by Patti Larsen
The maintenance guys were hard at work already, the hum of lawn mowers in the distance proof of that. I ran through a supply list in my head as I crossed the lot to the main pavilion, trying to remember how much we’d gone through the day before and if we needed more supplies. I spent the next few minutes sorting the disposable cutlery and plates, napkins and other items that had been dropped off sometime between last night and my arrival. No note from Alicia, no nothing. Made me feel really appreciated, I’ll tell you.
And worst of all? I’d had too much coffee this morning and really had to use the washroom. Which meant the dreaded Porta-John. Sure, I could have gone all the way back to the clubhouse. But coffee was a cruel taskmistress and she didn’t want to wait.
I was almost to the tall, blue boxes, stumbling a little as I crossed from the grass to the gravel, when I realized one of the doors stood partially open, someone’s foot sticking out. And gagged. Seriously? Who got drunk and fell asleep in a portable toilet? The idea made me want to throw up. I groaned as I crossed to the door and eased it open, hand reaching for my cell phone to call Alicia so she could deal with this drunk and disorderly and froze, her number on speed dial while two things registered.
First, the sickly smell of chocolate, vanilla and what had to be caramel didn’t mix well with the chemical yuck of a portable toilet. And second, it turned out there was an excellent reason Jack Nethersole didn’t make it home last night. It had everything to do with the fact he was very much dead.
***
Chapter Sixteen
I hugged myself, what seemed to be my default position when it came to finding dead bodies, and stood to one side as Dr. Aberstock chatted with Crew a few feet away. I kept turning to look at my fiancé despite the fact it was Deputy Jill Wagner to whom I was delivering my statement. My friend seemed to understand my need to keep Crew in my sight because she shimmied sideways a few steps so I didn’t have to crane my neck while I filled her in with a dull tone far too familiar, one I’d developed to deal with such common circumstances in the last three years.
Finding a dead body, dull? Well, there was only so much death a girl could take before it became necessary to compartmentalize and form habits of protection against the nightmares.
Jill’s hand reached out as I glanced over her uniformed shoulder at Crew one more time, noting I wasn’t the only one with a need to connect. Every time I looked at him he was staring right back at me, and despite the calm of his expression I knew he was worried. Nice to have that loving concern in my corner. I gave Jill my full attention for the next thirty seconds or so while she nodded and smiled in a comforting manner she’d learned somewhere along the way.
“You said you thought he was drunk?” She paused with her phone raised, the recording feature enabled. I nodded, cleared my throat as I realized the cell couldn’t see me.
“Yes,” I said. “But when I opened the door, it was pretty clear he’d been dead a while.” The ashen tone of his skin, the thin veil of white over his wide-open eyes, all indicators of time’s passage since Jack Nethersole had breathed his last. How did I know all that? I’d been around death enough I was curious, and all the research I’d done had been more than enlightening.
My gaze drifted to Barry Clements who hunched over the body, his sneakers wrapped in white elastic booties, gloves on his hands making them look small and delicate. Dr. Aberstock had left the preliminary examination to his assistant, it seemed, and though I wasn’t a big fan of the young coroner in training, he was at least thorough.
“And you called us right away when you realized he was dead?” Jill waited, as patient as the mountain, while I inhaled a shaking breath—not so dull after all, Fleming—and nodded.
“I called Crew. Sheriff Turner.” This was awkward, right? But why should it be? Why was I thinking about official statements and paperwork at a time like this? For the same reason that, despite the fact Crew had come to my rescue the second I called him, the first to arrive and instantly hug me while he waited for Jill and Dr. Aberstock to answer the call, we’d agreed his main deputy would take my statement.
His job had been at risk in the past. I didn’t want to give anyone (cough, the Pattersons, cough) a reason to come after him again.
