“That's a lot...” Casey started.
“It'll do just fine, Miles,” Zane interrupted. “And we appreciate your business.”
“Right,” Casey agreed. “What he said.”
“I'm starting to see why you were struggling before,” whispered Zane as Mecredi filled out a check.
“Thanks again,” the man said as he placed the check on the desk and then shook Zane’s hand. “If anyone ever comes to me asking for a P.I., I'll be sure to send them your way.”
“Nice guy,” said Zane as the door closed behind the infamous Gem Marauder.
“Really is,” concurred Casey.
“I could see hanging out with a guy like that. Classy, you know?”
“You might consider hanging out with him now, actually,” she suggested.
“Huh?”
Casey smiled as she shook her head. “You may not have noticed it, Zane, but when he shook your hand just now, he lifted your college ring, your Rolex, and your wallet.”
Zane looked at his wrist, his finger, and then patted his jacket.
“Son of a...” he said as he ran out the door.
Casey picked up the check and took a deep breath.
“Well, Casey, you have to admit one thing: Having Zane around makes things less boring.”
He was yelling outside the window. “And give me back my cufflinks too!”
Zane was so easy to trick, it would probably be hours before he got all of his items back from Mecredi.
Casey enjoyed a laugh at the thought as she cast another glance at the $25,000 check. Her smile dropped at seeing that it was post-dated twenty years from now.
“Damn,” she said, jumping up and bolting out the door.
A SOUND SWING
PROLOGUE
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, a dark, hunched figure turned to take a quick look around him before he slipped into the trees at the edge of the green. The disturbed bushes signaled their discontent with the interloper by snagging his legs with their thorns, seemingly hungry for flesh. The gloved man swatted the branches away and attempted to squat down, only succeeding in nearly falling head-first into a waiting thorny bush. A whispered swear escaped his lips, and then, a soft giggle.
He pulled something small from a bag, stood up, and then there was an almost imperceptible thud and bounce when the mysterious object hit the ground.
“Perfect,” he whispered with a chuckle. “Just perfect.”
DO MY SIDE
Casey Lane was having one of those mornings. The kind where you wake up grumpy, stub your toe on the way to the bathroom, throw your towel too hard over the curtain and directly into the pouring shower, and every other conceivable “why the hell did I bother to get out of bed today” bad thing that could happen. So when she walked into the office to find Zane all smiles while talking to perky little Amber, she couldn’t help but sneer.
All she wanted to do was grab a cup of coffee and head over to her desk to get some paperwork done. Of course that would elicit a remark or two from Zane because the coffee maker was on his side of the office, and also because Zane seemed to enjoy irritating Casey.
“Don't forget to wipe your feet before coming over to my side of the office,” Zane teased.
Casey felt her ire rise, but she fought it down. The fact was that she’d found her jealousy growing over the last couple of weeks. His side of the office was classy, clean, and marbled; her side looked like a scene from a 1940’s private investigator movie. It’s what she’d originally wanted, sure, but now that she’d seen what she could have had, it bugged her. First-world problems, you know?
“Really not in the mood for your remarks today, Zane.”
“Touchy,” Zane said with raised eyebrows at Amber. Then he tapped on the receptionist desk a couple of times before walking up to Casey. “Bad date last night?”
“I haven't been on a date in years,” Casey answered without thinking.
“I am tough to let go of.”
“More like get rid of,” she grumbled.
Zane didn’t seem to hear the remark, or if he did, he chose to ignore it.
“So what's the problem?”
“Couldn't sleep,” she said, which was mostly true. She kept dreaming about sitting in a big, comfy chair at a glass desk while looking out over a cityscape that she knew saw her gigantic “South Lane Detective Agency” sign. That made her slump again. The fact was that they weren’t a detective agency. They were private investigators. Semantics maybe, but people tended not to let that slip past.
“Take the day off,” Zane said in his poor-baby way. “I'll cover for you.”
Casey snorted. “Not a chance.”
“Well, you can't walk around like a zombie all day.”
“Seems to work for you,” she quipped.
“You know what,” Zane said with a hurt look, “maybe it'd be better if you went back to your crappy side of the office.”
Casey sighed and looked back at her drab desk. The “distressed” look was supposed to show character, and it did, but after sitting at Zane’s desk late last night while the office was empty, she realized character was nothing compared to posh.
“Maybe it would.”
Zane stopped and looked at her. “Wait, is that what this is about?”
“No,” she replied.
“Yes, it is,” he said with a laugh. “You couldn't sleep because you were up all night thinking about how great it would be to have an office as stylish as mine.”
“That’s not why.”
“You're lying.”
“Okay, fine,” she admitted, “maybe that was part of it.”
“I knew it,” he said triumphantly. He crossed his arms and showed his flawless set of teeth. “And you say I'm not a good detective.”
“You're not.”
“So what's the other part?” he asked while tapping his foot.
“The...” she began, but stopped herself. “Nothing. Forget it.”
“Come on, Casey,” Zane implored. “How can I help you if you won't talk to me?”
