Scottsdale Squeeze: a romantic light-hearted murder mystery (Laura Black Mysteries Book 2)

by B A Trimmer

  “Oh, I do like this,” Sophie said. “Maybe we should be pumas full time. Did you see him? That boy has an amazingly firm body. I like to get a peek at his six-pack. I bet his butt is firm too. I wonder what it’d be like to spank a butt that firm. No way I’d use my hand though. I’d be sore for days. I should probably use some sort of paddle, maybe even a belt. You know, the more I think about it, the more I realize I need to find a leather ass-spanking paddle. I’m thinking I could get a paddle in the shape of a heart so I could smack little red hearts all over his ass. Maybe even get a paddle with my name embossed in it so he’d have my name slapped onto his ass for a day or two.”

  “I’m thinking that might not be such a good idea when you date a married guy. Wives tend to get fussy about that.”

  “Nope, after the way the last guy kept canceling dates to be with his wife, I’m done with married guys. I don’t care how cute or rich they are. From now on they can figure out their lack of sex issues with their wives and leave me alone.”

  “Well, what about if they already have a girlfriend? Are you going to stop dating those guys too?”

  “Hell no, girlfriends are a completely different issue. If a girlfriend can’t keep her man’s interest up, then it’s time he finds a new girlfriend. At least for a few dates.”

  Two minutes later the man appeared with a drink in his hand. He again slid into the booth next to Sophie and started talking low into her ear. Within a few minutes, her face had acquired that soft pink glow she gets when she mixes alcohol and men.

  After another five minutes, she dug out a card from her purse and handed it to the man. He took the card, and then bent over to give her a kiss. Sophie grabbed him roughly by the shirt and pulled him in. She then spent a good thirty seconds with her face smashed against his.

  Everyone at the table cheered and clapped as Sophie took control of the helpless man. When she finally allowed him to leave, we all held up our glasses in a salute to Sophie’s amazing sexual needs.

  After everyone had a fresh drink, the girls took off in pairs to hunt down any information they could get. Sonia and Elle disappeared into the VIP longue. Shannon and Cindy went over to the dance side of the club. Sophie went with Annie again.

  Pam and I started off together but she kept running into her friends. Each one wanted to know all the details on Jackie but none could provide any new information. After having the same dead-end conversation with three of Pam’s friends, I struck out on my own. Unfortunately, I was having as little luck as Pam.

  I worked my way around the club one more time but I didn’t find anyone else I could ask for information. My head was starting to spin from the loud music and from the people laughing and talking. I was dead tired and was thinking about calling it a night. I started looking for Sophie and the girls to tell them I was leaving.

  The first one I saw was Annie. She was talking to a woman in a sparkly green dress and platform pumps. Sophie was standing about ten feet away from Annie, talking to a guy in his twenties.

  Annie saw me and waved me over. She then introduced me to Jasmine, a friend of hers from college. Jasmine was a tall Asian, with long black hair and large dark eyes. She had the thin and graceful body of a dancer. She was somewhat older than most of the crowd in the club, but not yet old enough to be one of the cougars.

  “Jaz,” Annie said, “tell Laura what you just told me.”

  “Sure,” Jazmine said. “I was telling Annie, that if you don’t count a few pissed off girlfriends, the only person that’s ever said something bad about Jackie-D was Howard Spencer.”

  “Who’s Howard Spencer?” I asked. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  “He’s a guy that hangs out at the clubs sometimes. He’s not a regular. He’s creepy old, but he’s loaded and he always buys our drinks and munchies. Sometimes he goes home with a girl, but usually not.”

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  “OK, so this was about three weeks ago. We were all out at the Roxy when someone started talking about Jackie-D. For some reason, that set Howard off. He called her a scheming bitch and said she needed to be taught a lesson.”

  “Any idea what he was talking about?”

  “None at all. I didn’t even know Howard knew Jackie. Probably it was nothing though, we were all pretty drunk. I wouldn’t even have remembered anything about it except it’s the first time I’ve ever heard a guy say something bad about Jackie-D. It sorta stuck in my mind.”

