “Okay, I’ll tell them you said that, but that doesn’t mean we can rule him out as a suspect. He might have touched that knife when you could see him specifically to explain his fingerprints on the knife from when he killed Ruddy.”
“Oh, dear. I hadn’t even considered that Erick Walters might be a suspect. That brings the number of actual suspects up to five,” I said.
Sherwood squinted at me. “Five? Other than you and Oliver Shwetz, who are the other three?”
“I didn’t do it. I told you that I didn’t do it, and so there are four more suspects, other than Oliver.”
“You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”
“It’s important to know who killed Ruddy because his family needs closure.” That was a really good reason. It sounded much less guilty than saying that I needed to find the real killer, and it sounded a lot better than the fact that I was just worried about my golf club.
Sherwood held his phone, ready to take notes. “Okay, tell me who you think did it.”
“Okay, so Oliver Shwetz had that argument with him, but he went up in my office after their argument. He didn’t follow Ruddy out to the course.”
Sherwood tapped notes into his phone. “You said that he was up there alone, and when you went up there, he was missing. That was during the time when Ruddy might have been killed.”
“I feel bad about gossiping about Oliver because I heard that the state law board was investigating him for violations of their code of conduct. He got really mad when someone accused him of a conflict of interest. It seems to be a sore spot with him. Does anyone know what Ruddy and Oliver were arguing about that night at the club?”