by Kristen Lamb
A security guard allowed us through, but warned the boys to be gone by seven twenty before the earliest tee-time. He handed us keys to a golf cart and we parked, loaded the gear and Sawyer drove to the first water trap. Josh and Keith raced to the pond and dove in. It only took a matter of minutes for them to emerge with their first handfuls of expensive golf balls.
“No way I’d jump in that.” I shivered.
Sawyer gave me a half-smile. “Not a fan of the water?”
“Don’t swim in anything that isn’t chlorinated.” I watched the boys dive down among the reeds and lily pads without a care for what might be swimming among them. I wondered if I wasn’t being grossly irresponsible by letting them swim around in that muck.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“Too many run-ins with Water Moccasins. Though Daddy used to let me shoot any of the ones near the dock before we went fishing. Then he let Heather and me help gut the fish, or the deer or rabbits.”
He slipped on his dark Ray-Bans and leaned back in the driver’s seat of the plush golf cart. “Most little girls are all glitter, shoes, and princesses.”
“And some aren’t much different when they grow up, or have you not noticed this outfit?” I slunk down in my seat, drawing the hat brim low over my eyes. “I look like Bone Collector Barbie.”
“True.” He smiled as the boys squealed in the background, filling their plastic baskets with golf balls. His body was more relaxed than I’d ever seen him, and he seemed to almost be enjoying himself. “I’m guessing you’ve never been diving,” he said.
“Nope. Saw Jaws."
“That’s why you won’t go diving? A movie. Seriously?”
“Good enough for me.” I waved at the boys. They were still going strong and I was beginning to wonder if any of these rich folks ever hit a ball into one of the holes, or were they all in the water traps?
“You’re missing out,” he said. “It’s wonderful. Quiet. Floating among all the color. The Great Barrier Reef is another world.”
“Another world full of sharks that can eat you . ”
“Which clearly makes you nervous.”
I ribbed him. “You make me nervous.”
“I do?”
“Let’s say I get nervous any time my definitive position at the top of the food chain is not static.”
He laughed. “I love the water. Grew up near the ocean. Joined the Navy as soon as I hit eighteen.”
“Any siblings? Ever married? Kids?” I’d just realized that Sawyer seemed to know everything about me, but I knew almost nothing about him.
He paused a long moment and about the time I figured he’d change the subject, he opened up. “I’m the youngest. Only boy and Mom’s favorite. Two older sisters in Connecticut. We talk on the phone a few times a year. Parents retired in Destin. I was married once for all of a minute, but that was a long time ago. No kids.” His face darkened and something about his tone told me not to press further.
It had suddenly gotten real awkward. I struggled to lighten the conversation. “Any hobbies?”
“I do like to sew. Nice work on your hand, by the way.”
“Really?” I gave him a weird look.
He nodded. “Really. Making my own woman-suit from abducted prostitutes right now.”
“Ha ha, Buffalo Ben, and here you struck me as a scrap-booker.”
Stone-faced, he said, “Nah, gave it up. Too addictive with all the stickers and parties and fancy scissors.”
“You know far more about scrap-booking than I feel comfortable with.”
“I have two sisters.” He watched the boys as if he were their own personal bodyguard. “No, no hobbies. All the job. Sucks you in, you know?”
“That I do.” I thought about Verify, the nights I’d slept on the floor of my office, of the countless weekends I’d created presentations and sales projections while others golfed or went dancing or whatever non-workaholics did. Grief pressed down on me and I didn’t want to ruin the moment. Needed time to collect myself so the morning could continue to be pleasant. I was enjoying getting to know Sawyer as a person instead of my pursuer.
“Mind if I take a quick walk?” I asked.
“You okay to do that?” His gaze cut to my bandaged feet in pink rhinestone flip-flops.
I nodded. “Not going for a run. I’m stiff and need to wake up. But if I’m not back in fifteen, come make sure a bass fisherman hasn’t netted me.”
Sawyer smiled. “Yes, your sister is…”
“Flamboyant much?”
He shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on these two and we’ll catch up. Keep to the path.” It was an order, not a suggestion.
“Yessir.” I gave a mock salute and struggled out of the golf cart. I ambled along the sandy trails that threaded through greens and berms, enjoying the hummingbirds that fed on the white blooms of the giant yucca lining the property. Mourning doves cooed in the distance and once in a while I’d cross a jackrabbit munching on some of the putting greens or a roadrunner would zip by. As I topped a small rise, I spied the next water trap down in a valley. Sunlight shimmered off the water making it seem like liquid gold, but something big floated close to shore breaking the pattern. Certain my eyes were playing tricks on me, I wended my way down the path then stopped cold.
A body lay face down on the sandy bank. Adrenalin pumping, I kicked off my flip-flops, bolted for the still form and sloshed out into the muddy-bottomed banks to drag the victim to shore. My back protested as I tried to get a footing and haul water-soaked dead weight onto land. When I turned the body over to check for a pulse, my knees gave way.