  “Do you know where I can find Howard?” I asked.

  “No, but he shouldn’t be too hard to find. Like I said, he’s seriously rich. I heard he has a house on the side of Camelback, or Mummy Mountain, or somewhere fancy like that.”

  “Anyone else you can think of? Did you ever hear anyone actually threaten Jackie?”

  “Well, no. There was this one woman who came into the club one night, probably six months ago. She looked like she was a housewife, but she was totally pissed. It seems she’d been hoping her son would still be a virgin when he got married and Jackie sort of prevented that from happening. I remember this woman was being pretty descriptive about what she was going to do to Jackie-D when she finally got ahold of her. It was the talk of the clubs for a week. But no, nothing else.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I handed her my card and asked her to call me if she thought of anything else.

  ~~~~

  I drove back to my apartment and took the elevator. I was too tired to take the stairs. It was slow but I eventually made it up to my floor.

  I was met at the door by Marlowe, who demanded to be picked up and held. As soon as he was in my arms, he went limp and started purring.

  I walked with Marlowe in my arms into the bedroom. I put on some soft Phoenix Suns jammies, brushed my teeth, and then collapsed onto the bed.

  The last thing I remember was the sound of Marlowe purring as he fell asleep against the side of my leg.

  ~~~~

  I woke to the theme from the Love Boat, the old TV show from the eighty’s. It took me a few seconds to realize the sound was coming from my phone and it was ringing. I looked at the caller ID and saw it was Max. At this, my heart took off. I answered with a voice I hoped sounded both sexy and awake.

  “Hi Max, um, how are you today?”

  “Laura, it sounds like I woke you. Forgive me. I should have realized you’d have been up late on a Friday night, chasing down the kidnappers.”

  So much for sounding awake.

  “Not a problem,” I said, as my heart rate climbed further. Laying in my bed and hearing Max’s voice was starting to make me tingle in a really nice way.

  “Have they found Jackie yet?” Max asked. “The Saturday morning news didn’t have any new details.”

  “Not that I’ve heard. Maybe the police are getting somewhere, but I’ve run into nothing but dead ends.”

  “Well, then I have some good news for you. Tony is willing to meet with you today. He’s playing the Kokopelli course at the Blue Palms. One of his meetings canceled and he has three holes open, the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth. We’ll be starting at the tenth hole about noon. You do play golf, don’t you?”

  Shit, I have to meet with Tough Tony.

  “Umm, I do, but it’s been a while. I’ll need to dig my clubs out.”

  OK, so it’s been like five years since I touched a club. Shit, shit, shit.

  “Don’t worry about being a little rusty. A lot of the people who meet with Tony on the course haven’t played in a while either. No need to search for your clubs. I’ll have a set of ladies clubs for you. Standard right-handed, I assume?”

  “You seem to know all about me. Can I assume you’ll be there too?”

  “Yes, I always try to go out when Tony plays. Usually to be the referee in case discussions start to get out of hand.”

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  “Almost never. That’s why I’m there. I’ve been told I can have a calming influence.”

  You? Calming? />
  “No,” I said. “I haven’t seen that at all. In fact, you seem to have the opposite effect with me.”

  “Coming around to my way of thinking? I like that. Should I make us reservations for a beach resort? I’m thinking maybe Puerto Vallarta. Next weekend?”

  Oh, yum!

  “It’s kinda hard for me to plan ahead,” I said. “So, maybe a rain-check on that. Where should I meet you?”

  “Go to golf valet and they’ll take you to us. I assume you’ll be driving the same car?”

  As he said the last, I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Jerk. Yes, I’ll be driving the same car. It runs and it’s paid for.”

