“Sorry,” Marc said, slightly embarrassed.
“So tell me, Marc, you don’t mind if I call you Marc, do you?” Without waiting for his response, Laura continued, “Jake says you’re some kind of private investigator. What kind of things do you investigate?”
Where’s this going? “It depends.”
“Depends? That’s not much of an answer. Would you mind elaborating?”
Marc hesitated. “Pretty simple really. Depends on what people want me to do for them.”
“I see. So you’re not a specialist, like in computer fraud, forensics, or risk assessment. You’re more like a small town doctor, an investigative general practitioner.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Sounds like you’ve had some investigative experience yourself,” Marc said.
“No. Let’s just say I’ve had a challenging business career.”
Marc didn’t know exactly what she meant by that, and, at this point, didn’t really want to.
Their drinks arrived. The waiter set two glasses of bourbon and a container of ice cubes on the table between them. “Shall I start a check, sir?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Marc said and handed him a fifty-dollar bill. “That should cover it.”
“Thank you, sir,” the waiter said appreciatively, then turned and left.
Marc touched his glass to Laura’s, “To Jake. May the golf gods shine down on him tomorrow.”
Laura lifted her glass, “And the day after.”
They clinked their glasses, then each took a sip.
When Marc looked over his glass, she was staring back at him.
“Umm, nice,” she said.
“Glad you like it.”
“Yeah, the bourbon is good too.” Without waiting for a response, she set her glass on the table, “As you may have suspected, Marc, I appreciate fine things.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed.”
“I don’t think I’ve told you how much your help means to Jake, and to me as well.”
“Don’t mention it,” Marc said as he took another slow sip.
Laura started to say something, then hesitated as the guitarist returned and began her next number. As she strummed a few notes, Marc recognized the tune. It took him back to his childhood when his mom played it on the family’s record player. It was an old Bobby Darin favorite, “Mack the Knife.”
“When that shark bites, with those teeth dear,” Marc was momentarily lost in the young performer’s rendition of the song, then glanced over at Laura. She was smiling - at him - again.
She said something, but Marc, distracted by the song could only think, yes, your teeth are indeed, pearly white. “Sorry Laura, I didn’t catch that, what’d you say?”
She took another sip and set her glass on the table. She then reached over and covered the back of Marc’s hand with hers, “Just that, I’m truly gratefull for what you’re doing and I’d like to pay you back sometime.”
Marc hesitated as he suspected he knew where this conversation was headed. “I think you already have. I mean, just by bringing us here to this splendid hotel and to the tournament.”
“No, Marc. I’m thinking something more personal.” She raised her glass with her free hand and took another slow sip of the sweet, smoky libation.
Marc, not usually at a loss for words, could only return Laura’s glassy-eyed stare. In the background, the soloist continued, “Just a jackknife, has old Macheath babe, and she keeps it, out of sight…”
“Well, don’t you two look cozy?”
Shaken from his reverie, Marc looked up. It was Ann Marie. She and Jake had returned from their outing and Marc, busy fending off Laura’s advances, hadn’t seen them enter the hotel. He casually withdrew his hand from beneath Laura’s and picked up his glass. “We were just talking about you,” Marc said calmly, swirling the remains of his drink.
Laura glanced at her watch. “Oh dear, look at the time. It’s already after nine o’clock and we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.” She looked up at her son, “I suppose we should turn in. Jake will need his rest if he wants to make the cut tomorrow.”
“Yes, I agree,” Marc said. He finished his drink and rose from his chair.
As Marc and Ann Marie made their way to the elevator, Marc heard the soloist continue, “Someone’s sneaking ‘round the corner, could that someone be Mack the Knife?” Marc shuddered as the elevator door closed.
Back in his room, Marc had given the larger of the two beds to Jake, while he had taken a twin that was separated by a corner close to the single bathroom.
“So, what did you guys do for supper,” Marc called out around the separation.
“Just went out for a burger. Some place down the street, Betsy’s, or something like that. Looks like you and mom were hitting it off nicely in the lounge.”
“No, it was nothing like that,” Marc said defensively. “We were just talking about how well the day went for you at the course today.”
“Uh huh,” he said, his tone leaving little doubt Jake was unconvinced.
“Hope you don’t mind if I shower first tonight. Like your mom said, we have a big day tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, Marc. Take all the time you need.”
Chapter Nine
Overnight, the damp weather that soaked the area the day before had moved on, allowing the sun to rise over Aiken and the Savannah River Golf Links. Laura drove the SUV out of the hotel’s parking lot and headed west toward Augusta. Although Jake had drawn a ten-thirty tee time they had all agreed to arrive early enough to grab a breakfast at one of the course concessions.
On the first tee, both Jake and his playing partner for the day, a good player who had won for the first time in his career the previous year, greeted one another. Adam Sink was an affable fellow and although Adam was a few years older than Jake, the two men seemed to hit it off right away.
