“Great putt, Jake,” Alana blurted, drawing a scathing look from Ballantrae.
But Scarne was realistic. Ballantrae could still win with a birdie and was assured no less than a tie. And his putt was straight uphill. Needing only a two- putt to tie, there would be no pressure. He could be bold and confidently go for the winning birdie. In that situation, most people make their putts.
Alana holding the pin, was standing next to Victor, whispering to him. He looked distracted. Finally, he walked over to his marker. As he bent to replace his ball, she dropped the pin, which clattered. Disconcerted, he stared at her.
“Sorry.”
Ballantrae put his ball down and angrily snatched up his marker. Then he looked at Scarne with what only could be described as a sneer. This birdie is for you, it implied. He was just about to putt when Scarne suddenly realized the ball was not in the proper spot – Ballantrae had moved it by the length of a club head to accommodate Alana’s putt. If he hadn’t been distracted by what she had whispered to him and then the dropped flag, he might have realized his mistake. So, that’s what she’d meant when she told Scarne to remain quiet! Seeing the opportunity presented by the positions of the balls on the green, she had set Ballantrae up. Amazingly quick thinking by a devious mind.
Sportsmanship decreed that even your opponents remind you to replace your marker in the right spot. Having been cheated for almost the entire round, Scarne never entertained the idea. He was now fervently hoping that Ballantrae made his birdie. He idly wondered how Alana Loeb would play the scene.
Ballantrae stroked through the ball.
“Victor! Wait!” It was Alana.
Too late. The ball tracked right into the hole. Ballantrae whirled around.
“Bloody hell! You almost cost me the goddamn match! It’s damn lucky I made it.” He looked at Scarne. “Too bad, pal. I make them when I have to.”
“I was just trying to warn you.”
“Warn me? About what?”
“Victor...your mark.”
There was excited chatter among the bystanders. Doubt started to cross Ballantrae’s face. He walked toward her.
“What the hell you talking about?”
“You forgot to replace your mark after you moved it out of my line. You putted from the wrong spot.”
“I replaced the mark.” He looked at Scarne for help. “You saw me.”
“You know…I think she’s right. I was so annoyed at myself I wasn’t paying attention...or I would have told you. Sorry.”
“Bullshit!”
He turned to the crowd, now entranced at the spectacle.
“Who saw me replace the mark?”
“You forgot, Victor.”
It was Rodriguez.
“Why didn’t anyone say anything?” Ballantrae’s voice had a wheedling tone. “Lee?”
“With $20,000 on the line?”
“I hate to say it,” Scarne said, not hating it at all. “But you lose the hole, Victor. And, unfortunately, the match. Pity, really. You played so…well.”
“I’ll place the ball back.” Ballantrae was so desperate Scarne almost felt sorry for him. It was such a public humiliation. “You know I could two-putt from there and get a tie. Let’s just call the match even.”
“Doesn’t work that way,” Scarne said officiously. “Rub of the green. You caught some miraculous breaks out on the course. Guess it all evens out.”
He extended his hand. Ballantrae stormed away.
Rodriguez walked over to Jake.
“Miraculous breaks? You mean he cheated the entire match.”
“Only when he wasn’t in his cart.”
Rodriguez laughed.
“Alana’s timing was priceless,” he said. “She made it sound like she wanted to stop him in time.”
Alana approached them. The great golfer patted Scarne on the arm.
“That 20 grand may be the least of your winnings, my friend.” He lowered his voice. “But be careful. She just proved how cruel she can be.”
He kissed Alana and walked away.
“What did Lee say?”
“He saw through your little charade. I’m sure Victor did, too. Why did you do it? He’s your boss.”
“No one’s my boss. And I wanted you to win.”
CHAPTER 27 – BOSTON AT THE BEACH
After dropping their clubs off at the starter’s shack to be cleaned, Scarne and Alana agreed to meet in the Grill Room in 20 minutes.