“Ask her why it is she’s the one who always finds the dead bodies.” My dear, darling, beloved cousin, Deputy Robert Carlisle, decided now was a good time to show exactly why it was I hated his freaking guts. I ignored him, as did Jill. Bless her, she didn’t even eye roll, though the faint jump at the line of her jaw told me she wanted to do more than express her exasperation with him and his uselessness by merely utilizing my favorite reaction to him. Nope, she likely wanted to punch him in the face, since she was so much more direct than me. And I wouldn’t have argued with her for a second.
Pass the popcorn and start the show.
This line of thinking relaxed me and, despite his crass abrasiveness, I was actually kind of grateful the 70’s mustached waste of space spoke up. It gave me something other than the staring, empty shell I’d stumbled over to focus on. So thanks for that, Robert. Good for something after all.
“Deputy Carlisle.” Crew’s tone was calm and cool enough, but he’d unfolded his arms from across his chest and planted both hands on his lean hips, a sure sign his temper was rising.
Robert ignored his boss, looking around like he was the superior here. He’d done nothing since arriving except get in the way. Case in point. As he drew near the body, Barry turned his head in a quick jerk of response.
“Watch the evidence,” he said. “I’m still gathering what I need.” Nethersole had been carefully photographed before Barry and the doc lugged his body out of the Porta-John, the scent from the blue box wafting out the open door they hadn’t closed behind him. The sickening addition of sugary over wash made my stomach wish I hadn’t had coffee this morning, and grateful I’d waited on breakfast. They’d left the door gaping for obvious reasons. There was possible evidence in the… well. Yuck. Not my job, thank goodness. I’d done my share of plunging toilets. This went far and beyond anything I was even remotely interested in helping with.
Robert backed off with a scowl, looking around again, his own hands on his hips, the belly that had been growing in size and proportion the last three years jutting forward when he did so. Not even a weak copy of Crew, but, in my estimation, a laughing stock who had no idea how ridiculous he looked. A caricature, a stereotype and not worth the effort it took to raise my anger.
His girlfriend, however? That piece of work was another story. And for another time. I shook my head as Rose crossed my mind, knowing my lack of focus had to do with not wanting to think about the dead man I’d found, that my brain, trying to protect me from yet another discovery of this nature, was pushing me to consider other things instead of lingering.
“Did you touch anything, Fee?” Jill’s soft question didn’t carry and likely was meant to be kept from Robert. But he heard, didn’t he? The idiot might have been a fork shy a place setting, but he had great hearing.
“I bet she did.” He snarled at me, joining us, jutting that belly in my direction. “She’s such a snoop.”
Okay, so my eye roll wasn’t going to cut it this time. That not worth my anger? Snarl.
Jill stepped between us, turning to face down her fellow deputy. He glared at her, she stared silently, coldly back, until, grumbling, he wandered off to help himself to the box of donuts Alicia had run down to us from the clubhouse.
Jill turned slowly back and smiled, this time the triumph showing in her eyes. I shook my head and laughed, not so much amused as delighted, and impulsively hugged her.
“I take it you two had a chat.” I let her go and she shrugged, though the wicked gleam never left her gaze.
“Might have,” she said. “May also have convinced him if he crossed me again they’d never find his body.”
Awesome. “Need a volunteer to help with the heavy lifting?”
She actually thought about it, or
seemed to. “I’ll keep you posted.”
God, I loved Jill.
She left me then to join Barry while I stayed where I was, grateful she’d come back to the fold, that she’d gotten over whatever evil and insidious whisperings Rosebert (who was I kidding, Rose all the way) used to turn her against Crew. Nice to know she was stronger than ever and that her confession to me she planned to leave Reading was no longer on the table. I knew Crew appreciated having her at his back and wondered just how long he’d be able to tolerate Reading’s need to keep a Fleming—related at least—on the police force before he gave Robert the boot.
Then again, he’d confessed he kept the deputy close so he could keep an eye on him, so Robert’s loss of employment with the Reading Sheriff’s Department wasn’t pending.
Crew joined me then and from the angry set of his shoulders maybe he was reconsidering my cousin’s position in his office. His protectiveness toward me hadn’t diminished and, despite the fact there were now a ton of people around to witness it, my fiancé hugged me tight and kissed my forehead before resting his stubbled cheek on my hair.