“I don't nee...” She paused once more. Could this day get any worse? “I mean, that I don’t want your help.”
“So you do need my help.”
“Only if I wanted it, and I don't.”
“Okay, fine,” he said with a smirk. “Stay up all night every night. We have plenty of coffee.”
The office phone rang, giving Casey enough of an out to start walking back to her desk.
“South Lane Detective Agency,” Amber said in her youthful, sing-song voice, “how may I help you?…Certainly, sir. Just a moment.” The young girl stood up and looked over the lip of the reception desk. “Mr. Wolfe, there's a Mr. Baskerton on one for you.”
“For him or for me?” Casey asked before sitting down at her desk.
“He asked for Mr. Wolfe, ma'am.” She scrunched her face up. “Technically, he asked for Detective Wolfe.”
Casey rolled her eyes and pointed at Zane’s office. “Put it on speaker, Zane.”
Zane sat in his high-back leather chair and swung his chocolate brown Allen Edmonds shoes up on his desk. Casey couldn’t argue that Zane was one of the few men she’d met over the years who had a reason to be arrogant, even if his intellect often took a few points off his perfect-10 status.
“Detective Wolfe here,” he said with a voice that Casey knew was intended to annoy her.
She responded by throwing her coffee stirrer in his general direction.
“Wolfe?” said the voice of a kindly sounding old man. “This is Jeb Baskerton, down at the club.”
“How have you been, JB?” Zane asked, putting his feet back on the floor and sitting up straight. Casey furrowed her brow at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. “It's been a couple of years since we last spoke.”
“I'm well. How's your father?”
“Good, good.”
“Still traveling?”
“Yes, sir. I think it's his personal goal to play every g
olf course on the planet.”
“Does seem it.” There was a brief pause. “Listen, are you alone? I sound like I'm on speaker.”
“Detective Lane is in here with me.”
“Who?”
“I'm the owner of the South Lane Detective Agency,” Casey announced from across the room.
“She's my partner, JB,” Zane added. “We work on all cases together. However, if this isn't about a case...”
“No, it is,” JB replied. “Just unexpected, what with your ad and all.”
“Right,” he said as a pen flew past his ear. Casey truly had to work on her aim. “So what can we help you with, JB?”
“This is kind of delicate, so you'll have to keep it under your hat.”
“Of course.”
“Well, it’s just…” The old man cleared his throat. “Hard to even say it, truth be told.”
“Wife been stepping out on you?” Zane asked.
“What? No! Why would you think something like that?”
“Oh, uh, sorry. Just that you, well…”
“What is the issue we can help you with, sir?” Casey said before Zane could put his foot further into his own mouth.
“I think one of our weekly foursome is cheating.”
“No way,” said Zane, looking more shocked at that than at the potentiality of JB’s wife having an affair.
“Sadly, yes. He's just improved far too much.”
“At the club?”
“Exactly.”
Zane was shaking his head. “That's terrible.”
“The problem is that I haven't been able to figure out how he's doing it. Frankly, none of us have.”
At this point, Casey was certain that someone was cheating, though it didn’t seem to be JB’s wife. However, the way the two men were acting, it was clearly something horrendous indeed.
“What are we talking about again?” she ventured, confused.
“Golf.”
“Ah,” Casey replied. “I was worried it was maybe something else. You did say foursome, and...”
Zane slammed the mute button and gave her a look.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, it’s just…”
“He told us his wife wasn’t cheating.”
“Yeah, but ‘foursome’ usually implies… well, you know.”
“Wait a second here,” Zane said while tilting his head, “is that what your dreams are about?”
“What?” Casey replied, nearly choking on her coffee. “No, you freak.”
“Why are you calling me a freak? They’re your dreams.”
“You still there?” JB said, interrupting them.
Zane hit the mute button again without taking his eyes off Casey.
“Sorry, JB, new phone system. Is it still the same foursome as ever?”
“Since your dad left, yes. It's me, Steve Pemrose, Chuck Lafferty, and the new guy, Colin Witt.”
“I'm assuming Witt is the suspect?” asked Zane.
“No, he's terrible,” JB said with a chuckle. “Loads of money, though, so we let that slide. It's Pemrose.”
“Say it isn't so,” Zane said almost reverently.
“I know it's difficult to believe, but he's just improved far too much.”
“And you want us to figure out how he's cheating?” Casey asked, trying to get back into the conversation.
“Well, you are a detective agency, right?”
“Technically, no,” admitted Zane. “We’re private investigators.”
“Then why is the place called South Lane Detective Agency?”
“The sign had already been made…” Casey started, but then drifted off.
Zane squinted at her and shook his head.
“The problem, JB,” he said, “is that I don't know how we could get close enough to see. I suppose we could put some surveillance equipment around, but I don't think the club will go for that.”
“They won't,” JB agreed. “Very tight security.”
“Precisely.”
“We could use a drone,” Casey offered.
“A what?”
Zane muted the phone again. “Seriously, you need some sleep. Why don't you let me handle this one?” He unmuted before she could respond. “Nothing, JB, just thinking out loud.”
