by Quinn, Lucy
Sherwood fidgeted in his seat, sighing. “We received the forensic report on the knife that killed Ruddy Agani.”
I dropped my hands away from my face and stared at him, livid. The paper bag crumpled in my lap. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“The police department does not advertise developments in an ongoing investigation. Besides, I’m not a police officer. I’m just the Town Constable. It’s not my job to decide when and whether to release that information.”
“What is your job, really?”
He sat back in his seat, and his eyes were a little more amused. “As far as I can tell, it’s to get reelected. Other than that, I attend the Town Council meetings and speak for law enforcement.”
“So, speak for law enforcement now.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Whose fingerprints were on that knife?”
“I’m not sure we should be talking about this.”
“My fingerprints should not have been on that knife. I did not touch the knife that night, and I think there’s a low probability that someone snatched my knife from dinner. Besides, I don’t think I even touched my knife at dinner. I had the lobster.”
Sherwood nodded. “Fine, fine. I can confirm that your fingerprints were not found on the knife.” His firm voice sounded like he had carefully constructed that sentence.
“How would you even know what my fingerprints look like?” I asked him. My friend Trudi knew what my fingerprints looked like, but she didn’t forget anything, ever.
Sherwood shrugged, and his shoulders lowered in relief at my line of questioning. “You were a kindergarten teacher. All school employees have to be fingerprinted for background checks. When that state law about child molesters went into effect a decade or so ago, you and everybody else at the elementary school gave us their fingerprints. Lots of other people’s prints are on file, too, anybody working with kids in the school system or daycare, or if you apply for a liquor license or a gun permit, or if you are going through the citizenship process.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember that. I was glad they didn’t use ink to take them, but they just used that machine with a glass screen on it and the greasy stuff. Then, how can I be a primary suspect if you know my fingerprints weren’t on the knife?”
“Because you could have wiped off the knife after killing Ruddy, just like you might have wiped off the knife here, too. We can’t rule someone out just because we didn’t find a piece of evidence. It might be there, and we didn’t find it.”
A horrible thought occurred to me. “Were no fingerprints found on the knife? Is that why you think I wiped them off? I didn’t, though. I didn’t touch either one of the knives or wipe them off. Erick Walters’ fingerprints should have been on it, though. I saw him touch it that night, out on the seventeenth green. If they didn’t find Erick’s fingerprints on that knife, then they messed up the analysis.”
Sherwood’s lips tightened. “At least two sets of fingerprints were found on the knife,” he ground out.
“But do you know whom they belong to? Everybody has fingerprints. Unless you were able to compare them to somebody’s fingerprints, then you wouldn’t know whose they were, anyway.”
His lips thinned further. “One set of fingerprints found on the knife was identified.”
I told him, “We know that one of them should belong to Erick Walters, but that doesn’t mean anything because I saw him touch it after Ruddy was already dead.”
Sherwood frowned for a second and then rubbed his cheek with his hand. “I should not be telling you this.”
“But you’re going to anyway.”
“Erick Walters’ fingerprints were found on the knife. He has a handgun permit, so we had his prints.”
“But you know how his prints got on there, so you know he didn’t do it.”
“We know nothing of the sort. Walters might have picked it up so that his prints would be explainable when they were found on the knife.”
“Well, I don’t believe that. He was fine in the clubhouse before we found Ruddy. Whose fingerprints were the other ones?”
Sherwood stared out the front windshield of his car, his fingers clenching on his knees.
“Come on, Sherwood. You have to tell me.”
Sherwood squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lower lip.
He looked like an overgrown kindergartner who was trying to hide a secret.
I opened my eyes wide, making sure that I did not look like I was squinty and out of control. The wide-eyes technique always worked on elementary school students. “Sherwood, I need you to tell me whose fingerprints were on the knife, right now.”
He sighed. “The other set of fingerprints on the knife was not identified.”
His defeated body language—lowered shoulders and downcast eyes—suggested that he had told me the truth.
I asked him, “Seriously? You could’ve told me that. That’s nothing.”
“The police might not want that information known publicly. They might want to try to use it to get someone to confess. So, you can’t tell anyone that. That’s got to stay a secret. It rules out a lot of people.”
It certainly did. It ruled out everyone I’d worked with in the school district, like Moonie, my school librarian, and a lot of other people, too. “Pffft, Sherwood. Why would I bother to tell anyone that?”
I needed to talk to Trudi, and I needed to do it right then.
“Beatrice, I mean it. That’s sensitive information.”
I folded the paper bag and laid it on the dash of Sherwood’s car. “I’ll be prudent. When can I get my phone back?”
“They’ll need to wipe it down for blood spatters—” he said.
“Blood spatters!” I wasn’t sure I wanted it back anymore.
“—and they’ll need to retrieve your recording off of it. In a big city, it would have to stay at the police station as evidence, but this is Canterbury. I don’t think anybody really suspects that the town’s retired kindergarten teacher killed two people. I’ll see if I can get your phone back for you.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or relieved that the town police probably didn’t think that I could have killed anybody, but I was really glad to hear that I would be getting my phone back.
