by S. D. Tooley
Ben rushed outside where the warm air could relieve the chill in his bones. He scrapped the idea of teeing off on the back nine and drove his cart directly to the thirteenth hole to see what kind of appalling changes were made to his course.
He passed Otis near the driving range and for a brief moment wondered if he had some dolls in the likeness of Jim and Scott tucked away somewhere with pins sticking out of them. He chuckled at the thought but the smile faded as he watched Otis slowly lift his head, his eyes following Ben. For a brief moment, it again reminded Ben of Emma's picture with her piercing glare.
The dark clouds followed as Ben brought the cart to a halt at the thirteenth tee. Shamrock Isle was a beautiful course with manicured fairways and picturesque scenery. The front nine had rolling hills with sand traps to challenge the best of golfers. The back nine had less hills and more ninety-degree doglegs and trees.
At first Ben didn't notice that many changes. A brook churned along the left side following the bend in the fairway. On the opposite side where the rough bordered the forest, a field of wildflowers stood like sentries. There were enough problems with bees in the fall without attracting them during the entire golf season. "Absolutely hideous," Ben said. "Next we'll have park benches to sit and rest."
The dogleg prevented his view of the green or sand trap. And although he couldn't see the pond, he could hear the waterfall.
Ben left the cart on the path and walked down the middle of the fairway. He often wondered why people had their ashes strewn anywhere. Once it rained, the ashes would soak into the ground. On windy days, they would be blown to kingdom come. And when dumped into the lakes and oceans, they were nothing more than fish food.
He strolled toward the forest and wished he had brought a club to whack at every flower he saw. As if flowers weren't bad enough, there were large tufts of tall grass. As long as your golf ball didn't sail too far into the forest, you had a chance of hitting it out. But now, if it got tangled up in the tall grass or flowers, it would easily be a penalty shot.
"Why didn't you just put a damn gazebo out here, you nutty lady?" Ben yelled as if Emma could hear.
The sun dipped behind a large cloud dropping the temperature several degrees. A gust of wind rustled through the foliage. The tall, grassy reeds reached out for him like long tendrils. Ben turned away, gazed briefly at the sky. The clouds had picked up their pace, threatening to transform what was supposed to be a bright, sunny day.
The wind howled through the trees and a whisper was carried on the breeze. Bennnnnnnnn.
Ben spun around and peered at the forest, his gaze darting through the trees. Was it his imagination? Was someone in there?
Bennnnnnn. There it was again. It had to be the wind, he thought, playing tricks on him. Or was it Otis? Playing some dumb game Emma told him to play. Another one of her stupid requests.
He retreated, the soft cleats on his golf shoes getting caught in the thick, bent grass fairway. But he was afraid to turn his back on whatever was in the forest.
His gaze scanned the shadows as he continued his retreat, finally mustering enough courage to turn. He charged down the fairway fueled by fury and fear. Rounding the bend, he heard the rush of water and came to an abrupt stop. Water flowed from a six-foot tower of polished stones. The soft thumping of the water pump sounded like a heartbeat. Water lilies floated and frogs leaped to avoid the koi fish that had come up to the surface to study him. Purple phlox snaked its way over and around the flat rocks bordering the pond. A portion of the waterfall veered off sending water spilling into a pot which, when full, slowly tilted, pouring its contents into the pool.
And then Ben saw them. Two of them. They stood on either side of the pond. One was leaning against the rock tower. The other one stood watch over the pot. Leprechauns. Bronze sculptures so lifelike Ben almost expected to hear them speak.
"Be careful what 'ye wish for." Emma's comment swirled in his head as the wind picked up. Ben had always told Emma that one day he would get that pot at the end of the rainbow.
No, Ben thought. Those weren't his exact words. Emma knew Ben, Jim, and Scott were cooking up something. His exact words were, "One day WE would get that pot at the end of the rainbow."
