Toni Donovan Mysteries- Books 1-3

by Helen Gray

  Cases of assorted drinks lined the left and rear walls. In the center and front of all those drinks was a stack of twelve packs of Coke. It looked like there were at least twenty cartons, maybe more. She laughed. “You’re afraid I’ll drink all those next week?”

  “Well, we know you need a caffeine fix when you’re under stress, and we have district baseball play and graduation all next week,” Dack explained, pseudo serious.

  Toni just shook her head.

  “Dad got us a good deal,” he added.

  Jeremy picked up two packs in each hand, fingers hooked inside the little slots designed for carrying them. Dack grabbed four more, and they headed out the door.

  Q started to follow them, but paused near Toni. “My dad worked on Reverend Goldman’s car,” he said in a voice that sounded almost rusty from disuse.

  When he hesitated, Toni didn’t say anything, but waited for him to articulate whatever it was he had on his mind. She knew his dad was considered the best mechanic in the area.

  “It was a Mercedes SL500 Roadster, a real sweet set of wheels,” he continued at last. “The thing I’m wondering is, where is it?”

  Toni stared at the boy, realizing how right he was—and how she hadn’t thought about it. He just stood there, his dark blue eyes studying her reaction. He wore cutoffs, sandals, and a light blue tee shirt, and his blondish red hair looked like it needed a trim. She knew how uncomfortable he was at making conversation, so this was important to him.

  “It was a car built for the road,” he continued at last, settling on the topic he knew best. “It was a 24-valve, V-8 engine with 302 horsepower and 339 foot-pounds of torque. Five-speed, with 7-spoke alloy wheels, 8-speaker Bose audio system, and voice command navigation. The exterior was blue metallic. The interior was leather with wood trim. And it had a retractable hard top.”

  “It was an expensive car, huh?”

  Q grinned. “Probably cost him over sixty grand. He must have put everything he had in that little car. Preachers can’t usually afford wheels like that,” he added self-consciously.

  “I wonder if the movers who took his furniture also took the car,” she thought aloud.

  “One time when he had it in the shop for some work, my dad told him he should mark it, engrave his initials inside the trunk, hood and dashboard, in case it was ever stolen. I don’t know if he ever did it or not, but I bet Dad dropped one of his business cards in the window slot. That’s a little trick he does to cars that are worth a lot and look especially good to thieves.”

  Toni smiled at the details coming out of the normally silent boy.

  His face reddened to match his hair. “There are a couple of guys who might know something. I’ll see if I can find out anything.”

  “Good morning, Toni,” Gerald Murphy greeted her as he entered the storeroom. Dack and Jeremy were close behind him.

  Dack’s father was the consummate businessman. Wearing white golfing shorts, a bright green polo shirt and dark aviator glasses, he exuded the kind of outgoing personality cultivated by salesmen. Tall and muscular, Gerald had been a college athlete. Toni wasn’t sure which sport, but he still projected an athletic persona. She had known the Murphy family for years and attended church with them, on the occasions when they attended. Mrs. Murphy, Dack, and his younger brother and sister were quite regular, but Gerald was usually working. Weekends were big business at the club, at least in pretty weather.

  “I understand your assignment for the day is to keep cold drinks out on the grounds,” he said, smiling broadly. “That seems appropriate.”

  The three boys grabbed the last of the pile of Cokes and headed back to her van with them.

  “I feel kind of funny about that,” she said, nodding at the departing boys and their cargo.

  “Oh, don’t feel that way,” he said breezily. “They’ve enjoyed your classes and want to do something to show their appreciation. I got the stuff for them at cost, so they’re not bankrupted.” He chuckled.

  “Well, thank you,” she said, feeling inadequate.

  “You can fill your coolers in here.” He indicated the wall lined with stacks of canned soda and bottled water. More drinks were stacked against the other walls, along with two big refrigerators.

