Mystery of the 19th Hole (Taylor Kelsey, Mystery 1) (14 page)

             
Taylor didn’t know who asked, but didn’t care.  She felt so close to cracking the case it almost seemed unreal.  Starting for her car, she said, “Tomorrow, we go golfing.”

             
It was Wednesday, and the sun was barely cresting the mountain while Taylor waited outside her classroom for the bell to ring.  The morning was cold, and the alpenglow wasn’t helping.  Her other classmates were shivering as well. 

             
Susan wasn’t present because she had a different homeroom.

             
Abby, unfortunately, was in Taylor’s homeroom.  And the morning was good until Abby approached Taylor.  Taylor felt a shift in the atmosphere, as if Abby’s mere presence was enough to incorrect the balance of time and space.  “Taylor, guess what?”

             
When Taylor glared and didn’t answer, Abby continued, “Jason asked me to the dance.”

             
Taylor had to try hard to keep her jaw up and her senses clear.  “W—what?”

             
“That’s right.  He asked me.  Not you.  Me.  Just like I said.”

             
“Sure he did,” Taylor remarked, unbelieving.

             
“It’s true.”

             
“We’ll see,” Taylor said.  The door of the classroom opened, and she entered, followed by an angry Abby, still mumbling about how Jason
did
ask her to the dance.

             
In between classes, Taylor and Susan met at their lockers, which were, as you know, side by side.  “Did you hear,” was the first thing Susan said, “Jason asked Abby to the dance?”

             
“You mean, it’s true,” asked Taylor.

             
“Yeah.  You didn’t hear?”

             
“I heard.”

             
“So what are you going to do about it?” Susan asked.

             
Taylor leaned against her locker and thought.  Only seconds later, she smiled and twirled a lock of her hair.  “Look,” she said, pointing across the hall.

             
“Wow!” exclaimed Susan.  “Is that really Jason?”

             
“Yeah.”

             
“And he’s kissing that other girl.  Who is that girl?”

             
“Does it matter?”

             
“So what does this mean?” said Susan.

             
“It means that Abby was lying, or Jason is cheating.  Either way spells heartbreak for Abby Adamson.”

             
Lunch came around slower than Taylor had wished, probably because she was fervently waiting to rub in the news of Jason to Abby.  Before she even got her lunch from the cafeteria, she made a beeline for Abby.  “Did Jason really ask you to the dance?”

             
Abby grinned.  “Yes.  So you believe me now?”

             
“Sure.  But I’ve got to warn you, I saw him kissing a girl this morning.  She looked a little bit like you, but, you know, she wasn’t.”  Taylor grinned.

             
Abby’s face contorted.  “What?”

             
Before Taylor could respond, Abby was muttering, “You—you’re lying.  You’re lying.”

             
“And you’re stuttering.”

             
Abby pushed Taylor backward and yelled, “You’re just jealous.”

             
Taylor was about to yell back when Susan came behind, grabbed her, and dragged her away.  “C’mon, Taylor, what’s gotten into you?  Chad’s waiting at our table, and we’ve got a case to solve.”

             
“Fine.  But can we make fun of Abby afterward.”

             
“Not today.  C’mon.”

             
Following school, the three friends went to their homes to change out of their school clothes.  Taylor picked them up in her mom’s car, and they started for the golf course.  On their way, Chad explained how he couldn’t play with them because he was scared of golfing.  When he was a kid, he’d been hit in the head with a golf ball at a golf course and never wanted to step  foot on one ever again.

             
Taylor tried telling him the odds of that happening again were slim.  Susan accused him of having “
golfophobia
.”  Then she started counseling him and pretended she went through the same thing as an infant.

             
They pulled into the small parking lot at this time.  Juxtaposed to the parking lot, the clubhouse was large and extravagant.  Glass double doors posed as the entry.  And the eave before the doors extended into a square portico.  The first hole was oriented just in front of the building.

             
When Taylor and Susan got out of the car, Chad refused to leave.  “So you’re just going to stay in the car?”

             
“What do you expect me to do?  I have to?”

             
“You’ve got issues,” said Susan, closing her door.

             
“All right, well, we’ll see you later,” said Taylor.

             
Taylor and Susan grabbed the golf bags they’d borrowed from their dads and walked into the clubhouse to pay for their rounds.

             
The place was exquisite.  Golf apparel—hats, shirts, pants, cleats—lined the walls and reached for the vaulted ceiling.  Stands and displays covered the floor.  The air was conditioned to a cool temperature.  And the cash register guy, who was old and donning a visor, looked polite.

             
That is, until he saw Taylor and Susan.  “What are you girls doing?  Do you not know golf etiquette?  You never take your bags inside the clubhouse!”

             
Susan dropped hers on the floor, and Taylor stared for a moment, confused.  “Oh,” she said, realizing.  Her and Taylor rushed out and stood their bags up outside.

             
Entering again, Taylor went to the counter man.  “Hey, you’re name is Mike Adamson,” she said, reading his name tag.

