Cozy Mystery Bundle #1 (South Lane Detective Agency)

by John P. Logsdon

  “By the way,” he said, pausing from his shot, “watch out for Witt. Seems to have the hots for you.”

  “What?”

  “He's a player, so be careful.”

  “You’re a player, Zane.”

  “And look how that turned out for you,” he pointed out.

  “With me owning my own business?”

  “And yet you have no man in your life because I couldn't be replaced,” he said, which solidified her previous thoughts regarding his ability to decimate his allure.

  “Yeah,” she retorted with a snort, “that's why I don't have a man in my life.”

  Zane swung the club and knocked the ball right through a small gap in the trees.

  “I know,” he said matter-of-factly.

  HAZARDS

  They got up to the next tee, but Casey didn’t bother checking the sign for the particulars. She was more focused on keeping her eyes on what Pemrose was up to. Was he using sleight of hand? Technically he didn’t have to since nobody was allowed to watch him when he teed off anyway. One funny thing was that he didn’t seem to mind them watching his short game. It was just the drives that he needed his privacy for.

  “Careful on this one, Zane,” Pemrose said. “There is a water hazard just over the lip of the green.”

  “I'll take it short and tap it up from there,” Zane replied.

  Lafferty gestured toward the fairway. “Green slopes like mad. Best shot is to land it on top, but just don't over hit it.”

  “Right. I'll go with a nine-iron, then.”

  Casey handed over what she believed to be the 9-iron as Zane kept his eyes on the shot. He took a couple of practice swings, which appeared to be the norm. Casey assumed that this had to do with getting into some type of rhythm, though she didn’t see the need unless the practices were intended to end in poorly placed shots.

  As a case-in-point, Zane’s current shot went right over the green and directly into the water.

  “Looks like you overshot it,” Witt said innocently.

  “You sure?” came Zane’s snide reply.

  “Yeah,” Witt replied, pointing, “it's in the water.”

  Zane moved back and handed Casey the club. He didn’t look all that happy.

  “You gave me a six-iron.”

  “So?” she said, putting the club back into the bag.

  “I asked for a nine-iron.”

  “So?”

  “So now I'm in the water!”

  “So?”

  “So you...” he started while pointing at her, but slowly relaxed. His irritated look was soon replaced with a big, mischievous smile. “So now you have to go and get it out of the water.”

  “Oh, big deal...” she started. “Wait, what?”

  “If you don't,” Zane said as he plucked the glove off his hand, “they'll not buy you being a real caddie.”

  “You're joking, right?”

  “I'm not.”

  “Damn.”

  Twing!

  “Witter is the hitter,” Witt said as he fist-pumped Lafferty.

  “Nice shot, Witt,” Lafferty said. He stepped up next. “Quiet, please.”

  Twing!

  “Good one, Lafferty.” Witt then winced. “Ohhh... Looks like it's rolling back.”

  Lafferty slammed his club into the bag. “Hate this hole.”

  “Everyone look away,” said Pemrose.

  Casey had pulled out Zane’s smartphone and was fumbling with the controls. Why couldn’t things just be easy? What happened to the days where you pointed a camera at something and pressed a button? Now it was all icons and digital thingies.

  “Ready to film it?” Zane asked.

  “Just press this button, right?”

  “How do you survive in this day and age?” he asked her seriously. “Yes, that's the button.”

  “Quiet, please,” Pemrose said over his shoulder.

  “Sorry.”

  Thwipp...ping!

  Zane spun around like a whip. “Sounded exactly like the last time.”

  “It did?” Casey asked, but she didn’t bother to wait for his reply. It had sounded just like the last time. That could have been coincidence, of course. Maybe these clubs made the same sounds? She had no idea, but it seemed to spark Zane’s interest and he did know about these things.

  “Hand me the phone,” he said and then he pressed the playback button. “Come on, Casey. You had the phone facing the wrong way. You just filmed the Hendersons.”

  “Damn.”

  IN THE DRINK

  Everyone was standing at the edge of the water, except for Casey. She was standing waist-deep in it, trying to spy the ball from above. Unfortunately, the glare of the sun was making this rather difficult.