  “Those are full of cold ones,” he added, pointing to near the door. “If anyone wants anything stronger, they can come to the clubhouse for it.”

  “The ice machine is on the ground by the front deck,” he added. “If you need anything else, let me know. I’ve added two more coolers to the ones you brought. Fill two and put one at the seventh tee box, the other by the bathroom on four. Those locations are where people are used to finding drinks,” he explained.

  Toni aimed an index finger at him. “Got it. Then I’ll come back and get the other two filled, ready to replace the first ones when they go empty.”

  He laughed. “Sounds like you can handle the job. Well, I need to get busy,” he said, waving and sauntering off across the grounds.

  When Toni entered the building, she saw her mother and her crew greeting people and getting them registered. She glanced out the window and saw Kyle and the boys hiking out of the wooded area that lay between the nine-hole golf course and their subdivision. Her brother, Bill, had driven down to the shed where he kept his cart. Kyle didn’t play nearly as much as Bill and hadn’t felt he needed a cart of his own yet. Quint loved golf and would have played, but he had a job interview out of town.

  John Zachary’s green Taurus pulled in next to Bill’s red truck, and he and Jenny emerged. Like Toni, Jenny wore khaki shorts, but with sandals and a yellow tank top. John wasn’t nearly as keen on golf as Bill and Kyle, but for something like today’s charity tournament, he was an enthusiastic participant.

  John joined the guys, while Jenny came toward the clubhouse.

  Toni went to the steps. “In here, Jenny,” she called.

  At nine a.m. all the teams went to their assigned positions, three players to a team, two teams to a hole, for the start. When the shotgun signal was given, teeing off began simultaneously at the different holes. If a team began on hole four, that meant they would end on hole three.

  Toni knew it was customary for players coming off of hole nine to drop by the clubhouse for a break before continuing around to hole one. She meant to take advantage of those clubhouse breaks.

  “Let’s take these one at a time,” she said to Jenny as they finished icing down the second cooler. “Grab a handle.”

  They each took a handle and, together, they lugged the now heavy container out to the course and down to the seventh tee box. Then they went back for the second one and transported it to a spot on the ground next to the bathrooms on the fourth hole.

  “Let’s get the other two ready. Then we can wander around and be general flunkies until one of those needs refilling,” Toni suggested.

  When they had their task completed, they made their way up onto the clubhouse deck that flanked two sides of the building, overlooking the first tee on one side and the ninth tee on the other. There were several patio tables with umbrella shades over them. Toni stood at the corner of the deck and gazed out over the grounds, identifying friends and acquaintances. She spotted Damien Hudson among the players on the first hole. He would probably go all the way around before taking a break.

  She knew it took about fifteen to twenty minutes for a pair of teams to play a hole. Her dad had swung by earlier and informed her that his team had drawn the fifth hole. The younger guys were starting on the third.

  “I’ll see if Faye and her crew need help with lunch if you want to wander around and check the coolers—and the people,” Jenny volunteered, putting a meaningful tone to the last.

  Toni grinned. “I think you’re psychic. Thanks.”

  “Let me know when you need help lugging them down there,” Jenny said as she went inside the building.

  Toni descended the steps and began a leisurely stroll of the grounds, working her way toward the seventh tee box. Drinks w
ere already being sought, and Wendy Rutherford was one of the players advancing from the seventh hole to the eighth. Toni checked the second cooler, and then stopped by the pool to watch the swimmers for a few minutes. It looked like twenty or more kids splashing and having a good time. Satisfied that her own two were fine, she checked the coolers again and decided she should go get a full one. She headed for the clubhouse.

  Up on the deck, the pro shop was to her immediate left. She went inside and turned right past the kitchen. There was a bar along the left side of the main dining area. Large plate glass windows lined the outside wall overlooking the deck and the first hole. The room extended back past the bar and to the left like a number seven. A gray stone fireplace occupied the center of the back wall.