Thunder groaned and lightning streaked across the sky. Ben willed himself to turn and run but his legs felt like rubber. Could this be happening? Or had he finally lost his mind?
His breath caught as he felt his heart slam against his rib cage. Stumbling, he turned and ran blindly. Leaves were whipped from the trees and funnels of dirt curled and twisted along the grass.
He could barely see where he was running until he found himself in the middle of the sand trap. It was just an ordinary sand trap but to Ben it felt like a pit of wet cement. He couldn't lift his feet, couldn't move his legs.
The cloud continued its move, slinking silently across the sky, sparked by the lightning.
Ben screamed. Would anyone hear him? The maintenance crew was gone for the day. And Otis was god knows where. But his screams were like blowing into a wind tunnel, his words rushing back at him like a blast of hot air.
He felt a rumbling under his feet and then the hungry earth opened up, sucking him down farther. His arms flailed in the sand as if he were slapping at the surface of a pool. "NOOOOO," he screamed again.
Emma's words echoed. "Be careful what 'ye wish for."
The sand rippled along his legs as though the trap had come alive. With one last gulp, Ben's body disappeared. The wind kicked up, swirling the tiny grains of sand and erasing any trace of an intruder from the surface of the sand trap.
The sun blazed in the calm sky on Tuesday morning. Butterflies played tag among the wildflowers and the frogs teased the goldfish in the pond. Otis pushed the dirt around the roots of the yellow coreopsis and bright red poppies. He plucked dead leaves from the day lilies and redirected the path of the creeping myrtle.
The renovations to the thirteenth hole were finally complete. Satisfied, he picked up his tools and tossed them in the cart. Easing behind the wheel, he gave one last glance at the pristine fairway, colorful wildflowers, and the picturesque pond. Emma would be pleased. Otis smiled secretly as he drove away.
During the night a third leprechaun had been added to the scene. This one sat on the side of the pond, his hand on the pot of gold where water flowed. The fake gold coins shone brightly in the sunlight. And if you crept close enough, and the light was just right, you could see the sparkle of a diamond-studded ring on the leprechaun's left hand.
- END -
Note:
The Thirteenth Hole first appeared in A Mystery in Mind Anthology in 2004 by the Rhine Research Center in North Carolina.
SARA MORNINGSKY
Lee Driver
This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Any slights of people, places, or organizations is purely unintentional.
Copyright ©1997 by Lee Driver
All rights reserved.
This short story or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
SARA MORNINGSKY
It crouched in the dense underbrush and watched the scene unfold behind a boarded-up packing plant. The moon cast silhouettes of two figures as they emerged from a dark-colored vehicle. As the driver opened the trunk, a police car arrived tailed by a black limousine.
The gray wolf's keen sense of smell detected fear. It watched with the same intensity as it would a prey, head lowered, ears raised. Instinct told it that danger was near. The wolf took two steps forward, then back, unsure whether to react to the scent of danger. Two muffled pops startled the animal. Quickly it moved from its hiding place toward the body bleeding on the ground, toward the man with the raised gun. The men were too startled to react. With teeth bared, the wolf leaped at the policeman who yelled for his friends to shoot it.
The wolf rushed back to the forest with its trophy in its mouth, but it didn't feel safe. It could hear the men in pursuit, the men with guns.
Swiftly the wolf leaped twelve feet up to a branch. What had been thick paws changed into sturdy talons, and the one-hundred-pound body of a wolf transformed into a two-pound gray hawk. It watched the men run under the tree branch still in pursuit of the wolf.
Gripping the trophy with its hooked beak, the hawk took flight, soaring silently, its wings flat and graceful. It made several quick beats of its wings as it followed the limousine, noticing with acute eyesight the license plate number.
The hawk flew across town, over lit streets that crisscrossed subdivisions, and the narrow creek that ran along the expressway. The hawk saw rabbits and ground squirrels from its high altitude, but had no interest in feeding. With wings level, it glided down over a forest to a remote house in a clearing and then through an opened balcony window. It landed gracefully on two feet, human feet. Dropping the trophy to the floor, the figure climbed into bed weeping. The object the men had chased the wolf for, its trophy, was the policeman's badge.
