Marc knew the gallery’s response meant that Jake’s ball had landed in some trouble.
“That was a good shot, Jake, just a little bad luck. All we can do is hope we’re not blocked out by those trees.” Marc said, trying to remain positive.
Although Jake was up on Doubles by three shots for the tournament, Doubles was a fan favorite, having won the Monarch Championship twice in the past. He received a lively round of approval as he stepped onto the green to mark his ball. Marc and Jake peeled off to the right and with the “assistance” of a few exuberant fans, located his ball on a flattened bed of pine straw among a stand of mature trees, about twenty yards from the center of the green.
Marc politely motioned for the fans to move away so he and Jake could determine their best option. His immediate goal was to get Jake’s ball back into play in an attempt to save par for the hole. Although it was late morning, Marc noticed that several of the fans were in different stages of inebriation, casually holding plastic containers of frothy brew while freely offering advice for ‘the best way’ to recover from Jake’s errant shot. One fan, with a noticeable slur, shouted that Jake “should launch his ball over a few of the pines,” even though the closest one was five feet away and about 40 feet tall.
As Marc was assessing what to do, he heard a roar from the gallery on the opposite side of a grove of pine trees near the eighteenth fairway. Glancing toward the noise, Marc caught a subtle movement in the trees. There were a couple men standing behind a cluster of trees near the fairway. They appeared to be looking in the direction of the noise.
Probably the groundskeepers working on the faulty sprinkler head that Bill Goodspeed had mentioned earlier that morning.
“Hello, Marc? Little help here?” It was Jake.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear you.” Marc replied.
“I could take a chance and cut the ball around the trees in front of us which could bring it close to the hole, or maybe, I should just pitch it out and land it somewhere in front of the green,” Jake said, pointing out the two options. “That would leave me either a short pitch, or a long putt and a chance for a birdie.”
Marc studied Jake’s quandary. “Cutting the ball around trees sounds great, but it’s the low percentage shot, probably one out of ten. Let’s pitch it out and take our chances on a long birdie putt. Worse you could do is settle for a par.”
After a moment of consideration, Jake said, “Yeah, suppose you’re right.” He seemed a bit disappointed with Marc’s suggestion, but using his nine iron, Jake chipped his ball under a few branches and onto the center of the green. Marc watched as the ball stopped about ten feet from the hole. Jake then putted it in for an amazing birdie. Doubles missed his eagle putt and settled for a birdie as well.
As the four of them walked off the green toward the next tee box, Doubles said “Where’d you find your caddy, kid? I’d have taken my chances and cut a shot around those trees. The pitch-out was the smart play.”
‘“I was tempted but someone told me not too long ago, that ‘the game of golf is played one shot at a time.’ It’s taken me awhile, but I’ve come to appreciate that bit of advice.”’
Marc smiled, “It’s one thing to offer up some counseling. It’s quite another when someone actually appreciates it.”
The next two holes were more tricky than difficult. It took all of Jake’s skills just to hold steady with pars on each. Completing the par 3 ninth hole brought them back to the clubhouse where they would begin the difficult back nine.
The backup they had experienced before was still with them on the tenth hole. This gave Jake a chance to run to one of the portable restrooms reserved for the players for a much-needed break.
“Oh, where are you going, Jake,” cried one of his female fans. Another yelled, “Oh, Jakey, let us know if you need any help!” This was followed with a chorus of giggles from his “fan club.”
Ann Marie seemed to be warming to Jake’s new-found attention, and stood nearby with a strained smile.
While Jake was gone, Marc noticed the crowd around the eighteenth green, located not far away, had swelled in anticipation of seeing some of the early golfers finish their rounds. A large scoreboard next to the green showed the tournament’s leaders and, much to his surprise, Jake’s name was listed. He was near the bottom of the board of the top twenty players, but Marc knew that Jake’s inclusion was no mean feat.
Can’t get too far ahead of ourselves. This is only the half-way mark.