  “Not going to work like that, Caddie Casey,” Zane said with his turd-eating grin.

  “I'm aware of that, Mr. Wolfe,” she replied hotly. “I just hadn't thought to wear a non-white shirt today.”

  Zane nodded. “I understand.”

  “You do?” she said, surprised.

  “Sure,” he answered, pushing himself back up and crossing his arms, “but there is a strict rule about equality at the club. We're not allowed to treat the help any differently regardless of gender, religion, or sexual orientation.”

  She tilted her head. “Okay?”

  “That means that if a male caddie would do it, so would a female caddie. It's in the rules. Right, gentlemen?”

  “Yes,” Lafferty affirmed.

  “Last I read them,” JB said.

  “Indeed,” Pemrose agreed.

  “Absolutely.” Witt was a tad too enthusiastic.

  “Fine,” Casey said after eying them all dubiously.

  She made one final unsuccessful attempt to dislodge the ball with her toe, then took a deep breath and plunged herself into the water and snagged the ball from the sandy bottom.

  When she came back up, she flipped her hair so that the water flung all over the place, including hitting the men standing on the lip of the green. They didn’t seem to notice, though, since they were far too busy staring intently at her chest.

  “Pigs,” she said while sloshing back to land. “Do you all stare at the men's chests like this too?”

  “Uh...” Witt said.

  “Well...” Pemrose began, but stopped as his eyes glazed over again.

  “I wouldn't want any of you to break the rules,” Casey pointed out as she lowered her head to pull their eyes to hers, “so make sure that you stare at men the same way you stare at me, yeah?””

  “I've got to say, Zane,” JB said, making it abundantly clear that he hadn’t heard a word Casey had said, “that your caddie is something else.”

  “You can say that again,” Witt agreed with a nod of his head.

  “Keep your pants on, Witt,” Lafferty warned.

  “Uh, right. Yes.” Pemrose shook his head as if to regain control of himself. “I agree with JB, and Lafferty, for that matter. In all of my years playing golf, I've never seen a caddie with such commitment.”

  “What are they talking about?” Casey asked Zane.

  “Nothing important, I'm sure.”

  “I mean, I've seen a caddie accidentally go into a poison ivy patch to retrieve a ball,” continued Pemrose, “and even saw one get precariously close to a gator once, but this is the first time I've ever seen one go into the water.”

  Casey spun back to Zane. “You son of a...”

  “Best be finishing up this hole,” he said, running back up the hill with Casey chasing after him. “There're people coming up behind us.”

  “True,” Lafferty agreed. “Witt, you're up.” He then smacked Witt on the back of the head, jarring the younger man back into the real world. “Witt!”

  “Huh?” Witt said, turning red. “Oh, right, sorry.”

  TOO PERFECT

  Casey had been standing there with her arms crossed, covering herself as best she could. Zane had asked for a club, but she’d only replied with a gesture that was li
kely unbefitting for upper class club members.

  JB took off his jacket and handed it to her.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said as she turned away and put it on. It hung on her a little bit, but that was better than walking around the rest of the day with her arms crossed.

  “Just don't want to get thrown out of the club,” JB admitted.

  She sighed. “Right.”

  Twing!

  “Much better shot, Zane,” Witt said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Looks like you're starting to work the kinks out,” Lafferty noted.

  Twing!

  “I'm sure it'll take a little longer,” Zane said as Witt’s ball landed in the center of the fairway.

  “Quiet now,” said Lafferty. “My turn.”

  “Do you understand the phone now?” Zane whispered.

  “I can't believe you did that to me.”

  “Gave you a phone?”

  “Tricked me into going into the water, you ass.”

  “Oh, right.” He chuckled. “That was great.”

  Twing!

  “Face away, please,” Pemrose said as he stepped up next.

  She was holding the phone, but her hands were still wet and the damn thing wasn’t responding as it should, but that’s when a thought struck her. She powered off the phone and watched the reflection instead.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shush.”

  Thwipp...ping!

