by Lois Winston
The man lay on his back staring straight up at the cloudless sky. Between his slate-gray eyes was a dark circular wound. Bloodstained grass framed his lifeless head in a grotesque abstract shape, as if some wicked cartoonist had thought to ink in the conversation.
Only there was no conversation coming from this person. He was dead. Very dead.
My personal problems receded in a heartbeat. I fought down dizzying nausea as I felt my blood charge through me like a speeding freight train. I wanted to run and get far away from this grisly scene, but my feet weren’t listening.
I knew this man. He was my ex’s best friend and coworker down at the Hogan’s Glen Bank. His name tumbled from my lips. “Dudley Doright.”
TWO
“Donny Davis,” Jonette said. She barred her arms across her chest as if that would keep the death cooties at bay.
Technically she was right about the dead man’s name. Donny Davis was Dudley’s real name. Charlie had nicknamed Donny “Dudley Doright” in first grade and the name had stuck.
Jonette pointed to Dudley’s crotch. “What are you going to do about that?”
Nestled in the narrowest vee of his inseam was my ball. I knew it was my ball because I could clearly see the initials I’d hastily scribbled on the brand new ball this morning. Those initials radiated from the dimpled surface like a search beacon in a midnight sky. I grimaced.
“How many penalty strokes do you get for hitting a dead man? What club has the correct loft for an inseam lie?” Jonette asked.
From the high-pitched tone of her voice, I knew Jonette was about to crack. The best thing would be to get her out of here, away from Dudley. I had to come up with a plan, fast.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t dream of playing that ball.” I drew up a mental to do list. We needed help. An ambulance. The police.
I pointed up the incline. “Go back to the cart and call nine-one-one on your cell phone.”
Jonette stomped her foot. “Why is he dead? Why did we have to find him? Why couldn’t Alveeta or Christine stumble across him?”
“I don’t know, Jonette. This is a police matter. That’s why you need to go call them.”
“I can’t. Folks know I have a history with Dudley. They’re going to think I had something to do with his death. Let’s get out of here. We can call the cops from the pro shop.”
Dudley had stolen Jonette’s virginity as a teen, foreclosed on her house in her twenties. They’d spent the next fifteen years ignoring each other. Not easy to do in a small town like Hogan’s Glen.
“We can’t just leave him here,” I said.
Jonette’s face turned as red as her golf skirt. “Are you choosing him over me?”
Of all times for their old rivalry to crop up. Here I was trying to help her save face, and she was giving me a hard time. I didn’t have a cast-iron stomach either. I was, however, cursed with a strong streak of responsibility.
“This isn’t a competition, Jonette,” I said. “Dudley was a screwup, that’s for sure, but he’s also my daughters’ godparent and honorary uncle. I thought you’d want to go back to the cart, but if you want to stay here, fine. I’ll go make the call.”
“No, wait. Don’t leave me down here with him. Are you sure he’s dead?”
“For God’s sake, Jonette. There’s a hole in his head and the ground is saturated with more blood than I’ve ever seen. How can he possibly be alive?”
“Would you check? Please?”
If Jonette wasn’t my best friend in the whole world, I would have said no. But she was my friend and if she wanted me to check I would.
Acting like there was nothing to it, I nudged Dudley with the toe of my scuffed Foot Joys. I might as well have kicked a wooden bridge. A smelly wooden bridge. I fanned fresh air towards my face. “Definitely dead.”
Jonette’s face turned green. “I’ll make the call.”
While Jonette scrambled back up the hill, I stood watch over Dudley. It didn’t seem right that the sky should be so blue when something terrible had just happened. It should be dark and overcast and nasty. Sleeting even.
I’m an organized person and I like information to be arranged in tidy piles. To escape the nauseating terror clawing at my stomach, I imagined the scene before me was a disassembled jigsaw puzzle. The first piece of the puzzle was that Dudley had been shot. There were no guns lying about, so his wound was most likely not suicide. That meant someone else had been involved.