  She found Jenny putting paper plates and cutlery at the end of the tables lined across the back section of the dining room where a barbecued rib dinner would be served.

  “I’m coming,” Jenny called when she spotted Toni.

  By the time they had made their two trips to the grounds with full coolers and returned with empty ones, Toni spotted Wendy Rutherford’s group coming in from the ninth hole. She went to the storage room and hurriedly refilled one cooler while Jenny did the other. They added more ice to what was already there and shoved the coolers against the wall. “I need to see someone.”

  Jenny chuckled. “Go get her, tiger.”

  Chapter 11

  Toni entered the building and glanced around. She slipped through the door onto the deck and made her way to where Wendy stood at the railing, observing the action beyond them.

  “I’m glad we have such a beautiful day for this,” Toni said casually, walking up beside the woman.

  Wendy turned her head. “Me, too,” she said, her tone and smile polite, but lacking warmth.

  She was around thirty-five, Toni guessed, and had an athletic build. Her skin had seen a little too much sun, the result of spending hours on the golf course several times a week. A softly rounded face and heavily mascaraed gray eyes were topped by artificially blonde hair in a short spiky cut.

  “I understand you were one of the last persons to work closely with Reverend Brock Goldman,” Toni said, determined not to be ignored. “His death bothers me. As I’m sure you know, some of my students discovered his remains. Would you mind answering some questions for me?”

  Wendy glared at her. “You’re not associated with the police or the investigation.”

  “Not officially,” Toni agreed. “But the police chief has included me in an unofficial capacity and wants me to help him in any way I can. I thought you might be able to share some insights with me. So will you let me ask some questions?” Maybe she was stretching the truth a bit, but so what.

  “I guess,” Wendy said in a cautious tone. “But I can’t imagine that I could be of any help to you.” She studied Toni over the rim of her drink glass while sipping from it.

  “When was the last time you talked to him?”

  Wendy frowned and lowered the glass. “It was over two years ago. So I’m not sure of a date.”

  “I understand you were his co-chair of the festival that year. You must have spent a lot of time together.”

  “Of course, we did,” she snapped. “But he was all over the place, talking to everyone and telling them what to do.”

  “In other words, he took over and did things his way.” Toni phrased it as a question.

  Wendy nodded, glancing back at the grounds in a distracted manner. “You could say that.”

  “What kind of a person was he? How would you describe him?”

  The woman faced Toni again, giving her a shrewd appraisal. “Look, I know it’s not considered correct to speak poorly of the dead, but I personally found the man to be aggressive and bossy.”

  Toni interpreted that to mean she hadn’t won many arguments with him.

  “He alienated a lot of people in the community,” Wendy continued. “Of course, his church group thought he was hot stuff. I’d say he was more like cold stuff, holier than thou, if you know what I mean.”

  Toni chose to ignore the remark. “How long had you known him?”

  Wendy’s mouth curved into a pseudo smile. “Too long.” She took a long swallow, and then turned solemn. “Sorry. But I don’t see the point here. I knew him for a couple of years or so, I guess, but the man’s dead and practically forgotten. Bringing all this up now is unpleasant.”

  “Murder is unpleasant,” Toni countered immediately. “That shouldn’t be treated lightly, no matter what our personal relationships might have been with the man.”

  “You’re right.” Wendy stared out over the grounds rather than meet Toni’s gaze. There was an almost imperceptible change in her body language, as if she were debating with herself. Then she slowly faced Toni. “Okay, here’s how it really was. I met the man shortly after he moved to Clearmount and started coming out here.”

  Toni remembered that Brock had been a golf addict, like Wendy. She gave an understanding smile.

  “We went a lot of rounds together,” Wendy said, making a surprisingly light pun.

  “So you really weren’t all that upset when you were asked to chair the festival with him.”

  “No, I thought since we were such good golf partners that organizing and running the festival would be another thing we would be good at together.”