"I don't understand you, Dagger." The attractive woman paced the tiled floor on stiletto heels. Flipping back errant strands of platinum hair, she gazed disapprovingly at the cramped office located above a downtown bar. "You can't attract high-paying customers in a dump like this."
Dagger eyed his fiancée from her well-turned heel to her shapely thighs, past the short hemline of her skirt. "I'm just interested in customers, Sheila. I couldn't care less how rich they are." He snapped the newspaper open and turned to the second page of the headline story.
Sheila inhaled deeply, grimaced, and quickly changed her mood. "That's okay. No problem. Daddy's going to have a spot for you at his newspaper, maybe as an editor. You won't need to do anything but proofread."
"I like being a private investigator." He returned to the article. Changing the subject, he asked, "How could your father print this crap about Lieutenant Fazio?"
Sheila stopped pacing and jammed her fists onto her narrow hips. "You haven't listened to a word I've said."
A shrill sound came from inside a cage in the corner of the room. "AWK. WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST. AWK." A scarlet macaw lifted its colorful wings and fanned out its tail.
Sheila tossed a disparaging glance over her shoulder at the macaw. "Shut up you poor excuse for an oversized crow."
"AWWWKK, STICKS AND STONES."
"Leave Einstein alone, Sheila."
"He only repeats what you tell him." She pulled a cigarette from her purse.
"And don't smoke around him." Dagger placed the newspaper down and stood, stretching his tall, muscular body.
Reluctantly, Sheila returned the cigarette to the pack. "I really think you should find a new home for the feathered rodent. You know I can't have him around with my allergies."
"Allergies?" Dagger laughed. "Since when?" He backed away when she playfully ran a hand through his thick, brown hair.
Pressing her body against his she said, "There are women who would kill for your cheekbones." She stroked his chiseled jaw line, admired his rugged good looks enhanced by a five o-clock shadow. With a flirtatious smile she added, "And you're all mine."
"We've done this little dance before." He gently pulled her arms away. "I am not giving Einstein away."
As Sheila brought her lips up to Dagger's, he saw her gaze drift to the doorway. A slight arch of one eyebrow told him Sheila had seen something distasteful, beneath her standards. He had seen that look many times. Her father patented the look of disdain down the tip of his nose, as if everyone in the world were his subordinate. It was one trait Dagger disliked in her; and the list was getting longer as the wedding date grew nearer.
Dagger turned toward the doorway to see a waif of a girl in a faded but clean flowered dress and sandals. Her eyes were the color of Caribbean waters. Her waist-length hair had so many sun-streaked shades it was difficult to tell its true color. If he had passed her on a street he would have expected her to be begging for a crust of bread, not that she looked emaciated, just fragile and timid.
"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting," the girl said. "I'm looking for a Chase Dagger."
"That would be me," Dagger replied.
Sheila leaned toward him. "Get payment up front." She bussed Dagger on the cheek before pushing briskly past the intruder.
"AWK, GOOD RIDDANCE," Einstein squawked as the door closed.
Turning to the girl, Dagger clasped her hand as she said, "Sara Morningsky." He detected a brief tremble in her handshake.
Sara's gaze quickly turned to Einstein. "Aren't you a handsome fella?" She took long, graceful strides toward the cage. "And so smart. No wonder your name is Einstein." The macaw bobbed his head in agreement.
Dagger was drawn to the girl's exotic features, her almond-shaped eyes and olive complexion. She looked like she should be rising out of the waters of some South Pacific island, but the name Morningsky and her features told him she was probably Native American.
He watched her reach into the cage. "I wouldn't do that. Einstein nips everyone but..." His voice trailed off as he watched Einstein climb onto Sara's arm and nuzzle her chin. "Well, I'll be." Dagger ran a hand across the back of his neck. "He always had good taste." Einstein let out a whistle.