I glanced through the wire fence separating the out of bounds area from the nearby fallow farm field. Not a soul was in sight. Who did this? The better question was who didn’t want to kill Dudley. We’d all wanted to from time to time, myself included. He had a talent for pissing people off. In addition to thinking he was the ultimate Casanova, Dudley liked to play God in the bank loan department.
He didn’t look very godly now. I glanced down again, trying to be clinical and unfeeling. Not easy when my breakfast was looking for the emergency exit.
Dudley still wore his signature onyx ring and his watch. I wasn’t about to search his pants for his billfold, but a robber would have taken the watch and ring. So, his demise probably wasn’t a robbery.
And it wasn’t like he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The golf course wasn’t in a high crime area, not that there were many of those in Hogan’s Glen.
That left murder. Sadly, I couldn’t say Dudley didn’t have any enemies. When it came to life, Dudley wasn’t a nice guy. There was a long list of folks he’d hurt because of his attitude about money coming first. I’d turned a blind eye to Dudley’s machinations because he was Charlie’s friend. Now, with the clarity of a single mom trying to make ends meet, it was apparent that Dudley was a financial and emotional black hole, sucking the life out of anything he touched.
It was a Wednesday morning, for Pete’s sake. Why wasn’t Dudley in his office at the bank? I couldn’t believe that he was dead, that his blood stained the ground at my feet.
Jonette climbed back down the hill. “The police are on their way. I also called the clubhouse and told them not to wait for us to finish today.”
I nodded. With all the gurgling in my stomach, speaking didn’t seem like such a good idea.
“You don’t look so good, Clee.” Jonette put her arm around my shoulder and steered me back up the side of the hill. We sat on the side of the green. With distance, I gained some needed perspective and my head cleared.
“You’re no tower of strength, either,” I said. “You’re trembling like a leaf and your face is bile green.”
“I can think of a hundred things I’d rather be doing right now. Wednesday mornings are supposed to be our fun time. This isn’t fun and after we get done with all this mess, I’ve got to work tonight at the Tavern. My life sucks.”
Sirens wailed in the distance. The police would be here soon. “Not as much as Dudley’s. I wonder who killed him.”
“I didn’t do it. Though I can’t say I never thought about it.”
“I can’t believe he’s dead. Pinch me so I’ll wake up from this bad dream.”
Jonette pinched me.
I jerked away from her and rubbed my arm. “Ouch. That hurt.”
“You said to pinch you.”
“It was a figure of speech. Why aren’t the police here yet?” The sun went behind a cloud and the air temperature dropped several degrees. Goosebumps covered my arms and legs.
“I can forget about having a life now,” Jonette said. “It’s public record that Dudley screwed me every way possible. I’ll probably spend the rest of my miserable existence doing time for a crime I didn’t commit. Will you visit me in prison?”
“You’re not going to prison. I won’t let anyone railroad you for Dudley’s murder.”
Jonette shoved her hands in her skirt pockets. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”
“We’ll tell the cops what happened, and they’ll let us go. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Jonette starte
d to say something, but the closing of a car door preempted whatever she was about to say.
“Cleo?”
I groaned aloud at the sound of that very familiar male voice. Of all the cops in the world, why did it have to be this one that responded to the call?
Detective Britt Radcliff had been the first on the scene when my screams of adultery had rent our peaceful neighborhood. He’d also been my fifth-grade Sunday School teacher. You might say, he’d spent his life looking out for me, as if he were my big brother.
Britt seemed fated to turn up at my most embarrassing moments. Wishing wouldn’t make him go away. I’d tried that last time and it hadn’t helped one bit.
Two uniformed officers scrambled down the hill to inspect the body, but Britt stayed with us. His thunderstorm gray eyes narrowed with suspicion. All of a sudden I felt like I was eleven years old again and guilty of coloring happy faces on the Sunday School walls with Jonette.
“This is not our fault, Britt.” My face flushed with sudden heat. “We were playing through and found Dudley like this.”
