by Diane Capri
“Yeah, like I heard what you said to Mr. Park today. About me being a good concierge.”
“I said you might be a good one in the future.”
“Same thing. I thought it was really nice.”
He didn’t have to know I had ulterior motives for saying it. I’d wanted to irritate Casey, and I had succeeded gloriously.
We all played the hole fairly well. I’d sunk my putt one under, Eric and Lane shot par, and Justin hit one over for the hole. At the next hole, Eric drove his ball at least 220 yards. He landed on the green and very close to the flag. I went next and hit a respectable drive straight down the fairway.
When we were all back in our carts, Lane took out his phone. He used his fingerprint to open it and utilized an app to calculate his next shot and determine what club he needed. It was all very impressive. As I watched him, I thought about Jeremy’s flash drive hiding in my wallet and how I might find out how to read it.
“Hey,” I said, “you look like you’re pretty techy.”
“Yeah, I like my gadgets,” Lane replied.
I kept my voice low. “Would you know how to open up an encrypted SIM card?”
He glanced at me. “Hmm, very intriguing. Whose card?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
He grinned. “Oh, now I’m totally interested.”
“Can you help me?” I asked.
“Yes, but…”
“But what?”
“You have to help me with Mr. Park.”
I smiled. “Technically, I already have.”
“I want to be a concierge,” Lane said.
“Well, you can’t have my job.”
He nodded. “I know. I want Casey’s.”
The carts stopped, and we stepped out. “I can’t promise you Casey’s job, but I can help to nudge him out for you.”
“Deal.” He held out his hand, and we shook on it.
While Lane chipped his ball onto the green, I went to grab my six iron from my bag, but the club wasn’t there. I took out the seven iron instead and hit my ball a foot from the hole. We putted in and moved on.
We played the third hole without a hitch. On the fourth hole, Justin sliced again and ended up in the sand trap on the right side of the green. After I sunk my ball, I walked over to keep him company and cheer him on. It seemed like he was off his game. What I liked about him, though, was he never lost his good nature.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me today,” he said as he slid the pitching wedge from his bag.
“Hey, we all have off days,” I said. “If we didn’t, we’d all be Tiger Woods.”
He chuckled. “I just can’t seem to concentrate. Too much on my plate, I guess.”
I laughed at his pun.
“I guess my plate will overflow when the baby comes.” He took a practice swing above the sand.
“What? You and Lindsey are going to have a baby?”
He nodded, chuckling. “Yeah, we haven’t told anyone yet. Actually, Lindsey will probably kill me that I told you.”
“I can totally keep a secret.” I went over to him and offered my hand. “Congratulations. That’s great news.”
“Thanks. We’re really excited, but with reelection coming up next year, Lindsey is a bit nervous.”
“Hey, everyone loves a pregnant lady. She’ll be a shoo-in.”
Justin lined up his shot, swung his club…and missed the ball. He laughed and shook his head. “I think I have more pregnancy-brain than Lindsey does.” He lined up again and swung. This time, he hit the ball out of the sand trap, but we heard a metal clinking sound.
“I think I hit something else besides the ball.” He frowned down at the sand trap.
I joined him, and we looked into the trap. I couldn’t see anything sticking out. We used our clubs and combed through the sand. Together we dug around until I hit something unyielding. I knelt and dug at it with my hands.
“What is it?”
I felt something metal against my fingertips and wrapped my hand around it. I pulled and pulled until out popped another golf club.
“Who would bury a club in the sand?” Justin asked, brow furrowing.
I shrugged. “Angry golfer?”
We both laughed.
Eric called over to us. “What are you two doing? We should have finished this hole already. We’re holding everybody up.”
My cell phone rang from the little pocket in my golf skirt. I took it out and saw it was the sheriff calling. I handed the errant club over to Justin as I answered it.
“Hey,” the sheriff said.