  “OK, ok, sorry. See you at noon.”

  ~~~~

  After a long shower, which included ten minutes of quality time with the shower massager, I spent the next thirty minutes in a futile attempt to find something to wear.

  To me, the most frustrating aspect of golf is there is absolutely no dress code. In fact, golfers always seem to go out of their way to find the most outrageous and horrible things to wear. It is perfectly acceptable, and even encouraged, to wear, say, bright green plaid pants with a solid purple shirt and a red beret. The more the styles and colors clash, the more acceptable it is. I’ve even seen golfers mix stripes and plaids without a second thought. This, of course, drives me crazy. I’ve never liked dressing like a clown on the golf course, but I also like to fit into the spirit of the game.

  After half an hour, I had a substantial pile of clothes on my bed, which Marlowe had decided would make a good place to take a nap. I finally decided on a pair of loose fitting white mid-length shorts and a pale pink polo. I wanted to keep to a shirt with a collar, since some of the courses encourage collars, as their one fleeting attempt to have some sort of a dress standard. Of course, since I would be playing with the guy who owned the course, I didn’t think they would be too rigid about not letting me play, collar or not.

  ~~~~

  As I drove up Scottsdale Road to the Blue Palms resort, I couldn’t help but be nervous. In two of my previous three meetings with Tough Tony DiCenzo, there had been violence and even death. I was hoping on a golf course, on a beautiful spring day in Scottsdale, the violence and bloodshed would be held to a minimum.

  I pulled into the Scottsdale Blue Palms resort. It was beautiful with palm trees, citrus trees, bougainvilleas, oleanders, bird-of-paradise, lantana, and tropical plants of every description. The thick grass was expertly manicured, the landscaping was graceful, and the buildings looked pristine.

  The main hotel reception building was on a small hill, surrounded by restaurants, pools, and a small water park. An enormous conference center was located further back from the reception building. The main clubhouse and pro-shop sat on a hill of its own in the distance.

  Groupings of white hotel rooms, each with orange awnings, were in four story clusters everywhere on the property. All of the hotel rooms had large enclosed blue balconies, with some overlooking the golf courses and some overlooking one of the many swimming pools. People everywhere were driving around in shiny blue golf carts.

  There are three golf courses at the Blue Palms -- the Hohokam, the Anasazi, and the Kokopelli. The Hohokam and Kokopelli are the two original courses. Both of them start, turn, and finish at the main clubhouse. The Anasazi is the newest course and has its own clubhouse, about a quarter of a mile away. Of the three, the Kokopelli is considered to be the hardest and is usually used whenever a tournament is held at the resort.

  I followed the signs to the golf valet, where a uniformed man opened my door, and led me to a waiting golf cart. Here, another uniformed man drove me to Mulligan’s, a beautiful bar and grill located about fifty yards from the main clubhouse.

  As I walked into Mulligan’s, I saw it had been set up for golfers coming in from the front nine and those preparing to play the back nine. There were about thirty people in the place, all laughing, talking, drinking, and eating.

  The building itself was a large round semi-enclosed ramada with vines growing through the open sides and roof. In the center was an open-air grille where chefs in white coats were grilling burgers, steaks, ribs, and chicken. All of the food was giving off an amazing charcoal aroma.

  Toward the back of the ramada was a bar where two smiling men in blue Aloha shirts were making cocktails and fruit drinks. On a small stage to the side, a three-piece band was playing a light Mexican swing. It was a wonderfully calming environment, no doubt set up to help the golfers relax before they went back out, but it was also helping me steady my nerves before my meeting with Tony.

  About ten minutes after noon, I heard the distinctive voice of Tony DiCenzo as he made his way to the ramada. I also noticed the activity of the staff had risen up a notch with everybody doing their best to look busy. It seems Tough Tony has this effect on everybody.

  Thirty seconds later, there was the grating of golf shoes as Tony and Max came into the grill. Max had a broad smile and even Tony seemed to be in a good mood.

  Unlike the loud outfits of some golfers, they were both dressed rather conservatively. Tony had on tan slacks and a salmon shirt while Max had on cream slacks and a light blue shirt. Tony saw me, came over, and extended his hand.