“Right. Well, I have an idea to get you on the inside.”
“I'm already a member of the club,” Zane noted.
“No, I mean I can get you into the foursome.”
“Wouldn't him tagging along make it a fivesome?” Casey said helpfully.
“Not if one of us is injured,” JB replied.
“Ah.”
“We're teeing off at ten o’clock this morning, Zane. I can call the fellas now and tell them I pulled my shoulder. They'll buy it because it happens to all of us from time to time.”
“Sounds great to me,” Zane said with a big smile.
“One of our rules,” JB explained, “is that we can't back out unless we fill the slot.”
Zane nodded. “Makes sense.”
Casey found herself nodding too. She stopped because she had no idea if it made sense or not. Golf was not one of her pastimes, after all.
“You still have your sticks, Zane?”
“I have them. I’m a little rusty, but I’ll sort it out quickly enough.”
“Good, good.”
“But how am I...” Zane started and then cleared his throat and aimed an evil grin at Casey. “JB, I'll need to bring my, uh, assistant.”
This time the butt of the pen nicked his ear.
“They'll catch onto that straightaway,” JB answered.
“What if I say she's my caddie?” Zane suggested.
Casey pointed to herself and mouthed, “Me?” He couldn’t be serious.
Zane pointed at her and mouthed, “Yep, you.”
Casey gave him a look like she’d just bitten into a lemon and mouthed, “Damn.”
“It's against our foursome rules,” JB said with a sigh. “Are you sure you need her?”
“The more chances we have of spotting things, the better,” Zane answered.
“Well, we’ll just work it out, then,” JB said. “You should get to the course by nine so you can get in a few practice swings and reacquaint yourself with the boys.”
“See you then,” Zane said before disconnecting the call.
Casey just stared at him dully. “I don't know the first thing about golf, Zane.”
“It's not like you're playing. You're going to be my caddie.”
“Why would you think that's a good idea?”
“Because I have to play golf, and I have to make a decent showing of it so Pemrose doesn't get suspicious. That means you'll be looking for clues while I'm keeping them distracted.”
“Actually,” Casey begrudgingly admitted, “that kind of makes sense.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Fine,” she said, finding it difficult to extract herself from the comfy guest chair. “What do I wear?”
“You have to dress nicely, but also somewhat plainly.” He shrugged at her. “You're the help.”
“What?”
“Sorry, but that's the way it goes.”
“Again,” she said, more tersely than before, “what do I wear?”
“Khaki shorts and a white shirt should do it. Also, you should wear a cap. White or beige, if you have one.”
“I don't have one.”
“We'll pick one up at the golf shop in the club.”
Casey took another sip from her mug.
“Swell.”
THE CLUB
Casey walked out of her apartment wearing khaki shorts and a white, collared shirt.
Zane was waiting by the curb in his red Koenigsegg Regera. She found the thing to be nothing more than an extension of his already pompous personality. Had she not dated him in college, Casey would have claimed that Zane drove such a flashy car because he was making up for something else about his person that came up, well, short.
“Why can't we take my car?” she said as she slid into the passenger side.
“You want me to ride into the country club in your Honda?” he scoffed in reply. “I don't think so.”
“Why do you have such a problem with my car?”
“Beside the fact that it costs less than one of my tires?”
“I don’t see the problem with that.”
He glanced at her sideways “You do remember that we're going to one of the wealthiest country clubs on the West Coast, right?” She didn’t reply, so he refocused on the road. “Just let it go, all right? We can't take your car. Nobody would believe I have money if I show up in that.”
“This is stupid.”
“I'll make a deal with you, Casey. Next time we have to pick up burgers or if we need to swing by Super Market Club...”
“It's not called that,” she said, but he continued on.
“...we'll take your car.”
They pulled into the main entrance of the country club and Casey took a look around. The truth was that her Honda would have stuck out like a bald patron at the hair salon. She sighed.
“Now,” Zane said after taking a ticket from the valet, “could you imagine the looks we would’ve gotten if that was your Honda?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The day just wasn’t getting any better. “Where are your sticks or whatever you call them?”
“I had my man drop them by while I was waiting for you,” Zane said as if this were normal procedure in everyone’s life.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
“I remember you saying that a lot to me in my dorm room at college.”
“Ew,” she said, wincing. “Anyway, now what do we do?”
Zane pointed to a door with a sign over it that read “Pro Shop.”
“Just run in there and grab a cap and then meet me in the lounge.”
“Fine.”
Casey walked into the little shop and looked around, seeking hats. She found them in one of the corners, by a rack of jackets. There was a nice blue hat that caught her eye, but her subconscious mind was quick to remind her that she was looking for a white one.
The first one she grabbed had a price tag of $124.
“Uh, not,” she whispered, shaking her head.
After picking up and checking a number of them, the cheapest she could find was $97. So she decided to talk to the clerk.
Cozy Mystery Bundle #1 (South Lane Detective Agency) Page 7