  Toni was getting a clearer picture now. Twice divorced and a single parent to a teenage son, Wendy might have hoped for a much deeper partnership—and been disappointed.

  “But it wasn’t good,” Wendy continued. “He was overbearing and didn’t know what he was doing. After a certain point I no longer cared what he did.”

  “Who collected the money from the festival booths and entrance fees?”

  Wendy’s brow furrowed, and she hesitated ever so slightly. “As I told the police back then, I assume Brock did, unless he assigned someone else to do it.” She spoke carefully, as if guarding her words.

  “Did you ever see anyone collecting it or hear him say where it was being kept until it could be deposited?”

  “No, I didn’t,” she said sharply, her eyes narrowing. She flung the ice from her glass out onto the lawn. “Are you implying that I had something to do with his death?”

  Toni backed away a step. “No, I’m just trying to understand what was going on in his life during that time. Did he seem upset or mention any plans for leaving?”

  “Not to me. I have to go.” Abruptly she turned and walked away.

  Toni watched the woman go inside and put her glass on the bar, join her teammates, and head back out onto the course. The story she had just heard struck her as something less than the complete truth. It would require a lot of work, but she needed more facts. An idea occurred to Toni. If she could get a list of festival workers from someone, her detective trio would love to check around and see how many people could remember who collected fees and festival profits from them.

  She decided to check the coolers again. The temperature was already past eighty and rising quickly. She trotted around to each of them and decided they were okay for now, and then went back into the clubhouse to see if the lunch crew needed help.

  A little over a half hour later, after running a couple of errands and taking a full cooler to the fourth hole, Toni glanced out the window and spied Buck Freeman, her dad, and Evan Hicks climbing the steps onto the deck, each carrying a container of bottled water. They took seats at one of the tables. They were an odd contrast. Buck and Russell both carried themselves with a military being and had athletic physiques. Evan Hicks, maybe by virtue of his sedentary banking profession, was portly and florid. All three had white hair, but Evan’s was thick and full, while Buck and Russell wore theirs trimmed very short.

  Looking around to make sure she wasn’t needed by anyone, Toni went out to join them. “How are you guys doing?” she asked, taking the remaining empty chair at the table.

  “Not too good, but not too bad,” Buck said, making a back and
forth motion with his hand and setting his water bottle on the table.

  “I’m their team handicap,” Evan said with a jovial laugh that made his large belly jiggle. He turned up his water bottle, guzzled it dry, and tossed the bottle in the trash.

  “We’re having fun, and it’s for a good cause,” Russell added, tossing his empty bottle after Evan’s.

  “Would you like something else to drink?” Toni asked, looking from one to the other of them. “A cold soda?”

  “No, I’m sticking to water while we’re in the heat,” Buck said.

  Evan nodded. “Same here.”

  “I’m fine,” her dad said.

  Buck looked directly at Toni. “Since the newspaper came out, we’re getting calls from people who remember things about Reverend Goldman, how odd he was acting just before he disappeared, how we should be handling our investigation, and other equally helpful comments.” He put a slight note of sarcasm to the word helpful. “We’re checking every call or tip, but there hasn’t been anything especially significant turn up yet. The only thing that was actually interesting was the call from the office manager of the realty company located near the bridge. She remembers people complaining of an odor in that area back around the time he disappeared.”

  “I remember that,” Russell commented.

  “Me, too,” came from Evan.

  “I remember it, too,” Buck said. “One of my deputies went out and checked on it. He found a deer that had been shot with a bow. An arrow was lodged in its flank. From the way it was positioned, it looked like it had come from somewhere above your neighborhood.” He indicated Russell with a head jerk. “It had died at the south side of the bridge, opposite the side where Goldman’s remains were found. Anyhow, it was really ripe when Dale found it, and everyone just assumed that was what was causing the smell. It was hauled out and, even though it was awhile before the odor cleared up, there were no more complaints.”