The Eighteenth Green

by Webb Hubbell

  “The one thing you shouldn’t let go is being a lawyer. All that big money law is fine—you do it well, and it pays the bills. But you’re at your best when you’re helping someone who probably can’t pay you a dime, someone you believe in, like you believed in Woody.”

  I had to smile. Helen had just said what I hadn’t wanted to admit. Seek change—it sounded like a book by a motivational speaker, but she was right on target.

  22

  AT MY SMILE, both the tension and our mood lightened. She told me about her two book clubs, her bridge group, and her yoga class. She volunteered once a week at the Clinton Presidential library. I hoped I’d have half her energy when I got to be her age. Must be the weekly cheeseburger and fries at the Town Pump.

  As I walked her to her car, I promised to keep her up to date on my new life plan as soon as I figured it out.

  She responded, “That isn’t how it works, and you know it. Help Ben and his daughter, and the rest will come. I promise.”

  I kissed her on the cheek and said goodbye as she sank into her bright red Mini Countryman. I looked at Paul waiting in the big Tahoe and thought it might be fun to drive a Mini, except I probably wouldn’t fit.

  Ben and Linda were gone by the time we got back to Micki’s. Maggie told me they had shared enough information to keep Debbie, two of Micki’s interns, and her busy for at least the next couple of days. “They were emotionally spent. Now Ben’s gone fishing, and Linda has a baby blanket to finish.”

  I remembered that Linda knitted blankets for the newborns at Arkansas Children’s Hospital. I could well imagine that she had once looked forward to knitting one for Rochelle.

  “They agreed to come back Wednesday afternoon to tie up any loose ends. One more thing: Stella told Paul we might as well come this afternoon; she can’t keep Clovis off the phone.”

  “Maggie, let’s go over what you heard this morning, while it’s fresh on your mind. I need a better understanding of Rochelle. Maybe Micki will join us if she’s got time.”

  Micki had the time, and for the next hour we listened as Maggie, Debbie, and Micki’s interns filled us in on their earlier conversation with the Jennings. It turned out to be a very useful exercise. It never failed: two or three people hear the same words and come away with different interpretations and assumptions. Differing reactions could cause confusion at first, but then clarity.

  After sending the interns off for a break, Micki offered, “Why don’t you and Maggie come out to the ranch tonight? You know I’m not much of a cook, but Larry can grill steaks, and I can manage a salad and baked potatoes.”

  About six years ago, Micki had bought a spread of two hundred acres on the outskirts of Little Rock. The ranch house was still a work in progress—she gave immediate priority to the fields and stables where she boarded her own horses and those of a few lucky friends. That’s how she met Larry. He came to build new cabinets in her kitchen . . . and never left.

  “Sounds great, but I know how you hate to cook. Why don’t you and Larry join us at the Faded Rose after we visit Clovis? I’ll ask Sam, too. We can kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Okay, but he won’t come alone. His latest doesn’t let him go anywhere without tagging along,” she said.

  “I didn’t know Sam was dating someone new, but then again it’s hard to keep up. He didn’t say anything yesterday…”

  “I couldn’t believe she wasn’t with him. I bet he didn’t tell her. She’s got her claws in deep. I promise you won’t like her one bit.”

  Sam had dated a number of women since his divorce ten years ago, but I’d never known him to get serious. We were the same age, but he looked years younger. Every weekend he was running in a road race or biking. Beth had once referred to him as “a chick magnet.” He’d met his match with Micki, but it didn’t last. Happily, they remained good friends.

  “Do I detect a little jealousy, Ms. Lawrence?”

  My jibe produced a withering frown. “Her name is Kristine McElroy. Her first husband owned a bunch of car dealerships throughout Texas. They met after a Dallas Cowboys game—she was on the field at half time with the Kilgore Rangerettes. Luke McElroy was in his forties and married, for heaven’s sake, but according to her it was love at first sight.”