The small crowd gathered around the first tee greeted both players with light applause as their names were announced. Jake was first to tee off and, unlike the previous day, hit his drive well over 300 yards straight up the center of the fairway. Adam’s drive followed Jake’s at practically the same length. Both men and their caddies knew this day was important because making the cut depended on how well everyone, especially the leaders, played today. If their play fell short of the cut line, it was adios amigo, better luck next year. Although Jake had played well the previous day, setting him up for a good chance to make the cut, Marc knew that good play today was imperative to getting into the weekend for the final two days of tournament.
When they reached the fifth hole tee box, Marc again saw the same female security guard with her dog that he had seen before. “Good morning, officer. Another fine day, don’t you think?” Marc asked, in an attempt to start some conversation.
The officer smiled. “So far, so good,” she said, then, not unlike before, she made a kissy noise and tugged lightly on the dog’s leash. “Come on, boy,” she said. The dog responded and the two moved away.
She’s either following instructions not to talk to anyone, or she’s introverted.
As the day progressed, both Jake and Adam played consistently through the first nine holes. Jake arrived at the tenth hole three strokes under par, while Adam was two strokes behind. On the fourteenth, par three, Adam faltered when his tee shot found the pond guarding the raised green. Unfortunately for Adam, he never regcovered from that one bad shot and went on to finish at five over par, missing the cut by two strokes. Jake’s play was exemplary. He finished with two birdies, leaving him four under par for the round.
Laura and Ann Marie joined Marc and Jake and after congratulatory hugs, waited around the eighteenth hole for the final players to finish. Although Marc was confident Jake would be playing the weekend, he wanted to see just where he would be standing for the next day of play and also who Jake would be competing against.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving,” Jake announced.
“Me too,” Ann Marie chimed in,
“walking eighteen holes has given me an appetite.”
Marc knew there were at least ten pairings left to complete their rounds, so after securing Jake’s golf bag in the player’s bag storage, he led the group to one of the outdoor cafes reserved for players and their guests not far from the eighteenth hole. As they were being seated under an umbrella, Marc noticed a man walk by wearing a set of drab green work coveralls, which made him stand out from the passing crowd of golf patrons. Marc’s attention was momentarily interrupted as another group was seated at a table nearby. Then, as his gaze shifted, he again caught sight of the back of the coveralls. “Apex Irrigation.” Then, just as quickly, the coveralls melted into the river of colorful golf shirts. He thought back to The Palm Tree Golf Club and Ned. Apex was the company Ned had mentioned where one of its club members was employed when he was killed in some kind of work-related accident.
“Welcome, folks. How about a cold pitcher of Arnold Palmer Iced Tea to start with?” a waiter said, bringing Marc back to the moment.
As Laura ordered a glass of sweet tea, Marc continued to look for any sign of the workman, but the slow-moving train of golf attire had completely swallowed him up.
“And for you sir?”
“Oh, uh, the same, please,” Marc managed, unsure of what he’d just ordered.
Ann Marie gave Marc a “Something bothering you?” look. “Are you okay, Dad? You seem a little pre-occupied.”
“I’m fine. I was just thinking about Jake’s round today,” he said, not wanting to share his musings with his daughter, especially with Jake and Laura within earshot.
“Okay, while you’re enjoying your drinks, I’ll leave you with today’s lunch specials,” the waiter said as he dealt the paper menus around the table.
Later, that afternoon, on the trip back to Aiken, Marc was quiet, thinking about Jake’s play, and the man with the coveralls with Apex Irrigation stenciled on the back.
Laura said, “Marc, why don’t we go out someplace different for dinner tonight?”
“I suppose. Want me to make a reservation for the four of us, say around seven o’clock or so?”
“Actually, Mark, I was thinking it would be for the two of us. I’m sure the kids wouldn’t mind, would you, Jake?”
“Sure. You two do your thing and we’ll do ours,” Jake said.
Marc could see Ann Marie in his rear-view mirror, poking Jake playfully while giving him a smile.
“Yeah, Dad. I think that’s a great idea. You guys can talk adult talk. We’ll be fine on our own.”
Marc knew there was no use in arguing. “Any place in particular, Laura?”
Laura paused. “I thought it was the gentleman who made dinner arrangements.”
“Alright, but I can’t make any promises. After all, we’ve only been in town for a few days and other than Casa Della’s and Rose Hill, I haven’t had time to check out another place.”
“You’re a big boy. I know you’ll think of something,” she said.
I’m thinking of a few things right now, but I don’t think they’re what you have in mind.
When they arrived at the hotel, Marc went to his room and immediately took a long hot shower. He soaped up and let the water ease the tension from his muscles that had built up from the day on the course.
After showering, he donned a pair of khakis and a short-sleeved button-down collared shirt that he felt would be appropriate for the evening’s dinner. Jake had left earlier and Marc guessed he and Ann Marie were out looking for someplace to have dinner alone, without parental supervision. He pulled the nightstand drawer open and, next to the Gideon Bible, found a local telephone book. Surprised they even print these things anymore.
Finding what he needed, he left the room and headed for the elevator. The hotel’s dining room was already quite busy and practically every table was full. From their dress and demeanor, Marc could tell most of the diners were golf fans just returning from the day’s tournament in Augusta.
He stopped at the bar and ordered a diet Coke, figuring it was too early for alcohol; besides, he suspected this could be a late evening. Marc found a stool with a view of the hallway that led to the elevators. A three-piece band was beginning to set up near one of the fireplaces in the hotel’s lobby.
