"Should we have called Mr. Endicott?"
That is what Ginny asked me once we were back at the office. I told her that I didn't feel like meeting with him today, getting trapped into going to some sort of dinner or taking a drive into Manhattan. After some convincing, she agreed.
"So what do you want to do instead?" she asked.
I was sitting on the couch in my office and Imogen on the club chair. I was still trying to figure out why she liked that thing.
"I figure that we could take a trip over to see Bill and his shed."
"I thought the plan was to take a look through the shed alone."
"Yes, of course it is. Here's what I'm thinking," I said. "You get ol' Bill out on the course, and I poke around in the shed."
"And how do you expect me to do that?"
"Golf lesson."
Imogen laughed. Then sat up in that hideous club chair.
"In the middle of the day, Max? Without an appointment? You must be mad."
"Use your feminine wiles. Flirt, for God's sake."
"Flirt with an old man. You're losing it, Max."
"Didn't you notice the other day he was flirting with you?"
I had sure noticed.
"No. I most certainly did not notice."
"Well, he was. So flirt a little, and get him out on the course."
I was begging at this point. And Imogen was not complying with my request. I asked a few more times, rephrasing for added emphasis. Then, finally, she relented.
"Just this once. But you owe me," she said.
"Anything," I said.
"You just might be sorry you said that, Max."
"I'll take my chances."
With that decided, Imogen and I headed back to the house in order to change. She needed to get into some golf gear, and I, well, just wanted to accompany her. Like a good husband. She changed, and off we went to Delmar.
When we arrived, there was a foursome checking in with Bill, so we waited in the clubhouse and plotted our strategy.
"You have to convince him to leave with you," I said.
"Yes, Max, I get it."
"I know you do, but you've got to do it. I'm going to wait here."
"Max, one more time and I'm going to take this nine iron and—"
I interrupted her. "They're done. OK, my love, you're on."
"Watch this," she said.
Then she strutted out, heading toward the golf shed.
She's a wonder. And she's beautiful.
She had on a cute white golf skirt and a pink, collared golf shirt. She was even sporting a white visor.
I watched her approach Bill. She looked bubbly. Animated. You could see her talking, laughing, trying to use her charms to pry Bill away from the shed. This went on for what seemed like ten minutes. She'd say something and then laugh, flip her hair, laugh again, flutter her thick eyelashes at him. She then pretended to take a stroke without a golf club in her hand. She said something to Bill, and then before I knew it, he was out of the shed, behind her, positioning her hands, and then touching her hips. Pointing something out about her stance. She feigned some sort of confusion about what he was showing her. Then Ginny picked up her clubs. They both hopped into a golf cart and drove away. It was go time.
Once the cart was out of view, I quickly, without trying to look suspicious, walked out of the clubhouse and headed over to the shed. Luckily there wasn't anyone around, so I proceeded to open the sliding wood door and slip into Bill's world. I didn't know how much time I had. Who knew how long Bill would tutor Ginny. A stroke correction could take five minutes, even one that was created specifically for today.
I quickly looked at the schedule book. It looked like there was another group set to tee off in forty minutes. Hopefully that meant that I had some time. I started rifling around the shed. First under the counter. There was a small fridge under here. I opened it up, and there was a six-pack. The same beer he was drinking the other day.
I moved off to the side and saw a bunch of papers. I quickly looked through them, and they were all Delmar related stuff. Nothing of importance. I turned my head and scanned the area for any members heading my way. No one.
I headed toward the wall opposite the counter where there was a desk. I opened each of the three drawers. The first had a few golf balls in it. The second had a box of pens, a large box of short pencils for scorekeeping, and a pocketknife. By the time I opened the third, I was expecting nothing. When the drawer opened, I found a box of golf balls. I lifted it, and underneath were a bunch of business cards. I quickly flipped through them. This guy, that guy, they were all people I knew from Delmar. Then I came across Lee Endicott's card.
"Hello," said someone behind me.
I was startled, but I was caught. I had to turn around. I didn't recognize the voice, which was a good thing. It wasn't Bill. Or Imogen.
I slowly turned around. There stood a woman I had never seen before. She wasn't dressed in golf attire.
"Yes, how can I help you?" I asked.
"I was looking for Cut 17," she said.
She had never been here before. I had deduced that much. Cut 17 is a steakhouse that is located right next door to the clubhouse but on the other side.
"Oh, yes, you just came out of the wrong door. Head back into the clubhouse, and make a left. You can exit to the other side," I said.
She was surprised, "Oh, I don't know how I missed that."
"Nothing to worry about," I said.
"Thank you for your help," she said.
"Enjoy your meal," I said.
As she walked away, I turned and put the card back into the drawer underneath the golf balls. That was too close. I closed the drawer and, still crouching, made my way to the sliding door, opened it, and walked out. I hurried to the clubhouse to wait for Imogen's return.
Lee Endicott. What on earth would Bill be doing with his card?