  “Are you serious—a Rangerette?” Every red-blooded southern high school or college boy fantasizes about the Rangerettes, the drill team from Kilgore College who’ve performed at over sixty Cotton Bowls, Cowboys’ games, and God knows where else. Their motto was “beauty has no pain.” I wanted to know more.

  Micki continued, “Luke divorced the mother of his four boys and married Kristine before she was twenty-one. Sadly, Luke suffered a massive heart attack five years later while vacationing with Kristine in Playa del Carmen. He had torn up the prenuptial agreement and executed a new will only a month earlier. Kristine inherited the entire estate. His first wife and their four sons sued, but the courts sided with Kristine.

  “Her second conquest was Luke’s lawyer and best friend, Butch Jones. According to Kristine, the legal hassles over the estate drew the two close,” Micki said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  “This sounds like a grade-B movie. I bet the former wife and boys went through the roof,” I said.

  “Oh, they tried to have Butch disbarred, but they didn’t stand a chance. They drew a judge who’d played football with Butch at North Texas State. Small world, huh?”

  I laughed, “Right. So how did Kristine get to Arkansas?”

  “Well, little Krissy tired of Butch quickly. Texas is a community property state while Arkansas doesn’t include inherited assets as marital property, so she bought a lake house at Greer’s Ferry, established residency, and filed for divorce as an Arkansas resident. Butch wasn’t surprised. He took a modest seven-figure settlement, happy to avoid the fate of his friend Luke.”

  “How do you know all this? And does Sam?”

  Micki gave me a knowing smile. “I represented Butch in the divorce. Sam knows because I told him what I could without violating the privilege. He wouldn’t listen. You’ll understand when you meet her tonight. I also represented her third husband. Remember me telling you about the securities dealer who built the ranch home I now own? The one willing to give away the farm to get rid of his wife?”

  “What does she see in Sam? Sure, he’s good looking, but he has no money.” I shook my head in disbelief.

  “Well, let’s see. She’s got plenty of money, no business to run, and no family. She’s chaired a few charitable events, but has no real interest in philanthropy. What’s left but politics? Sam may think he’s running for the Supreme Court, but I bet she has other plans—Governor? Senator?”

  “Well, I hope she comes tonight. I want to see what she’s all about. Sam’s not a fool—or at least not usually. You sure you want Larry within her reach?” I waited for her typical sharp response.

  “She doesn’t have a clue that Larry is old Little Rock or that his family owns a bank, so he’s safe,” she replied. “Jack, I wouldn’t put anything past that woman. She is truly evil.”

  23

  SAM WAS ALL FOR US HAVING DINNER. “Micki’s not too keen on Kristine, but I want you to meet her—we’ve even talked about coming to DC.

  “One problem—Kristine doesn’t like The Faded Rose. She thinks it’s kind of common, and the menu isn’t, well… you know.” He was clearly uncomfortable. Never mind that Sam and I always eat at the Rose when I’m in town. At any rate, we agreed to meet at Brave New Restaurant. Apparently, Kristine approves of its atmosphere.

  Micki rolled her eyes when I told her about the change of plans. I looked forward to the dynamics of the evening almost as much as the food.

  I tried to engage Maggie in conversation as we rode back to the hotel, but she remained quiet.

  “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” I remarked.

  She gave a start and ran her fingers through her hair, “Jack, the woman Micki described is my worst nightma
re. You have no reason to know this, but my uncle Tony fell prey to the wiles of a young woman determined to get a title. She destroyed his family—my aunt committed suicide and my cousins are still in therapy. No one has seen or heard from Tony in years. I can’t help but imagine some blonde gold-digger setting her sights on Walter.”

  “For heaven’s sakes, Margaret Matthews. Your husband has eyes only for you. No Rangerette or socialite will ever get his attention as long as you’re around, so stop worrying,” I scolded.

  “Maybe it would be best if I didn’t come tonight. I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “Maggie, you are coming. If Kristine is as bad as all that, I’ll need your help with Sam—you’ll notice things I won’t. Sam is oblivious to manipulative women.”

  “He gets it from his best friend,” Maggie said with a little smile.