As he dug a sandwich out of the golf-bag, Marc noticed a bit of commotion coming from one of the outdoor eating concessions near the clubhouse. A small army of security officers, including several men and women in dark suits wearing sun-glasses had formed a not-so-obvious circle around one of the tables. One of the plain-clothed men seemed to be talking into his sleeve.
Could this be the U.S. Secretary of State and his entourage that Doubles had mentioned?
A moment later, Jake reappeared at Marc’s side.
“Hungry?” Marc asked.
“We have any snack bars? I really don’t want a sandwich. Could upset my stomach.”
Marc dug into the bag and found a couple of Kind bars. He handed one to Jake.
“Oh, man, where you been hiding these? Jake asked, eagerly unwrapping one.
“Been in the bag all along. They’re one of my favorites.”
“Mine too,” Jake replied.
Marc wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, “Jake, did you happen to notice if the U.S. Secretary of State is sitting over by the club house?” Marc motioned toward the circle of security officers.
Jake glanced back toward the club house. “I wouldn’t know the U.S. Secretary of State if he hit me over the head. I did notice a bunch of suspicious looking characters standing around a couple of old men eating and talking under an umbrella table over there.” He nodded in the direction of the table.
“That’s probably them,” Marc replied.
Jake took a sip of water. “One of them seemed to be speaking a foreign language. Sounded like Yiddish, or something. I think there was an interpreter. Couldn’t tell for sure. I was in a hurry to get back here before they called us to the tee box.”
Marc was thinking about Jake’s comment when the announcement was made for Jake and Teddy Doubles to proceed to the tenth tee. Lunch was over.
Retaining the honors from the ninth hole, Jake was first to tee off. Both men hit good drives, then proceeded down the fairway. As they strode along, Marc allowed his mind to wander. He thought of this glorious day and what had brought him to Augusta. Whatever the outcome of the tournament, Marc was thinking that the blessings of being on one of the finest golf courses in the world while caddying for his daughter’s future husband was more than he could have ever hoped for. At this moment, he knew there was no better place on earth for him to be.
Jake’s steady play continued. He birdied the eleventh hole, and although he bogeyed the treacherous thirteenth, he parred holes fourteen and fifteen. Doubles, however, had found renewed spirit in the game and poured in five birdies in a row. The past champion seemed intent on another repeat performance.
The eighteenth hole was a long par 5 and Marc knew it set up nicely for Jake’s right to left draw. Although both men hit good drives, Jake’s had gone at least twenty yards beyond Doubles’ ball. Trouble was, Doubles’ ball seemed to have disappeared somewhere in the middle of the fairway. When they reached that point in the fairway, Marc noticed the ground was soft and wet.
Indeed, Doubles’ golf ball had plugged in the wet ground and was barely visible. After assessing the situation, Teddy called for an official to ask for a ruling. About three minutes later, the official arrived.
“Yeah, we’ve had a few players with the same problem today. Malfunctioning sprinkler head. Go ahead and retrieve your ball, then drop it near the plug mark.”
Doubles shook his head. “You’d think someone would’ve fixed this. I mean, this is the Monarch Championship. A fucked-up sprinkler hea
d has cost me at least twenty yards, maybe more.”
“Sorry, Mr. Doubles. That’s the ruling. Best I can do.”
Marc felt Doubles was right, but he also knew there wasn’t much that could be done about it.
Doubles, still obviously miffed about the situation, dropped the ball, then proceeded to hit his second shot. Not unlike his drive on the first hole, he again pulled his shot to the left. This time he found a fairway bunker about fifty yards short of the green.
Doubles was clearly having a tough time controlling his anger as he firmly shoved his club back into the bag.
They moved ahead. Marc estimated Jake’s ball was about 275 yards from the center of the eighteenth green, which was surrounded on three sides by a throng of patrons at least ten rows deep. A TV camera tower loomed above the crowd toward the back of the green. The pairing in front of them were still lining up their putts.
“What do you think, Marc? Three wood?”
