Negative Exposure

by Lisa B. Thomas

“Is that what you’re going to call it?” Nancy wrinkled her forehead and made the Oh. My. Gosh. face. “That’s kind of boring, don’t you think?”

  Jake grinned but refrained from saying, “I told you so.” He got up and left the room.

  I grabbed a pen and signed the papers. “I’m still working on it. Anyway, I can’t thank you enough for your help.”

  “It’s what I do, but be sure to tell your friends and family. I can use all the business I can get.”

  Jake reappeared with three beers. “Here you go, ladies. I’m saving my stash of champagne, so this will have to do.”

  Nancy waved him off. “None for me. I still have an appointment.” She looked at her watch and turned to me. “I have just enough time to hear your big news. So, shoot.”

  I took a swig and set the bottle on the table. I had a feeling my story would involve my signature hand movements. “So, I went to see Curtis and he admitted he was surprised when he found Harold’s golf club on his front porch. He said he was surprised that Beverly had given it to him, especially since Harold had never liked him.”

  “Because Curtis accused him of cheating?” Jake asked.

  “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “I’m all-knowing and all-seeing, remember? Go on.”

  “Anyway, then he said that Dale was the one who verified that Beverly had given him the club.” I waited for acknowledgement of my super-sleuthing skills.

  Nothing.

  “Don’t you see? Dale probably gave him the club to make Beverly think she had done it and forgotten. He’s probably been doing little things like hiding her keys and such to make her feel scattered.”

  “Oh,” Nancy said, “because he’s trying to get her declared incompetent.”

  Jake sat silent, thoughtful.

  “Exactly. That’s when I decided to go see Andy. I thought Andy might have seen someone—Dale, of course—at Beverly’s before the explosion.”

  Jake leaned forward. “What did he say?”

  “He said he didn’t see anyone this morning, but then he dropped a bombshell. He said that on the day Harold died, he had been working in the garage—actually, I think Beverly told me that—but anyway, he overheard Harold arguing with someone. He’s almost positive it was Dale.”

  “Dale,” Jake repeated. “He said it was Dale?”

  “Yes. He didn’t say anything to Beverly at the time because he didn’t want her to be even more upset. I think he really loves Beverly and was protecting her and Penelope.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Nancy said. “So you and Curtis were right. Someone did kill Harold and tried to make it look like an accident. I just can’t believe Dale would do such a thing. He seemed like such a nice man.”

  I shook my head at her. “Maybe on the outside. Killers come in all kinds of packages. Besides, I doubt it was premeditated. Maybe he just went off in a fit of anger.” I looked over at Jake. “What do you think? Am I a genius or what?”

  “You’re amazing, actually. I suppose that when Dr. Myers wouldn’t have Beverly declared incompetent, Dale thought his only hope was to torch the place. He probably hoped it would burn the house too and they could collect the insurance money.”

  “Right,” I said. “He probably didn’t know Andy would be there. Maybe he thought...”

  “What?” Jake asked.

  “Maybe he thought Beverly would flip that light switch and start the fire.”

  “Surely not,” Nancy said. “That would be horrific.”

  I felt a shudder run down my spine.

  “Where’s Beverly now?” Jake asked, shaking the mouse to wake up his monitor.

  “She’s at Penelope’s house.”

  Nancy gasped. “Oh no. Is it safe for her to be there with Dale?”

  “Don’t worry. Before I left the hospital, I called the sheriff for Andy. Someone is going to the house to get her. At this point, we’ll have to leave it up to Sheriff Grady to investigate and figure out how Dale killed Harold and what exactly caused the explosion.”

  “I wish I could stay to hear more about Nancy Drew and the Case of the Missing Golf Club, but I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.” She stood up and put on her jacket.

  “Aww. You think I’m Nancy Drew?”

  “Of course.”

  “No, you’re Nancy Drew,” I said.

  “No, you’re Nancy—I better go.” She waved to Jake. “Later, bro.”

  I turned around slowly, my head in the proverbial clouds. “Maybe I should open my own detective agency instead of a photography business. I could call it ‘Wendy’s Private Investigation Firm.’”