“It’s okay, Cleo,” Britt said, his voice softening. “No one is accusing you of anything. You and Jonette wait in a squad car while we secure the scene. I want statements from both of you.”
Jonette turned white. “I need to move our golf cart. We’re in the way of anyone else who’d want to play through.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Britt said as he shepherded us towards the nearest squad car. “I’ve closed the course for the day. No other golfers will be coming through.”
I had no doubt that the hand he had on each of our backs could just as easily snatch us up by our collars if we didn’t do as he said. The dark suit he wore did little to hide the thick muscles of Britt’s beefy frame.
I shivered. Sitting in a warm car, which had been driven right across the golf course in clear violation of every course rule, seemed like a wonderful idea to me. “Don’t you need to separate us like they do on TV cop shows? How do you know that we won’t be rehearsing our stories?”
“This isn’t TV,” Britt said harshly, then his tone softened. “I thought you’d be more comfortable in each other’s company. Do I need to separate you two?”
“No,” Jonette said. “Shut up, Clee. You’re going to get us in trouble.”
Britt opened the car door for us. “Give me a few minutes at the crime scene, then I’ll be back to question you.”
Jonette slid in next to me in the backseat. “Are you trying to get us arrested? We’re not involved in this. We’re innocent bystanders, remember? This is all Dudley’s fault. Trust him to screw me over in death too.”
It was hard to put Dudley’s death out of my mind. His ghostly image and that dark, crowning bloodstain had been permanently imprinted on my retinas.
Dudley, what happened to you?
Dudley and Bitsy had double-dated with Charlie and me in high school. They’d married while Dudley studied banking in college. It hadn’t been long before he’d produced two boys to match our two girls. Sons that would now grow up without a father.
Charlie and Dudley. I had a zillion memories of the two of them together, laughing at the world. I shivered as another thought occurred to me. Were Dudley’s extramarital affairs the reason behind Charlie’s affair and subsequent marriage to Denise?
If it was, my ex was a fool. Charlie should have remembered how Dudley crumbled when Bitsy moved out and took his boys over to her mom’s in Virginia. But then, Charlie had never been one to think long and hard with his brain.
Charlie’s affair pushed me the closest I’d ever come to domestic violence. That damning credit card statement had exploded into my world, sending me into a screaming fit Hogan’s Glen had never seen the like of. My Lexy had saved me from a career of making license plates. She’d called the cops before I killed her father.
I couldn’t stop shivering. No wonder. Britt left the door open. “Close the door, Jonette. I’m freezing.”
Jonette pulled the door closed. After a moment, she squeezed her balled fists against her crossed legs and gazed expectantly out the window. “I’ve got to pee. I hope this won’t take long.”
I swore out loud. Jonette had a thimble-sized bladder. If she had to pee, she had about five minutes until she’d pee anyway.
Thanks to Jonette, I knew the location of every bathroom within a forty-mile radius of Hogan’s Glen. “Forget waiting for someone to take our statements. Let’s make a dash for the clubhouse restroom and come right back. No one will even know we were gone.”
Nodding, Jonette fumbled with the door for a minute. I shivered again. Once we made it to the clubhouse, I’d get some coffee and maybe buy myself a wind-shirt or a jacket. I couldn’t believe how cold I was.
“Uh, slight problem here, Clee.” Jonette’s voice sounded oddly flat.
“Deal with it.” For the first time I noticed the metal grate separating the two seats. I couldn’t wait to exit this tight little box. My chest hurt with the effort it took to breathe in this confined space. “Let’s get out of here.”
Jonette slumped back in the seat. “Can’t. No door knob.”
I clawed at my door and found the same thing. Nausea swirled up my throat like a plugged toilet. I held my hand over my mouth. If I didn’t get out of here immediately, I was going to throw up all over this car. I looked at Jonette and she looked at me.
With one accord, our mouths opened. “Help!”
THREE
After an eternity of ear-splitting screams, the door opened. Jonette bolted out of the car so fast you’d have thought her skirt was on fire. Britt reached for her, but she’d had years of practice overcoming obstacles, first as a star on our high school track team and second as a veteran of divorce courts. Jonette streaked towards freedom and indoor plumbing.
