The faint snap of a twig alerted him to an approaching presence. He turned around, expectantly. Just then the clouds parted. In the instant before he died, Cotter Hayward lived a lifetime. He saw his assailant, realized that it was a golf club that was about to descend on his skull and even had time to recognize how much of a fool he had been.
* * *
At 5:45 A.M. Alvirah was dreaming that they were sailing from Southampton on the QE2. Then she realized that the sound she was hearing was not a ship’s bell but the peal of the telephone. It was Min.
“Alvirah, please come up to the main house immediately. There is a problem.”
Alvirah struggled into a pale yellow Dior sweat suit and matching sneakers, as Willy blinked sleep from his eyes. “What’s the matter now?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet. Oh darn if I didn’t put this top on backwards.”
Willy squinted in the direction of the clock. “I thought people came to this place to relax.”
“Some people do. Hurry up and get dressed so you can go with me. I’ve got a bad feeling.”
A few minutes later Alvirah’s bad feeling was compounded by the presence at the spa’s main entrance of a car bearing the logo of the sheriff of Monterey County. “Scott’s here,” she said tersely.
Scott Alshorne was in Min’s office. Min and Helmut were still in dressing gowns. Even though they both seemed distraught, Alvirah could not resist a moment of total admiration for the way the two of them could look like fashion plates even when roused from bed in the predawn hours. Min’s robe was a shimmering pink satin with a lace-edged collar and delicately corded sash. Helmut’s maroon knee-length silk robe was trimly handsome over matching pajamas.
Fortunately Sheriff Alshorne never changed. His teddy-bear body, his craggy and tanned face, his white, unmanageable hair and piercing eyes were still the same. He was as warm when he embraced a friend as he was implacable when he was trailing a criminal.
He hugged Alvirah and shook hands with Willy. Then, dispensing with small talk, he said, “Cotter Hayward’s body was found on the grounds of the Pebble Beach Club an hour ago by a maintenance man.”
“Saints preserve us,” Alvirah gasped, even as she thought, Which one did it, Nadine or Bobby?
“Vicious blows with a heavy object. Whoever killed him wanted to make sure he was dead.” Scott looked at Alvirah appraisingly. “From what Min tells me, you’re not here just to be pampered.”
“Not exactly.” Alvirah’s mind was racing. “Does Nadine know about her husband?”
“Scott came directly here,” Min said. “We will accompany him when he tells her. Helmut’s medical services may be required. I only wish I knew where to reach Nadine’s son so he can rush to her side.”
“Bobby’s—” Willy was interrupted by a warning glance from Alvirah.
The exchange was not lost on Scott Alshorne. “Do you know this Bobby?” he asked.
“We’ve met,” Alvirah hedged, then realized it would be useless to conceal from Scott the fact that Bobby Crandell had been in Nadine’s cottage at ten o’clock last night.
“Is he staying with his mother?” Scott queried.
“He was going to last night,” Alvirah admitted. “Nadine is in one of the two-bedroom cottages.”
Scott stood up, suddenly looming over the others. “Alvirah, my good friend,” he said, “let’s get something straight. There was a major theft on these premises three days ago. I should have been notified—immediately. Min has given me the background, but that doesn’t justify her decision to go along with Nadine Hayward and conceal the crime. What you people don’t seem to understand is that we should have been collecting samples for DNA testing at the safe. Now it’s too late.”
He moved closer to Alvirah. “Instead of sending for me, she sent for you. Now we have not only a grand larceny theft but a first degree murder on our hands. I want any information you’ve picked up since you arrived here yesterday. Do I make myself clear?”
“I want to make myself clear too,” Willy said, and his tone was icy. “Don’t bully my wife.”