             
The older-looking man, probably in his fifties, said, “Yes.  I’m glad you can read a name tag.”

             
“And you’re the manager?” asked Susan.

             
“Yes, I’m also glad you can read a name tag.”

             
“Any relation to Abby Adamson?”

             
“Daughter,” phrased the man tersely.

             
Susan whispered, “Should have known.”

             
“Moving on,” said Mike, “what will it be, nine holes or eighteen?”

             
“What’s cheaper?” asked Taylor and Susan at the same time.

             
“Let me think about that for minute.”  Mike put a hand to his chin.  “Nine!”

             
“Gee whiz,” said Susan, “I now understand Abby.”

             
“Hmmm?” he asked.

             
“Nothing.”

             
Taylor said, “We’ll take nine.”

             
He accepted her debit card and explained the rules of the golf course as he rang them up.  “Don’t cross holes.  In other words, don’t skip from one to three.  Don’t stand in other people’s fairway.  Don’t walk in the sand pits without afterward raking them over.  There’re rakes beside each one.  Don’t create divots in the fairway without filling them back in.  Don’t drive your golf cart over the green where the flag’s are, and don’t drive through streams either.”

             
“Whoa,” remarked Susan in an English accent, “any rules other than ‘don’t?’”

             
“Keep your bags with you at all times.  And that was a pretty good English accent.”

             
“Thank you.”

             
“So,” asked Taylor, “is Jack Cadell playing this fine day?”

             
“The day was fine until you two showed up.  And, yes, Mr. Cadell is playing,” replied Mike.

             
“Thank you, sir.  We’ll try our best to keep the rules,” said Taylor.

             
Mike squinted.  “It’s called etiquette.”

             
“That too,” said Susan.

             
Mike pointed to Taylor’s wrist.  “Nice watch.”

             
“Oh, yeah.  It also has GPS technology in it.”

             
Mike simply nodded and busied himself with his touch phone.

             
The girls grabbed their bags and ran out to the first hole to tee off.  Susan stretched as Taylor scoped out the periphery.  “No sign of Jack Cadell.”

             
Susan groaned as she stretched.  “You can’t expect to find him immediately.  This is a huge, prestigious course, didn’t you hear all the rules?  He’s probably a few holes in front of us.”

             
“Or playing the back nine.”

             
“What are those?” inquired Susan.

             
“I have no idea.  I just heard my dad say it before.”

             
Taylor poked a tee into the ground and placed a ball on it.  “Which club do I use?”

             
Susan looked through Taylor’s bag.  “The bigger the better.”  She pulled out the number one driver.  “Use big Bertha here.”

             
Taylor grabbed the handle.  “So isn’t there a special way to hold these things.  Like, don’t you have to wrap your hands around each other.”

             
“I don’t know.  Just hit the ball and see what happens.”

             
In the distance and on another fairway, a man was taking practice swings.  Taylor watched him and studied his technique.  “Okay, I think I understand.”

             
The sun was high overhead, and the day was warm and relaxing.  There was no breeze either.  Taylor addressed herself next to the ball and took a practice swing.  She rotated back, brought her arms up, and pivoted around in perfect elliptical motion.

             
Susan was blown away.  “That looked perfect, Taylor!  How did you do that?”

             
“Now for the real thing,” said Taylor, stepping closer to the ball.  “Ready.”

             
With a wink, she did the same swing, only this time harder and faster.  So hard and fast, in fact, that she could hear the club slicing through the air.  The club bit into the ground and likely scooped up the ball with it.  When Taylor finished her swing, she gazed faraway where she thought her ball must have gone.  “Where did it go?” she finally asked.

             
Susan was bent over in laughter and pointing toward the tee.

             
The ball was still on the tee.  It hadn’t gone anywhere.  Next to the ball, a big patch of turf was missing.  Now Taylor was laughing.

             
“Hey, you,” the angry voice of Mike came through the clubhouse speakers.  Taylor looked around.  “Yeah, you.  Come in here.”

             
Taylor and Susan exchanged glances, then walked into the clubhouse.  “I’ll fix the divot I just made, I know,” said Taylor.

             
“It’s not that,” said Mike.  “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before, but you’re wearing a tank top.  That’s illegal at this course.  You have to wear a t-shirt.”

             
“W—well I don’t have any with me.”

             
Mike’s eyes turned onto a shelf full of golf t-shirts for women.  “I do.”

             
Taylor perused the shelves.  “Okay… so where’s the white shirts because I only see yellow.”

             
“There are no white.  We ran out yesterday.”

             
“What!”

             
“Is that a problem?”

             
“Yes,” exclaimed Taylor.  “Yes it is.”

             
“Yes,” said Susan.  “It is for her.”  To Taylor, “We’re trying to solve a murder here.  Do it for Aaron and Brad.  Do it for the kids across the seas that are starving.”

             
Taylor ran a drooping bang over her ear.  Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.  “Okay, fine.  I guess I’ll take a yellow.”  She bought it, put it over her tank top, and ran back out to the first hole where Susan was preparing to hit.