Fresh air wafted in my face, helping to quell my nausea. I stumbled out of the car in Jonette’s wake. “She’ll be right back.” I lowered my voice. “She has to use the facilities.”
Unfortunately, I’d moved too quickly, and a sudden spell of dizziness caused me to go temporarily blind. This is a thing that happens to me occasionally because of my low blood pressure. If I get up too quickly, often I see little floaters in my vision. Other times the world goes black for a few seconds.
Our club’s golf professional, Rafe Golden, stood beside Britt. Thick strawberry-blonde hair crowned his head and eyebrows. This I knew from memory, but I couldn’t tell you what clothes he had on right at this moment because I couldn’t see a darn thing.
Manly aftershave filled my nostrils as someone reached to steady me. It wasn’t Britt’s spicy scent. It was the woodsy smell that permeated the pro shop. I was slick with nervous perspiration and slid right through the golf pro’s hands. Just before my head clunked on the ground, Britt caught me as if I were a wayward football.
I prayed the ground would open up and swallow me whole. I was mortified. Absolutely humiliated. As the world brightened from black to gray to brilliant sunlight, I struggled to right myself.
Britt held me fast in a headlock. “For God’s sake, Cleo. Be still. I’ll get someone over here to check you out.”
My hands fisted in the warm grass and my shirt clung to me like shrinkwrap. “I’m okay. I just need a minute for my head to clear.”
“You’re not pregnant or anything, are you?” Britt asked. “My wife used to get light-headed when she was pregnant.”
Not unless I was the victim of some heavenly prank, and I didn’t think God would be that stupid. Heat poured off my face. “Absolutely not. Let go of me so that I can sit up.”
Britt peered briefly at my pupils, then shoved my sun visor back in my hair and allowed me to sit up. “Only if you’ll tell me what was going on in the squad car. What’s with all the screaming?”
I stared at my trembling hands. Britt already knew I had lunatic tendencies, but I’d hoped my screaming fit wasn’t common knowledge. If I had to tell the truth right now, my cover with the golf pro would be for
ever blown. “This is embarrassing.”
Changing the subject is what my girls always did when they wanted to skirt the truth. Directly below me was the crime scene. I couldn’t help but take in the beehive of activity down there.
When I saw an officer bag my golf ball, my heart skipped a beat. I pointed at the evidence bag. “My fingerprints are all over that golf ball. I didn’t kill Dudley. I just found him. Make sure they know that, Britt. My golf ball is not evidence.”
“Take it easy, Cleo,” Britt said in a soothing voice. “You’ve had something of a shock here today. Should I call your mom to come when we finish up here?”
That did it. I didn’t need anyone taking care of me. And I resented the fact that Britt thought I couldn’t handle this. The world was in perfect Technicolor again, so I assumed my equilibrium was back. I struggled to my feet. “I’m fine. This happens to me sometimes. It’s a blood pressure thing.”
Rafe Golden gathered me up by my armpits and effortlessly lifted me to my feet. Horrors. I was wet all over, but wet armpits implied that I didn’t recognize the importance of deodorant.
Mine had obviously worn off and now my armpit sweat was on the hands of the sexiest man in town. Well, at least now I wouldn’t have to worry about any date anxiety with this man. No way would he want to have anything to do with me after this.
I studied Rafe out of the corner of my eye. Jonette was right about his being hot. His six-foot-tall athletic frame weighed something in the vicinity of one hundred eighty pounds. His thickly lashed bedroom eyes seemed to be riveted on me.
Why now? Was he amused by my helplessness? Was he gathering information to entertain the guys around the clubhouse bar?
“Cleo, what happened in the car?” Britt asked. “Did Jonette tell you something about the murder that alarmed you?”
I tried to shrug off Rafe’s grip around my torso, but I might as well have been back in Britt’s headlock. Typical male response. Whenever there was a problem, a man answered with his physical strength, while a woman used her head.