  “I admit I’ve made a few bad choices, but I’m doing better, right? Walter tells me I moved up in class with Carol. You like her, don’t you?”

  “Carol is an attractive and very shrewd woman.” Not exactly a ringing endorsement.

  The car pulled up to the hotel, and I held the door for her.

  “But you do like her, right? Walter does, I know.” I could hear the anxiety creep into my tone.

  Maggie looked back as she walked through the lobby doors. “It’s a conversation for another day. Right now I have to get ready to meet the wicked witch of the East.”

  The bar was busy for a weekday afternoon, so I found a stool and texted Maggie to join me when she was ready. I let my mind wander back to Helen’s lecture. As usual, she was right—cocktails and sitting by Carol’s pool wasn’t a healthy lifestyle. Maybe I should get some advice from Stella.

  I glanced around the room—no one I knew, all strangers. One guy looked a little familiar, and I realized he’d been there yesterday when Rabbi Strauss delivered his message. I thought he’d come in with the rabbi, but now there he was again, sitting in the same corner. He wore a European style leather jacket, and I could see that his face was pockmarked, the result of acne, or maybe a disease like smallpox. He sat by himself at a table for four.

  It wasn’t long before Maggie arrived. She looked terrific in a navy-blue silk dress, smart heels, and a gray cashmere shawl. A small set of pearls adorned her neck.

  “Kristine will have nothing on you,” I teased, pulling out the stool next to me. “Too bad Walter’s not here.”

  “I have no intention of allowing Walter within a stone’s throw of Kristine. You can take that to the bank.”

  She asked the waiter for a cup of spiced Chai and asked, “Jack, wasn’t that fellow in the corner here yesterday?”

  I nodded and punched a text message into my iPhone.

  “Sorry—maybe Jordan can get a quick photo of him.”

  We chatted for a few minutes; it wasn’t long before Jordan joined us, giving me a wink. I paid up, and we followed him to the Suburban, leaving the pockmarked man sitting alone with the beer he had yet to touch.

  *****

  The man watched them leave, knowing any attempt to find out his identity would be fruitless—he had been erased from every law enforcement and government database. He’d been called after the local contractors botched the hit on Clovis Jones. At least Jones had been taken out of play for the moment. Too much was at stake for the slightest mistake.

  24

  CLOVIS LOOKED A LITTLE BETTER—he was propped up in a big chair and his color had returned to normal. But between the broken rib and multiple contusions, every movement was still painful. Stella had a new look since I’d seen her last—her cropped hair was black with purple highlights, and she might have added a piercing or two. Maggie gave Clovis a careful hug before joining Stella on the front porch.

  “The ride home from the hospital was almost more than I could stand,” Clovis admitted, watching them leave. “I’m glad Maggie’s here. Stella’s been a rock, but she needs company, and I need a break. I don’t mean…”

  “No explanations needed, I get it. Paul has everything well in hand, so you should rest, concentrate on getting well. Time’s the only thing that heals a broken rib.”

  “Paul’s doing great, but we’re spread razor thin.”

  He tried to shift his position, and I could see little beads of sweat break out on his forehead.

  “You know Martin would be glad to help, just say the word,” I offered.

  Martin Wells’ security firm in DC worked for all of Walter’s companies. He and Clovis held each other in mutual respect and had joined forces before.

  “You and Maggie will be back in DC in a day or two—Martin can take charge there. We’ll be okay—I’ll be back on my feet before long. Let’s talk about what’s really bothering you—Beth and Jeff.”

  “You know me well, my friend.”

  “Yes, I do. Our contact person in St. Louis has assured me that no one would dare come close to Beth or Jeff. He’s a reliable guy, knows the ropes.”

  It’s a long story, but thanks to Novak both Jeff and Beth were under the protection of the New Orleans syndicate and, by way of an accommodation, their counterpart in St. Louis. Funny isn’t it, how fate can turn an enemy into a strange bedfellow.