Chapter 23
BACK in my little office at the Canterbury Golf Club, I wrote down everything that I could remember about what Sherwood Kane had told me.
Two sets of fingerprints were on the knife that had killed Ruddy.
One of them belonged to Erick Walters.
The other one hadn’t matched any of the fingerprints that the Canterbury Police Department had on file.
That eliminated a lot of people.
I dialed Trudi’s number on my cell phone and listened to it beep.
When she picked up, I started, “You will never believe what I found out today.”
Trudi’s voice was high and sing-song as she said, “Hello, my friend Beatrice! This is my friend, Beatrice! Beatrice has called me on the phone when I am babysitting my grandbaby!”
A high voice cooed in the background.
I tried very hard not to be jealous of Trudi’s grandbaby. How can one miss what one never had? “Hey, it seems like I’ve caught you at a bad time.”
“No time is a bad time if I have my grandbaby!”
“What time do you think you’ll be done babysitting?”
“It looks like I will have my grandbaby until nine o’clock tonight and all day tomorrow. We could make plans to go to lunch after Ladies’ League Wednesday?”
“That sounds great, Trudi. I’ll text you later, and I’ll see you Wednesday morning for league.”
“I can’t make Ladies’ League this week. I have my grandbaby that morning, too. But I can probably be at the club in time for lunch.”
“Okay, great,” I managed to say. “See you then.”
We hung up the phone, and I sighed. I wanted to get busy on figuring out who may or may not still be a suspect, espec
ially when everybody was going to be eyeing me at Ladies’ League on Wednesday, anyway.
On my office wall, my few plaques now hung. One of them announced that I had won low-net score for the Ladies Invitational Handicap a few years ago. One of them was for being a part of the winning threesome in a charity scramble over in Rhode Island.
Threesome.
Wednesday morning in Ladies’ League, we would be playing threesomes.
Well, if I wanted to figure out whose fingerprints might be on that knife, maybe I should play golf with some of the suspects.
Sherlynne Orman was probably putting together the groupings for the league’s shotgun start. If I caught her, I could golf on Wednesday with Pauline Damir, who had been on our list of suspects since the very beginning.
Pauline had never worked for the school district because she had started her own floral business when she had first moved to town. Certainly, a florist shop didn’t need a liquor license, so it seemed unlikely that her fingerprints would be on file with the Canterbury Police Department at all.
Thus, it was possible that her fingerprints could be on the knife but that the Canterbury police hadn’t been able to match them because they didn’t have them on file.
Yes, Pauline Damir would be a great place to start.
I leaped up and trotted down the hall to the office of our golf pro.
Inside, Sherlynne was indeed slaving away over a spreadsheet with a pencil, figuring out who would play with whom Wednesday morning. “What can I do for ya, Bee? You don’t have an opinion about the Ladies’ League pairings, too, do you?”
“Actually, I’d love it if you could put me in the same group as Pauline Damir.” I hoped that didn’t sound too suspicious.
Sherlynne glared up at me. “Everybody has opinions about who they will play with and who they won’t play with. Every Tuesday, I get fifty phone calls dissecting my choices. Really, this should be determined by handicaps, rather than personalities.”
“Fifty phone calls? Only about forty women played in Ladies’ League last week.”
“Yeah, some called more than once. Some of them call more than twice.”
Setting the Ladies’ League threesomes was similar to seating hostile guests at a wedding reception, except that it had to be negotiated every week. “If you could just pair me up with Pauline Damir, I would appreciate it.”
“But if I take Pauline Damir away from her threesome, then I can’t put Nell in there, because I was going to have Pauline play with Ann Carmo. Nell called me specifically and said that she didn’t want to see Ann Carmo in her threesome. After that little scuffle before league last week, I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to put them together again.”
After what Nell had announced to the whole Ladies’ League last week, I wasn’t too enthused about the prospect of playing golf with her either. “Put Ann Carmo in with Pauline and me. Then you can put Nell in somewhere else.”
Sherlynne sighed. “Fine. I’ll just break up all these threesomes so you can play with Pauline Damir and Ann Carmo. Shotgun start at nine, as usual.”
I swore to myself that I would get Pauline to either confess or figure out why she definitely couldn’t have murdered Ruddy Agani.
Chapter 24
ON Wednesday, I steeled myself, gathering every bit of courage I could before Ladies’ League.
The bag guys had already set up my clubs on my pushcart outside the door to the pro shop, so we were all ready to go. I grabbed my clubs and walked out to the practice putting green, which was warm with summer sunshine and dappled tree shadows.
But before we could begin, I had to make the usual announcements, so I grabbed the microphone and plugged it into the PA system. “Good morning, ladies! Here we are at the appointed place and time for our weekly round of golf together. As usual, there will be a nine o’clock shotgun start, but we are playing the back nine today. You should have all been issued your official score sheets. Note that today’s game will be ‘Secret Partner,’ where one additional player’s score will be added to your threesome’s total to make a final score. All prizes this week will be awarded to the foursome, not individual players. Thank you for playing, and let’s be careful out there.”
