by Diaz, AJ
Abby’s face contorted. “What?”
Before Taylor could respond, Abby was muttering, “You—you’re lying. You’re lying.”
“And you’re stuttering.”
Abby pushed Taylor backward and yelled, “You’re just jealous.”
Taylor was about to yell back when Susan came behind, grabbed her, and dragged her away. “C’mon, Taylor, what’s gotten into you? Chad’s waiting at our table, and we’ve got a case to solve.”
“Fine. But can we make fun of Abby afterward.”
“Not today. C’mon.”
Following school, the three friends went to their homes to change out of their school clothes. Taylor picked them up in her mom’s car, and they started for the golf course. On their way, Chad explained how he couldn’t play with them because he was scared of golfing. When he was a kid, he’d been hit in the head with a golf ball at a golf course and never wanted to step foot on one ever again.
Taylor tried telling him the odds of that happening again were slim. Susan accused him of having “golfophobia.” Then she started counseling him and pretended she went through the same thing as an infant.
They pulled into the small parking lot at this time. Juxtaposed to the parking lot, the clubhouse was large and extravagant. Glass double doors posed as the entry. And the eave before the doors extended into a square portico. The first hole was oriented just in front of the building.
When Taylor and Susan got out of the car, Chad refused to leave. “So you’re just going to stay in the car?”
“What do you expect me to do? I have to?”
“You’ve got issues,” said Susan, closing her door.
“All right, well, we’ll see you later,” said Taylor.
Taylor and Susan grabbed the golf bags they’d borrowed from their dads and walked into the clubhouse to pay for their rounds.
The place was exquisite. Golf apparel—hats, shirts, pants, cleats—lined the walls and reached for the vaulted ceiling. Stands and displays covered the floor. The air was conditioned to a cool temperature. And the cash register guy, who was old and donning a visor, looked polite.
That is, until he saw Taylor and Susan. “What are you girls doing? Do you not know golf etiquette? You never take your bags inside the clubhouse!”
Susan dropped hers on the floor, and Taylor stared for a moment, confused. “Oh,” she said, realizing. Her and Taylor rushed out and stood their bags up outside.
Entering again, Taylor went to the counter man. “Hey, you’re name is Mike Adamson,” she said, reading his name tag.
The older-looking man, probably in his fifties, said, “Yes. I’m glad you can read a name tag.”
“And you’re the manager?” asked Susan.
“Yes, I’m also glad you can read a name tag.”
“Any relation to Abby Adamson?”
“Daughter,” phrased the man tersely.
Susan whispered, “Should have known.”
“Moving on,” said Mike, “what will it be, nine holes or eighteen?”
“What’s cheaper?” asked Taylor and Susan at the same time.
“Let me think about that for minute.” Mike put a hand to his chin. “Nine!”
“Gee whiz,” said Susan, “I now understand Abby.”
“Hmmm?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
Taylor said, “We’ll take nine.”
He accepted her debit card and explained the rules of the golf course as he rang them up. “Don’t cross holes. In other words, don’t skip from one to three. Don’t stand in other people’s fairway. Don’t walk in the sand pits without afterward raking them over. There’re rakes beside each one. Don’t create divots in the fairway without filling them back in. Don’t drive your golf cart over the green where the flag’s are, and don’t drive through streams either.”
“Whoa,” remarked Susan in an English accent, “any rules other than ‘don’t?’”
“Keep your bags with you at all times. And that was a pretty good English accent.”
“Thank you.”
“So,” asked Taylor, “is Jack Cadell playing this fine day?”
“The day was fine until you two showed up. And, yes, Mr. Cadell is playing,” replied Mike.
“Thank you, sir. We’ll try our best to keep the rules,” said Taylor.
Mike squinted. “It’s called etiquette.”
“That too,” said Susan.
Mike pointed to Taylor’s wrist. “Nice watch.”
“Oh, yeah. It also has GPS technology in it.”
Mike simply nodded and busied himself with his touch phone.
