by Quinn, Lucy
He shrugged. “I’ve talked to a few people who were standing around, but no one overheard what they were talking about until Ruddy got mad and started yelling, and then everyone heard that. Who else do you think are suspects?”
“Pauline Damir and anyone else whom Ruddy’s CPA business or the club owed money to. She said in front of everyone in Ladies’ League that if someone else hadn’t taken over Ruddy’s accounts after he died and paid her, her florist shop would’ve gone out of business.”
Sherwood frowned and took some more notes. “That’s thin, and as you said, he owed a lot of people money.”
“And Ruddy’s wife was going to leave him. Linda had already rented an apartment in California to move out there.”
“How do you know that?”
“She came in to make sure that their club membership had been canceled.”
“How very pragmatic of her. Was she at the glow-ball tournament?”
“No. She and Ruddy had a fight, and she drove around in her car afterward. I don’t know of anyone who saw her here.”
“Great, ‘driving around’ means no alibi,” Sherwood grumbled as he thumbed that information into his phone. “Doesn’t anybody just get divorced anymore? And who else?”
“Lale Kollen, the reporter from the Canterbury Tales, who was at the club that night. I certainly wasn’t hanging on her to make sure that she didn’t leave at any time. I know that she saw the argument between Oliver and Ruddy, and she had a chance along with everybody else to grab one of the club’s steak knives.”
He didn’t look up while he entered the information. “Why would Kollen kill Ruddy Agani?”
“She just told me on the phone that she is Ruddy’s niece and stands to inherit a substantial sum of money from him because he disinherited two of his adult kids.”
“Sounds like the kids have more of a motive because he cut them out of the will.”
“Revenge, yes. Money, no. They were already out. Besides, they all live far away. They haven’t been back here since last Thanksgiving.”
Sherwood typed it into his phone, but he looked up at me, frowning. “I don’t want to say this, but you sure are going to a lot of trouble to find a whole crowd of different people who might have had a reason to kill Ruddy Agani.”
“Because his family needs closure.”
“Two of his family members are on your list of suspects. That doesn’t sound like you want closure. That sounds like you are trying to throw suspicion on other people.”
“Sherwood! I told you that I didn’t do it, and I can’t believe that you would think that I am capable of such a thing.”
“One of the things that I do not like about this job is that I get more suspicious every year. I read a lot of the police reports, and it seems like the nicest people commit the most horrible crimes. You are right, Bee. You are one of the nicest people. A few years ago, I would never have believed that somebody like you could do anything like this, but this job gets to you. It really gets to you.”
“Well, maybe you need somebody level-headed with you when you go ask these suspects about Ruddy’s murder. I could go with you when you question them, and I could give you a second opinion.”
Sherwood winced and shook his head. “Bee, you and Oliver are still the prime suspects until we have evidence that says otherwise. I’m sorry, but I can’t let one of the major suspects go with me when I ask other people about their whereabouts and motives.”
That made sense, but it still made me mad. “I still can’t believe that you would think that I did such a thing. I was a kindergarten teacher.” Meaning that surely I was the most harmless person in town.
He chuckled and tucked his phone back in his pocket. “Yeah, if a roomful of five-year-olds won’t make you snap, nothing will.”
“Oh, Sherwood. That’s not what I meant.”
He stood and stretched, bending his elbows because his hands would have pressed against the ceiling in my office. “I know, and I don’t like suspecting you. I can’t let one of the prime suspects go with me, though. I am sorry, Bee, but you should stop investigating this because it makes you look worse.”
Chapter 17
TWO days later, on Sunday, my uncle Arnie texted me and suggested a round of golf that afternoon, which meant that he had some important gossip he needed to tell me right away, not that he would ever admit he was the club’s biggest gossip.
The first few holes that we played were uneventful, our balls flying through the air and landing on the soft grass that smelled like summer in the bright sunlight. We made some putts, we missed others, and we talked about nothing of particular importance until I started grumbling that only four people had signed up for the club’s monthly Nine and Dine scheduled for the next Friday night, and that included Trudi and me.
That seemed to be his cue that he had waited long enough to divulge the gossip that was burning in his soul.
Uncle Arnie scratched his cheek where his white beard was growing in. “Well, you kinda can’t blame them. The number of people playing rounds of golf here has dropped dramatically, too.”
“It has? I hadn’t noticed. Everybody was at Ladies’ League on Wednesday.”
“Were they, though?” he asked, tilting his head as we walked toward where our balls had landed.
“Most of them were. A lot of them, anyway.” I thought harder about the small group that had gathered on the practice green to hear my pre-round announcements. “About half of them, I think.”
Maybe half.
“That’s better than the men’s league. Only three foursomes went out, and we usually have fifteen or more.”
That was so bad. “I haven’t heard of any more membership resignations, other than Linda Agani, of course.”
“Oh, they haven’t quit, yet. I think they’re waiting and watching to see what happens with the police.”
“They’re going to be waiting for a while. Constable Kane said that the Canterbury police haven’t even gotten the forensic report back from the state laboratory yet. I haven’t even heard that they’ve been questioning anybody.”