  “You really have no imagination for names, do you? Besides, I think you need a license for that.”

  Feeling emboldened by my super-sleuthing high, I sat down in his lap and put my arms around his neck. “What about you? Do you have a license for all your secret security spy work?”

  “I have something better.” He pulled open his top desk drawer.

  When I looked in, something shiny and gold caught my eye. I picked it up. It was a badge. I read it aloud. “Federal Bureau of Investigation.” I jumped up, nearly knocking over him and the chair. “You’re in the FBI?”

  “Was. Ex-FBI. We’ve parted ways.”

  “And they let you keep the badge?”

  “I told them it was stolen.”

  “Well, well. Jake Faro. Man of many secrets. Tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

  He wagged his finger at me. “One secret at a time. I told you mine, now it’s your turn. Why are you really here in Cascada, Ms. Fairmont?”

  The way he asked was too serious, too personal. There was an edge to his voice. My cell phone rang, giving me an excuse to step away from the desk.

  “It’s Nancy. Something weird just happened.”

  “Weirder than finding out your brother used to be in the FBI?”

  “He told you? He normally keeps that a secret. Anyway, I just got a call from Dale Pratt and get this, he says he got the papers declaring Beverly incompetent and wants to move forward with selling the house.”

  “That’s good, right? That means he doesn’t intend to do anything to harm her at least.”

  “I guess, but why would he have bothered to get those papers if he knew he was planning to burn the place down? It doesn’t make sense. I’m beginning to wonder if Dale really is the man Andy heard arguing with Harold.”

  I froze. If Dale wasn’t guilty, who was? Certainly not Curtis. Not Andy.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped.

  “Everything all right?” Jake asked.

  I pressed the button to disconnect the call. Curtis had said the murderer would have to be strong and a quick thinker. Nancy had said it was Jake’s idea to lure me over here. I looked over at the computers and recalled how he had been able to spy on his neighbors. My chest tightened and my breath came in short bursts. I needed to leave and clear my head. I grabbed my jacket and opened the door. “I’ve got to go.”

  “So fast? I thought we could spend some more time together.”

  I didn’t look back, but I could hear the crunching of pine needles under his feet. This time he was following me. I broke into a run.

  “Wendy,” he called out. “Stop.”

  I was too scared to turn around. What if he had a gun? What if he was pointing it at me? Cricket stood in the path between my house and Beverly’s as though she’d been waiting for me. I cut the corner and dashed down the path, turning into the wooded area behind the houses. I kept running, despite the prickly pear clawing at my legs. As I dodged a tree, a fallen branch caught my foot and sent me face down to the ground. I crouched in the brush, listening for footsteps, catching my breath. I heard nothing but the rustling of leaves in the wind.

  I looked around, trying to get my bearings. I knew the general direction of the clubhouse. It was still light enough for players to be out. But would they be on this part of the course? Most would probably be playing the back nine by now
. I would run as fast as possible. Surely I would see a golfer or two who could save me. Just as I rose up out of the brush, Cricket let out a cry that would have woken the devil. I plopped back down. Had Jake heard her? Or maybe he was the one hurting her to draw me out. My heart beat faster than I’d ever felt it before. She cried again. I covered my ears and closed my eyes.

  Why? Why did I ever move here? Why did I think I could start over here? Cricket cried out again. That was it. Fear turned to rage. It was one thing to kill your father-in-law and maybe even kill me, but to hurt an innocent animal? Never. I wasn’t going down without a fight.

  I looked around and picked up the biggest rock I could find. I slowly inched in the direction I had heard Cricket, keeping my head low. She meowed again, but this time softer. I stopped behind a tree and peeked around it. There was no one. Perhaps Jake was camouflaged behind a tree as well. I saw movement in the weeds and caught a glimpse of Cricket’s silvery-gray fur. She cried again, but this time I felt as though she was calling me. My grandmother’s words came back to me. “Listen to your gut.” I stood up and raced over to Cricket then dropped down beside her. She appeared uninjured as she pranced back and forth across an object poking out from under an especially prickly bush. Ignoring the cuts and scratches on my hands, I brushed away some of the dirt. “What’s this?” I started to pick it up but stopped. It was a golf club. A four iron, to be exact. I knew at that moment that I was staring at the murder weapon.