Marc considered the situation. “275 yards is certainly reachable. The only hazards are the two sand bunkers on either side of the green. Sure, why not? We’ll just have to wait for the green to clear.”
Glancing off to his right, Marc saw Bill Goodspeed sitting in one of the course’s utility vehicles. Marc gave him a small wave. Goodspeed nodded in return.
Marc suspected Goodspeed was monitoring the watering problem he had mentioned while visiting with him earlier that morning. Unfortunately, the malfunctioning sprinkler head had already soaked the fairway, much to the dismay of Teddy Doubles.
Hopefully, Doubles won’t notice him sitting there or there could be a scene.
The green cleared a few minutes later, allowing Jake to hit. Using his three-wood, he launched his ball high into a slight breeze blowing directly at him. Marc watched as the ball landed just short of the green, then, after a couple of hops, it came to rest a few yards left of the hole. A loud roar erupted from the crowd around the green and Marc knew Jake’s ball was close. Doubles then hit a fine shot out of the bunker, his ball landing on the center of the green.
Jake closely watched Doubles putt as his ball was on a similar line. Doubles went on to two-putt for a disappointing par.
“What do you think, Marc? Doubles’ first putt looked really good, but it veered to the left at the end, away from the hole. It should have gone in. It must have hit something.”
Before answering, Marc’s mind flashed back to his conversation with Ned, the proprietor at The Palm Tree Golf Club and what he had mentioned earlier in the week. He remembered the advice Ned had offered him.
If there is any one thing I can say that might help, it would be that if you and Jake are unsure which way a putt will break, nine out of ten times, it will break toward the Savannah River.
Marc remembered crossing the river on the way to the course. From where they were standing, it was definitely off to their left. “Jake, play it to go slightly to the left.”
“Okay, Marc, but it sure looks like it could go either way.”
“Trust me on this, Jake. It’s going to go to the left.”
Jake took his time lining up his putt. He then stood over the ball and with a smooth stroke, started his ball a little to the right of the hole. Then, just when Marc thought it would miss, it veered back to the left and found the bottom of the cup for an eagle. A gain of two strokes in one shot. This resulted in a thunderous roar from the gallery. Jake’s all-girl fan club screamed and jumped up and down with a chorus of cheers. Ann Marie met Jake at the edge of the green with a wide smile, and gave him a big hug and a peck on his cheek. She then glanced over at the cluster of young girls that seemed to have grown with each passing hole.
With about half the field yet to finish, Jake was now in third place for the tournament championship.
Marc walked with Jake back to the scorer’s tent to sign and attest his score card. Ann Marie and Laura knew they weren’t allowed inside the tent and followed at a discreet distance.
Jake learned that not only was he in third place, he was also the leading amateur in the field. Teddy Doubles, the former champion was now eight shots off the pace.
Ann Marie and Laura jumped and shrieked for joy, obviously elated with Jake’s standing. They cheered and hugged each other, something that Marc had not seen them do before.
“Half the field is still out on the course so anything can happen,” Jake said in an apparent effort to tamp down their exuberance.
Although Marc could tell the young man was thoroughly elated, he knew that Jake’s final standing was out of his hands. It was now a waiting game to see how the rest of the players finished.
Chapter Sixteen
The crowd of fans surrounding the eighteenth green was huge and growing larger as each of the competing pairings ended their rounds. Marc found a space for his group along the fairway giving them a decent view of the action on the green. As each pair of contenders finished, Marc noticed Jake glancing at the leader board, anxiously looking for any change in his standing, even though he knew he had the low amateur title in his pocket.
As more players finished, Jake found himself tied for sixth place overall. “Darn it Marc, if I had made that par putt on thirteen, I’d be in fourth place right now.”
Marc gave Jake a serious look. “And your drive on the last hole could just as easily have plugged in the fairway, like Doubles’ did. That would have made your second shot to the green much longer, putting you in a more difficult situation. There are still two groups yet to finish, and they’re ahead of the leaders, so, there’s bound to be a change.”