“Hi, can I call you back? I’m just in the middle of something.” I frowned as something about the club Justin held bothered me. There were bits of something dried on the blade that for some reason made me queasy.
He said, “Sure. I’m calling to let you know about the autopsy report. Jeremy died from blunt force trauma to the head.”
“Really?” My stomach started to clench.
“Yup, looks like something metal with a thin edge was smashed into the side of his head. It left quite an indentation.”
Bile slowly rose into my throat as Justin swung the club around and said, “It’s a six iron.” He gestured to me. “Hey, it has the same color grip as your clubs, Andi.”
I swallowed. “Um, Sheriff, I think I may have found the murder weapon.”
Chapter 15
After I called Lois to tell her the situation, she jumped into action and had everyone in the clubhouse organized to put her plan into place. She had the groups after us diverted to the fifth hole, claiming there was some kind of pipe burst on the fourth hole, and credited all the golfers with a one-under for the fourth hole to keep the play even. Which meant the tournament ended up with seventeen holes instead of eighteen. But since we were all playing for charity and for fun, no one seemed to mind.
As that was happening, the sheriff arrived with Deputy Marshall. He had the deputy stringing police tape around the sand trap and taking pictures, while he got busy grilling me.
“Please don’t look at me like I put the club there,” I said.
“I’m not.” The sheriff shook his head and ran both hands through his hair. He must’ve left his office in a hurry without his hat. “This is just getting worse instead of better, Andi. Tell me how your six iron ended up here with what looks like traces of hair and blood on the blade.”
I said, “Technically, it’s not my club. The clubs belong to the hotel. We loan them out. Lots of guests and staff members have used these clubs.”
“At this point, I don’t think that matters. It’s a hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?” The sheriff’s eyebrows were arched all the way to his hairline, his expression incredulous. “Your ex-boss. He ruined your life. He ends up dead on an island all the way across the country where you’re now living. The murder weapon is a golf club that you’ve used on more than one occasion. And to top it all off, the murder weapon is found buried in a sand trap on the golf course on the same day you just happen to be golfing in a tournament.”
“When you put it like that, it sounds really bad,” I said.
His voice rose up an octave. “It is really bad, Andi. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Of course I’ve figured it out, or I wouldn’t be having nightmares about Jeremy’s smashed-in face!” I matched his pitch and raised him a few arm-flails.
Eric, Lane, and Justin, who had been talking to Deputy Marshall, all turned to look at me.
The sheriff took my arm and moved me away from the sand trap and prying eyes and ears.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” He dropped his hand and blew out a frustrated breath. He lowered his voice. “I got a call from the feds. They’re on the way.”
My breath quickened. “The FBI is coming here?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “They wouldn’t say, but obviously there is more to Jeremy’s murder than we know or can guess. I matched the cigarette you gave
me to the butt I found by your patio. Definitely the same Russian cigarettes. So, whoever broke into your place was probably the smoker. You were definitely targeted.”
“How would they have known what suite I was in? No one would’ve given that information out to some random stranger.”
He shook his head. “He may have followed you around. Got to know you. And the fact that you leave your blinds open…”
I glared at him. “Don’t you dare bring that up again.”
He put his hand up. “I’m sorry.”
“A while ago, I did feel like I was being watched. I brushed it off as paranoia.”
“Well, I’m thinking you weren’t paranoid,” he replied.
I shivered and rubbed my hands over my arms. “I just don’t see the connection between some Russian man breaking into my place and Jeremy Rucker.”
“Did Rucker ever do any business with Russians?”
I shook my head. “No. The majority of our clients were local. There was a couple who had ties to Japan and the UK, but no one in Russia.” I thought about the SIM card and wondered what kind of information I was going to find on it. Maybe Jeremy had been involved in something bigger than the embezzlement we knew about. If the FBI was involved, that made sense.
Sheriff Jackson put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed softly. I had a strong urge to sink into his arms. If we’d been alone, I might’ve caved. As it was, with everyone looking, I kept my distance. So did he.