“Oh, honey, Scott’s not bullying me,” Alvirah said soothingly. “It’s just his version of the Miranda warning.” She looked up at Scott. “I know what you’re thinking—that Nadine and Bobby are the likely suspects. But I also know you’re a big man and will keep an open mind. I met Cotter Hayward a few years ago when he was here with his then-wife, Elyse. They weren’t exactly lovey-dovey at the time, and, believe me, from what I saw last night that lady hated him. But she had nothing to gain by killing him, or at least not as far as I know. Then again, I bet Cotter Hayward had a lot of enemies, so before you jump to conclusions, take a good look at some of the men in that golf tournament and find out which of them might have had a reason to hate him too.”
Min pointed to the clock. “It is going on to six-thirty,” she said nervously. “The morning walk will be starting in fifteen minutes. We must let Nadine know what has happened.”
“And I think Elyse should find out, too, before the rumors start flying,” Alvirah suggested. “If you’d like, I’ll go to her cottage and talk to her.”
“Not without me,” Scott snapped, and then added with a reluctant grin, “All right, Alvirah. You can come along when we see Hayward’s widow.”
Min and Helmut rushed upstairs to change into jogging suits, and then the somber procession left the main house. Willy elected to go to their own cottage. “I’ll only be in the way,” he said.
Maids carrying breakfast trays passed them as they walked down the winding path to Nadine’s cottage. Alvirah could feel their curious stares.
As it turned out, Helmut’s medical services were indeed needed. Nadine was in the sitting room when they arrived. She looked as though she had not closed her eyes all night. Alvirah noticed immediately that her robe was inside out. Must have put it on in a real hurry, she thought. Why?
Nadine’s peaches-and-cream complexion went ashen when she saw them. “What’s wrong? Has anything happened to Bobby?”
So that’s it, Alvirah thought. Bobby’s taken off and she doesn’t know where he’s gone. She watched as Min and Helmut stood protectively by Nadine as Scott told her that her husband had been the victim of foul play.
Nadine said nothing. Then she sighed and slumped over in a dead faint.
* * *
“If Nadine was a wreck, you should have seen Bobby,” Alvirah told Willy an hour later. “He came in while Helmut was trying to revive his mother, and I guess he thought she was dead. He’d been crying, you could see that. He pushed Helmut aside and kept saying, ‘Mom, it’s my fault, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ ”
“Did he mean sorry about stealing the premium, or had they had an argument?” Willy asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. When Nadine came to and Helmut gave her a sedative and put her to bed, Scott talked to Bobby. But all he said was that he couldn’t sleep and got up to go for a jog. Then he said he didn’t have another word to say until he hired a lawyer.”
Willy whistled soundlessly. “That doesn’t sound like an innocent man talking.”
Alvirah nodded reluctantly. “You can tell he’s not really a bad kid, Willy, and he certainly loves his mother, but I do think he’s the kind who doesn’t think things through. I mean, I hate to say it, but I could see him deciding that if Cotter Hayward were out of the way, his mother would never have to report the missing jewelry.”
Willy handed her a cup of coffee. “You haven’t had anything to eat. The maid left a thermos and what passes for a muffin. You need a magnifying glass to see it on the plate.”
“Nine hundred calories a day, honey. That’s why people look so good when they leave here.” Alvirah devoured the muffin in one bite. “But you know what was interesting? When we went to tell Elyse about her ex-husband, she went hysterical.”
“I thought she couldn’t stand him.”
“So did I. And maybe she couldn’t. But she knew that Cotter Hayward was
so afraid of dying that he would never make a will. He has no children, so that means—”
“. . . that Nadine may be a very wealthy widow,” Willy finished. “And I guess now her son can afford to hire a good lawyer.”
* * *
At twelve o’clock, Scott returned to the spa with a search warrant for Nadine’s cottage. By then the media were camped outside the compound and police barricades had been erected to hold them back.
Sheriff Alshorne was besieged for a statement. He got out of his car and stood before the cameras and microphones. “The investigation is proceeding,” he said. “The autopsy is presently taking place. You will be kept informed of developments.”
Questions were shouted at him: “Sheriff, is it true that Mrs. Hayward’s son has retained a lawyer?” “Is it true that Mrs. Hayward’s jewelry was stolen a few days ago and you were not informed?” “Is it true that Mr. Hayward had a confrontation with his ex-wife last night at dinner?”
