James Ross - A Character-Based Collection (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  “You better believe it. He was somebody younger that could give it to her better,” Lester J surmised. “So she gave Richards the boot and he was livid.” Lester J smiled at his brilliant theory. “Then what?”

  “Richards went ballistic. He threatens her.”

  “How?” Lester J asked to see if Bazz had developed a theory the same as his.

  “He knows something that could wreck her divorce settlement.”

  “Bingo!” Lester J followed. “Then what?”

  “She’s furious.”

  “You better believe she is,” Lester J replied. “And what is Raul thinking?”

  “It started out that she was his cougar.”

  “You bet. He had the best of both worlds. He’s got the gorgeous blonde at home and the older milf giving him some strange stuff on the side.”

  “And funneling him some money,” Bazz added.

  “So now what is Raul thinking?” Lester J asked.

  “He just came to America a few years ago and thinks this is the best country in the world. He met his rich old lady that is going to take care of him the rest of his life.”

  “You got it. But guess what?”

  “Richards is getting in the way of his gravy train.”

  “We’re on the same page.” Lester J said with a smile. “Now they both want him out of their hair.”

  “Murder for hire?”

  “It might be,” Lester J guessed. “What else came up on his cell phone?”

  “Nothing between the two of them.”

  “You mean Raul and Shari?”

  “Yep. Basically all of their conversations dealt with getting laid.”

  “Some guys have all the luck.”

  “Unless he got in over his head.”

  “Yeah,” Lester J said. “We have to find that bike.”

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Back at the Donnelly house Shari bounced around like a hen in search of a rooster. She was excited about the news that Seth Montgomery had broken. Finally she could publically be vindicated after being embarrassed and humiliated by the police. She was ready to file a lawsuit as soon as the research was finalized and the paperwork was completed.

  Downstairs it was business as usual for Tyler Cy. There was no need for him to go into the office. His hired personnel made sure everything ran smoothly. It was a waiting game on his development proposal. The ball was in TexArOkLa’s court. It was like driving down the road and having a yellow light flash before turning red. Getting the PUD proposal through the powers-to-be at City Hall was like slowing down to a stop and waiting some more.

  His daily routine had turned into daytime TV, iPod tunes, and rehab. If he was lucky his wife would stay on her turf upstairs. But today was not a lucky day.

  “Isn’t your knee better yet?” Shari yelled from the top of the stairs.

  “It’s getting there.”

  “If you would have done the exercises right from the beginning you would have been out and about by now.” Shari inched her way down two steps. She puffed on a cigarette. “I guess you heard.”

  “What?”

  “I was cleared of any involvement in those text messages. The cops screwed up and went after the wrong person. Seth says we have a case. He’s going to file a lawsuit.”

  “Oh, that’s just beautiful,” Tyler Cy said facetiously, “that’s exactly what we need, another lawyer.” He stepped up the pace on the treadmill. The thought of another bill from a lawyer made his pulse race.

  “Calm down. He’s going to take it on a contingent basis. Just like the people that buy a house before they sell the one they are in. He’s trying to figure out what court to file it in. If it goes into federal court he thinks we could get a big settlement.”

  “There goes a decade of billings. Make sure your lawyer accounts for all of that. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Leslie is on my list of people to talk to. In fact I may see her tonight. I’m meeting Lisa later on.”

  “What’s on tap for you folks?”

  “Meredith is playing at Stub’s Missing Digit on the River Road. Lisa and Maggie wanted to watch her play and I think that Leslie may tag along.”

  “That’s an hour away. It’s over in Illinois.”

  “Lisa can cross the river and not be recognized.”

  “Be smart about things.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me what to do!”

  “You know what you’re after.”

  “Or how to do it! What’s wrong with you Tyler Cy?” The cigarette went quickly to Shari’s mouth. “If you really wanted to understand why I don’t want to be around you it’s because you constantly tell me what to do! I hate that!”

  “I’m simply concerned about you. I care about your welfare and your safety.”

  “Who cares? We live and then we die!” Shari puffed away.

  “You don’t want anyone to care about you?”

  “You’re starting to sound like a damn woman! Quit your whining!” Shari retreated to her area of the house. “I’m going to take a nap. Talking to you is like carrying on a conversation with my father, who I despise.”

  “So that is what this all about. You hate men, don’t you?”

  “Hardly! Just the ones that try to tell me what to do.”

  “Have fun tonight.”

  “Why are you so concerned about whether I have a good time or not?”

  “I guess I misspoke. I really don’t care if you have a nice night or not.”

  Shari lit another cigarette. “See, I knew it all along! You don’t care about what I do, who I do it with, or whether or not I have fun or not!”

  Tyler Cy figured he better shut up before it got worse. He continued his business on the treadmill.

  “What’s wrong, don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

  Tyler Cy silently stewed, but kept his mouth shut.

  Shari walked to the top of the stairs. She listened to see if the treadmill was operating. “Tyler Cy.” There was no answer. “Tyler Cy.” Still no answer.

  She inched her way down the stairs. Shari saw Tyler Cy was slumped over the control panel. He was trying to catch his breath. “Tyler Cy, are you alright?”

