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“In Georgia, the bride always wears white. Even if it’s her eighth time down the aisle.”
“I see you decided to come.”
“I had my doubts, but eventually I realized that bringing in a camera crew wouldn’t disrupt the reception. If anything, it would make it more special. And when you get right down to it, I didn’t feel I had the right to make that little girl on the cake’s day any less special just because I might be more comfortable staying at home.”
Co
“It was. Hey, you know who else is here? Jodie.”
“Jodie McCree?”
“Can you believe it? With her husband not even cold in-“ He stopped short.
“Don’t worry about it.” Creep, he added mentally. He wondered why Jodie had come. To make a social appearance like this so soon after John’s death-she must have a reason. What could it be? “That does seem strange.”
“Hey, I can’t fault the little lady. She’s precious.”
As soon as he was able to extract himself from Ace, Co
He heard a hiccup, and following the sound, spotted Barry Be
Co
Co
“What?” Co
The senior waiter cleared his throat. “We can have that for you in approximately twenty minutes, sir.”
Co
Co
“Tying on the feed bag, Co
“That would be one way of putting it,” Co
“Freddy told me he pla
“I guess so.” A crash of cymbals suddenly brought the background music to Co
Harley spoke while shoveling in bites of filet mignon. “I believe that would be the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra.”
Co
“One of three, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Criminy.” Co
“Not our Freddy’s style, I think. Might be yours, though.”
Co
“I believe that would be the wedding party,” Harley explained.
“The wedding party. I thought we were the wedding party.”
“You know what I mean. Bridesmaids and groomsmen.”
Co
“True. I understand Dillard’s had to hold a special seminar just to coordinate everyone’s wedding outfits. The bride kept all her bridesmaids informed of the wedding’s progress by putting out a newsletter.”
Co
Harley shrugged. “Like my daddy used to say, ‘Folks do things differently in the South.’ ”
Co
Co
“Well,” Co
Harley cast him a sidewards glance. “You’re leaving? Now?”
“Yeah. Is there a problem?”
“You’ll miss the fireworks display!”
O’Brien helped herself to another plate of deviled eggs and a glass of champagne. She supposed she should be abstaining; technically she was still on duty. Then again, this was essentially an undercover operation, and to successfully remain undercover, it was necessary to blend in with the crowd.
Across the ballroom, she saw Co
She headed to a nearby table where a man was sitting alone. She didn’t know who he was, but she noticed no one had sat with him all night long. Given the boisterous fraternizing and revelry surrounding them, that seemed odd.
She took a seat and flashed her best smile. “Hi. My name’s Nikki. What’s yours?”
“Dick,” he replied. “Dick Peregino.”
Peregino. O’Brien ran the name through her head. It seemed vaguely familiar. Had Co
“No. Well, yes and no. I’m with the tour, at any rate.” He smiled, then leaned closer to her than she felt was entirely necessary. “I’m the PGA cop.”
“Really.” She was tempted to mention that she was a cop of a different stripe herself, but she figured that would not help loosen his tongue. “What does a PGA cop do?”
“Maintains the high standards of the PGA.”
“Which are?”
“Clean living. Clean appearance. We think it’s important that people believe our golfers are decent human beings. It isn’t like boxing, where almost anything goes. We run a tight ship. We have a dress code, prohibit foul language, punish lewd and lascivious behavior. We don’t even permit our players to have facial hair.”
“It’s the road to hell,” O’Brien said, nodding. “One day you allow a mustache, the next thing you know they’ll be having orgies in the clubhouse.”
“I detect sarcasm.” Peregino pulled a baggie filled with sunflower seeds out of his pocket and began munching them. “That’s all right. I’m used to it.”
“I’m sure that’s not so.”
He waved her remark away. “I’m like the vice principal in the school of golf. I’m Mr. No-Fun.” He pulled a couple of sunflower seed shells out of his mouth and put them on the table, in a pre-existing pile of saliva and shells. “Mind you, what I do is important. What I do makes it possible for all those pros to rake in the big bucks. But do they appreciate me?” He shook his head vigorously. “Not in this lifetime.”
“Do I sense some resentment?”
“Just stating facts. I’ve made my peace with the universe. Long ago, I dreamed of being a pro golfer, but I wasn’t good enough. So I worked my way up to this position. That way I get to stay in the golf universe. I know what I do is important, even if none of those spoiled overpaid pros appreciate it.”