Plaid and Fore! and Murder

by Patti Larsen

Not so fast. “Tori, that’s a distinctive scent you wear.”

  She touched her throat, nodded. “Sugar Baby,” she said. “I always wear it.”

  Did I dare mention the clue I’d connected to her? I hesitated, thought it through, chose to wait for Crew. “I heard Tyler and Jack arguing last night.” That made both of them freeze, Tori in mid-rise from her seat, Leo helping her. They stared as I went on, keeping emotion from my voice. “Something about the last tournament?”

  Tori looked up at Leo as she finished standing. He, in turn, met my eyes, his now fully guarded.

  “Jack wasn’t a saint,” he said, arm around Tori, tucking her tiny frame into the curve of his body. To protect her? From me? Did he suspect she might know something about Jack’s murder or even that she could have done it? Or maybe the pair of them were in on it together and were playing me even now. Regardless of his reasons, Leo’s reaction had my hackles up. “But he was my best friend, and I won’t speak badly of him, no matter who asks.” He glanced down at the blonde in his arms. “And neither will Tori. We both loved him, right?”

  I wasn’t expecting Tyler to show up at that moment, but his appearance was telling. The instant the handsome young golfer appeared, Tori’s entire demeanor shifted. I saw it happen, recognized it instantly, the flash of predatory want that crossed her face despite her continuing act. Because it was an act, I knew that now, and, if Leo’s flinch was any indication, he did, too.

  Tyler approached, hat in his hands, face drawn and sad. “I’m so sorry, Leo, Tori.” He shook Leo’s hand, and handled with excellent grace the giant hug the young woman engulfed him in. Wow, she was a piece of work, those lashes batting new tears up into his innocent face.

  Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing. And now that I had her number? Yup, top of my murder list, thanks.

  As for Leo, his reaction to her defection was about as heartbreaking as anything I’d ever seen, though he did his best to hide it while Tori gushed at Tyler.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’ve always been so sweet to me, even when Jack wasn’t behaving himself.” Was she referring to the rivalry? Had to be. “So nice to see you, Tyler. I wished we could have had more time together in Santé Fe. Maybe we can correct that here, before the tournament is over?”

  So she’d had her eye on him for a while? Tyler seemed taken in, the young idiot. Whatever, not my problem. Unless, of course, these romantic shenanigans had led to murder…

  Tyler looked uncomfortable, glanced at Leo. “Nothing happened,” he said.

  Leo didn’t comment to that, instead grasping Tori’s arm, though gently enough from what I could see. “Let’s go, Tor,” he said.

  She looked irritated then, as if planning to shrug him off. Time for the old Fleming charm to get some answers while they were occupied with their distracting drama.

  “I understand there was some tension in Santé Fe,” I said. “You two had a bit of a row last night?”

  Tyler glanced at me, startled, while Leo tugged Tori against him yet again. And it was he who spoke up, not the young pro.

  “Maybe you’d like to mind your own business,” he said. “Tor, come on.”

  She went with him, though reluctantly, and only after squeezing Tyler’s hand. The young pro then smiled awkwardly at me as if realizing just how uncomfortable the situation had become and hurried off while I watched the three of them exit stage left.

  Tori wouldn’t be the first woman to commit murder over a cheating partner. But if she was already attempting to hook her claws into the younger golfer, would she care enough to kill off Nethersole? As for Tyler himself, what happened between him and his rival? Was it enough to want Jack dead?

  I sighed and headed for the tent exit past the marshals, almost running headlong into Petra Stowers who looked annoyed enough by the encounter I couldn’t resist.

  ***

  Chapter Eighteen

  Before I could even ask her a question, Petra spoke to me. “I thought you ran the bed and breakfast?” She seemed irritated, agitated as I struggled against the condescending tone in her voice and did my best not to match her grump for grump.

  “Just helping out,” I said, turning a little so the afternoon sunshine didn’t blind me. Petra automatically moved with me, the badge around her neck identifying her as a sponsor. For Blackstone? No, wait. She worked for a company called GoGolf. Could they be tied to Blackstone? Now I was just getting paranoid. “You sponsored Jack Nethersole, right?”

