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All the reception guests were required to stay on the premises until late into the night-even the bride. Despite all the preparations and programming consultants and the investment of monumental wads of cash, Freddy’s party was ruined.
Around one in the morning, Co
Saturday
He was awakened by an insistent pounding on the door of his cabin. Given his current state, it felt as if someone were ringing a gong inside his cerebellum. Groaning, Co
He heard the front door of his cabin pop open. Damn! he thought. Guess I forgot to lock the door again. He heard the footsteps crossing the outer room. A few moments later, the clamourous pounding resumed at the bedroom door, even more insistent than before.
Wrapping the towel around his waist, Co
He stopped cold. It wasn’t his caddie standing on the other side of the door. It was Lieutenant O’Brien.
“Nice outfit,” she said, as she marched into the bedroom. “Is it monogrammed?”
Co
“You’re a riot, Cross.” She stared at the unmade bed, the tangled sheets, the pillows strewn across the floor. “How the hell are you?”
“Not as good as I was a few minutes ago. When I was in bed. I think I’ll go back now. You can come, too, if you like.”
“I’m here on business.”
Co
“I’m assuming you don’t know who killed Jodie McCree. But surely you learned something last night.”
“Not really.”
“I was keeping tabs on you, Cross. You disappeared for a good while. And later, a witness told me you were racing across the room, pushing people out of the way. Heading toward the fountain. As if you knew what had happened. Or was about to happen.”
Co
“It looks pretty damn suspicious.”
“I can explain.”
“Then you’d better. As quickly as possible.”
“Right.” He fell onto the edge of the bed. “After I saw Jodie floating in the fountain… I guess I forgot all about it.” Slowly, dredging up the memories, Co
And then found Jodie instead.
“I don’t know what the hell Freddy was talking about, or who the other guy was, but it has to relate to these murders.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What else could it be?”
“How should I know? Maybe he was having an argument with the caterer. Maybe one of the violinists broke a string. Maybe they bet on a golf game. It could’ve been anything. We can’t assume that because there was a murder, every weird conversation beforehand related to it.”
Co
“I don’t have grounds to arrest him. And he’s been told not to leave town.”
“At least bring him in for questioning.”
“What would be the point? Do you think he’s going to confess to murder? Much better to leave him alone. Let him think no one suspects-but keep a close eye on him.”
“I guess that makes sense.” Co
“Did he mention Jodie?”
Co
O’Brien arched an eyebrow. “Did he say sweet or nice?”
“I don’t know.” He tried to recall the exact phrasing. “Come to think of it, I think Ace said precious. Yeah, that was it. Precious. Definitely. I think. What difference does it make?”
“A hell of a lot.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Ace Silverstone is from the South, isn’t he?”
“Yeah… so?”
“Well, down South we have our own vocabulary. If he said she was precious-that’s a compliment. But if he said she was sweet-that’s the kiss of death. And if he said she was nice-that’s the kiss of death with the coffin sealed.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Co
“You can get dressed. But you’re not going anywhere near the golf course.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t worry. You’ve been given a late tee time. For a reason.”
Co
O’Brien looked at him gravely. “Sorry. I got distracted. There’s been another development in the case.”
Co
“Get dressed. You can see for yourself.”
O’Brien led Co
“This doesn’t seem like Te
“Mr. Te
“Because of the murders?”
O’Brien shook her head. “There’s more to it than that. Let me introduce you to someone.”
She waved a hand in the air. A few moments later, a woman about O’Brien’s age walked toward them.
“This is Special Agent Liponsky,” O’Brien explained. Liponsky was wearing a close-fitting gray suit with a scarf tie. To Co
Co
O’Brien gave him a wry grin. “I’m her local contact.”
“Contact on what? Isn’t someone going to tell me what’s going on?”
O’Brien glanced at Liponsky, who returned a curt nod. O’Brien retrieved a piece of paper from a nearby desk, then passed it to Co
“Mr. Te
Co
The author of the fax claimed to have killed John McCree and his wife. He-or she-further stipulated that unless the tournament officials paid one million dollars in unmarked bills-there would be more murders.
“This can’t be real,” Co