“My, you clean up well, Mr. LaRose,” Marc heard the familiar voice behind him as he was scanning the crowd assembled in the lobby. When he turned, he saw Laura walking toward him. She had apparently taken the stairway on the opposite end of the hallway, from where the elevator was located. Marc stood to meet her. She was dressed in dark leggings and a flowing white top. Her spiked heels brought her eyes almost even with his and she carried a small leopard skin clutch purse. Graaauu!
“You look nice as well. The crowd at McDonald’s is gonna love that purse.”
“McDonald’s?” she said a little too loud, which caused a few nearby heads to turn. Then, as a grin crept across her face, she said, “Oh, I should have known.” She glanced around with an embarrassed look on her face. “Jake told me that you’re quite the kidder. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Once outside, Laura handed Marc the keys to the SUV which was parked a half block away on a side street. The car’s locking mechanism chirped as Marc pressed the button to unlock the doors. He held the passenger door open and she climbed inside.
“Well, thank you, Mr. LaRose. Good to know you have a few domesticated qualities.”
Ignoring Laura’s quip, Marc got behind the wheel and started the engine. He retrieved his cell phone and tapped in an address.
“Looks we’re going somewhere mysterious. Must be quite a restaurant,” she said.
“Actually, before we have dinner, I need to check out something. Should only take a few minutes.”
“Let’s make it quick. My stomach’s beginning to protest.”
Marc made a left turn and drove to the center of town. After a few more turns, he found the street he was looking for. The address he had found in the phone book took them toward the edge of town. The few streetlights that were working were just coming to life. Marc noticed they were in an area of mixed light industry and a scattering of private residences, mostly of the double-wide variety. The place he was looking for turned out to be a cinder block structure surrounded by a ten-foot-high, chain-link fence topped with three strands of barbed wire angled away from the building. A lighted sign hanging off the front of the structure read, “Apex Irrigation Supply Co.” Darkness was less than a half-hour away and the security lighting mounted at close intervals around the building was already lit. A gate connected to the fence at the front had been left open. A sign hanging in the glass doorway that appeared to be the building’s main entrance indicated the business was closed for the day. A few fluorescents had been left on inside, and light seeped through the glass. Marc stopped on the street in front of the building.
“If that is the place you’ve made reservations for, it looks like we got here a little too late,” Laura said.
Ignoring the comment, Marc turned the SUV through the open gate. The crushed stones that formed the parking lot crunched under the tires. Parked just inside the fence were a couple of sedans that appeared to have out-of-state license plates, along with a dark colored SUV. In the diminishing remains of daylight, Marc could see a line of vans parked along the side of the building with the company’s name adorning their sides. He brought the vehicle to a stop in front of the entrance door.
“Looks like there’s someone inside. Stay in the car,” Marc said.
As Marc exited the SUV he heard the passenger door open. Against Marc’s instructions, Laura had decided to join him. He knew there was no use arguing with this woman, although he did enjoy watching her maneuver around the front of the SUV, her spiked heels sinking deep into the crushed stone. He shook his head and continued toward the building’s entrance.
He peered through the glass portion of the door with a “Closed” sign dangling from a small chain. A long counter ran past the door he was lo
oking through. The counter formed an open hallway ending at a partition at the far end of the room. Marc could see several desks with computer screens sitting on them. A solid door at the far end of the hallway had a sign attached to it: “Employees Only.”
Using the back of his hand, Marc tapped on the door’s window. His State Police retirement ring made a piercing, metal-on-glass sound.
“I believe it’s after business hours, Mr. LaRose. Besides, why are you in the market for irrigation supplies? You thinking of doing some landscaping?”
Marc ignored Laura’s comment and tapped on the window again, this time a little harder. After waiting a long minute, there was still no answer.
As he was about to try one more time, he looked upwards and noticed what appeared to be a security camera mounted under the building’s overhang. Thinking there was possibly someone inside looking back at him, he retrieved his New York State Police retirement credentials that included a gold shield and held it upwards toward the camera for a few seconds. He took the chance that someone inside was paying attention, but not looking too close.
Laura asked, “That your go to jail free card?”
Marc heard the distant thump of a door closing and when he looked back through the entrance door’s glass again, he saw a man approaching from the “Employees Only” door, wearing a respirator with a face shield. Marc snapped his credential holder shut and replaced it in his shirt pocket.
When the man got to the door, he removed his respirator. It was then that Marc recognized him from his visit to The Palm Tree Golf Club two days before. His name was Jim Simmons. He heard the locking mechanism disengage, and the door opened.
“Sorry for the delay, officer. We mistook you for someone from the press. You know how nosey those bastards can be.”
“No problem. Tried to call, but when no one answered, we thought we’d see if there was still someone on the premises.”
Simmons hesitated. “Look, if this is about the incident that occurred the day before yesterday, you should’ve heard that it’s been taken care of. Someone from the police along with the fire department came out and since then we’ve hired a chemical spill service to clean things up.”
Masters of Terror: A Marc LaRose Mystery Page 6
