“They have a spa in this place?” she asked. “Massages? Sauna? Hot tub?”
I reached over to my bedside table and handed her the inn’s leatherbound volume of amenities. She flipped through the pages and found the inn’s health and well being section.
“Ooo,” she said. “Hot rocks therapy and reiki massage. “Should make for a wild weekend.”
I laughed. “What are you gonna do with him?” I said, nodding at our son on the bed between us.
“Not my problem,” she said. “But it says here they also have babysitting service.”
“Yeah, but it’s also PGA Championship weekend,” I said. “Lotta people around. Might be tough to get one on short notice.”
She looked at me. Didn’t say anything.
“But I shall endeavor to find out,” I said. “And leave no stone unturned in my quest.”
She leaned over and kissed me softly. “And if you’re successful, there’s more where that came from,” she said.
A couple of hours later, we went down to dinner, the wife and I. DJ had been fed, bathed, dressed in his PJ’s and was being read a story from a book by Maria, a lovely forty-something local woman whom the inn had called in. Turns out that few of the people in the inn for the weekend, most of whom were employees of IBS, had much need of a babysitter, and Maria, who lived nearby, was happy for the work. When we left the room, DJ’s eyes already looked half-closed, and we suspected he would be asleep in thirty minutes or less.
“She’s not costing too much, is she?” Mary Jane whispered to me as we left the room.
I shook my head. “Naw,” I said. “I’ll just charge it to the room, which is being paid for by IBS. They don’t give a crap. You wanna know how much the network is pulling in revenue-wise this weekend?”
“Not really, no,” she said.
I laughed. “Well, it’s plenty. So quit worrying.”
She took my arm and smiled at me. “OK,” she said, “I can do that.”
We wandered over to the main dining room, checked in with the maitre’d and looked around. I saw Van and Jimmy dining at one table, and some of the camera guys, including Shooter, at another. And back in the corner, sitting alone at a table for four, was the gleaming bald-headed visage of Conrad Gold. He saw me from across the room and waved me to come over.
Mary Jane saw him at about the same time, and I heard her exhalation of recognition. “Isn’t that…?” she said.
“Yup,” I said. “C’mon.”
We walked over and Gold stood up to greet us, smiling.
“Mister Gold,” Mary Jane said, giving him a little peck on the cheek. “How nice to see you again.”
“My dear Mrs. Hacker,” He said. “Call me Conrad, please. After what we all went through in St. Andrews, I feel like we’re almost family. Would you two care to join me? I haven’t ordered yet.”
“Delighted,” Mary Jane said, and Gold held a chair for her. A waiter came over and we ordered some drinks and he gave us the menus to read.
“I didn’t know your wife was coming this weekend,” Gold said. “Or I would have arranged to eat down at my club.”
“Her arrival was a last-minute deal,” I said, “I was wondering why you were slumming in this dump when you have your very own palatial castle just down the road.”
Gold laughed. “I’ll have to tell my friend Benny Moskowitz that you called his inn a dump,” he said. “Actually, I’ve been eating here for years and years. It’s considered one of the best restaurants in Dutchess County. And sometimes, frankly, it’s good to be a little anonymous for a change.”
“I can imagine being a big famous celebrity like you could get old after a while,” Mary Jane said.
“It does indeed, m’dear,” he said. He paused. “But not enough that I wish to return to the state of being penniless.”
“No,” she said. “That wouldn’t be much fun, either.”
The waiter came back and we ordered.
“Didn’t I hear that you two are parents now?” Conrad said when he left the table.
“We are indeed,”Mary Jane said. “DJ is upstairs right now, hopefully sleeping and letting the babysitter watch TV.”
“And you have a daughter, too, isn’t that right?” he continued.
“Yes,” Mary Jane said. “She’s at home in Boston, partying like a sixth grader with her friends.”