The girls grabbed their bags and ran out to the first hole to tee off. Susan stretched as Taylor scoped out the periphery. “No sign of Jack Cadell.”
Susan groaned as she stretched. “You can’t expect to find him immediately. This is a huge, prestigious course, didn’t you hear all the rules? He’s probably a few holes in front of us.”
“Or playing the back nine.”
“What are those?” inquired Susan.
“I have no idea. I just heard my dad say it before.”
Taylor poked a tee into the ground and placed a ball on it. “Which club do I use?”
Susan looked through Taylor’s bag. “The bigger the better.” She pulled out the number one driver. “Use big Bertha here.”
Taylor grabbed the handle. “So isn’t there a special way to hold these things. Like, don’t you have to wrap your hands around each other.”
“I don’t know. Just hit the ball and see what happens.”
In the distance and on another fairway, a man was taking practice swings. Taylor watched him and studied his technique. “Okay, I think I understand.”
The sun was high overhead, and the day was warm and relaxing. There was no breeze either. Taylor addressed herself next to the ball and took a practice swing. She rotated back, brought her arms up, and pivoted around in perfect elliptical motion.
Susan was blown away. “That looked perfect, Taylor! How did you do that?”
“Now for the real thing,” said Taylor, stepping closer to the ball. “Ready.”
With a wink, she did the same swing, only this time harder and faster. So hard and fast, in fact, that she could hear the club slicing through the air. The club bit into the ground and likely scooped up the ball with it. When Taylor finished her swing, she gazed faraway where she thought her ball must have gone. “Where did it go?” she finally asked.
Susan was bent over in laughter and pointing toward the tee.
The ball was still on the tee. It hadn’t gone anywhere. Next to the ball, a big patch of turf was missing. Now Taylor was laughing.
“Hey, you,” the angry voice of Mike came through the clubhouse speakers. Taylor looked around. “Yeah, you. Come in here.”
Taylor and Susan exchanged glances, then walked into the clubhouse. “I’ll fix the divot I just made, I know,” said Taylor.
“It’s not that,” said Mike. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before, but you’re wearing a tank top. That’s illegal at this course. You have to wear a t-shirt.”
“W—well I don’t have any with me.”
Mike’s eyes turned onto a shelf full of golf t-shirts for women. “I do.”
Taylor perused the shelves. “Okay… so where’s the white shirts because I only see yellow.”
“There are no white. We ran out yesterday.”
“What!”
“Is that a problem?”
“Yes,” exclaimed Taylor. “Yes it is.”
“Yes,” said Susan. “It is for her.” To Taylor, “We’re trying to solve a murder here. Do it for Aaron and Brad. Do it for the kids across the seas that are starving.”
Taylor ran a drooping bang over her ear. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. “Okay, fine. I guess I’ll take a yellow.” She bought it, put it over her tank top, and ran back out to the first hole where Susan was preparing to hit.
Still, no one was waiting beh
ind them. A good sign. It was the middle of the week, so the course was almost completely empty.
After some random mumbling, Susan swung a goofy-looking swing and sent her ball off to the right, where it came to a rolling stop before a tree.
“Nice,” said Taylor derisively.
“I wouldn’t laugh, Miss Perfect Swing.”
Taylor stepped up to her ball, which was still standing there, untouched, and didn’t take a practice swing. Her perfect swing made contact this time, and the ball flew high and far. Only, not straight. It reached far right, and crashed into a wooded area.
“Oooh,” said Susan, “I hope you didn’t hit anything on the endangered species list.”
“I wouldn’t be laughing. You’ll be lucky if you hit anything,” remarked Taylor.
Susan went silent.
“What is it?” posed Taylor.
“I think I see Cadell. On that faraway green.”
Taylor followed Susan’s gaze until seeing Cadell. “Let’s go!”
They left their bags behind, though they were supposed to attach them to their golf cart, jumped into their cart, and sped away. Inside the clubhouse, Mike saw them and sighed. “No hope,” he muttered, and let them go.