I checked for breathing. Nothing. No pulse. I even inspected the throat. The flesh felt like a raw chicken fresh out of the fridge, which nearly made me lose it. No purple bruising. No gunshot wounds. No head injury. His wallet and phone were missing too. No car keys, either. Then I saw the rip on the inside of his slacks, the deep three-inch slice right through the femoral. Thin lines of blood leaked out in weak watery lines. I ran as fast as I could back to Sawyer and the boys.
Sawyer must have spotted me coming, because he ordered the boys out of the water and met me halfway. I gasped for air. My feet and lungs burned. “Call the police.” I bent over, bracing myself on my knees, gulping for air.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Body. Ahead. Next water trap.” I clutched his windbreaker. “It’s bad, Sawyer, bad, real bad.”
“Romi, calm down.” He rubbed my arms.
“You don’t understand. I know who it is. I know who it is, and I thought I’d be glad about it, but I’m not.” I wanted to bleach my brain, un-see shadows of birds reflected back in dead dilated pupils, un-feel the clammy turgid corpse flesh I still felt clinging like cobwebs to my fingers.
“Who? Who’s dead?” He shook me a little.
“Cunningham.”
“Claire?” he said.
“No. Mark. Mark Cunningham. Murdered.”
Sawyer called the police on his cell and we stashed the boys in the Suburban with AC running and the gate guard keeping watch over the pair. They had games on their cell phones to entertain them and I was beyond grateful my impromptu walk spared them discovering Cunningham’s dead body. Let them keep their innocence. I sure as hell missed mine and had never fully appreciated how much I’d taken it for granted until recently.
Resort security shut down the golf course while Sawyer and I perched on a grassy hill above the body to make sure the scene remained secure. Didn’t need landscapers or morning golfers traipsing through evidence. The police would be here any minute. I wanted to stay in the Suburban, but Sawyer refused to let me out of his sight.
I’d removed the filthy bandages from my hand and feet. I squirted another layer of hand sanitizer on my skin and scrubbed, even though the alcohol made all the bites, scratches and my stitched palm burn like hell.
“You’re going to poison yourself with that stuff,” he said, frowning.
I glared. I wanted a sho
wer. A week-long shower with Lysol. I noted a strange perfume that made me think of Monte Carlo. I sniffed at my arms, trying to place where the scent was coming from.
“What are you doing?”
“You smell that?” I lifted my arm.
“All I smell is all that hand sanitizer.” He scowled.
Maybe Sawyer didn’t smell it, but I could. I’d only smelled that fragrance once before, in an elite perfumier outside Provence that created custom perfumes for the very wealthy. They never recreated the same fragrance. Phil had bought me a small bottle then never let me forget how much it cost. But why was I smelling it here? Only one bottle had ever been made and I threw it in the trash the day I realized Phil had thrown me to the wolves.
“No marks around the throat,” I said softly, my mind whirring.
“What?” He stroked my back, but I barely noticed.
“Wasn’t garroted. Like the others. Still wore the suit he had on last night, too.” I went to chew my nails then remembered I’d just touched a corpse.
“Why would anyone kill Cunningham?” Sawyer asked.
“Aside from the obvious answer that he was a giant ass?”
He gave me a dirty look.
“Maybe you should question the scores of families his little vineyard project left homeless.” I hugged my knees.
“Does anyone else know Cunningham blackballed you?”
“You talking motive?” I fired up. I jabbed a finger toward the body. “He’s been dead awhile. Oh, wait. I forgot to tell you.” I tightened my ponytail. “I arranged a private party with Cunningham, crept into your room, took your keys then stole your truck so I could sneak into a gated resort and murder the only other man who’s screwed up my life almost as much as Phil. It’s why I was so tired when you woke—”
“Stop.” He rubbed his forehead, frustrated. “I know you didn’t kill him. Just thinking this from all angles before they question you.”
“I have an alibi. I was sleeping in my hotel room. Alone .”
He ignored the jab. “Did he know Phil?”
My mind struggled to think. All the major players were gone. “Not that I know of, and I’d think by now we’ve established I was about the most clueless person on the planet in regards to all Phil was up to.”
“No idea how Cunningham could be connected in a way that would get him killed?”
I shook my head. “No. Cunningham was searching for Phil like the rest of us. Wanted his stolen money back.” I paused a long moment. “You think maybe he found him?”
“Phil?” Sawyer rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Can’t rule it out. But you swear you didn’t know Cunningham.”
“Never even met him until last week at Unemployment. Unless…” I squeezed more water out of the bottom of my jeans and tried to ignore the dead body fifty yards away.
“Unless what?”
“Phil stole from everyone, but he was greedy. He also ghosted a lot of outside computers into believing the Verify employees had paid all their taxes and Unemployment benefits. Even though we’d paid into Unemployment, there was no money there when we went to claim benefits. Verify had stolen that, too.”