He waved to Justin. “You and Andi found the club. I’m going to need both of you to come down to the station to make a formal statement. Justin, I’ll need to take your fingerprints for exclusion purposes. Andi’s are already on file.”
“Sure, Sheriff,” Justin said.
We rode to the station with the sheriff. He sent Justin with Deputy Shawn to be fingerprinted, and I followed the sheriff to the witness room.
He set up his camera, and I repeated my story of the night Jeremy came to the hotel. How much I’d drunk, who I was with, when we left the clubhouse, Jeremy grabbing me and threatening me, Daniel’s subsequent arrival, their altercation, the sheriff’s arrival and departure. Then I covered how Daniel and I went to my suite and passed out on the bed together. I still didn’t mention about waking up at around three and Daniel not being in bed with me. It wasn’t relevant. I didn’t believe for one minute that Daniel had murdered my ex-boss.
This time, the sheriff also asked about the break-in of my suite. It was good that he was recording the connection before the FBI arrived. Better to be proactive instead of reactive in a situation like this. It was too easy to assume I had a motive to kill Jeremy, and someone was conveniently connecting it all together. In fact, I was really the one and only suspect. Jeremy didn’t know anyone else here. I was his sole link to Frontenac Island.
If I had been investigating, I would think I was the one who’d killed Jeremy Rucker, with the help of my big, strong boyfriend, Daniel Evans, whom I’d coerced into helping me. It made sense.
When we were finished and had left the witness room, the sheriff said, “I hate this.”
I gave him a small smile. “I know.” I lifted my hand, intending to touch him with it, but I remembered myself, remembered where I was, and let it drop.
But he grabbed my hand and held it tight.
We stood like that in silence, holding hands, for what seemed like forever. As if we’d had a flash of realization hit us at the same time, we dropped hands and moved apart. I turned and walked out of the station, heart racing and head swimming.
Realizing I was a logical prime suspect for murder and holding hands with the hunky sheriff, all in one short visit to the station, was too much for my overwrought imagination.
I didn’t have a ride back to the Park, but I didn’t want to go back in and ask for one. I set out in the direction of the hotel. The walk would do me good. I crossed Market Street and then decided a little detour past Chocolat wouldn’t hurt. A box of salted caramels would do my soul some good. Maybe not so great for my hips, but definitely would make me feel better.
I popped a creamy, salty caramel into my mouth as I walked up Main Street. It was a beautiful day, but the briskness of an early fall was in the air. Too soon the leaves would begin to turn vibrant colors. Desserts, coffee, and other things would be pumpkin-spice flavor, and I would be turning a year older. Fall was always bittersweet for me.
As I approached Frontenac Island Bubbles Soap Co., I noticed Ben and Corey sitting outside the shop selling their soap from a table. They both smiled when they saw me.
“Gorgeous Andi. We haven’t seen you in forever,” Corey said as he flipped the bedazzled scarf he was wearing over his shoulder. “I love your skirt.”
I looked down, realizing I was still in my golf attire. “Yeah, I’ve been busy.”
“Golfing, apparently,” Corey said with an amused lift to his handlebar mustache.
Ben grabbed a paper bag from the table, dropped in a dark-colored bar of soap, and handed it to me. “On the house. You need to take some time for yourself.”
“Thank you.” I was touched by their generosity.
As I put the paper bag into the same hand I used to carry the one from Chocolat, something across the street caught my eye. Actually, it wasn’t something—it was someone. A man leaned against the side of the building near Victoria’s Pub, smoking a cigarette. He lifted his hand to take a drag of it, and his head turned toward me.
I’d seen him before.
His gaze caught mine, and he immediately dropped his cigarette and turned to walk the other way. I dashed across the street, nearly getting hit by an old man on a tricycle. He tooted his horn at me, flipped me a rude gesture, and then continued on his way.