Taylor was driving and had the pedal all the way down. The cart whistled as they sped down the fairway. Susan said, “Cr—cre—creek!”
“I see it,” said Taylor. Directly in front of them, the fairway slightly dropped into a creek. Taylor didn’t slow, and their cart dropped in and splashed through it, giving them several head-spinning jolts.
“You do realize we’re breaking all the rules Mike told us not to break,” yelled Susan, hair whipping in the wind.
“Since when do you care? Besides, this is a police emergency!”
“Jack Cadell is not even a part of the case,” Susan retorted. “He’s just the estranged father.”
“Estranged enough to be involved. Don’t you think that’s a good alibi? Just use simple deduction, Sue.”
“Actually,” yelled Susan, “detectives don’t technically use deduction. They technically use abduction.”
“Whatever!”
Their cart rolled over the green, which is also against the rules, ran over the flag, and as it came down the other side, tore through a level sand pit. “Shouldn’t we stop and rake the sand?” asked Susan.
“Will you stop that,” said Taylor. “Why are you interested in keeping the rules all of the sudden?”
“Because I’m tired of high speed chases.”
“We’re not chasing anyone, and no one is chasing us.”
“I just have a bad feeling.”
Taylor finally brought the cart to a slow stop beside Cadell and the burly man who was with him. “Mr. Cadell?” inquired Taylor.
Susan fell out of the cart and started kissing the ground.
“What’s wrong with her?” Cadell asked.
“Everything. So you are Jack Cadell?”
“Yeah, why, is there a problem?”
“I’ll say. You’re son was accused of murder.”
“I know that. What about it?”
Taylor asked, “Why did you quit your job at the café the day before the murder?”
He looked at her wryly. “I didn’t know there was going to be a murder if that’s what you’re implying.”
The burly man stepped beside Jack at this point. “What seems to be the problem, girls?”
Jack introduced him. “This is Jim. My… friend.”
The man turned around and spat. Taylor noticed he had a handgun in his back pocket. She nearly screamed, but then pretended she didn’t see anything. Turning toward Jack, she noticed something in his golf cart. “Uh…” She couldn’t speak she was so astonished. Slowly, gradually, cocking her head all the while, she approached Jack’s cart.
“What is it?” Cadell asked.
“Yeah, what’s up?” asked Susan.
Taylor grabbed a beanie off the seat. On the top were the letters JC in bold. Just like Aaron’s beanie that said AC. Taylor remembered Aaron’s story about the ski trip and the only good time he’d had with his dad. Now holding the beanie before Jack, she asked an obvious question: “You still have this?”
“Yes,” he said, laughing nervously. “Why?”
“Because I just solved the case.” Taylor turned toward Susan. “I know what happened.”
“What? What did you solve?” said Jack.
“You’re the guy. You’re the murderer. You murdered Brad Ringer. I know how you did it, and I know why. And I know the connection between the robberies and the murder.”
“That’s insane,” he stammered.
“I’m afraid not,” said Taylor. To Susan, “Call the lieutenant.”
“Already on it.”
Just then, Jack jumped into his cart; Jim jumped in the passenger seat, and they sped off!
“What are they doing?”
“They’re getting away!” exclaimed Taylor.
Chapter 21 Wearing a yellow shirt, Taylor had solved the case, but now the murderer was getting away. She couldn’t let that happen. “Brief the lieutenant,” she told Susan.
“What are you doing?”
“Driving. Hop in.”
“I knew it,” exclaimed Susan. “I just knew this would turn out bad.”
Susan stepped into the cart, but before she could sit, Taylor gunned it. The golf cart slightly fishtailed on the turf and took off after the villains. Nearly falling out, Susan managed to sit and keep the phone to her ear. After the fifth ring, the lieutenant answered, “Arterman, here.”
“Lieutenant, where are you?”
“In my office.”
“Great, get backup and get out to the Formstaw Country Golf Course and hurry. We’re chasing Brad Ringer’s murderer, and he may likely get away. Hurry.” Susan clicked off. “He’s on his way,” she told Taylor.
