Ex erpt Sand Bunker


         Ch  1:   KILLER HANDICAP
CH
         CH  2:  
COMFORT OF CANDICE
         CH  3: 
 BUTTERYFLY TATTOO
         CH  4:   
BARTER MARKERS
         CH  5:   BACK TO SCHOOL
 

CH  6:    BLIND DATE 

CH  7:    MEDICAL EMERGENCY 

CH  8:    POKER NIGHT 

CH  9     A PASSÉ PAST 

CH 10    HIDE AND SEEK 

CH 11    VITUVIAN WOMEN 

CH 12    SAFE BOX SECRETS 

CH 13    RING GIRL 

CH 13    UNLUCKY THIRTEEN 

CH 14    NO BATBOYS 

CH 15    DOCTORS A PLENTY 

CH 16    TELLY TAKEDOWN 

CH 18    LOOSE ENDS 

CH 19: COLLECTING THE TRASH

 

Epilogue







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Chapter One

 

Killer Handicap

[Day one -- Monday -- Week One]

 

 

 

On the First Tee, I felt it in my bones.

Today would be my round of a lifetime.

My ball teed, I waggled the club. It felt perfect. Everything was in synch, but there was a hold-up at the green. I could see it. People 300 yards straight away around the back left bunker.

At first, I blamed the greens keepers running late, but when the course’s pro flew past Hole Number Nine like a sculled ball from a hacker’s swing, it gave me a second thought.

Take a major mess to pull him off’n his morning coffee.

Two practice swings later, the police squads pulled in the gate. My curiosity turned to personal mandate. I slipped off the back of the tee, sneaking around the tree line of Hole Eighteen, and cutting back over. Climbing the mound separating the first and second holes, gave me quite a view of the affair. Oh, it was a stray ball in the sand bunker, but that was the least of it!

Making allowances for the grayish sand tone of her skin, a strikingly beautiful gal in her mid twenties was lying on her back. The auburn hair slightly messed, not a stitch of clothing, but three golf towels. One laid across her eyes, a second across the buxom chest, and the other from her hipbones down covering the essentials. Her arms lay straight out reminding me of Da Vinci’s ‘Vitruvian Man Circle’. It didn’t strike me odd, because my attention riveted on a yellow golf ball poised in her belly button. I figured she had ‘inie,’ from the way the ball rested. Except for the singular set of footprints to her side, the sand was carefully raked in a circular pattern around her body. I looked intently for signs of blood discerning not even a dark spot in the sand.

When the police determined the two greens keepers had found the body, they dispatched the Golf Pro and others off the course. With camera mimicking a lightning storm, a man in civilian attire with a badge flop stuck in his breast pocket began interviewing. He first took on the short common looking greens keeper. Two additional officers spread out searching the area for whatever struck them as out of place. Of course, they readily found my perch and the party began.

“On your face! Spread eagle!”

I complied. My arms were twisted and cuffed. No doubt they felt mighty proud, makin’ such a quick bust. As they dragged me down the slope. The thin frame of my ol’ acquaintance Henry Mitchum strolled down the golf cart path, his rawboned frame the picture of a greyhound off leash in a park. He strayed over to me whistling Dixie, least that’s my guess.

“Howdy, Chief,” I greeted.

Drifting over, he took my golf cap off, shook his head showing no surprise, and sighed my name, “Abel Rose,” then flopped the cap back on my head backwards.

I’d sewn a long hairpiece in the back of the cap. A single on a busy course can expect to be added to a threesome at the tee. I’m still workin’ on my swing, and routinely one of the strangers takes pity. That’s when the advice pours in. I find a thirty-two year old man with a ponytail eliminates the aggravation.

Sitting handcuffed, with the faux ponytail across my face I hear Mitchum asking, “What do you know about all this?”

I replied, “I’m confused. Sounds like a man, walks like a dog, but looks like an unmade bed.” I shook my head smartly. The weight of the ponytail flipped the cap onto the ground.

“I asked your take on this,” he barked back.

“All I know is she’s got a killer handicap.”
            Mitchum turned and...

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