“I’m giving it some serious thought. You?”
“I don’t know.” Ace glanced over his shoulder. “Film crew, remember? I hate to make a scene-you know, disrupt the reception. But the camera boys thought it might be nice to have some footage of me showing up at a family celebration for one of the other pros. You know, showing that no matter how successful I’ve become, I still have time for the… uh… the…”
Little people? Conner wondered.
“The better things in life. Family. Friends. And they thought if I came, it might help make the event special. For Freddy and his daughter.”
Sort of like the arrival of a visiting dignitary, Conner presumed.
He was distracted by the all too familiar sound of drunken grumbling on the opposite side of the bar. In this mostly quiet room, the raspy words were like a gong sounding at daybreak. Barry Bennett was back on the sauce, and to make matters worse, he’d returned to his favorite subject: why he didn’t like John McCree.
“It iss’t so much whadde did,” Barry said, slurring his words with impunity. “It’ss the way he did it.”
Conner bit down on his lower lip. Don’t start, Barry. Just don’t start.
“Sure,” Barry continued, even louder than before, “they say allss fair’n love and war. But some thingsiss right, and some thingsiss wrong.”
Conner glanced over his shoulder. As he suspected, everyone in the room was listening. The expressions on their faces covered a wide spectrum from the amused to the appalled.
“Mind you, I don’t care ’nymore,” Barry said with a hiccup. “I’m over it. Totally over it. But iss hard to have much respect for a man with no honor.”
“Barry,” Conner said, trying to keep his voice calm and even, “why don’t you just shut the hell up?”
“I gotta right to speak my piece,” Barry said. Unfortunately, it seemed the booze made him both feisty and stupid. “There’s this li’l thing called the First Amendment, see? You can’t censor me.”
“I can censor you with my fist,” Conner said curtly. “And I’m about two seconds from starting.”
“Hey, calm down,” Ace said, laying a hand on Conner’s shoulder.
“Oh, stop playing the peacemaker,” Conner shot back. “The cameras aren’t on.” He turned toward Barry. “Just listen to me for one second, you sorry inebriate. Did it ever occur to you that there might be something screwy about blaming John? Jodie’s the one who dumped you. She made the choice, not him.”
“It wass’t her fault,” Barry answered. His eyes wavered so Conner thought he might crumble to the floor at any moment. “He manipulated her. Took advantage of her. Bought her.”
“Bought her? Man, you are truly looped.”
“He did. With lossa jewelry and fancy cars and a lotta other crap I couldn’t begin to afford. He didn’t play fair. He jus’ bought her-like he did everything else.”
Conner was about to follow up when he detected some rapid movement behind him. Craning his neck, he saw his good buddy Andrew Spenser entering the room. He was holding a large spreadsheet. And Conner knew what that meant, as did every other pro in the room.
The postings.
Spenser cleared his throat. “First of all, I want to thank each and every one of you for your participation in our tournament. By your noble efforts and stalwart athleticism, you have once again maintained the high standards of excellence that the Masters-”
“Jesus God,” someone in the back of the room groaned. “Just tell us if we made the cut!”
Even Spenser had to smile this time. “As you wish. I’ll post the results next to the bar. For those who will proceed, tee times begin tomorrow morning at nine. And to all of you, my heartfelt congratulations. You’re all winners.”
Conner wondered if that included him; he decided it was probably best not to quiz Spenser on that particular point.
As soon as Spenser had the results thumb-tacked to the bulletin board, the crowd surged forward en masse, pressing forward to see where they stood. Conner stayed at the bar, determined to remain cool, trying to look superior while the other lemmings desperately shoved their way through the throng. It was just a game, for God’s sake. The world would go on spinning regardless of who hit their little white ball the best. It didn’t matter a hill of beans-
Oh, the hell with it. Conner sprang from the bar and elbowed his way to the bulletin board. The first thing he saw was the top score, which belonged-surprise, surprise-to Ace. He’d shot a 136-a full ten strokes better than Conner.
His heart sank. What chance did he possibly have? His eyes raced down the list. Happily, it was alphabetized and the distance to the Cs was not great. Calley, Carter, Cresswell…
Cross. Conner Cross. A quick check for the magic checkmark in the right-hand column…
He’d made it. He’d made it! Just barely, but praise God he’d made the cut.
Conner quickly checked the scores of his partners. Harley was ranked fourth, but Barry had finished a stroke worse than Conner and consequently came in under the cut. And Freddy hadn’t even come close.
Conner staggered away from the postings, feeling as if some guardian angel had just rescued him from the jaws of death. Sure, it didn’t matter, and the world wouldn’t stop revolving… but thank heaven! He’d made the cut!
He stumbled into the corridor, so relieved he barely knew what he was doing. He almost collided with Jodie before he’d even realized she was there.
“I’m guessing,” Jodie said, “from that pathetic grin on your face that you made the cut.”
“Yes.” Conner beamed. “Yes!” He calmed himself. “I mean, not that it matters.”
“Right. John always felt the same way.” She smiled, and Conner had no choice but to reflect on what a beautiful smile it was. So sweet it made you feel all warm and fuzzy; so tender it made you want to wrap her in your arms and never let her go. Was that what had first drawn him to her, all those years ago?
“Which reminds me,” Jodie said. “I thought of it.”
Conner blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I thought of it. What I was trying to remember. What John said on his way out of the cabin. Just before he was killed.”
Conner grabbed her by the arms. “What was it?”
“Well, you have to understand up front-I don’t know what the context was. I’m not sure there was one, actually, except maybe in John’s brain. But I do remember what he said. I would’ve asked him about it. If I’d ever gotten the chance.”
“Jodie, tell already. What did he say?”
She drew in her breath. “ Fiji.”
“Pardonnez moi?”
“You heard me. Fiji.”
“As in… the islands?”
“Beats hell out of me. But that’s definitely what he said. Fiji.”
Fiji? Fiji? Conner rolled the word through his brain. What could it possibly mean?
“Wait a minute,” Conner said, after a moment’s reflection. “Didn’t you and John go on a cruise through the Pacific not too long ago?”
“That was before my time,” Jodie explained. “Before John married me. But he went on an island cruise. I don’t know if he went to the Fijis or not.”
Conner wasn’t sure, either. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure where the Fijis were. But it might be worth finding out. Was it possible something had happened to John on the cruise all those years ago-something that eventually led to his death?
“Jodie, are you sure he said Fiji? Could it have been something that just sounded like Fiji? Like maybe… squeegee? Or Ouija?”
“I suppose it’s possible.”
“Or maybe he was saying several words, but saying them so fast they kind of ran together.”
“Maybe. He didn’t realize I was listening.”
“Or maybe not words. Maybe… letters.” If someone said the letters F-E-G very quickly, wouldn’t it come out sounding something like… Fiji? “I don’t know what to make of this, Jodie.”
“It may not mean anything,” Jodie admitted. “Who knows-maybe he was just humming the words to a song or something. It’s just that-well, I wanted to ask him about it. And I never-I never-“ Her voice trailed off.