“No comment,” Scott said tersely in response to each question hurled at him. He got back in his car and snapped, “Step on it,” to his deputy. They were waved past the barricade and escaped onto the spa grounds. “I wonder how many of the employees will sell their inside stories to the scandal sheets,” he fumed as they headed to the widow’s cottage.
Nadine was dressed and, although deathly pale, she was completely composed. “I understand,” she said tonelessly when Scott showed her the search warrant. “I don’t know what you’re looking for and I’m very sure you won’t find anything incriminating, but go ahead.”
“Where is your son?” Scott asked.
“I sent him over to the Roman Bath. The massage and swim treatment will be good for him.”
“He does understand that he is not to leave the premises?”
“I gather you made that quite clear. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in Baroness von Schreiber’s office. She is helping me make arrangements for my husband’s cremation when his body is released.”
* * *
The search of the cottage was thorough and the results were nil. Exasperated, Scott studied the wall safe. “This is a pretty good one,” he commented to a deputy. “It wasn’t jimmied, so that means if it wasn’t a professional safecracker, whoever took those gems had the combination.”
“The son?”
“He was in his New York office Wednesday morning. The jewelry disappeared Tuesday afternoon. We’re checking the red-eye flights, but of course he may not have used his own name if he was on one of them.”
It was in the second bedroom, the one in which Bobby had slept, that Scott found something that he felt was significant—Nadine’s pocket-sized phone directory, wedged open by the base of the telephone to the H page. The first five telephone numbers were listings for Cotter Hayward, his office, his boat, the New York apartment, the New Mexico ranch, the Pebble Beach condo.
“Bobby was in here last night,” Scott said. “Cotter was at the Pebble Beach condo. I wonder if our friend Bobby placed a call to him and arranged a private meeting.”
* * *
It was the custom of the Cypress Point Spa that luncheon was served informally at tables around the pool. Most of the guests were dressed in tank suits and robes. The ones who had completed the morning program and were planning on an afternoon of golf on the spa’s newly installed nine-hole course were suitably garbed for a few hours on the links.
Alvirah had no intention of following either a beauty or exercise regime, and she’d never held a golf club. Nonetheless, she changed hastily into the dark blue tank suit and pink terry-cloth robe that were part of the standard equipment of every cottage. She had prevailed on Willy to likewise clad himself in the bathing trunks and short robe that were standard for male guests.
“We don’t want to stand out,” she’d urged him. “I need to get a feel of what people are saying about the murder.”
She realized it probably would look tacky to wear her sunburst pin on the robe. Even the women who looked like Christmas trees at the evening “cocktail” party wouldn’t do that. Nevertheless she fastened the pin to her lapel. She turned the recording device on as they approached the pool. She didn’t want to miss a word of what people would be saying about the murder.
Alvirah was surprised to see Elyse sitting at one of the tables with Barra Snow and other guests. “Come on, honey,” she hissed to Willy, noting that there were still two seats available at the table.
Now appearing totally composed, Elyse had eschewed the spa-issue tank suit and robe and was wearing a striped cotton shirt, white skirt and golf shoes. “A terrible shock,” she was saying to the woman who had just approached the table to speak to her. “After all, I was married to Cotter for fifteen years, and at least some of those times were happy. Thanks to him I took up golf, and for that I’ll always be grateful. He was an excellent teacher. That’s what really kept us together so long. I think that long after we were sick of each other we still enjoyed playing golf together.”
“Are you sure you want to play this afternoon? We can get someone to fill in the foursome.”
The woman who was talking to Elyse was another one of the slim, tanned, elegant types with an almost-English accent. She only looks familiar because she’s a clone of half the women here, Alvirah decided after studying her a few moments.
Barra Snow answered for Elyse. “I’m certain Elyse will be better off if she plays with us. I’ve already asked a caddy to get her clubs from her car. She mustn’t just sit and brood.”