“I want to freshen up,” she said.
Since that probably meant he had closer to 45 minutes, Scarne took the opportunity to take a quick shower. He put on a pair of fresh grey slacks and a light V-necked burgundy sweater. He slipped into his loafers without socks as he checked his cell phone for messages. There was no display. He turned it back on. Funny, he didn’t remember turning it off. He went to the grill and ordered a celebratory drink. He began to muse about his winnings. It would certainly buy a kick-ass vacation somewhere, although thinking about a vacation outside a gorgeous country club in Florida seemed a bit much. Hit Atlantic City on the way home and try to run it up? It was found money. That would probably be very stupid, but Scarne, like most gamblers, did not dismiss the idea out of hand. Invest it wisely? Please. Buy some art? The apartment in New York could use some sprucing up.
Ballantrae walked in wearing a business suit.
“Can I buy you a drink, Victor?”
“No...Thank you. Something has come up. I have to go to New York. My plane is waiting for me in West Palm. I wonder if you will do me a favor. I don’t want to leave Alana in the lurch. Can you take her home?”
“Of course. It will be my pleasure.”
Ballantrae took out his checkbook and, leaning on the bar, wrote out a check, which he handed to Scarne.
“I play by the rules. Same in business. We have nothing to hide.”
Scarne folded the check and put it in his pocket, as if it were an everyday occurrence.
“Then you won’t mind me nosing around your company?”
“Talk to Alana. She’ll set it up. You two seem to have hit it off.”
Just then she walked into the grill. She had showered and changed into a simple, strapless blue cotton sundress. Scarne couldn’t help but stare. She languidly sat on a bar stool, crossing her legs.
“Ah, the rules chairwoman herself,” Ballantrae said. “Alana, Jake has offered to take you home. Maybe he will even buy you dinner. He certainly can afford it.”
With that, he offered a brusque handshake to Scarne and left.
“How about dinner in Paris?” Scarne said, pulling out the check and waving it in the air.
“I know a nice place that’s a bit closer,” she said, laughing. “But I want a drink first.” She looked at his glass. “I never would have figured you for the Planter’s Punch type, Jake.”
“Want my cherry?”
She reached across and pulled it out of his drink by the stem and popped it in her mouth, smiling mischievously. He ordered two more and they took their time drinking them.
“I guess I should thank you for this $20,000.”
“You were a fool to bet that much. Male pride. I’ll never understand it. But I couldn’t let you be cheated.”
“Why does he do it? Everybody around here apparently knows. Soon he won’t be able to get a game.”
“Why do any of you do anything?” She put her hand on his arm and he felt the electric jolt again. “Come on. I’m hungry.”
Only Scarne’s clubs were waiting for them at the valet station.
“Where are yours?”
“I leave a set here. I’m not a member, but I never know when I’m going to be asked to play with Victor. They’re nice about it. They let me keep some clothes as well. Like this little old thing.”
“You look lovely.”
Scarne’s car pulled up. An attendant put his golf bag in the trunk and Scarne threw his duffel in the rear seat. Alana looked at the Rouche Mustang.
“I didn’t real
ize NASCAR had a rental division.”
“A friend is letting me use it,” Scarne said noncommittally.
“Must be a good friend,” she said as the valet held her door. “But isn’t it difficult to tail a suspect in this.”
“Not when they’re in the car with me.”
“In that case,” she said, laughing, “let’s keep the top down? It's lovely out.”
With that, she kicked off her sandals and stretched out her long legs. She had exquisite ankles and long toes, which she flexed. Scarne found that oddly erotic. As he drove away the wind caught her hair.
“Are you in a hurry, Jake? If we take the Dixie Highway down the coast I know a great spot in Delray Beach. I just don’t feel like rushing back.”
Looking at her, Scarne didn’t feel like rushing back, either.