“Ah,” Gold said. “Almost a teen ager.” The waiter arrived with our drinks. “From what I hear from my friends with teenagers, you’ll likely need lots of cocktails to get through those years.”
“The Vickster is a pretty sharp and centered young woman,” I said. “I’m pretty sure we’ll be OK.”
“Hope so,” the two of them replied, in unison. Then laughed, together.
“How’s the weekend going so far, from your perspective?” I asked Conrad.
He shrugged and sipped some of his cocktail, which looked like a vodka gimlet, with some fresh lime slices floating amidst the ice cubes.
“Business-wise, it’s a total write-off,” he said. “The members pretty much all stay away. Some of the local New York people will come up to watch the tournament, but they’ll all go home at night. Our guest rooms have all been given to the PGA of America for their bigwigs and international friends. So except for the dining room, there’s not much in the way of revenue coming in.”
“And you’re already in the hole for, what was it? Twenty-five million?” I said. “Paid for the rights to stage the tournament.”
Gold grinned at me.
“You sound like my accountant,” he said. “Always telling me what I can’t do, what I shouldn’t have done. I have no time for that.”
“Will you make it back?” I asked.
“Easily,” he said, nodding. “Look, thanks to this tournament, and your network by the way, the Gold Organization is getting massive amounts of national and international publicity this weekend. My marketing people tell me it’s worth well north of a hundred million dollars in exposure. So the twenty-five mil I laid out is being paid back over and over. People all around the world, rich people especially, will see our brand. I may not get enough new members and property owners here in Cumberland, New York, to recoup the investment. But over the next two or three months, our projections are that we’ll sign both membership and real estate contracts that will total maybe a quarter-billion. Company wide. Probably more.”
“Sounds like a good investment,” Mary Jane said.
“I thought so,” Gold nodded. “That’s why I did it.”
The waiter arrived with our meals, and we waited while he passed around our food and wished us bon appetit. Then Mary Jane changed the subject.
“Do you have children, Conrad?” she asked sweetly.
He smiled, but it looked like with some degree of sadness.
“I do,” he said, turning to Mary Jane. “My first wife and I had a son, out in Los Angeles. Thirty years ago. No, I think John is thirty-two now. Times does fly, doesn’t it?”
“What does he do?”Mary Jane pressed on. She’s always been good at getting people to talk about themselves. I must have cut that class at journalism school.
“He’s a musician,” Gold told us. “Plays several instruments and does a little conducting. He works mostly in the movie biz, playing in orchestras and bands for background music in films.”
“That sounds interesting,” MJ said.
“He enjoys it,” Gold said. “And I like that it’s at least steady work, which is unusual for a musician. On the side, he’s had several rock bands over the years, and sometimes is invited to sit in with some of his friends at the jazz clubs.”
“That’s excellent,” Mary Jane said. “An artist who can make a living doing what he loves.”
“No interest in running an international real estate and resort chain?” I said. Unlike Mary Jane, I like to throw flaming Molotov cocktails into conversations. In journalism school, that class was called How to Piss Off Importan
t People 101. I aced it.
“Not a scintilla of interest,” Gold said. “And I’m glad. Because I’d never allow Johnny to work in my company.”
“Really?” Mary Jane said. “Why is that?”
“Oh, hell,” he said, waving his hands for emphasis. “Let me count the ways. First, I’ve never observed a family business which actually works as well as a non-family concern. Never. Second, he has no aptitude for the business world. He’s immensely talented in so many other ways, but not in finance or commerce. So I think it’s great he’s found his own path through life. And finally, I’d never hire him because I wouldn’t want to find out he might be better than me.”
“Wow,” I said. “Oedipus in reverse or something.”
“I don’t know about that,” Gold said. “But this is my business. Nobody else’s. I intend to keep it that way until I sell it. Or close it down. Whichever comes first.”
I was about to ask him under what conditions he might consider doing either, when Stephanie Collier came striding into the dining room, looking around. She saw Gold sitting with us and came right over.
