As if his thoughts weren’t gloomy enough already, Fitz spotted Derwood headed his way. Derwood planted himself in front of Conner and spoke but a single word. “Come.”

Conner looked at him wryly. “This is becoming an every night thing.” He took Derwood’s hand and squeezed it. “Aren’t you afraid people will talk?”

“You’re a sick man, Cross.”

“I love it when you’re mean to me.” Conner leaned forward and kissed Derwood on the cheek.

Derwood grimaced and bolted away, wiping his cheek. “You sick-sick-“ He turned and ran out of the bar amidst a chorus of hoots and hollers.

In the chairman’s office, Conner found the usual cast of characters in their usual places. He began to wonder if these people choreographed these meetings before he arrived.

“I’m sure you know why we’ve called you here,” Spenser said in somber tones.

“As a matter of fact, I’m clueless. I thought I’d been a good boy today.”

Spenser glanced at a piece of paper in his right hand. It was some kind of report-no doubt prepared by Derwood. “I understand you’ve been bothering people on our premises. Hounding them with questions about John McCree.”

Conner’s eyebrows knitted. Who would’ve told Derwood that?

“I also understand that you behaved in a belligerent manner to certain members of the press.” He looked up from the paper. “It seems incredible but apparently you actually assaulted a reporter.”

“He had it coming,” Conner grumbled. “And then some.”

Spenser appeared flabbergasted. “You mean you don’t deny it?”

“No, I don’t deny it. He was hassling me, making nasty insinuations. Using John’s death to boost his ratings.”

Spenser drew himself up. “Well, then. Since you make no attempt to deny these charges, let me make myself absolutely clear. We will not tolerate any improper behavior toward the journalistic community. If you have a complaint about someone, you should give it to Derwood.”

“I’d sooner die.”

“But under no circumstances should you ever behave in a hostile, unprofessional manner. Much less actually strike someone!”

“Oh, all I did was shake him around a little. And believe me, he deserved it.”

“You think you’re the first pro who ever got hassled by a reporter? We depend on the press. Those big purses only exist because television reporters are interested in what you’re doing. If the reporters go away, so does the big money.”

“This is not about money.”

“On that, we are agreed,” Spenser said firmly. “It’s about decorum, a quality you are sadly lacking!”

Conner’s eyes narrowed. “Was that John’s problem?”

Spenser took a step back. “What? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Did he lack decorum as well? Did he, for instance, have trouble keeping his mouth shut?”

Spenser looked wild-eyed at the others. “Cross is a madman. An absolute madman.”

“I know John was disturbed about something the night he was killed, and I can’t think of anyone who could disturb someone more than you.”

“You’re insane!”

“Stop playing games, Spenser. I know John headed up the finance committee.”

“But-so?” Spenser sputtered. Conner was relieved. He’d taken a wild shot, but judging by Spenser’s reaction, he wasn’t far from the target. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think John knew something. Maybe he had something on you. Something you didn’t want to get out. What was it, Spenser?”

“This is an outrage!” Spenser threw up his hands. “I want this man out of here! Now!”

Conner took a step toward the door, pleased with the knowledge that he’d definitely gotten under Spenser’s skin. More than ever, he was convinced the man was hiding something. But what?

Conner saw the others in the room glancing at one another, exchanging looks. What were they thinking? Were they marking this down as another of Conner’s gonzo behavior spasms? Or were they beginning to wonder what Spenser was hiding, too?

“I’ll go,” Conner said quietly. “But I’ll be back. And when I am, I’ll expect an answer to my question.” Conner marched toward the door and, before Spenser had a chance to sputter another word, left the office.

Friday

Friday morning, bright and early, Conner dressed and headed for the coffee shop. He had a relatively late tee time, but he still wanted to be up and around with his eyes wide open. As he rounded the corner, he saw Lieutenant O’Brien standing just outside the coffee shop. As soon as she saw him, she moved forward. She was obviously waiting for him.

“Lieutenant O’Brien,” he said, grinning. “So nice to see you.”

“And so nice to see you,” O’Brien said, with her slow Georgia drawl.

Had he really told this vision he was a horticulturist? A sudden wave of guilt overcame him. He laid his hand on her shoulder. “Look, I can’t stand keeping secrets from a beautiful woman like you. Maybe I should come clean.”

“That would be very welcome.” She took his hand and, with a smooth sudden motion, spun Conner around, pinning his arm behind his back. “You’re under arrest for the murder of John McCree.”

15

“Hey, watch it!” Conner shouted.

“You have the right to remain silent,” O’Brien said, shoving her knee into the small of his back. “Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“What the hell is going on?”

O’Brien shoved him up against the wall. “You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.” She slid the cuffs over his wrists and clamped them shut.

Conner bellowed, as best he was able with his face pressed against the wall. “Would you stop with the Mirandizing and tell me what’s going on?”

“I already did. You’re under arrest for murder.”

“Murder? You think I killed John?”

“No wonder you were lurking around the sand trap yesterday. The perp always returns to the scene of the crime.” She whipped Conner around to face her, then shoved him back against the wall.

“Would you stop already? That hurts.”

At that moment, Ace Silverstone happened by, apparently on his way to the coffee shop. He took one look at Conner, then the cuffs, then rolled his eyes. “Conner, keep the kinky stuff in your room, okay? We have an image to maintain.” He shook his head, then walked on toward breakfast.

O’Brien grabbed Conner’s wrist and jerked him forward. “C’mon dirtbag. I’m taking you to the station.”

“Look, lady, you’re making a big mistake.”

“Tell it to the judge.” She jerked his wrists all the harder.

“Ow! Cool it, will you? Do you get off on this rough stuff?”

“Just shut up and walk.” She marched him toward the front doors. “In case you haven’t heard, murder is a serious charge.”

“How can you possibly think I murdered John?” Conner asked. “He was my best friend.”

“That’s no big surprise. Most murder victims are killed by someone they know.”

“But I had no reason to kill him.”

“No? Then why the masquerade? Why’d you give me that song and dance about being a horticulturist?”

Conner flushed. “Is that what this is about? I was just having some fun. Trying to make a good impression on you.”

“By lying?”

“I got the distinct impression you weren’t nuts about golf pros.”

“You got that right.”

“So I made up a harmless story. You can’t haul me down to the station for that.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what possible reason could you have?”

O’Brien paused just outside the front door. “We found the murder weapon.”

Conner’s eyes widened. “Where?”

“In the rough beside the eighteenth fairway. It’s been buried since Tuesday night, but not very deep.”

“Did you run tests?”

“Of course I ran tests. Who do you think I am, Deputy Fife? She glared at him. “And guess whose fingerprints we found.”

“No way!”