***
It took a half an hour to get to Delray. Alana was silent much of the way and seemed content to enjoy the wind blowing through her hair. She set a striking figure with her blond and tan good looks and aviator-type sunglasses. Other drivers stared at her. She also got a going over when they walked into the restaurant, a place called Boston at the Beach. Considering that this was Florida in season and the place was full of spectacular looking women, Scarne got a new appreciation of how attractive his companion was. They were shown to a table on the second deck facing the ocean. When a waitress wearing a pink tank top and black shorts tried to give them menus, Alana looked at Scarne.
“Are you choosy about your seafood? I come here a lot. I’ll order for the both of us if you like.”
“That’s fine,” he said, taking a wine list from the waitress. “Just make sure it goes with champagne.”
“What’s the freshest fish in the house?” Alana asked the waitress.
“All our fish…” She stopped when she saw the look on Alana’s face. “The cobia just came in,” she finished.
“A dozen oysters, the Apalachicolas, to split.” She looked at Scarne. “It is winter, the Gulf Coast oysters are safe now.” She turned her attention back to the waitress. “And two conch chowders. Then have the chef broil two cobia filets with lemon, butter and a little white wine. Sides of coleslaw and Spanish rice. Plenty of tartar sauce and some lemon and lime wedges. Thank you.”
Scarne was surprised to find a bottle of Brut Heritage on the wine list. He ordered one and asked the waitress to keep another in reserve.
“You must be planning to get me drunk, Jake,” Alana said.
“Hell, you’re the one who ordered oysters and conch chowder.”
“The aphrodisiac powers of oysters and conchs are overrated,” she said. “As are champagne’s. At least with me. And you proved today that you probably don’t need extra stimulation. You like to live dangerously.”
She gave him a bold, challenging look any man with a pulse would recognize.
“You must relate to that, working for Ballantrae. He’s an interesting guy. How did you wind up with him?”
“Ah, the interrogation begins. I was wondering when you would start.”
“I’m just interested.”
“As a spider is interested in a fly.” She put her hand along her cheek and studied him with an amused smile. Scarne wondered just who the spider was. “I worked for a Miami law firm and was the lead counsel in an employment suit against a Ballantrae subsidiary. Victor is always firing people. I won a large settlement. He doesn’t like losing, as you know. He asked me to head up his legal department.”
“Seems like you've carved out a niche. How did you jump from house lawyer to chief operating officer?”
The waitress appeared with their champagne in an ice bucket on a stand. She set out glasses and poured some in Scarne’s. He tasted it and nodded and she filled both glasses and left. Alana took a sip and looked at Scarne.
“Where were we? Oh yes, you asked me if I fucked Victor to get ahead.”
An elderly man and a bejeweled younger woman, who had Palm Beach trophy wife written all over her, were dining at the next table. The woman, who was closest to Alana, held a shrimp on a fork poised to go in her mouth. She looked over at Alana and almost put the crustacean in her ear.
“That wasn’t quite the question,” Scarne said equably.
“The hell it wasn’t. But before I answer I want to ask you a question. Is this interrogation for business or pleasure? Are you on the job, or on the make?”
Scarne had to laugh at her directness. He realized he wasn’t sure.
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Funny phrasing for a private investigator. But I’ll take it to mean that you want to know for personal reasons. So I’ll tell you. Victor is now my boss, period.” The emphasis on the now was unmistakable. “I admired him a great deal. He’s a handsome man. I was flattered. It was obvious he could get any woman he wanted. I also like to think that I offered more to the company than merely hauling the chairman’s ashes. Victor wouldn't risk his company or his dreams on a piece of ass.”
That got another look from the shrimp lady. Their food came. Alana raised her glass.
“Eat hearty, Jake. Then it’s my turn to ask the probing questions.”
They ate in virtual silence. When they finished, Scarne asked Alana if she wanted coffee and dessert.
“It’s getting chilly. And I’ve had enough champagne. I’d rather go to the bar for a drink.”
Scarne signaled for the check. Then he reached across the table and squeezed her hand, which was pleasantly warm and soft.