High-pitched rumbling floated from the crowd of women as I stepped off to the side toward my handcart. I pretended to arrange the clubs in my bag even though they were all exactly where I wanted them to be rather than listen to what they were saying. I could vaguely hear Nell’s voice, which sounded like she was saying something about me again.
I did not listen.
I really did not.
I not-listened so hard that I shut my eyes and rattled my golf bag, drowning out the hum of discussion.
Much closer, a woman’s voice said, “Hi, Bee! I see we’re playing together today.”
When I looked up, Pauline Damir was standing right in front of me. Fuzzy pink head covers cuddled all her clubs like she had hand-knitted them, kind of like golf cozies.
I smiled. “Yeah, hi, Pauline. I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell you that I appreciated what you said last week.”
She flapped her hand at me, a shushing gesture. “Don’t think another thing about it. It was ridiculous, what Nell was saying. But I think we shouldn’t pretend that Ruddy was a saint, either, when he obviously wasn’t.”
There were so many reasons why Pauline might be disparaging the murder victim, including that he had dragged his feet in paying her money. “How’s the florist business going?”
Pauline laughed. “It’s going great! Ever since I have been getting paid for the jobs that I’ve been doing, I’ve been able to build my business quite a bit in only a few weeks. As a matter of fact, I’m doing a large wedding over in New Leeds this weekend. It’s my biggest job yet.”
So, Pauline’s business had benefited from Ruddy’s death and subsequent payment of debts owed, though several other businesses in town probably had, too. Pauline’s florist business probably wasn’t unique or even uncommon in that regard.
Behind Pauline, Ann Carmo trotted briskly over, pushing her own set of clubs. Her scarlet lipstick was especially glossy today, her bright red shoes were practically glittering in the sunlight, and her sunglasses were huge and dark. “Hello, girls! I see we’re golfing together today.”
“Hello, Ann. How are Wilber and the kids?” I asked her.
“About as well as can be expected. The older one is talking about marrying his girlfriend, though I assure you that I am not old enough to be a grandmother yet. So, we don’t know what to think about that. The younger one is thinking about working on a tuna boat this summer, even though we pay her tuition and dorm. Wilber is Wilber.”
I shook my head. “How did they grow up so fast? It seems like just yesterday you were quitting your job as my kindergarten aide because you were pregnant and wanted to stay home with your child.”
“The real question is, how did we get to be so old? It does seem like just yesterday that I was working in the school with you. And then it seems like just this morning, I was making their school lunches. And suddenly, here I am, chasing this devil ball around the golf course to get out of the house because my husband has retired from his job and lost his other hobby, and now he’s underfoot all the darned day.”
We laughed. I tossed my new favorite golf ball—a white ball with pink hearts printed on it that Trudi had found in a water hazard while fishing for her ball and had given to me—in the air as we waited to walk out to our assigned starting holes.
As we were laughing and fiddling with our clubs, Erick Walters walked by, dragging his golf clubs behind him in a handcart.
He smacked his forehead with his palm. “Dang it, I forgot that Wednesday is Ladies’ League day. You guys will be out there hitting the devil balls for what, two hours or so?”
I stepped toward him. “Two and a bit, usually. I’m sorry, Erick. It’s on the scheduling whiteboard by the pro shop.”
“I checked that yesterday, and all I remember is that
Thursday afternoon is the high school team practice. It’s probably on there. I just forgot about it. That’s okay. I’ll just drink myself into a stupor in the bar while I wait for you ladies to clear the course.” His abused tone was so over-exaggerated that it was obviously meant to be a joke.
We laughed at him, but Ann, Pauline, and I were all eyeballing each other and shrugging. With no head shakes in evidence, I said, “Hey, Erick, why don’t you play with us? We can’t use your score as part of Ladies’ League, but at least you’ll be able to play now instead of waiting for two or three hours.”
Besides, then I could interrogate both Erick and Pauline at the same time.
And Erick played quickly. He wouldn’t hold us up.
I was ashamed that it was a factor, but in Ladies’ League, we get around the course in less than two hours for the nine-holers. We keep up the pace of play.
He asked, “Are you ladies sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“I think it’s all right with us. Pauline? Ann?”
They both agreed that Erick could join us for our nine holes that morning.
He said, “I appreciate it. I’ve got a showing this afternoon that must not be rescheduled. That’s probably why I forgot that you had reserved the course. I’m excited about tagging along and seeing the seedy underbelly of Ladies’ League for myself. There are rumors, you know.” He winked, and we laughed.
We headed out onto the course, as we had been assigned to start at the seventeenth hole. The morning sun blazed from above the trees, casting long, black shadows over the course as we walked out.
Just me, two innocent people, and a murderer.
Maybe.
Chapter 25
THE golf course was bright and sunny that day as we walked out to the seventeenth hole, which was our appointed tee box for the Ladies’ League shotgun start. A shotgun start means that everybody begins their round of golf playing on a different hole, and then you play around the course until you get back to that hole. This format is more time-efficient than everybody gathering around on the first tee and having to wait while groups tee off in seven-minute intervals.