The Endicotts were terrible golfers. Tori may have played in college, but it had become obvious that the two of them were on an equal footing. And that firmly planted them at an intermediate level. But it appeared that they were having a good time. And having fun is what golf is supposed to be all about. Imogen would have laughed if I told her that theory. Golf was the most frustrating sport that I had played, and I spent more time throwing my clubs around the course than a toddler throwing toys in a playroom. I wasn't proud of that fact, and to be honest I had chilled out over the past few years. When I had a bad round these days, I usually just cursed under my breath and banged my club into the grass. Progress.
Because we were kicking the Endicotts' asses, Imogen and I had plenty of time to chat during each hole. Lee and I would then hook up after the hole and drive to the next together. This was more than a round of golf—it had also been a fishing expedition for me. I was sure Lee felt the same way. He was fishing for a two-million-dollar check. And he was hell-bent on getting me to fork it over by the eighteenth hole. He'd even endure a terribly embarrassing round of golf to accomplish that goal.
We had discussed nothing of any importance for eleven holes. Lee didn't broach the money, and I didn't bring up Carl or Bill for that matter. But that would all change shortly as we approached the twelfth.
"This is one of my favorites," I said.
"This hole?"
"Yeah. It's challenging."
Lee looked at me from the driver's seat as we pulled up to the hole to tee off. I tried to glean any information that he might be hiding under that leather skin and pearly white veneers.
"That's the last thing that I need, a challenging hole," he said.
I laughed.
"You'll be fine."
"It doglegs to the right, right?" he asked.
How did he know that? The dogleg was where Carl had been killed. By the sand trap.
"Right," I said.
Lee got out of the cart and pulled his driver out of his bag as we waited for the ladies to tee off.
"You going to that art auction?" he asked
He caught me by surprise. I was still thinking about his dogleg comment. I wanted to know more about that. He had changed the subject. He must have known that he had slipped. That he had given himself away.
"What auction?" I asked.
"The one coming to Delmar," he said. "Tori and I are avid art collectors. Rumor has it this one is going to be big."
"Oh, I wasn't aware there was one coming," I said.
I lied. How did Lee know about the art auction? I was sure that the information was not leaked to the public. The only people who knew anything about the auction were Alese, the Delmar board, Imogen, and I. That was it. But Endicott knew. How?
He chuckled nervously.
"Oh, was that private information?" he asked.
"I don't know," I said. "Nice to see you're more plugged into Delmar that I am."
"Oh, a friend just happened to mention it to me. Probably was mistaken," he said. "Looks like you're up."
A friend had mentioned it to him? What friend? Someone on the inside had mentioned it to him, and he was now forced into trying to play it off. Was he connected to Alese? To the board? He certainly had not heard the information from Imogen or me. Who had leaked the information?
Imogen smacked the ball so far that it might have gone 300 yards. Jesus Christ, she was amazing. I should have really told her to ditch this private investigating thing and try out for the LPGA. Tori hit the ball her normal 150 yards straight as an arrow, and Lee did about the same. Then I hooked the ball about 250 yards off to the edge of the fairway. Imogen and I got back into the cart. Me at the wheel.
"Lee mentioned the art auction," I said.
Imogen looked shocked.
"What? How would he have known about that?" she asked.
"I have no idea. Someone told him. That's for sure. It's not something you make up."
"Bloody well right someone told him. Who?"
"Alese?"
"Do they know each other?" she asked.
"I have no idea, my love. The board?"
"That makes more bloody sense. Someone on the board might have invested in Endicott."
"True. Someone spilled the beans. And it's probably someone from the board. Big mouths. Why is it so hard to keep a damn secret?" I asked.
"Because they are usually so juicy you just can't help yourself, and you want to tell someone."
"That was a rhetorical question, my dear. But I'm glad you tackled it," I said as I stopped the cart.
Imogen walked out and grabbed her five iron. Stepped up to her ball and hit it right onto the green.
"Why don't you concentrate on your game instead of making sarcastic comments?"
"You didn't really need to say anything. That shot shut me right up," I said.
"I'll wave to you on my way to the green," she said.
I stood by my ball, squared up, and took a swing. The ball landed directly in the sand trap. Almost identical to where Carl's ball had landed.
Imogen laughed. My blood started to simmer. That was a terrible shot. I lifted my club up in a sudden fit of golf rage and almost plowed it straight into the ground, but I caught myself. It wasn't a bad shot after all. In fact, it was a perfect shot. I started walking over to the ball as Imogen stepped on the gas in the cart.
"Nice shot," she shouted to me as she drove on.
She agreed. I walked to my ball slowly, waiting for the Endicotts to join me. One of them would end up close to me and my ball. It was the perfect setting. Returning to the scene of the crime.