"Some macaws can live to the age of one hundred." Her eyes were mysterious, distant, like a door that cracks open slightly and then closes shut. She studied Einstein's cage. "A bird this size should have an aviary or, better yet, a bird room."
"He did back at my apartment, but my landlord had too many complaints about the noise so I brought him here. It's only temporary."
"Your girlfriend has no intention of letting you keep Einstein." She didn't wait for him to reply. She was inspecting Einstein's nostrils and listening to his breathing. "He has a respiratory infection." Dagger looked closely at Einstein's face as Sara gazed up at the vent above the cage. "He's getting a draft from the vent. You should bring in a heat lamp and also give him some weak chamomile tea sweetened with glucose. Keep track of how much he eats and drinks."
"You know a lot about birds."
"A little."
Dagger found himself watching her mouth as she spoke, the movement of her lips, how her tongue touched her teeth. It was as though he were searching for flaws in a Monet painting but couldn't find any. She was refreshingly natural, like an unspoiled river or pristine beach. Her face was untouched by the pounds of makeup that masked Sheila's features.
"I'll do that, but I'm sure you didn't come here to make a house call on Einstein. How can I help you, Miss Morningsky?" He took Einstein from her and placed him back in the cage. Einstein shook his feathers as if irritated at being disturbed. "Please have a seat."
Sara glanced at the newspaper article about the detective found in the back of an abandoned building, shot twice in the back of the head. Twenty-five pounds of uncut heroin were found in the trunk of his car.
"My God," Sara gasped. "It wasn't bad enough they killed him. They planted drugs on him, too."
"You knew Mick Fazio?"
"I," Sara hesitated and then took a seat next to the oak desk cluttered with stacks of file folders and two half-empty coffee cups. Dagger pulled out a notepad and pen. "Mr. Dagger," she started.
"Just Dagger will be fine."
Sara smiled weakly. "I'm not sure where to start."
"Wherever you feel comfortable."
"I guess I can start with this." She placed the badge on his desk. "This belongs to the cop who killed Detective Fazio."
"Cop?" Slowly Dagger leaned back and studied his mysterious visitor. "Mick Fazio and I didn't always see eye to eye, but I believe we respected each other. I spoke with him last night. Unfortunately, he wouldn't elaborate on what he was into other than to say he was close to solving a major crime. Mick would never have anything to do with drugs."
Sara continued to describe in detail how the cop had walked up to Fazio and shot him in th
e back of the head. Dagger made a quick call to a friend at headquarters to verify the badge number.
Hanging up the phone, Dagger said, "This badge belongs to Sergeant Ed Rollins, the police chief's son. You're saying he's involved in drugs?"
"AWWKK, ROLLINS. CROWN JEWEL," Einstein blurted out, but Dagger ignored him.
"They weren't drug dealers. Sergeant Rollins was on some Gang Task Force, but he actually had the gangs working for him. I can't say how I know what I know. In a way, I was Detective Fazio's informant." She handed Dagger a piece of paper with the license plate number of the limousine.
"You could only know all this if you were there. How did you...?"
"Detective Fazio has mentioned your name several times. That's how I knew to look you up."
"So you have met him." She shook her head no. "Then, how...?" Dagger's voice trailed off. "Look, Miss Morningsky..."
"Sara, please."
"Sara, I wish I could help, but unless you are completely honest with me..."
"He mentioned an S and R Warehouse. Something is being stored there. I saw Detective Fazio make a number of audiotapes documenting his undercover work and conversations he's had with Sergeant Rollins."
Dagger shook his head in total confusion. She was skirting his main question. "Saw? But you said you've never met him."
"That's not the issue. What's important is finding out what Sergeant Rollins is keeping at the S and R Warehouse." The phone interrupted them.
"AWK. HELLO, HELLO," Einstein mimicked from behind the bars. He used his powerful beak to climb to the top of the cage.