  I thought about Harold and Beverly and Penelope. The argument Andy had overheard. Jake had said the risk had to equal the reward and that often irrational actions were based on emotions. Whoever used this club on Harold was a golfer with a lot to lose. Then suddenly I knew exactly whose it was.

  Chapter 26

  Bloodied and enraged, I picked my way through the woods and headed straight to the row of golf carts parked outside the 19th Hole Bar. The cart I was looking for stuck out like a sore thumb, or should I say, was as big as the nose on your face. A flag hanging over the cart’s canopy showed it belonged to the president of the Cascada Falls Golf Association.

  I looked in the oversized black bag strapped to the back of the cart and began counting clubs. One, two, three...

  There were fourteen, the maximum number a player was allowed to carry. I would have sworn it would be short one. All the plastic tubes keeping the clubs separated were filled. Had he already replaced the four iron? I looked again and realized there were actually two putters. Gotcha!

  I reached into my pocket for my cell phone to call 9-1-1. It wasn’t there. My stomach lurched. It must have fallen out when I was scrambling around in the woods.

  “May I ask what you’re doing, Ms. Fairmont?”

  Bert Crosby loomed over me like Bigfoot, casting an enormous shadow. I cleared my throat and took a step back. “Just admiring your clubs, is all.”

  “I see. Find what you were looking for?” He unzipped the side of his golf bag and pulled out a small pistol. He read the question on my mind. “Why do I carry a gun with me on the course? You never know when you might encounter a predator in the woods, if you know what I mean.”

  “I—I don’t.” My legs felt rooted to the asphalt. Fight or flight? I wanted to run, but where? The clubhouse? The woods?

  “Get in,” he said, concealing the pistol in his windbreaker pocket. “We’re going for a ride.” When I hesitated, he added, “I’ve got nothing to lose.” He glanced around and then pushed me into the cart. He took off down the cart path and then veered off into the woods.

  Stupid. Why hadn’t I checked for my phone first? I was like a character in one of those slasher movies who goes back to the deserted cabin in the woods. Think fast. You’re stronger than you think. Bert doesn’t want to kill me, he just doesn’t want to get charged with Harold’s murder. I spotted his cell phone on the dashboard of the cart. If I could distract him, try to bargain with him, maybe I could get my hands on it and call for help.

  He stopped the cart so abruptly I flew forward. Luckily, I was able to grab the phone. I held it behind my back and prayed it wasn’t locked. My hands shook so much I could barely hold it still. I needed to talk to him, to buy myself time.

  “I know you didn’t intend to kill Harold; you two were friends. So what happened?”

  He stepped out of the cart and looked around. The gun was out of his pocket now. “Friends? Harold was never my friend. He thought we owed him because he stepped up and married Beverly when I wouldn’t.”

  “Why? Why didn’t you marry Beverly?”

  “Let’s just say I wasn’t sure I was the marrying kind, if you know what I mean. But that didn’t stop that wench from trying to wrangle me. She tricked me by getting pregnant, then expected me to pay for her mistake.”

  I pressed the button and it beeped.

  He jerked his head toward me. “Give me that!”

  I started to run, but he knocked me to the ground. My head hit a rock and for a moment, I saw stars. Standing with one foot on my arm, he reached down and grabbed the phone out of my hand. “Now stand up.”

  When I did, he pushed me toward a clump of large cottonwood trees.

  “You don’t want to kill me, just like you didn’t want to kill Harold. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

  A guttural chuckle emerged from his barrel chest. “Promises. Secrets. Harold said he’d never tell either, but then the old drunk threatened to expose me as Penelope’s real father. Can you believe it? After all these years? You young people wouldn’t think twice about it, but it wouldn’t go over so well with the voting membership of the Cascada Falls Golf Association, believe you me. I spent too many years glad-handing and sucking up to those old coots to let it slip away. I deserve to be president of the association, and I wasn’t going to let anyone, especially Harold Attwood, steal it from me.”