“I am not brooding,” Elyse contradicted sharply. “Really, Barra, if you insist on offering sympathy, save it for Nadine. I hear that Bobby was with her last night, and I gather she wasn’t expecting him. I’d love to know what kind of scrape he’s in now. Nadine had to beg money from Cotter to bail him out the last time. He’s going to be just like his father, that boy.”
Alvirah remembered that Elyse was a distant cousin of Bobby’s late father. How did she know that Nadine bailed Bobby out? she wondered. Did she hear that from Cotter? She thought about Elyse’s hysterical reaction to the news of the death. Was it just because Nadine will inherit a lot of money, or was there a love/hate relationship with her ex-husband? Interesting, she decided.
The Jennings woman who had been at their table the night before hurried over. “I just heard on the television that the rumor is that Nadine’s jewelry was stolen the other day. Isn’t that incredible?”
“The jewelry,” Elyse gasped. “The Hayward jewelry! My God, did Cotter know that? That stuff was in his family for three generations. They never gave it to the wife, you know. She was just allowed to wear it. His father was married four times, and the joke was that all four wives had their portraits done in the same pieces. They were known as the Hayward chorus line. I thought Nadine would finally be the one to keep everything. Cotter was the last of the line.”
She’s thrilled it’s been stolen, Alvirah thought, or else she’s a good actress.
A genial-looking man in the uniform of a spa caddy approached the table, a golf bag over his shoulder. “I have your clubs, Mrs. Hayward,” he said, as he put the bag down, “but I think I’d better clean the sand wedge off. The sleeve is missing, and it’s a bit sticky.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Elyse snapped. “All the clubs were cleaned before they were put back in the bag.”
Sticky? Alvirah’s antennae began to vibrate. She jumped up and said, “I’ll take a look at that, please.”
She took the golf bag from the startled caddy and looked down into it. Being careful not to touch any of the clubs, she leaned over and studied the one that did not have a sleeve covering it. The curved steel head of that club was matted with dark brown stains. Even with her naked eye it was possible to see bits of skin and hair sticking to the metal.
“Somebody call Sheriff Alshorne,” Alvirah said quietly. “Tell him I think I’ve found the murder weapon.”
* * *
Two hours later, Alvirah and Willy were visited in their cott
age by Sheriff Scott Alshorne.
“That was good work, Alvirah,” Scott admitted somewhat grudgingly. “If that caddy had cleaned the club, valuable evidence would have been lost.”
“DNA?” Alvirah asked.
Alshorne shrugged. “Maybe. We do know that it was the murder weapon, and we know it came from the ex-wife’s golf bag, which was in the trunk of her unlocked car in the parking area.”
“Meaning anyone could have taken it and replaced it,” Willy commented.
“Anyone who knew it was there,” Alvirah said. “Right, Scott?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t touch that club, but it looked like it must have made a pretty nasty weapon. Am I right?”
Alvirah’s forehead was furrowed, always a sign that, as she put it, she had her thinking cap on.
“Yes, it made a formidable weapon,” Scott agreed. “The sand wedge is the heaviest golf club.”
“I didn’t know that. If I were going to bop someone on the skull with a golf club I’d have grabbed just any one of them, I think.”
“Alvirah,” Scott said, shaking his head, “maybe I’ll just have to hire you. Yes, I’ve come to the same conclusion. Someone who’s either a golfer or knows about golf chose that club for his or her encounter with Cotter Hayward last night.”
“And you’re concentrating on Bobby Crandell, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Or his mother, for all the reasons you know.”
Alvirah thought about Bobby, the scared handsome young face, the attempt to justify himself by pointing out that he’d always covered his own losses until now. She figured it was closer to the truth that Nadine had always bailed him out, and he had come running to her expecting her to be able to do it again. Last night Alvirah had seen with her own eyes that he realized this time his mother was powerless to save him. And it was pretty obvious that Nadine would do anything rather than see her son go to prison. She’d as much as said that . . .
“It looks bad for both of them,” she said slowly, “but you know something, Scott? They’re both innocent. I feel it in my bones.”
The Lottery Winner Page 17