  “Maggie and I hope to stop in and see them on our way home—I guess we should let those guys know. I don’t…”

  “You’ll be safe as houses,” he interrupted with a grin. “Tell Maggie to send me your itinerary. Now why don’t you tell me what’s going on with Ben before Stella comes back.”

  I told him about our conversation with Rabbi Strauss and my decision to defend Rachel. I also told him about the man in the bar.

  “Jordan has done a preliminary check on the man in the bar; he doesn’t show up in the usual databases. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s with the Israeli government, sent here to keep an eye on you and the Rabbi,” he speculated.

  “Well, maybe so, but the Israelis have all but said they’ve never heard of Rachel Goodman. Her husband…”

  “Jack,” he said leaning forward with a grimace. “What they say or don’t say doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. Every newspaper in the country believes she worked for the Israelis. Mark my words—you haven’t seen the last of Rabbi Strauss. Shoot, if you take on Rachel Goodman as a client, at least half the spies in DC will be following your ass. Not to mention the FBI and the CIA.”

  I admit I hadn’t thought about it in quite those terms. The thought of the international intelligence community following my every step was unnerving, to say the least. Then again, no sense getting all worked up. Rachel had yet to hire us—maybe she had better judgment than her parents.

  Clovis leaned back again in his chair—I could tell he was tuckered out. Before long Maggie and Stella interrupted our silence.

  “Okay, Jack, time’s up. My man needs his rest, no matter what he may think.” She paused and raised her brows. “Oh, and thanks a lot.”

  I looked up quickly. “Okay, what did I do now?”

  “All this food—Linda sent enough to tide us over for a month, and now she’s talking about daily deliveries. What am I supposed to do with three apple pies? And who is Jasmine? She’s offered to sit with Clovis while I’m at the gym or running an errand.”

  Maggie came to the rescue. “Well, Clovis needs to eat—so do you. Please work with Linda, it gives her something to do, a way to contribute. I’m sure we can find someone to help you with the pies.”

  “And Jasmine?” She looked at me.

  “Her name is Jasmine White,” I replied. “She’s a neighbor and good friend of the Jennings. She joined us for dinner the other night. I found her to be very pleasant, a good conversationalist. Her offer is generous.”

  I tried to keep from blushing, but Clovis and Maggie burst out laughing; even Stella couldn’t keep a straight face. “Conversationalist—you are so full of shit, Jack Patterson. Don’t worry—I’ll work out something with Linda—without Jasmine.”

  “Maggie told me a litt
le about your next case,” she continued. “Besides watching over Clovis and keeping him out of trouble, how can I help?”

  I was relieved to change the subject.

  “Well, if we end up representing Rachel, we’ll need secure computers and phones. It won’t be long before hackers from all over the world try to break into our systems.”

  “You know how to turn a girl on, Jack,” she said with a slow grin.

  Clovis gave her a tired smile—it was time for us to leave. We hadn’t had time to chew over who attacked him, but that could wait.

  On our way to the restaurant, Maggie observed, “This case is getting complicated—international implications, secure networks—who knows what’s next?” Then she threw a high, hard ball. “Good thing we’re making changes at the office.”

  It almost blew right past me before I realized what she’d said.

  “What changes? That’s twice now you’ve mentioned changes. What are you talking about?”

  Jordan stopped in front of the restaurant, and she hopped out. “We can talk about it later.”

  25

  AN AUTUMN-ORANGE SETTING SUN reflected off the Arkansas River. Such was the view from the restaurant when we arrived, and as Maggie and I sipped on our cocktails. There was only one problem: no Kristine or Sam. Micki and Larry had bowed out at the last minute, no surprise, but at least they’d let me know.

  All his life, Sam has been late. He was willing to stop and shoot the breeze with most anyone, an invaluable habit for a politician. Our waiter had no problem with the delay, noting that “Miss Kristine” was often late. They never gave away her table and always had her martini at the ready.

  Like most people, I don’t like being kept waiting, but the view and Maggie’s company more than compensated. We were deep in conversation, and I’d just ordered a bottle of wine, when the absent couple came bustling in, an anxious waiter in tow.