  She grunted at me, an almost feral sound, frown digging deep lines into her otherwise smooth complexion. Petra might have been close to my age but she was going to regret her facial expressions down the road if she wasn’t careful. Right, because I didn’t wear how I was feeling all over my own face.

  “I did.” Petra paused, shrugged. “His was a minor deal, but I still have to answer for it.”

  I nodded, ducked a bit out of the way as one of the pros slipped past me into the marshal’s tent to register his score. “Will this be a big blow, then? Can you recoup his contract payout?”

  Petra’s lips twitched and not in happiness. “I just signed him for another year, last night of all times.” She sounded like his death was the most inconvenient thing she’d ever had to endure. Just before she stiffened, staring hard at me while I did my best to look innocent. “I had no reason to kill him.”

  That much was obvious if what she said was true, though there were a variety of reasons to commit murder, many of which had nothing to do with money. Still, I believed her and her blunt admission, of only because it was about as coldhearted as I could have imagined anyone could be about another person’s passing.

  “Any guesses as to who would want him dead?” She knew I was fishing, so I might as well be up front about it.

  Petra wasn’t playing the game I was offering, though. “I have no idea,” she said, a bit more sharply than was necessary, before turning on her wedge sandal and walking away. She didn’t have Vivian’s grace, despite the fact her high heel was protected from digging into the grass and she wobbled slightly as she went while I frowned after her.

  “She used to sponsor me, you know.”

  I turned with a tiny squeak of anxious fright, realizing I was still on edge from finding Nethersole’s body, to find Gavin Maloney standing next to me, that permanent look of hungry resentment doing nothing to increase his attractiveness. I felt oily just from our proximity but held off my departure out of—you guessed it, didn’t you?—curiosity.

  “Really?” I left that open ended, though the clearly unhappy teaching pro didn’t seem to need any encouragement to continue his complaining streak.

  “I was her first contract,” he said, chest puffing out a bit, ball cap pushed back far enough sunlight made the line where his artificial hair color and the white of his natural shade clearly delineated. I tried not to stare in fascination at his attempt to cling to youth as he went on, oblivious. “She was new, worked for Mulligan Merch back then, before she joined GoGolf.” He sounded like I should know what he was talking about. Nope. One golf club or ball or whatever they sold company was the same as the other to me. “She was lucky to sign me. I did her a favor.”

  Sure he did. “You were touring then, I take it?”

  He flashed me a frown as if looking for judgment, but in this case my innocent act seemed to do the trick. Gavin relaxed a bit into his storytelling, arms crossing over his chest, one hip cocked to the side, the peak of his ball cap now tugged down over his eyes and tilted toward me as if the brim created some kind of intimate connection between us.

  “I played all across the country when I was their age.” He tipped his head toward the pros mingling as they waited to continue, some already done for the day. More resentment, bitterness. Regret of youth lost? “They have no idea how hard we had it back then.”

  “How long ago was that?” Was Petra older than I thought?

  “Twenty years.” Now that was longing, plain and simple, and sympathy woke inside me for thi
s man who still clung to something, a dream he couldn’t keep up with. Tragic, honestly. I wasn’t expecting to feel sorry for him, but there it was and I stood still and listened as he went on. “Played the pro tour for three full seasons. Won some money, made a name for myself. Then I went and blew out my rotator cuff.” He gestured at his right shoulder. “That was the end of my pro career.”

  Whether that was accurate or the excuse he used to comfort himself after failing didn’t matter. Instead of prodding him further about it, I let him have his story and, instead, refocused on Nethersole’s murder. Because Gavin might have my sympathy but he was still a suspect, wasn’t he?

  “You and Nethersole had history, I take it?” I tried to tune my tone to match his, a bit of bitterness, some unhappy resentment.