“Stephanie,” Gold said when she arrived at our table, “You remember Hacker, here don’t you? And this is his lovely wife, Mary Jane. Stephanie does the marketing for our organization.”
Collier glanced at and ignored us.
“Problem at the club, Mr. Gold,” she said. Her voice sounded a little strained. “Here, talk to security.”
She handed him her phone. He held it up to his ear, identified himself and listened. I watched his face. It didn’t change, but remained impassive.
“When,” he said. He listened.
“Anyone injured?” He listened.
“OK, I’ll be right over.” He handed the phone back to Stephanie. Then he turned to us with an apologetic smile.
“I’m afraid I must run,” he said. “Someone exploded a car bomb in the parking lot at the club. Nobody hurt, thank goodness. But I have to go meet with the police.”
“Of course,” I said. “Anything we can do?”
“No, no,” he said, getting up and folding his napkin calmly. “But thank you for asking. Mary Jane? It was a delight to see you again. My apologies for this, but I have to go.”
Mary Jane stood up and gave Conrad Gold a hug and another peck on his cheek. He walked out, followed by Collier.
30
I didn’t learn the facts until the next morning. When Gold had left the table, my first instinct was to follow him, after making sure I had my reporter’s notebook, a pen that worked and maybe a small camera at the ready. Car bomb? At the golf tournament site? Talk about catnip for a reporter!
But Mary Jane had stopped me. She saw the look in my eyes and had laid her hand, gently but firmly, on my arm.
“Sit down,” she had said. “I’m not finished with my dinner, and I want dessert and a coffee, too.”
“But—” I had started to protest. Then I looked in her eyes. And stopped. And sat.
“Not your business,” she said. “Not in any way. Nobody was hurt. You heard him say that. Could have been something wrong with the car. Nobody knows. Let them sort it out. I want a quiet dinner with my man.”
She was right, as she very often is. So I had sat back down, tucked in my napkin again and we finished our dinner. Conrad had ordered a very nice bottle of burgundy, so I refilled both our glasses, then raised mine towards my wife.
“You’re right,” I said. “Slainte.”
And we had quietly finished our meal, ordered one extra chocolatey sundae-and-brownie thing with two spoons, and enjoyed a nice cafe au lait. Then we made our way upstairs, bid Maria a pleasant evening, looked at our son sleeping on his stomach with his little butt in the air, comfy in his travel crib, and gone to bed.
The next morning, DJ was up and at ‘em early, so we were among the first of the guests in the dining room for breakfast, a little before seven. But the place was abuzz.
Shooter was standing outside the dining room, scanning a newspaper.
“Hacker,” he said when we walked up, “Did you hear about the bomb?”
“Yes I did,” I said. I introduced my wife and son. “We were eating dinner with Conrad Gold when he got the call. What happened?”
Shooter shrugged. “Not much in the paper,” he said. “But the grapevine says that a car in the employees’ lot exploded, sometime around nine last night.”
“Nobody was hurt, right?” Mary Jane asked anxiously.
“No,” Shooter shook his head. “No one in the car, or standing nearby.”
“They got any suspects?”
He shook his head.
“Cops have called in the bomb squad from the staties—they have a barracks not far from here. From what I’ve been able to learn, it sounds like it was mostly a dud.”
“How so?” I asked.
“More noise than damage,” Shooter said. “The car’s hood was crumpled and there was a small fire that hotel security was able to put out with a fire extinguisher before the fire department arrived. But nobody thinks that Al Qaida or someone like that was involved. They’re thinking more along the lines of a teenage prank.”
“Well that’s good news,” Mary Jane said. “Be terrible if they had to cancel the tournament.”
Shooter and I just looked at her. She saw the expression on our faces and laughed.
“Well, if it had been Al Qaida, they might have,” she said.
I reached over and took DJ out of her arms.
“Why don’t you go see the activities desk over there and get your spa activities arranged,” I said. “Me and the boy will go find some bacon.”