  Tony DiCenzo was only slightly taller than I was, but he was solid and built like a bull. He had a round pockmarked face, a large bulbous nose, and piercing dark eyes. As I remembered from our previous meetings, his black and gray hair was short and slicked straight back. He had the tanned skin of a man living and golfing year-round in the desert. I knew from news reports he was somewhere in his late fifties, but seeing him walking towards me, he had all of the energy of a much younger man.

  “Laura Black,” he said as we shook hands, “It’s nice to see you again. I’m glad an opening occurred so we could get together today. From what Max says, you’ve been having an interesting week. If you’re ready, let’s head out to the course where we can talk.”

  We walked out to the cart path and to our waiting carts. Instead of the usual two person golf carts, there were two huge six-person carts waiting for us. One was green and one was red.

  The drivers of the carts were Milo and Johnny Scarpazzi. I recognized them both from my previous meetings with Tony. Johnny was in his early fifties and had the look of an ex-NFL lineman. Like Tony, Johnny’s short dark hair was slicked straight back. Milo was in his late twenties. Where Johnny was huge, Milo was merely very large. He had a short flattop cut and a bright gold front tooth. Johnny was driving the red cart, were Tony and I headed. Milo was driving the green one that Max climbed into.

  Sitting in the red cart next to Johnny was a woman that I knew only as Gabriella. She is somewhere in her thirty’s. She’s tall, athletic, and graceful. She has pale white skin, long straight black hair, blood red painted lips, and piercing blue eyes. As with the last time I saw her, I wanted to describe her as beautiful, but there was something cold and dead about her eyes that sent a shiver of fear down my spine. She has the dangerous eyes of a predator, constantly searching, and on the lookout for prey.

  I had seen her twice before. Both times, she had been acting as a bodyguard for Tony. The second time I saw her, she ended up gunning down some seriously bad men and I had been happy to have her on my side. This time, I would have been just as happy if she had decided not to join us. As with the last two times I had seen her, she was dressed in tight black leather and her top was open to expose an eyeful of overly enhanced cleavage. It added to her look of danger.

  I glanced around the cart as Johnny drove us to the tee boxes. Between the two seats in the back was a large built-in cooler. I lifted the lid and saw there was a full selection of beer, wine, and soft drinks, including half a dozen cans of Diet Pepsi.

  “You’ve noticed I like to golf with some rather large and unusual carts,” DiCenzo said as we drove. “They’re good for conducting business, plus I like that my people can see when I am coming. Although I don’t want to give anybody a
complete schedule of my movements, of course, I also don’t want to startle any of my employees. I want people to be ready when I visit them as they work. I’ve noticed if I show up unannounced, there tends to be accidents.”

  ~~~~

  We got to the tenth hole, a long par five that had a dogleg left, which meant the green was hidden from the tee. There were four tee boxes. Tony said he and Max would be hitting in from the third tee box back and he offered me one of the closer boxes. I said no, I’d hit from the same box as them. Tony then gave me a slightly strange look I wasn’t sure how to interpret.

  I went to the back of the cart and found a set of Lady Ping’s in a white leather bag. I pulled out the driver and it looked brand new. It had been a while since I’d held a new golf club and it felt great. I took a deep breath and walked to the tee box.

  I hit first, trying to ignore the fact that four men, and maybe even Gabriella, were looking at my ass. The distance was OK, but I sliced it a little. All things considered, it was a good first shot. My time away from the game was showing.

  Tony then stepped up and hit a nice shot. His ball went straight down the fairway and his distance was good.

  Max next stepped up and unloaded on the ball. Tony and I watched as his ball soared into the air, straight down the fairway, further and further, until it was lost from sight. I was amazed at the shot, but Tony didn’t seem to think this was anything unusual.

  Max said he would go down the fairway to find his ball and took off with Milo in his cart. Tony and I walked down the fairway, while Johnny drove the red cart a respectful thirty yards behind us.

  “Max hit an amazing shot,” I said, blurting out the first thing that popped into my head. My nerves were still getting to me and I wasn’t sure how to start asking Tony about Jackie and the kidnapping. “Most of the golfers I’ve known wouldn’t purposefully outdrive their boss like that. At least not very often.”