  Gavin barked a laugh. “That showboat,” he said. “Look, I’m sorry the guy’s dead, but he was never much of a golfer. He only made it as far as he did because he had no respect for the game. It’s a gentleman’s game, Miss Fleming.” He met my eyes then before shrugging. “Or it used to be. Now it’s all about technology and yoga and being zen.” Gavin eye rolled. “Whatever.” He left me then, walking off, shaking his head at himself or something going on in his head and I let him.

  Of course, I’d be mentioning his unhappy conversation with Nethersole to Crew.

  And, you know what? I’d had just about enough of this for today, my own business calling. With Alicia’s staff running the BBQ’s I wasn’t needed here any longer and rather than go snooping further I chose to head for home and the actual job that kept my bills paid.

  One further distraction pulled me off kilter, however, as I neared the parking lot. The sight of Malcolm Murray leaning against his black sedan made me pause and swerve toward him, though it was apparent he wasn’t here for me. Instead, as his giant bodyguard took a side step out of my line of sight I realized the Irishman was scowling, not at open air, but the man who stood in front of him, talking low and fast and with tight hand gestures.

  I recognized him, of course. Hudson Harriet had clearly found the gambling in he’d been looking for, though the unhappy expression Malcom was wearing told me maybe the Irish crime boss was regretting having dealings with his new customer. He glanced up when I slowed my approach, realizing it might not be the best time far too late to stay unnoticed and caught the frustration and anger in his eyes. Not just aimed at Hudson.

  Nope, aimed right at me.

  Huh. He could take that and shove it.

  And no, it wasn’t lost on me I just thought that about a dangerous man who had likely done things to other people that would make my skin creep with terror. But we had an understanding, didn’t we? Despite my occasional nerves when Malcolm showed his dark underbelly, I’d never really felt threatened by him. Whatever his connection to my father, that sense of affinity clearly transferred to me to the point I’d always felt as if he would protect me if the need arose.

  Hudson noticed me shortly after Malcolm did and blanched, turning and hurrying away without another word to the silent Irishman. As for the crime boss, he didn’t move a muscle or shift positions, waiting for me to close the distance without a hint of relenting in his glare aimed in my direction.

  “You’ve been snooping,” he said, voice crisp, accent harsher than usual. “And you’ve found nothing.”

  Was he talking about Nethersole’s murder or his daughter’s disappearance? Yeah, wasn’t taking bets on that one, no pun intended.

  “I’m still digging,” I said. “I spoke to Oliver Watters—”

  Malcolm spit on the ground at my feet, fury washing over his face. Okay, I was afraid all of a sudden, but not of him. For him. Not so long ago, I worried the Irishman was lost in the darkness, after finding out Siobhan had a stroke. He’d seemed to lose his will, as if her suffering drained the life out of him. This angry man I didn’t know, either and I wondered if the Malcolm I’d come to kind of trust was actually gone now.

  “They lie to protect their own,” he snarled. “They make up horrible mistruths about my girl just to cover their deceit. It has to come out.” Malcom straightened abruptly, his bodyguard moving toward him. Wait, was that actual fear on the hulking suit’s face? Should I be anxious for my safety? I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. “It will come out, one way or another. Even if it costs me everything.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m trying, Malcolm. I swear.”

  He tossed his hands at me, jerking open the back door of his sedan and disappearing inside with a parting shot. “As useless as your father,” he said, before slamming it closed behind him.

  I looked up at his bully boy who seemed as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he nodded to me, a sharp gesture, before climbing in behind the wheel and driving away.

  Fine, don’t believe me. And maybe I hadn’t been as attentive to the mystery as he would have liked. But it was over thirty years ago and I had so little to go on. One thing was certain, I didn’t like the direction Malcolm’s words led my mind.

  One way or another. Ominous much?

  With that lingering in the back of my brain and death clinging to me like the fetid air of a Porta-John needing a thorough burning, I headed home.

  ***

  Chapter Nineteen

  I walked through the front door of Petunia’s, mind still turning circles around Malcolm’s threat to… what? I had no idea, but he was too far down the dark road for me to think whatever he might have in mind would end well. For him or for Reading.