  “Damn,” Zane said. “He has the most consistent swing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” she said, but Zane had clearly not been listening to her.

  “Haven't you noticed how every single tee shot he's made sounds exactly the same? Perfect every time. I had no idea he was that good.”

  “Indeed.”

  CLUB CHECK

  They’d finished the front nine holes and had then returned to the clubhouse. Apparently, there was a wait as the exceedingly wealthy Mr. and Mrs. Thurston were leading off on the back nine. It seemed that if you had enough money, people gave you leeway on how slow you played the game.

  “Slowest members in the club,” Pemrose said with an aggravated shake of his head. “They should be made to play the front nine like everyone else.”

  “Mrs. Thurston is old money.”

  “Just plain old, if you ask me,” Pemrose quipped.

  “So,” Witt said, stepping over smoothly to Casey’s side, “you never answered me before: Is there a rule against caddies dating members?”

  “Uh?”

  “What kind of clubs are you using there, Witt?” Zane asked.

  Was he trying to intervene? Casey was grateful, of course, but why would Zane do that? She would have thought his first reaction would be to laugh at her predicament. It was probably just an ego thing, but maybe he was actually jealous? Of Witt, though?

  “Pings,” Witt answered. “Just found the most expensive set and bought them.”

  “Ah. What about you, Lafferty?”

  “Callaway drivers and Cobra irons.”

  “Nice. And you, Pemrose?”

  “TaylorMade.”

  “I think I may have to look into upgrading my set,” Zane said with a nod. “Your game has been almost flawless today.”

  Pemrose puffed his chest out a bit. “Best set of clubs I've ever had.”

  “How do you keep them so clean?”

  “Washing.”

  “Right.” Zane pointed at one of them. “Mind if I check out your driver?”

  “Mind if I check out your caddie?” Witt said coyly.

  “Uh,” Casey said again.

  Zane obviously noticed Casey’s discomfort, as he got a twinkle in his eye. “It's a free country.”

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  “Sorry, Zane,” Pemrose interrupted, “but I don't share my clubs with anyone.”

  “Ah, come on, Pemrose,” JB chided. “Got something to hide?”

  “No.”

  “Superstitious?” Zane asked.

  “No,” Pemrose replied.

  “Then what's the problem?” JB asked.

  “I just...don't want to.”

  “Afraid he'll show you up with your own clubs, Pemrose?” Lafferty said with a laugh.

  “A caddie could show you up, twitt.”

  “That's Witt,” Witt said, glancing back at the other golfers.

  “I was talking to Lafferty, Witt,” Pemrose spat back, and then added, “Twitt.”

  “Oh… Hey!”

  “Okay, that’s it,” Casey said while pushing Witt out of her way. “I’ve had enough of this.” She stood looking at them with her hands on her hips, thankful that the jacket was covering most of her body. “You people are the most self-involved, egotistical bunch of jerks I've ever met.”

  “What did I do?” said a hurt-looking Witt.

  “My word,” Lafferty replied.

  “Insolent caddie you have there, Zane,” JB said, but he then winked knowingly at Casey.

  Pemrose had the look of a man who had just been slapped with a raw chicken.

  “I'll have you fired for such an outburst. The help is to be seen, not heard.”

  “You've seen enough of me today, Pemrose,” Casey said with a warning glare.

  “I could stand to see more,” Witt noted with a shrug of his old shoulders.

  “That’s Mr. Pemrose, if you recall,” Pemrose said flatly after giving Witt a disturbed glance.

  Zane stepped over to her with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Shut up, Zane.”

  “That’s Mr. Wolfe—”

  “The fact is that I'm not really a caddie,” she announced to the group, cutting Zane off.

  “That's not surprising,” Pemrose stated while crossing his arms and tilting his nose upward. “You're quite terrible at it.”

  “Ignore him,” Witt said, coming to her aid. “He's just an old fuddy-duddy.”

  “Silence, you.”

  “I'm a private investigator and I've been hired to figure out how you've been cheating, Pemrose.”