“Love you,” he whispered. “You okay?”
“Love you, too,” I whispered back. “I will be.”
And then, as if nothing had happened, I left him there with the body and went back to work. Feeding Alicia’s masses became the focus of my day. And yes, the tournament went on. Turned out Olivia didn’t even have to step in. Like usual, the cutest town in America didn’t let something as blasé as a dead body surfacing at the event put a damper on things. The show, as they said, went on.
***
Chapter Seventeen
I took a moment to glance at the passing marshal who carried a leader board over one shoulder, the fact that Tyler Hendy was now at the head of the pack not lost on me while I did my best to feed people and not think about the murder I’d uncovered that morning. And yes, according to Barry, it was murder, a blow to the head obvious enough even to me without a careful examination.
The young golfer’s reaction, one I’d witnessed barely a half hour after giving my statement, seemed sincere enough. Crew questioned him, thanks to my heads up about his argument with Nethersole the night before, close enough to where I handed out food to the crowd that didn’t seem to care someone died. I made sure to keep a careful eye on Tyler’s reaction and bought it when his shock came through loud and clear.
Then again, I’d been known to miss signs of guilt in the past and couldn’t put anything past anyone, could I? A rumble of frustration struck as I realized I was stuck behind the food table yet again and unable to gain access to clues or ask my own questions. It wasn’t lost on me that was far from my job, that schlepping hot dogs and hamburgers wasn’t really, either, and that not for the first time I found myself leaning toward wanting to be a busybody when I really had other things that required my attention.
I tried not to judge Tyler for playing so well as the afternoon rolled in. According to the stats I watched update near the Blackstone banner, he had taken a long lead of seven strokes on his nearest competitor, playing an impressive round despite hearing about the death of Nethersole. Maybe knowing his closest rival was gone gave his game an edge, or maybe he handled stress well.
Or. Maybe. Hey, I liked the kid, but murder.
Leo’s approach made me flinch, though the hurt expression on his pale face triggered enough empathy I was able to pretend I felt terrible Nethersole was dead. Hey, no judging. Not that I wished death on anyone, but I wasn’t going to cry into my coffee, either. Maybe so many connections to murder had hardened me to the loss of near strangers or maybe I had a mean streak I just didn’t want to admit to. But I managed to muster a sympathetic smile for Leo, a squeeze of his hand that was genuine enough. He nodded back, seemingly grateful for my reaction which made me feel worse. Likely my own opinion of his deceased friend wasn’t mine alone and I wondered how much sympathy Leo was actually getting from the golf world that seemed more than happy to carry on without Jack Nethersole.
“A burger with no bun, please,” he said, voice low and soft. “Tori.”
Ah. Watching her carbs, was she? I did the honors and handed him the plate, along with one for him. He shook his head, but smiled faintly.
“Can’t bring myself to eat,” he said, voice trembling. “Talking to the press gave me a stomach ache.”
Poor guy. I took Tori’s plate from him as two of Alicia’s staff appeared and took over. About time. I’d only texted her an hour ago to come and relieve me already.
“Let me,” I said. “You go sit. You look horrible.”
Leo exhaled heavily, wiping at a tear that trickled down his cheek. Wow, he might have been the only person in the world who mourned Nethersole and all of the animosity I felt toward the arrogant ass who’d been added to my murder list vanished. Well, almost all. Anyone who invoked that kind of friendship had to have had some endearing qualities. Right?
“Jack and I go way back. We were… like brothers.” He hesitated before finishing that sentence. “I owed him a lot.” There wasn’t much I could say about that. “I just need a second,” he said at last. “I can’t support Tori like this.”
Wow, still thinking about her, huh? I wondered for a brief moment if Leo was the kind of guy who would make a move on a vulnerable girlfriend widow and brushed off the thought. He’d already firmly ensconced himself in my psyche as the gentlemanly type so I circled the table, still holding Tori’s burger, and took the burden from him.
