TY COULDN’T HELP but grin when he sneaked a peek at the newspaper headline:
Circumstantial evidence accumulated by Detective Kirk Bower had been too overwhelming to ignore. Besides Rico’s eyewitness testimony, drug levels in Dink’s system were many times what they should’ve been. In addition, security camera footage showed Blanchard with syringe in hand as she entered Dink’s room. Adequate motive was established by the old man’s complaints about the nurse’s abusive behavior to hospital administration and his threat to go to the media.
On top of that, facility records indicated a spike of inexplicable deaths on the second floor during the five-year period since Blanchard had been employed. It was also revealed that she had been fired by her previous employer after similar, unsubstantiated charges had been leveled against her. The last nail in her coffin was driven in place after records of her deceased patients were closely scrutinized. In some cases, autopsies were performed on the exhumed bodies of those unfortunate victims.
Ty attended every day of her trial, seated in the first row so he could look directly into her eyes.
The contemptuous smirk had faded from her face, but the aloof, cold demeanor of a calculating killer was ever-present. When the guilty verdict was handed down, her scornful simper briefly reappeared as she stared directly at him as if to say, “See you in hell.”
He placed a copy of his biography over the distracting headlines and shook writer’s cramp from his hand before glancing again at the long, winding line of fans that stretched out of the bookstore. Ever since Heart of a Caddie made the New York Times Best Sellers list, demands on his time for public appearances and book signings had been off the charts.
He couldn’t help but beam as he autographed the inside jacket next to a photo of Dink. His aged friend’s eyes were clear and bright, and there was an unmistakable, youthful exuberance in his features that his wrinkled visage could not hide. There was no doubt that the old looper had stopped at the turn on that great course in the sky and smiled his approval.
A diminutive octogenarian paused in front of the author, holding a copy close to his heart. The elderly man’s hand was rock steady as he passed him the book to be signed.
There was a familiar countenance to his demeanor that Ty couldn’t quite put his finger on. It might have been the way he smiled, or perhaps the twinkle in his crystal-clear eyes. Then again, maybe it was the telltale abnormal shoulder tilt, possibly that of a caddie who had favored his right side over decades of countless rounds.
Ty felt compelled to stand and shake the old man’s hand as if this were a reunion between old friends.
The man’s grip was deceptively strong for a fellow his age and small stature.
“So nice of you to attend my signing,” Ty said, gracefully bowing out of respect.
The gent slowly shook his head and removed his hand from the warm embrace. “On the contrary, sir. The pleasure is truly mine.”
“And to whom would you like this made out?”
“That would be Cooper.”
The pen dropped from Ty’s hand.
“Cooper?”
“That’s right. Dink Cooper Jr.”
“You aren’t suggesting? I mean, certainly you jest. Dink was never married and didn’t have any children.”
“Well, you’re half right. Ginger Conley didn’t know she was pregnant when she last saw Dink before he left California. The stigma of unwed motherhood drove her into seclusion until after the birth. Through an arranged adoption by a chambermaid of the estate, I was raised on the grounds of Ocean Crest Country Club in a separate dwelling that contained the servants’ quarters. It was there that I developed a tight bond with the woman I always referred to as Auntie.
“Unbeknownst to me, I followed in my father’s footsteps. I started to caddie at a relatively young age and continued to carry bags until my mother’s passing many years later. She had kept my father’s identity a secret until the truth was brought to light upon her deathbed, when she also bequeathed to me the entirety of her estate.”
“Unbelievable! Did you ever try to locate your father?”
“I did. Unfortunately, I always came up empty-handed, but I continued the quest until it became apparent he had simply vanished, a forgotten man—or perhaps more likely, died of old age in a back alley and been tagged ‘John Doe.’ He had retained his legal name of Fenimore Cooper, which only added to the confusion during my search. It was not until I saw national news coverage of the nurse’s crimes earlier this year that the mystery was solved. That’s when I legally changed my name to Dink Cooper Jr.
“The closure you have afforded me—and others affected by that monster disguised as a nurse—is invaluable. I will be forever in your debt. That photograph of my father in your book is the missing link that solidified our posthumous bond and connected me to my heritage.”