“And?”
“I’m not a huge expert in this, but one way hackers introduce viruses is through flash drives or some other direct method. Cunningham told me he was blackballing me because Lonny had sentenced him to civil service as punishment for Verify.”
“But you said you sold directly to the father.”
“I did. And frankly it was completely out of character. Lonnie’s a sweetheart and so were his brothers. Mark totally had to be adopted, because…”
“Focus.”
“Sorry.”
“But you think there’s more,” he said.
“Last night. That weird conversation. Claire acted like Cunningham wanted to work for Unemployment, that it hadn’t been punishment at all. That her husband was this great benefactor who selflessly wanted to help the unwashed masses like me.”
“You’re thinking he took the job to help Phil gain access?”
“Certainly plausible. Cunningham would have known what computers to infiltrate and where, how to bury the discrepancies as long as possible while the virus rerouted the funds then created phantom registries to make it appear the money was there. These days money is all zeroes and ones. Certainly doable.”
He nodded. “Maybe Cunningham was no longer going to cover for him?”
I made a face. “No, then he would have just whacked Cunningham a year ago. There’s more to it. This wasn’t Phil.”
“How do you know?”
“Killer sliced his femoral. Why not strangled? Like the others? Maybe I watch too much TV, but hit men usually don’t suddenly change the way they kill, do they?”
He thought for a long moment. “Could be a different hit man. Could be that Cunningham was younger, stronger than the others. Would have been harder to overpower.”
Oddly, this information made me feel a bit relieved. “But this means there’s actually no real proof this death is connected to the other murders. May I remind you Cunningham was an ass—”
“Got that.”
“Probably had a whole line of people waiting…”
“Focus.”
I rolled my eyes. “All I’m saying, is before you look at outlaws, look at in-laws.”
“You do watch too much TV.”
“No, I don’t. Okay perhaps. My point is that people try to make stuff more complicated than it really is. Lex parsimoniae. ”
“In English?” He swatted away some ants crawling up his pants leg and moved over.
“Occam’s razor. Law of Parsimony. The simplest answer is usually the correct one. If you hear hoof beats think horses not antelopes.”
“Are you going somewhere with this?” He stood, still brushing away ants, muttering curses under his breath.
I lumbered to my feet, my injuries screaming. “People try to make stuff complicated, but most of the time, the answers are very simple.”
“Uh huh,” he said, still distracted by the ants.
“People are simple. Motives are simple. I learned that in sales. Are you even listening?”
“Learn that in law enforcement, too.” He stared at me in a way I hadn’t seen, as if he’d seen something new and couldn’t make sense of it.
“All I’m saying is we need to be careful not to make it complicated. Can be a distraction. Distractions are dangerous.”
“Yes, they are,” he said, but his tone was strange, heavy.
I brushed my fingertips over the angry scratches on my forearms, uncomfortable with the crackling undercurrent between us. “Sure, Mark could have been tied to some big conspiracy, but it just as easily could be a pissed off ex-girlfriend for all we know.”
He stared at the body still partially surrounded by reeds. His jaw set, he said, “No. This was a hit. Seen enough attacks by jilted lovers. Doesn’t fit. I don’t see rage. I see efficiency.”
“But wouldn’t he have known his killer? To let them get close enough to…?”
“Not necessarily. Killer could have rushed him, sliced and then shoved him in the pond. Someone your size could do that much if he was caught off guard.”
“I saw Hannibal. Several times, actually. Sliced femoral? He’d be dead in less time than it took to climb out of the pond.”
He nodded. “Struggle probably made him bleed out faster.”
“And the water likely removed any trace evidence. Not to mention there are probably a bazillion sets of shoe prints near a water trap with all these crappy golfers.” I groaned. “But who lured him out here? Don’t you think it odd he’d go strolling the golf course in the middle of the night?”
“Yes, I do. Won’t have anything conclusive until the M.E. does the autopsy, and speak of the devil.”
Again, I sniffed my forearms. “Are you sure you can smell that? Notes of musk, orange, and verbe—”
He backed away. “No. All I smell is rubbing alcohol.
/> A cluster of uniformed paramedics and a guy in a Coroner’s jacket came up the path loaded in gear, Meyerson right with them.
“You gotta be kidding me,” I said. “Is he the only cop in Bisby?”
Sawyer placed himself between Meyerson and me.
Meyerson offered a lop-sided grin. “Girl, you’ve only been in town three days and we already have theft, a home invasion, and now a dead body?” He clucked his tongue. “Trouble loves you.”
Sawyer intervened. “True, Miss Lachlan discovered the body, but that’s all. She’s been under protection since the break-in last night.”
Meyerson smirked. “So that’s what they’re calling it these days.”
Sawyer’s hands clenched and unclenched and I wondered if Meyerson would push the right button that’d get his nose broken a second time.