I found her easily enough with his directions, hiding out in one of the marshal tents, tucked into a corner, crying her eyes out. Now, for a gold digger—if Petra was right in that estimation—she was taking things pretty hard. Then again, her bank account had just taken a hit, so was it Nethersole Tori wept for or the loss of income?
Cynical, Fee. So beneath me.
I sat next to her on a rickety folding chair, handing her the plate. And instantly made a connection that had eluded me. Not because I was slow on the uptake, normally, but because the overpowering stench of sweetness mixed with sewer was a far enough cry from the perfume she wore it almost wasn’t recognizable. Except, as I inhaled her scent, the fact Jack Nethersole died somehow soaked in the same aroma she wore so delicately set off a warning bell or two.
She met my eyes with hers wide, blinking tears, before hugging me and resting her forehead on my shoulder. Awkward, though I did my best to pat her back and not recoil. I barely knew her, so this felt like a bit of an over-the-top encounter, but then again, aside from Leo, did she have any support to speak of?
“Thank you, Fee,” she said, releasing me and staring down at the plate in her lap, covering the tops of her thighs over her pristine white capris. “The press have been miserable, and no one seems to care Jack is gone. Except me.” She sobbed again, hands over her face, giant fake nails making small crescent marks in her skin.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, awkward all over again but meaning it. Like Leo, she seemed nice enough. And yet, the question begged to be asked, the suspicion I’d been born with—thanks, Dad—pushing my mouth to move, my brain to doubt, even as I rubbed her back to keep her pliable. “You were worried he didn’t come back to your room last night for another reason.” She flinched but nodded. “Was that a common problem?”
Just come out and blurt it, why don’t you? The girl’s boyfriend had just died and I was asking about his infidelity track record? Tori hesitated a long moment, blinking at me all over again, and I sighed, leaning back against the thin metal of the chair I sat on, reaching for common ground.
“My last boyfriend,” I said, knowing my voice sounded dead and cold, on purpose, with purpose. I honestly didn’t care one little fragment of a crap about Ryan Richards any longer, had shed the weight of what he’d done and given my heart fully to Crew. But I knew how to pull out that old reaction and used it on Tori. Because leaving well enough alone had no place in Fiona Fleming’s life, turned out. “Serial cheater. I didn’t find out until it
was too late and my whole life fell apart.”
She gaped at me, pink frosted lips parted, before she leaned close, those sharp nails digging into my knee, sugary perfume wafting, when she grasped me in a hand of solidarity.
“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Tori’s sadness seemed gone in the face of her bubbling resentment. “How they lie and lie and tell you they love you and then you find out they’ve been with someone else.” She swallowed hard, glared at her cold hamburger like it was Nethersole and she had plans to murder him all over again. “He promised me so many times. And last night, I just assumed…” Tori looked away, face tight, grief returning. “I can’t believe he’s dead. I never expected anyone else to kill him. Not when I told him if he cheated one more time, I’d murder him myself.”
Ahem. “Tori,” I said.
She whipped her head around, shock and regret making her look like a cartoon character. “I didn’t mean it!” She grasped for me all over again, the plate spilling from her lap as she lost her grip on it in her need to convince me. “I swear. I loved him. I’d never.”
I shook my head, though she was now on my list, you betcha.
“Besides,” she whispered, releasing me, hands clasping tightly in her lap, “he only strayed a few times and that’s not a big deal, right? Not if someone really loves you.”
Dear heavens, the poor child. I looked up before I could ask her how her likely expensive perfume ended up all over him to find Leo approaching us, his expression more collected though he still looked upset by his loss. Or was it the fact I was talking to Tori that had him worked up? He crouched next to her, looking up at me now with faint suspicion.
Fine, be suspicious. With good reason, too, though they didn’t have to know that. “Are you okay, Leo?”
He shrugged. “I will be,” he said. “Tori, I should get you back to your room so you can lie down.”