“Good idea,” she said, turning away. “But he doesn’t eat bacon yet.”
“More for me,” I called after her.
I turned to Tony.
“You had breakfast yet?” I asked. “Welcome to join us. Hope you don’t mind a little spit-up.”
He laughed. “I’ve eaten thanks,” he said. “And I’ve got three of my own. Well versed in spit up.”
He looked at his watch.
“Meeting today at eleven, right?” he asked. I nodded and he strolled off with a wave.
DJ and I went into the dining room, and I commandeered a table off in the corner, well away from anyone else. DJ was a pretty even-tempered baby for the most part, but he was capable, as all babies are, of quickly exploding with the force of a seven-megaton bomb. So we always tried to stay away from normal humans, just in case.
Today, he seemed happy and calm, smiling at everyone. Which was very effective in getting one of the morning waitresses to bring over a wooden high-chair without being asked. We went through the buffet line, and I selected a few pieces of fruit and some dry Cheerios for him, and some waffles, bacon, home fries and more fruit for me. The waitress, hovering, took my tray of food to our table, leaving me free hands with which I deposited DJ in his high chair and put some blueberries and Cheerios on the tray on front of him. He was only half-interested since it had not been all that long since his mother had fed him upstairs.
But he had a good time rolling the berries around and staring out at the bright sunshine of the day, and watching the other people come wandering in, so I had enough time to shovel down most of my breakfast. With the ever-changing moods of babies, one learns to eat fast when one has the chance.
The waitress had refilled my coffee cup and cooed over the boy when Kelsey Jenkins walked in, saw us and came over.
“Cute kid,” she said, looking down at us. “Whose is it?”
“Funny,” I said. “Go get some chow and join us. Kid seems to be in a good mood.”
She went off to the buffet line, and arrived back at the table about the same time as Mary Jane, who was clutching some brochures and looked excited. I introduced her to Kelsey.
“I signed up for a Pilates class in about an hour,” she said, looking down at her papers. “And after lunch, there’s a meditation session foll
owed by a massage and sauna. What are you guys doing today?”
“Nothing much,” I said. “Heard there was a little golf tournament going on down the street. We might mosey over and see what’s happening.”
“The sauna and massage sounds better,” Kelsey said. “Maybe I can get Ben to give me the afternoon off.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Mary Jane said, “You guys have to work. What a shame.”
DJ thought that was funny, because he screeched loudly and pushed a blueberry over the rim of his high chair tray. He thought that was funny, so he did it again. I took away the rest of his toys, and ate them.
“I take it you have someone lined up to keep an eye on this one,” Kelsey said. She was watching the baby out of the corner of her eye while eating some granola and yogurt, the sight of which was causing my digestive track to get nervous.
“Maria is coming around ten-thirty,” Mary Jane said. “There’s a nature park just two blocks away, so I’ll let her take him for a walk there while I exercise. Then we’ll have lunch, and he’ll probably go down for a nap for an hour or so. It might just work out perfectly.”
“The best laid plans o’ mice ‘n’ men,” I said.
“Oh, shut up,” she said. “What’s your schedule?”
“We’ve got a production meeting at eleven,” I said. “Kelsey…is that up here or down at the course?”
“Down there today,” she said. “Ben wants us there at eleven.”
I checked my watch. “OK, I have time for a shower. I want to get down there a little early and check out the scene of last night’s crime.”
“There was a crime?” Kelsey said. “What happened?”
“Somebody set off an incendiary device in the parking lot,” I said. “Apparently it wounded an auto but nothing else.”
“Geez,” Kelsey said. “Terrorists?”
“Don’t think so,” I said. “If it was the real bad guys, they would have broken a few windows at the least. But I want to see for myself.”
“You have an idea who it was, don’t you?” Mary Jane said, looking at me sideways.
I laughed and held up my hands in surrender.
P.G.A. Spells Death Page 20