  He looked around. “Now, what to do with you? If I shoot you, the noise will drive out the neighbors. Sorry, but I’m going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.” He pulled a club from his bag. “This should do nicely. I rarely use my six anyway. When they find you—they’ll think you tripped on a branch and fell on a rock and hit your head. Poor thing. You should have minded your own business.”

  He shifted the gun from his right hand to his left and came straight at me, the club raised over his head. I had one chance at this. I mustered all my strength and swung my leg around the way I had seen Sherry do it. My foot hit his arm and the gun flew to the ground. I dove for it just as the club sliced through the air, barely missing me. I picked up the gun and aimed straight at his chest. “Drop it! Or it will be my turn to get a hole-in-one.”

  I was rather proud of that line and knew instantly I’d be repeating it as part of this story for a very long time.

  I wasn’t sure which I heard first: the sirens or Jake’s voice calling my name. Bert knew it was over and dropped the club. Jake jumped on him and pushed him face down on the ground, planting his knee squarely in Bert’s back and pinning down his arms. He let go just long enough to toss me his cell phone. “It’s Grady,” he said between breaths.

  “Hello,” I said into the phone.

  “This is Grady. What’s your location? Where’s the suspect?”

  “He’s face down in the dirt. We’re in the woods.”

  “I know, but where? I need a signal of some sort.”

  A signal. I looked at the gun. I hadn’t held one since my father had taught me and my brother to shoot cans when we were kids. I took aim at a tree and squeezed the trigger gently. The sound was louder than I remembered. Luckily, the bullet hit a tree, just not the one I had aimed for.

  I put the phone up to my ear. “Does that help?”

  “Got it,” Grady said. “We’re on our way.”

  By this time, I was trembling. I looked at the gun. I don’t think I could have fired another shot if I had wanted to. Pointing the barrel down, I held it out toward Jake. “Do you want to take this?”

  “No, you’re doing just fine,” he sai
d and smiled. “You shot a perfect round.”

  Chapter 27

  “Get him out of here, boys,” Sheriff Grady said as two deputies slapped handcuffs on Bert. “I’ll take that,” he said to me and carefully removed the gun dangling from my hand. “Are you okay?” He motioned to the cuts and scrapes on my hands and face. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  “I’m fine.” I shivered as the wind whistled by my face.

  “Good, then would you mind telling me what happened here? An hour ago, you said you thought Dale Pratt had killed his father-in-law. What changed?”

  My teeth chattered and Jake moved next to me to block the wind. “An hour ago I didn’t know who Penelope’s real father was. Dale only cared about the house. He needed the money from the sale. Everyone knew Harold was tightfisted with money. Dale didn’t hatch the plan to sell the house until after Harold was dead, so it wasn’t likely he’d be at the house arguing with his father-in-law.”

  “Okay, so with Dale eliminated, what did you do next?”

  “I thought about the most likely person to be with Harold after his golf game. Since he was drunk and his cart was broken, I figured someone had to have driven him home. Then when I saw the golf club buried over there, I realized where Penelope had gotten her rather sizable nose.”

  “Bert Crosby.” Grady yelled into his radio, “We’ve got evidence, boys. Get someone over here now.” To me, he said, “Do you think you can help us find it?”

  I glanced around wondering exactly how far back in the trees we were. “I know. Call my cell phone. I probably dropped it near the club.”

  We followed the ringing sound, which led us straight to the phone and the evidence.

  “We got it,” the deputy said as he crouched over the club. “It’s a four iron.”

  “Four iron?” Grady stared at the object. “Is that Harold’s missing club?”

  I nodded. “My guess is that Bert grabbed Harold’s off the wall to clobber him when he threatened to tell everyone how he’d abandoned Beverly. Then he replaced Harold’s with his own and came out here to bury Harold’s.”