Taylor swerved around two old ladies who were practice swinging. “Good.”
Jack traversed fairways, skillfully passing through a dense stand of trees. Taylor tried to memorize the path he’d taken to get through all the trees unscathed. She nervously said, “Hold on.”
The cart plunged in between the trees. Taylor twisted the wheel this way and that, weaving her way and narrowly dodging trunks and bushes. Sticks cracked underneath the tires, and a few times they were whapped in the face by low-hanging branches. Running over a bush, they launched into the open and came down on a slippery fairway.
“That was close.”
Lieutenant Jeff Arterman stuck his cell phone in his pocket, already standing and making his way for the door. The captain stepped into the doorway. “Who was that?”
Arterman bumped into the captain to get out, but the captain just stood there, immovable. “It’s Taylor and Susan! They’re in trouble. Let me by.”
Captain Tony Hamell stared into Arterman’s eyes with a fierce glint. “Where are they?”
“At the golf course. They said they’ve solved the case. Let me by.”
“They’re liars!” the captain ferociously yelled. “And you don’t have my permission to take men out there with you.”
Arterman was getting angry now. “Then I’ll go myself.” He shoved himself into the captain, knocked him out of the way, and ran out of the police station.
Captain Hamell rose to his feet, cursed, and went into his office, slamming the door behind him. Everyone in the room outside his office had watched in silence. The captain closed his blinds so his office was dark and dialed a number on his cell phone. “Ruby,” he said, “get the gang to the Country Golf Course. Jack’s in trouble. It’s the rowdy Taylor and Susan again.”
“Sure thing, Boss,” came the answer.
“And, Ruby, don’t mess up like Billy, unless of course you want the same fate. And I can arrange that.”
“Sure thing.”
Click. The captain slunk into his chair, scared his cover might be blown. Then he had an idea. Throwing on a coat and tucking a mask into the inside po
cket, he exited his office with an evil smile.
The wind was whipping in Taylor’s hair like a high-speed fan. Compared to cars the golf cart was slow, but even so, it was faster than she’d expected. Susan was still in the passenger seat moaning about every bump and trying to hold on for dear life. In her words.
Jack was nearly one hundred feet in front of them, and he was ascending a green. They watched as his cart dropped away over the knoll. Taylor leaned forward and made sure both her hands were on the wheel. Their cart roared onto the green. “What’s on the other side?” asked Susan.
Seconds later they were going over the hill. Taylor would have braked if she’d had time, for just a few feet before them was a deep sand pit, which explained why Jack’s car seemed to have dropped so fast. Then they were airborne. The cart hit the ground, bounced, spun, and nearly tipped, coming to a sliding stop in the pit. Susan was about to jump out when Taylor punched the throttle.
The cart bounded over the pit’s embankment and came down on the first cut. Jack was still about one hundred feet in front. Maybe a little more. “Let’s just wait for the police,” stammered Susan.
“No time.”
Taylor saw Jim’s head rise as he reached into his back pocket. “Uh-oh.”
“What’s ‘uh-oh?’”
“He’s got a gun.”
Susan clenched the shaft that was holding up the golf-cart’s roof. Her knuckles turned white.
“Think of it as Disneyland,” yelled Taylor over the wind and small golf-cart engine. “Think of Jim as the yeti on the Matterhorn. Or is it an abominable snowman?”
“This isn’t Disneyland! Thank you very much!”
Jim turned in his seat, leveled his pistol, and stared down the sights. Boom! The gun ripped off a shot. Taylor swore she saw the slug coming right at her, so she jerked the wheel. The bullet whizzed through the middle of the cart.
Susan was breathing heavy. “He’s not a yeti or a snowman! Most notably, he has a gun!”
Taylor apologized. “This is a switch,” she said. “The guys with the guns usually do the chasing.”
“I concur. And I think I’m going to disown you after this is over.”
“You’ll have to wait in line. Jim has already filed his papers.”