I reached the spot where the smoker had been standing and searched the ground for his cigarette. It was still smoldering. I picked it up. It had a gray filter and smelled exactly like the other Russian cigarette I’d smelled before. I dropped the butt and rushed after him.
As I ran, images of people zipped by in my mind, as if I was flipping through a photo album or going through slides. The slide show stopped on a beautiful sunny day at the Flower Festival. The day I’d won my giant unicorn. Or more accurately, a man named Ivan won the giant unicorn for me at the ball-toss game. During the same time, my suite had been broken into.
The Russian cigarette-smoking man was Ivan.
Ivan ran across the street, maneuvering around a few bikes, a couple of runners, two skateboarders, and one horse-drawn carriage. I followed Ivan, careful not to step into the large dung piles left by the horses. After a quick glance over his shoulder to look back at me, he ducked into the fish-and-chips shop on the corner near the docks.
After a few seconds, I dashed into the shop. I quickly searched the small, cramped space and didn’t find him. Then I noticed there were stairs leading up to the rooftop patio. I ran the steps two at a time, nearly knocking over a poor young server, and burst out onto the open deck.
Ivan was nowhere to be found. How could he have simply disappeared? What did he do, jump in the water? That would have been crazy.
I walked to the edge of the patio and noticed there was a shed one floor below. Ivan could easily have jumped onto the shed’s roof from where I stood. Next to the shed was the marina. One of the dock platforms bobbed up and down as if someone big had just run across it.
I went back down the stairs, out of the fish-and-chips shop, and around to the marina. There were four separate piers that housed six boats on each side, for a total of forty-eight boats. Some of the boats weren’t docked. I couldn’t go looking into every boat, but I could walk down each pier. If he was hiding somewhere, I might find him.
This was one of those times where I was chasing after dangerous evidence and I should call the sheriff. I pulled out my phone, my finger on the button, when I saw something move near one of the big yachts docked down the last pier. I ran toward it to find a bunch of gulls feasting on some fish guts someone had left on the dock.
Intending to call the sheriff immediately, knowing full well I was being a fool running around down here on my own, I turned with my phone to my ear. Just as the sheriff answered, I ran into a solid object. I stumbled backward, my purse and bags flying out of my hands to land on the dock. And right before I tumbled ass over tea kettle into the water, I saw Casey Cushing’s smiling face.
“Oops. I hope you can swim.”
Chapter 16
The water was an icy punch to my whole body all at once. The cold stole my breath as I floundered to the surface. It was hard to swim upward, kicking my feet, with only one hand to help propel me. My other hand clutched my phone, which I would not let go of for anything. My phone was my lifeline. Thankfully, I was a decent swimmer. I was on the swim team in high school, but that was long ago. It was also swimming in a pool. Where I knew others were around to save me from drowning.
Breaking the surface, I inhaled a deep breath and got a mouthful of oily water with it. I sputtered, cursing up a storm. Even I was shocked at what came out of my mouth. I dog-paddled to the dock where Casey was crouched, holding out a hand.
“Let me help you,” he said.
I handed him my phone first, and he set it down next to my purse, and then reached down to grab me. He wasn’t very strong, so basically it was just me kicking and hefting myself out by sheer anger alone.
Once I was on the dock, I flopped onto my back and took in a whole bunch of much-needed air. Casey loomed over me.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You pushed me,” I said between chattering teeth.
He had the nerve to look appalled at the suggestion. “I would never. You ran into me and tripped backward. I tried to grab you, but it was too late.”
I sat up, swiping the heavy wet globs of my hair from my face with a shaking hand. My whole body quivered from the cold water followed by the brisk breeze that blew over me. Casey offered his hand to get me to my feet, but I refused. I pushed up to my knees then to my feet. My clothes were stuck to me like cold, wet glue and probably left nothing to the imagination. At least Casey was decent enough to grab my purse, bag, and phone and hand them to me.