“No, but that reporter has been calling people up and asking questions.”
“And I don’t know what good it would do if the police did question suspects. Even that reporter,” I gestured at my uncle, agreeing with how he had brought Lale Kollen into the conversation, “had a motive to kill Ruddy. She’s his niece, and she’s going to inherit some money from him. And she isn’t a club member. Nobody was ever murdered here before, but the one night that Lale Kollen is around, suddenly somebody dies. I think that’s suspicious.”
“And I’ve been asking around,” Uncle Arnie said.
I touched his arm as we walked down the fairway. “Really? Have you heard something?”
“Nothing of importance. Nothing that would help out, particularly. I just heard that people are nervous. Having a murder at the club has set everyone’s nerves on edge.”
“But they aren’t planning to resign their memberships, right?” I asked.
“Nope, not yet. But I’m worried that if the police don’t turn up something soon, people might not be interested in hanging around as members. That Greens of Grass Country Club down the way is set to offer yet another membership special, I’ve heard.”
“Oh, no. We can’t lose any more members. If we lose anybody else, we are going to have to cut the budgets for all the committees, including social and maintenance. People won’t like that. If we don’t have social events and other country club benefits, people will start quitting the club.”
Uncle Arnie laid his arm around my shoulders and jostled me around like he had when I had been a teenager and too obsessed with the high school quarterback. “I’ll talk to ‘em. I’ll let them know that the club is safe and you are working on making sure that Canterbury Golf Club is still the best place to belong. And don’t you worry about Ruddy Agani’s murder. I am sure something will turn up soon, and everything will get back to normal.”
His confidence should have been infectious, but I was more worried about the club than ever.
Chapter 18
AFTER golf with my uncle, I grabbed my satchel with extra clothes from my car trunk, showered in the ladies’ locker room, and ran into the operating budget committee meeting in the dining room at the last minute, trailing the green scent of the balsam soap and shower gel that the club supplied. I needed to get home soonish because the foster kittens had begun eating some solid food, and they needed to be fed. “Hello! Sorry, I’m late!”
The other eight members of the operating budget committee were seated around two of the long tables that had been pushed together to make enough seats for all of us.
Erick Walters smiled at me, though he was tapping his pencil point on the papers scattered in front of him like he had a case of nerves.
Trudi grinned and patted the chair beside her, so I bustled around the table to sit between her and Erick.
The other people—Nell Rinaldi, Matthew Johnson, Mina Shankar, and more—had various reactions, from Nell’s studious glare at her phone to Mina reaching behind Erick and patting my shoulder with a smile.
“Quick meeting,” Trudi said, standing up. She was only slightly taller than when she had been sitting down. “We have a few things to approve for the operating budget. Shoreline Landscaping says that we need four more yards of mulch for the parking lot planters and that new flowers will be needed every month instead of every six weeks due to the increasing heat. Erick pushed back, but they are adamant. It’s either cough up the money or take bids and do the vetting and voting all over again.” Groans emanated from everyone at the table, including me, at the thought of the hiring process for a new landscaper. “All in favor?”
I joined everyone else in saying, “Aye,” even though we all eye-rolled while we did it.
Three other items had to be voted on, so we did.
The board discussed a new contracting process, as it seemed like too many people from various committees were overlapping in duties. The clubhouse committee wanted to pick a new carpet-cleaning vendor because the current one was insisting on bi-monthly deep cleanings, which both cost too much in this time of financial troubles and closed the clubhouse to members too often. However, picking a new vendor required a liaison from the operating budget committee, and all of us shrank in our seats and didn’t look up when Trudi asked for a volunteer to liaise.
Finally, Trudi said, “Come on, guys, Ann Carmo is the liaison from the clubhouse committee, and she needs someone today to approve her pick for a new vendor. It’s just a cursory look and a sign-off, not a long-term obligation.”
Since it was Ann, I started to raise my hand, but Lois Ngani beat me to it. I dropped my arm, relieved.
At the end of the meeting, Trudi said, “That’s the end of the agenda. New business?”
I put forward, “I would like to nominate DeShawn Johnson, the club manager, to go through the list of outstanding bills and cut checks for every account that is currently in arrears.”
Trudi said, “All in favor?”
Everyone at the table said, “Aye,” except DeShawn, who said, “Hey! Wait a minute!”
“All opposed? Okay, the motion is carried.”
“Wait a minute!” DeShawn said.
“I have a list of accounts and how much,” I told him. “It shouldn’t take more than hour, tops.”
He frowned but didn’t say more.
I swept my papers into a pile and pushed my chair back to stand.
Erick Walters said, “One more thing.” His new-fangled phone-watch buzzed, and he frowned and tapped it, turning it off.
I lowered my butt back into my chair, wondering how my kittens were doing.
“There are some problems with the computer accounting spreadsheets,” he said.
Sighs and groans filled the air.
Nell said, “I don’t know how computers work.”
Matthew added, “Can’t we get a professional to do that?”
Lois said, “Call a computer repair person. None of us can fix computer problems.”
“That’s not it,” Erick said, frowning. “It seems that some members of other committees have been logging onto the master approval spreadsheets and adding extra pages.”