  Pemrose shook his head. “Honestly, it’s not difficult to begin with the word ‘mister,’ and… Wait, did you say you’re investigating me for cheating?” Then his eyes grew big and he turned and pointed at JB. “Your shoulder is fine, isn’t it?”

  “Never been better,” JB answered confidently and with a smile.

  “I'll have you removed from the club for this,” Pemrose said as he began walking toward the clubhouse door.

  But JB stepped in his path and held out a hand.

  “Stop right there, Steve. Let's see how this falls out first, shall we? I wouldn’t want you to make a fool of yourself.”

  THWIPP...TWING!

  Casey was walking back and forth in front of them as they all sat on a bench. She had toyed with the idea of removing JB’s jacket since it was getting a bit hot out, and she was certain that it would have solidified garnering their attention (among other things), but she needed them to be in a thinking mood.

  “Your first mistake,” she said, “was that you made it abundantly clear you didn't want anyone to watch you while you were playing with your club.”

  “You're talking to Pemrose, right?” Zane asked.

  “Of course I am.”

  “Sorry, just another college memory.”

  “Oh... What?” She stopped and groaned. “Do you think you'll ever grow up?”

  Zane shrugged. “Hope not.”

  “Anyway,” she said, keeping her eye on the target, “Pemrose, the fact that you were being so secretive instantly marked you as suspicious.”

  “That's not true at all,” Pemrose replied defensively. “Golfers are known for being eccentric.”

  “They are?”

  “They are,” Zane affirmed.

  “Well, that may be,” she acquiesced, “but that’s not getting you off the hook, Pemrose. You see, Zane kept pointing out how it sounded so perfect every time you teed off.”

 
; “Hey,” JB said with a snap of his fingers, “that’s true. It always sounds the same.”

  “I thought I was the only one who noticed that,” said Lafferty.

  Pemrose adjusted in his seat. “Would you believe I've been taking lessons?”

  “I'd like their number,” Zane stated. “I've always wanted a swing that was so crisp!”

  “Stay on topic, Zane,” warned Casey. “Now, another thing that happened was when I was trying to film you...”

  “You did what?” Pemrose said with a start.

  “Don’t worry, Pemrose,” Zane said, “she failed horribly at it. Kind of cute, really. Who in this day and age can't operate a smartphone camera?”

  “My mother,” Witt said.

  “My wife,” Lafferty said.

  “Me,” JB admitted.

  “Fair enough,” Zane conceded, “but those people are all old.”

  “What?” JB said.

  “True,” Witt agreed.

  “Well,” Lafferty said with a shrug, “she is twenty years my senior.”

  This seemed to interest Witt. “Really?”

  “She was a cougar when we met,” explained Lafferty.

  “Oh, I see,” Witt said as his eyebrows danced. “Kind of hot, actually.”

  “More of an old goat now,” Lafferty noted.

  “Anyway, Pemrose,” Casey resumed, “Zane’s right, I did try to film what you were doing. He’s also right in that I couldn’t figure out how to work the damn phone. Regardless, it turns out that I didn’t need to since having the phone off proved to be the perfect way for me to see your person reflected on the screen.”

  “So?”

  “So it made me wonder how you could hit a ball out into the fairway without ever swinging your club.”

  “That’s not possible,” JB said. “How could he do that?”

  “Exactly the question you should be asking, JB.”

  “Good thing I asked it, then.”

  “You see,” Casey continued while adding in hand-gestures, “Zane kept noting about the sound of your drive, Pemrose, and so I listened to it a few more times. It was literally identical every time.”

  “Again,” he said sternly, “it was the lessons.”

  “That’s simply impossible.” She stopped and put her left hand on her hip, pointed at Pemrose with her right hand, and tapped her left foot. All the men looked instantly uncomfortable at this. It was a well-documented fact that when a woman put a left hand on her hip, pointed with her right hand, and tapped her left foot, men knew they were in trouble. “I don't know much about golf...” She quickly pointed at Zane. “Don’t say a word.” She pointed back at Pemrose. “…But I do know a fair bit about physics and you couldn't have possibly made such a perfect swing every single time. Unless, of course, you're a robot.”