“I’m sorry if I was out of line. I’m sure now this isn’t business.”
She turned the full force of her eyes on him.
“I’m going to powder my nose. Meet me inside.” She got up, and as she passed the lady next to her smiled and said sweetly, “You’re going to miss the good part.”
The woman laughed and said, “Damn.”
The man with her cupped his hand to his ear.
“What did she say, Doris?”
“Nothing, darling. Do you want my greens?”
Scarne paid the bill and went to the bar. Alana was already seated at the far end sipping a reddish drink from a highball glass. He sat next to her.
“It’s an Americano,” she said, holding up her glass. “So popular among Americans in Italy in the 1890’s they named it after them. But definitely an acquired taste. Campari and sweet vermouth, the bitter with the sweet. Fitting for us I thought. Want a taste?”
He shook his head and ordered a brandy.
“Where did you acquire the taste? Italy?”
“I read about them in a novel. They sounded so romantic. I … lived … in Buenos Aires for a time and a woman I … worked for … used to make them. Liked them ever since.”
A strange look came over her face as she remembered.
“What were you doing in Buenos Aires?”
“Oh no,” she said with a smile. “Now it’s my turn.”
Scarne clinked glasses with Alana.
“Shoot,” he said.
She asked him about his childhood. She seemed fascinated by his grandfather.
“He must have been an amazing man. I always thought the Italians were maligned unfairly in World War II. Their navy did quite well. I think some German generals made a laughing stock out of the Italian army to deflect criticism from their own shortcomings. I met some German and Italian officers in Argentina. They were old, of course, but their memories were sharp. They bore no animus towards each other. They had been lower ranks during the war and saw things better than the generals.”
Scarne was impressed by her grasp of history.
“You are part German, aren’t you?”
“Yes, my family was Bavarian. But my great-grandmother was Jewish. So they left for Argentina when Hitler still felt compelled to treat Jewish World War I veterans decently. They were well ensconced in South America when many Germans fled there after 1945.”
“Some of them were war criminals. What did your family think of that?”
“My gr
andfather made a nice living helping them get, how should I say, readjusted to civilian life all over South America. He knew many politicians and was very friendly with the police in many countries.”
“He sounds very forgiving.”
“Business is business, Jake. Besides, many of the people he helped – for a profit – were low level. Some were probably Nazis, but they had families, wives, children. He wasn’t doing anything the Vatican or the Pentagon wasn’t. Nazi scientists helped America land on the moon, no?”
“But your grandfather was part Jewish.”
“Yes, he lost relatives in the camps. Hilton is opening up hotels in Hanoi, so what? Besides, he also had contacts with Israeli intelligence. Some people even think he helped them find Eichmann, who was an embarrassment to everyone. I think he aided the little fish, and got his revenge on the big ones.”
“And, of course, the Israelis are very good payers.”
“The best.”
“That’s quite a story, Alana. One I hadn’t heard before.”
“Americans are so wound up in their own history and lives they don’t realize that the rest of the world is fascinating. I bet my grandfather and yours could have traded some wonderful tales. They would have liked each other.”
“Probably. Is yours still alive.”
“No.” She left it at that. “But you are good, Jake. I’m back talking about myself. Let’s get back to you. Where did you go to school? How did you become a dashing private eye?”
He told her, leaving little out, except his military service. She was easy to talk to. She had the ability to focus all her concentration on the person who was talking, as if he was the only one in the world. Even when she turned away to sip her drink, he felt that she was absorbing everything. At times she was coquettish. Then sympathetic. When he spoke of an interesting case, she appeared fascinated, and her questions were always on point. He finally realized that they had been talking at the bar for almost an hour.
“Have you ever been in love, Jake?”
He was startled. She was looking into his eyes with a bemused expression.
“Yes. What about you.”
“God, no. And I hope never to be. It implies a loss of control. I don’t lose control.”
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