  He nodded. “I was a little short of breath.”

  Shari grabbed the towel and wiped his brow. “You know, as much as I can’t stand you I can’t imagine my life without you being there for me.”

  Tyler Cy could only look at her.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Lisa Boudreau was back in town from Washington, D.C. Her private jet arrived back in St. Louis the night before and landed at Spirit of St. Louis Airport in Chesterfield Valley, a short twenty minutes from her midtown luxury townhouse. A big night was planned. Leslie Potter, Maggie, Lisa, and Shari were traveling via a limousine from Gateway Coach and Carriage to Stub’s along the River Road in Illinois to watch Meredith perform.

  Shari arrived with trepidation. Her Jag, albeit nice, was dwarfed in the parking lot by Leslie’s sleek dark blue BMW convertible and Lisa’s maroon Mercedes Sedan. Only the van owned by Maggie made her feel like she was worthy. Maggie’s logotype, The Crack Attack – Keeping Your Pipes Flowing, was stenciled on the side. It was parked on the street and not allowed in a guest spot.

  In Shari’s world, arriving five minutes late was early. It was fashionable yet respectful to the caliber of femmes that were expecting her. What she didn’t expect was that she was going to be the object of missionary work by the others at the hen party.

  “I didn’t think that you mixed business with pleasure,” Shari said as Leslie greeted her with a hug.

  “Against my better judgment I’m making an exception,” Leslie said. “Lisa wanted us all here.”

  Shari didn’t care. She enjoyed their company. Although her preference was men, with the right amount of alcohol and social drugs (complements of the influential Congresswoman) the other side of the fence had been intoxicating as far as it had gone. She was curious. Something told
her that this impromptu event would offer the perfect conditions to take things further. She was all about going with the flow, like Maggie’s van suggested; and who would ever know? Besides, any liaison might be valuable down the road.

  “Tonight is a surprise party for you,” Leslie whispered off to the side of the bar as Lisa and Maggie chatted in the kitchen.

  “What’s the occasion?” Shari asked.

  “We like you and want to welcome you into our little club.” Leslie had interest in Shari the minute she walked into her office months before. Once she mentioned it to Lisa, the wheels started to go around and around. Before the night was out Shari would learn that Leslie was the head of the Lipstick Mafia.

  “You know my stance.”

  “And before the night is over, you’ll know ours,” Leslie said as she brought a glass of champagne to her lips. “Lisa is in a position to help you with TexArOkLa and she wants to.”

  “I guess that would help the divorce settlement.”

  Leslie smiled knowing her fee would multiply. “Favors beget favors.”

  “You’re working for me, aren’t you?”

  “Sure I am, and it’s a done deal.” The champagne was delightful. “You don’t need me to remind you, but sometimes when money doesn’t matter other things happen.”

  Shari knew exactly the point being driven home.

  The foursome piled into the limo for the ride across the river into Illinois. The trip to Stub’s Missing Digit took nearly an hour. The unique bar was a story in itself. Two brothers had robbed a bank. In the ensuing cop chase, one of them got their finger shot off. Years later Blue and Stub Howe opened a bar on the banks of the Mississippi after serving time for the armed robbery.

  The pair bought an old two-story home a little way up the bluffs and out of the flood plain. After making money selling cheap food and ice cold beer they parlayed the profits into the neighboring car dealership that was going out of business. As the crowd spilled over, a door went up and the bar expanded. An outdoor beer garden was built when the no smoking ban went into effect in Illinois. A stage backed to the river. Patrons could view barge and tugboat traffic on the river as well as pleasure boats and excursion vessels as the band played on.

  It was a Thursday night. The crowd was behaved and intimate as opposed to out of control and rowdy. The clientele was a mixture of suits and ties, bikers, straights and gays. Country folk mixed with the metro sexes. A bachelorette party blended with a girls’ softball team.

  The hope was that Meredith would pack the place, and she did. Lisa went incognito and sat with Leslie, Shari, and Maggie near the stage. The night was pleasant. The stars above twinkled. Meredith rocked. Her sultry voice and shapely body packed into skin-tight blue jeans seduced the crowd.

  At the conclusion of the gig Meredith joined the foursome for the ride home.

  By the time Shari left Lisa’s place the next morning she had gotten a cram course. She realized the difference between a diesel dyke, a baby dyke, and a molly dyke. It was clear to her what a muffer was, and she liked that a lot. She learned how to hold a bowling ball or make scissors. She could daddle, go bumper to bumper, and was asked out to funch.

  Lisa hugged her at the door and gave her a peck on the cheek. She whispered, “I want you to know that the TexArOkLa executives will be issuing a special use permit in perpetuity on the property that is proposed to be a country club development.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “I wanted to.” Another hug followed.

  After Shari started up her Jag and pointed it toward home, a smile of contentment swept across her face. She was relaxed and comfortable in becoming a Gillette blade. Just so she wouldn’t have to give up men completely.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  The next Tuesday was Ladies Day at Prairie Winds. Ashlyn and Shari enjoyed the morning trip over the river. Driving into a sunrise through a layer of fog covering the river was always one of Mother Nature’s treats. Corn fields were in full display of the fruits of seasonal rain. Double ear stalks were plentiful.