He must mean those pages that we had found on Ruddy’s computer that looked blank but weren’t. I settled back down and prepared to back him up.
“Aren’t the masters set as read-only for most of the pages?” Trudi asked. “When I log in, most of it is read-only, except for the pages for the few committees where I have invoice-approval authority.”
“Yes, but this is something else,” Erick said. “I think someone else is gaining access.”
“If someone’s getting into them,” Trudi said, standing up, “have Sherlynne change the passwords and hand out new ones. I have to get home. I’m babysitting this evening. Have a good weekend, everyone.”
Erick caught me on the way out as other members were filing past us, while Matthew and Nell rearranged the tables back where they should be. “It’s those pages we found.”
“Yeah, I figured that,” I said.
“I got back into Ruddy’s office and computer, and I sat there and clicked on each box and wrote down what is in each one. There are just lots and lots of names, both people’s names and business’s names. I tried changing the background to black so that the white font would show up.”
“That’s smart,” I told him.
He grimaced. “It didn’t work. The font, color, and background on the sheet are locked.”
“Oh, dang it.”
Erick shoved some papers into my hands. “I found handwritten spreadsheets in Ruddy’s desk with the same information on it as I was writing down. He was going through and clicking the boxes individually and writing down the contents, too.”
The papers in my hands slipped, and I grabbed them before they fell. It was, indeed, pages and pages of spreadsheet print-outs. The tiny boxes held names of people and businesses, but no numbers. “This is weird. I’ve never heard of Canvas, Inc. or Rope International. We don’t even use rope, right? And our deck outside is concrete. We wouldn’t need anything from Deck Varnish, LLC. What the heck is Wilber and Friends or Shipmo Corp? This is a small town, and I’ve never heard of them.”
“There are no numbers, no costs, no invoice or check numbers, just a bunch of names in weird white-on-white. I don’t even know which committee’s purview all this would fall under.”
“Okay,” I said. “We should tell Trudi about this. She’s on most of the boards and committees. She’ll know whose jurisdiction it is.”
But Trudi was already out the door, off to see her grandbaby.
Erick said, “I’ll look into it further. I don’t know what to make of it, though.”
I nodded. “Surely, we can figure it out, even though it might be nothing.”
He took the printouts back from me. “Okay. I’ll just put these back in my office for safekeeping.”
Chapter 19
THE next day was a mishmash of things I had to do and thoughts I didn’t want to think about my friends at the Canterbury Golf Club. Even the thought that one of them might be a murderer was driving me insane.
Who would I even suspect?
Perhaps my uncle Arnie, the octogenarian club gossip and lady-golfer chaperone?
Maybe I should suspect my best friend, Trudi, who was on all the club committees and practically kept the club running from an organizational standpoint.
Maybe the murderer was Sherlynne Orman, the lady pro, who ran the pro shop with an iron hand and whose accounts balanced perfectly to the cent every month. That was as suspicious as a perfectly organized sock drawer.
Or maybe Pricilla Sauveterre had killed Ruddy. She was a newish member, and yet I couldn’t see her taking the risk of getting blood splattered on her very chic golfing attire.
But perhaps it had been my frail and pale friend Moonie, who had used to be the school librarian where I had
taught kindergarten. A librarian might know exactly where to stab someone with a steak knife to kill them. Reading all those books might have armed her with dangerous knowledge. Granted, she transported spiders outside rather than kill them and quoted Gandhi to unruly middle-schoolers, but if we were suspecting everyone, it might be her.
I sighed.
No, our real suspects were the guy that Ruddy argued with, Ruddy’s wife, and the florist who was thrilled to get her money: Oliver, Linda, Pauline, and Lale Kollen.
Not that any of those people seemed likely, either.
Why did it have to be a club member at all? Perhaps a wandering vagabond had killed Ruddy. They still had those, right? Or maybe he had been murdered by a serial killer, one of those pasty-white guys who haunted late-night television and true-crime books.
Suspecting all of those people at the club was ridiculous. I couldn’t bear to have those awful thoughts in my head, so I simply refused to think about them while I ate my breakfast and dodged my negative-nelly neighbor, Coretta Dickinson, who was skulking around the sidewalk in front of the house, watching to see if I was home.
So, I didn’t open the front-window curtains and drank my coffee in the dark and in peace.
My mama cat needed feeding, and I picked up and snuggled each one of her tiny kittens in turn, socializing them. Doing things like this was the important part of my life. I needed to concentrate on socializing the kittens, running the Canterbury Golf Club Ladies’ League, and doing the other few things that I did to make myself a useful citizen in society.
Indeed, at that very minute, one of the club’s more elderly members, Mrs. Eleanora Jones, called me on the phone and asked if I might have a chance to swing by and drive her over to the club for lunch and golf in the afternoon. A number of our members were no longer able to drive, due to eyesight or other health considerations, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t play golf. All of them still wanted to play, even those who called the game Devil Ball. Therefore, we other club members who still had our driving privileges tried our best to chauffeur these elder statesmen to the club whenever we could. I ended up driving people to and from the club at least once a day. I didn’t mind.