  Daisy stood by the sideboard, looking up from typing something into the computer, her soft flash of a smile barely registering on her beautiful face. I joined her, Petunia huffing her way through the kitchen door to us, settling her fat pug butt on my feet as I impulsively hugged my bestie and took a moment to just stand there in the uncommon quiet of the foyer while she embraced me tightly back.

  “Day,” I whispered, knowing this was the best time and maybe the worst time to prod her, but needing a win of some kind and tired of missing her light. “Just talk to me, okay? I’m here to listen.”

  She didn’t pull away, but the exhale she released into my hair trembled, her body tensing. “I’m sorry I’ve been off lately,” she said, voice thick. “I’ve just been dealing with a lot.”

  “We’ve been so busy,” I said, “I’ve let this go too long. But you have to know I’m here for you. Always.”

  Daisy pulled back, nodding, wiping at her cheeks, smile a bit brighter though her normal radiance was still dim. “It’s personal,” she said, leaning one hip against the counter while she blew a silly sound through her pursed lips. “I know, I know. We’re family.” She picked at the loose strip of trim on the sideboard before smoothing it flat again. “But this is about Dad, Fee. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Her father’s passing hit her hard, despite the fact they’d been estranged. Daisy felt too deeply. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t exactly a hard ass myself.

  “Come with me.” I grasped her hand and dragged her toward the door to my apartment, feeling her resist slightly, but knowing I’d won when I flagged down one of the girls who emerged from the dining room with an order to watch the front desk. I needed me some Daisy time and, apparently, my bestie felt the same about me.

  Ten minutes later we snacked on fruit and fresh popcorn out of my microwave, treats Petunia happily shared while we sank into my sofa and kicked off our shoes. Daisy sighed, feet on the coffee table, helping herself to a few kernels before she managed a real smile.

  “I didn’t want to bother you,” she said. “You’re right, we’re so busy. And you’re so happy with Crew, I just…” She shook her head, went on. “But it’s been weighing on my mind and I can’t get past it.” Daisy sighed and stared off into the distance, free hand scratching at Petunia’s ear until the pug groaned her joy. “Maybe talking about it will help.” She sounded like she was asking, not telling.

  I hugged her again and sat back, giving her my full attention. “
Spill it, Bruce.”

  She giggled, relaxed. “The will,” she said. “I know Dad and I weren’t close or anything. But I thought he might at least have left me something to remember him by.”

  Wow, he cut her out? “Day, I’m so sorry.”

  Daisy grasped my hand, blinking as tears wet her lashes. “It’s not the material loss,” she said, and I believed her because she just wasn’t like that. “It’s the fact he left them everything.” She choked on that last word, caught her breath, went on while my jaw jumped when my teeth clenched in response. “He updated his will two weeks before he died, I saw it myself.” She looked small and vulnerable suddenly. “Rose and Gayle were named as his beneficiaries.”

  Wow, I’d never held Daisy’s father in much esteem, considering he’d abandoned her for her stepmom and that piece of work, Rose. But this was really just too much.

  Daisy perked a bit, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand before reaching for the tissue box on the end table. “I did get something,” she said, trying to sound perky about it. I knew her better than that, though. She was doing her best to recover, to be strong and not care. “Shares in a company I’ve never heard of before that’s likely a dead end to nowhere.” She sagged, blew her nose delicately. “So he didn’t forget me entirely, did he?”

  There had to be more to it. “Day…”

  “It’s not the money.” She reiterated that, firm, almost harsh. Had she been hosting this argument inside herself since his passing? Probably. That would be like her—I knew it was like me. “It’s about how he never put me first. Not me, not my mother.”

  The door to my apartment opened, closed, the heavy thudding of feet trotting down silencing her. Daisy reached for another tissue, hastily dabbing at her tears and plastering a smile on her face as Crew appeared at the bottom of the steps. He froze while he looked back and forth between us, concern on his handsome face and for the first time ever I wished he wasn’t here.