  Shari had a short lesson scheduled with Curt on the putting green and then she planned to play a match with the rest of the gals. Curt was on time; in fact he was on the putting green practicing his stroke when she arrived. The greens keeper had mowed the surface and the putts were rolling true and fast.

  After exchanging cordial greetings, Curt threw a few balls onto the green and instructed Shari to practice stroking putts that were approximately four feet in length. “These are the ones that are going to make you or break you,” he encouraged.

  “The green is as slick as the ice on a hockey rink,” Shari said after attempting a couple of putts.

  “We’re trying to simulate the speed at The Classic. J Dub said that they will run over thirteen on the Stimpmeter.”

  “I hate fast greens.”

  “It takes special practice to master putting on them. That’s why the public golf courses keep the greens at around a nine or ten. That gives the average golfer a chance.”

  “What’s the best way to learn to putt on them?”

  “I’d say primarily two things,” Curt answered. “Deaden the putt by hitting the ball with the end of the putter and practice putting on a pure concrete surface like the floor of your basement or garage.”

  Shari groaned as another putt missed the hole and rolled three feet past the cup. “This is ridiculous.”

  “We’re sure that it will be like that when you play for the million. We need to keep practicing, especially the short ones. We’ll need to make all of them to keep the three-putts to a minimum.”

  Shari tried four short putts and made three of them. “Almost perfect.”

  “Keep practicing. We have to get to the point where you don’t decelerate at impact.” Curt watched as she rolled two more putts into the cup. “That’s it. Put a good stroke on it. Keep your head down and watch the club make impact.”

  Shari kept practicing from three, four, and five feet. Some broke to the left. When she changed the starting spot, others broke to the right. As she circled the cup some were uphill while others were downhill. “You’ll have me playing scratch golf soon.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Curt said, “but if we can putt well during the SPRITZ event, we’ll have a better chance.” He looked at all of the rings on both hands. “I wish that you would take all of those darn things off of your fingers.”

  “Habit.”

  “It’s gaudy. It can’t help your grip.” Curt had to drive home a point and decided to forget worrying about being polite.

  “I’ll make that determination. I like them.”

  “You got my two cents once again about it hurting your grip. You need every advantage you can get if you want to win.” He lined the balls up so that she would have a sequence of downhill putts and then changed the topic. “Have you been walking?”

  “Nope.”

  “Better start. You won’t be able to ride in a cart when we play down there. There’s going to be hills. The way you smoke it could affect your energy level.”

  “Aren’t we being critical today?” Shari sniped.

  “I’m just making you aware. The real deal is quickly approaching. We’re coming up to the end of the summer. The weather will cool. The elements of winter will hit. Then the weather will break and before you know it we will be in Muscle Shoals for the SPRITZ Challenge. We’ll only get one chance to win a million. I don’t want you to blow it because of some little thing.”

  “Tyler Cy has a treadmill hooked up in the lower level. I’ll get on it.”

  “Good. The golf season is winding down. We won’t have an opportunity to work together much more until the spring.”

  “I’ll be ready to go.”

  “J Dub and I will put together a winter training program for you. You’re not going south for a few months, are you?”

  “We used to, but Tyler Cy cut that out this year because of the divorce.” Shari hit a few more putts. “Maybe
I can get my divorce lawyer to put that in the settlement agreement.” Shari smiled. “If he agrees to it, do you want to go as my instructor?”

  “You keep your mind on golf.” Curt grinned. “Win the million first then maybe I’ll join you.”

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Lester J and Bazz were back at trying to solve the murder of Richard W. Richards. Their efforts to find the motorcycle with a purple stripe had come up empty. Pictures of the bike had been broadcast on television news reports and posted in the newspaper. That information did not produce any new leads.

  Bazz checked all the motorcycle dealerships in the area for recent sales. Nothing new or used fit the description. He checked dealerships in a 200-mile radius to no avail. The bike had disappeared. No paperwork had been registered in the State of Missouri.

  “Can you check with every state in the country?”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes. There has to be some sort of registration somewhere on a new Honda motorcycle.”

  “We’ll keep working on it.”

  Bazz picked up a sticky note that had been placed on his desk. “Here’s something that is interesting,” Bazz said.

  “What?”

  “I got a call from Intercontinental Enterprises.”

  “Insurance?”

  “Yeah. Evidently they are prepared to pay out a million and a half dollars to a 12-year old girl. One of their local agents has been watching the news. He alerted the home office that the beneficiary on the policy was a guardian that has been mentioned as an intimate friend of the victim.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “It gets better. They have second thoughts about whether or not they should pay the money to a guardian who might be a possible suspect. They want to know who we are investigating. Of course I wasn’t about to give them that information.”

  “We can’t comment on active investigations.”

  “Right. So they have petitioned the court to have the money put into an escrow account that is to be held by the court.”

  “That comes under the slayer statute.”

  “Exactly. They know that the 12-year old beneficiary is not the killer. However they feel that at least one of the persons that had to endorse the check may be a suspect according to news reports. That’s why they petitioned the court.”