Marc noticed Jake was quiet, apparently still brooding about his efforts.
“Jake, look at it this way, you’re the lead amateur in the clubhouse. That position will not change. You know what that means?”
Jake shrugged his shoulders and bit his lip. “Yeah, I get an automatic invitation to next year’s tournament. Big whoop!”
“That, plus you’ll be invited to a number of other professional tournaments. With your performance today, you’ve punched your ticket for a chance to play with the pros. I’d say you have quite a career ahead of you,” Marc said.
Jake exhaled, “I suppose you’re right. Guess I should count my blessings.”
“Rather than looking back at a few missed hits and wishing you’d done better, it’s best to concentrate on what you did right. That will be key to future improvement.”
Jake nodded thoughtfully.
“Bet you didn’t know that you not only had a good caddy, you had a philosopher on your bag as well,” Laura said.
They quietly watched as another set of players finished their round.
Marc broke the silence. “There’s just one pair of golfers yet to finish, and they’re a few minutes behind, probably delayed by that sprinkler problem on the fairway.” Marc motioned back toward the area where Teddy Doubles’ ball had plugged. “If we head over to the concession stand, maybe we could celebrate with a nice craft beer?” Marc said with a broad grin, hoping to raise Jake’s spirits.
“Good idea, my treat, but we better hurry, I believe the concessions are about to close,” Laura said, glancing at her watch.
When they reached the beer tent, they noticed the attendants were in the process of packing up. Laura, however used her feminine powers of persuasion and got them to pour four cups of beer. She left a hefty tip for their trouble, then, the four of them rejoined the crowd heading back toward the eighteenth green. Along the way, Laura suggested they stop under a lone shade tree.
She raised her cup. “To my son, whatever your future holds, I hope this day will always stand out as special for you as it was for me. I’m so proud of you.”
“Hear, hear,” Marc said. They all raised their plastic souvenir cups and offered a faux clinking gesture before taking a swallow of the frothy brew.
Ann Marie, wearing a foam moustache, threw her free arm around Jake and gave him a kiss. “My Jake, the golf champion.”
‘“Excuse me, ‘your Jake?’” Laur
a said.
“Um,” Ann Marie started, but their attention was interrupted by a sudden roar from the crowd around the green.
“Sounds like someone’s made another birdie,” Marc said. “They should be announcing the winner of the tournament soon. Let’s get down closer to the green. “After all, Jake is the low amateur winner, and I think we’d all like to see him raise his trophy!”
“I have all the trophy I need right here,” Jake said, one arm wrapped around Ann Marie.
Marc could see Laura’s ire was rising on hearing her son’s intentions for Ann Marie. “Let’s get a move on. It’s customary for the president of the Savannah River Golf Links to present the trophies,” he said.
“I guess,” Jake said, with feigned reluctance while avoiding eye contact with his mother. A moment later, the four of them blended in with the sea of fans moving in the direction of the eighteenth green.
As they got closer, Marc saw that the crowd around the green had more than doubled in size. The large leaderboard behind the green listed the professionals who had finished in the top three places. Under those names it read, “Low Amateur, Jake McKay, CA.”
Eyeing the crowd, Marc said, “Why don’t we head in the direction of the scorer’s tent. No sense fighting this crowd to get near the green.”
He led the way to the roped-off path they had taken earlier, except now, even that was blocked with golf fans standing eight deep to get a glimpse of the leaders.
Using a string of “excuse me’s” and “sorry’s,” Marc got them to the tent.
When they arrived there, Marc spotted a rather distinguished looking gentleman wearing a bright gold jacket and green tie, the customary dress allotted only to members of the club and past champions of the Monarch Golf Tournament.
“Ah, there you are,” cried the Club President, motioning to Marc and Jake. “Thank heavens y’all are still here. We thought maybe you’d forgotten about the presentation and left us.”
Masters of Terror: A Marc LaRose Mystery Page 14