Ty strained to hold back his tears. “Glad I could help. It’s certainly a privilege to meet the son of such an honorable man. He will always hold a special place in my heart. I would like to stay in contact and possibly arrange a visit. Do you still reside at Ocean Crest?”
“That I do. I’ll forever roam those hallowed grounds—without the clubs on my back, of course,” he chuckled, “until they bury me next to my beloved mother and father.”
Dink Jr. glanced at the impatient author-worshippers waiting behind him. “I think I’ve held up the line long enough. May God bless. And again, I want to thank you for your concern.”
Ty clasped and patted the old man’s hand. “You’ll be hearing from me soon. Take care.”
Long after Dink’s son had graced his presence, Ty felt a warm glow inside. He recognized more similarities than differences between the two. Through his offspring, it was as though he had met a reincarnation of the man himself. It was good to know that a piece of his dear friend still existed.
Joy pulled up in front of the bookstore in her brand-new Tesla Model X.
The manager unlocked the door and let her in just as Ty was signing his last book.
She spun his chair around, kissed him on the forehead, and then sat in his lap. “How’s my big, strong hero?”
“Not sure. Haven’t been over to Li’l Brown Jug today, but I assume Raj is fine.”
“Stop, would ya? Every time I think of him, my horny-mones run wild.”
“I knew all along you two had a thing. That’s cool, though. Your secret’s safe. I know for a fact his wife is too busy taking care of their twelve children to suspect anything.”
“Got a bit of good news,” she said with a wide grin.
“What? You found out Raj’s wife is bearing the spawn of my seed, making it a baker’s dozen?”
“No, honey. That’s old news. I was referring to my promotion. Ever since I got that conviction on Blanchard, I’ve been the golden girl who can do no wrong. And I have only you to thank.”
“That you would be promoted was a foregone conclusion. But actually, in a convoluted way, it’s Blanchard you should be thanking. And we both should feel blessed that Dink Cooper was part of our lives.”
DINK JUNIOR GENTLY rocked in the warm, filtered sunshine on the veranda of his colonial estate. Looking out over the grounds of Ocean Crest, he noted the absence of caddies. He cursed under his breath over the profusion of electric carts, just as his father had, and yearned for days of yore when even the casual golfer upheld the grand traditions of the game.
But he rationalized that if motorized carts were the bait needed in order to get fat Americans off their duffs and onto the course, so be it. Also, revenue from cart rentals did generate the extra capital needed to meet operational costs during the market downturn, making it a necessary evil.
His watch told him the mail truck climbing the steep incline was spot on time. The carrier whipped around the turnabout and stopped in front of the grand entrance.
“No need to rush with those bills,” Dink Jr. joked. “I’ll keep only the checks and throw the rest into the round file.”
“Not today, Mr. Cooper. I’ve got an express package. Please sign here.”
Unable to see clearly without his glasses, the old man held the electronic machine at arm’s length and crudely scribbled his name in squiggly lines.
“You know, they don’t even teach kids how to write cursive nowadays. In the future, you’ll have to get a thumbprint or some such thing off those illiterates—or maybe they’ll make their mark with a simple X. If that’s progress, I say, ‘Bring back the good old days.’”
“Well, as my mom always says, ‘These are the good old days.’”
“Might be so, but it’s hard to improve on the perfections of yesteryear. Change for change’s sake is not always for the better.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good day, Mr. Cooper.”
Dink Jr. struggled to open the parcel with his gnarled fingers. On top of the bubble wrap inside was a letter addressed to him. He fetched his glasses and perched them at the end of his nose, wondering if the typed letter came from one of those idiots that couldn’t write in longhand.
Dear Dink,
You’ll never know just how happy I am to have made your acquaintance. Although you never met your father, I can assure you he would have been the proudest man on the face of this planet if he knew that his son cherished the same values he held dear.
It is an honor that I have been afforded this opportunity to pass on your dad’s most sacred possession: the renowned Calamity Jane putter used by the incomparable Bobby Jones himself.
If your father taught us one thing, it is that although we may be weak of body as the years take their toll, our indomitable spirit will live on long after we pass.
Best wishes to you,
