Blood, Ash, and Bone

CHAPTER Twelve

The next morning dawned gray, with sodden dense clouds in a low sky. The weatherwoman said to blame the tropical storm hovering offshore east of the Gulf Stream, sending sunshine and thunderstorms in alternating bands of clear and foul weather.

I’d showed up at the driving range anyway, hopeful that the deluge would hold off long enough for at least nine holes. I gave my new driver a practice swing, then retucked the cell phone between my ear and shoulder.

John’s voice sounded frustrated. “Look, I didn’t have anything to do with Hope showing up at your hotel!”

“So you keep saying.”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“Then how…hang on a second.”

I fished a tee out of my pocket and stuck it in the ground. Trey watched from behind the line, sticking out like an Armani-clad sore thumb. He’d agreed to go on the course, but refused to wear golf clothes, insisting that he wasn’t golfing.

I jammed the phone back against my ear. “So you have no idea who might have been following me? Or how Hope found out where we were staying?”

“No idea at all.”

“You’d better be telling the truth, or I swear—”

“Whole truth, Tai. Why would I lie?”

“Good question. I gotta go. But keep your mouth zipped, you hear me?”

I hung up before he could answer and shoved the phone in the pocket of my khakis. Trey checked his watch. Marisa and Reynolds were still in the pro shop with only ten minutes until tee time.

I picked up a ball from my bucket. “John says he didn’t leak our whereabouts to anybody, especially not Hope. He blames somebody at your end.”

“I checked with Marisa. There are no leaks at my end.”

“You sure about that? Reynolds seems like the talkative type.”

“He has no connection to Hope.”

“That you know about.”

Trey didn’t reply. He had his eyes on the horizon, where a curdled mass of clouds lay piled like wet laundry. He checked his watch again, brushing a piece of grass from his immaculate cuff.

“I’m taking care of the situation,” he said.

I gave my new driver a practice swing. “You know, Armani does make golf clothes.”

“I’m not golfing.”

“I saw some Italian leather golf shoes in the pro shop. Removable cleats, black on black.”

“I’m not—”

“Yeah, yeah. Not golfing. But Marisa’s right—how are you going to put together a security plan for a golf tournament if you don’t understand golf?”

“That’s why I agreed to come out here. To understand.”

“Can’t understand if you don’t play.”

I popped a ball on the tee, took my stance, then swung. It was a clean hit, a little hooky, but powerful. Trey watched, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

I pulled the driver from his bag and handed it to him. “Forged titanium construction. Nice big sweet spot, good for newbies.”

He accepted the club, his brain calculating its measurements, heft, and tensile strength. He scrutinized the head, running his thumb along the grooves in the club face.

I shook my head. “Not like that. You’re holding it like a weapon.” I came up behind him, reaching around to place his hands properly on the grip. “Hold it like this, firm but light. Let the club do its thing.”

“What’s a club’s thing?”

“The swing is its thing.” I put my hands on his waist. “Head down, eyes on the ball. Ease it back on the diagonal, then…swish.” I moved him through a practice swing, feeling the ripple of his lats on the pivot, then stepped back. “Now try it for real.”

He swung the club back and forth gently, testing its balance. And then he pulled back, swung through, and sent the ball straight into the air with a sweet thwack like a champagne cork popping. It sailed through the air in a precise arc and landed two hundred yards downrange like it had followed a plumb line.

I stared at him. “Can’t you suck at something just once?”

He examined the club, then peered at the ball. “Apparently not golf.”

“So you’ll play?”

He handed the club back to me. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m here to understand the overall structure of the game. I can do that best by observing, not interacting.”

I dropped his driver back in the bag and didn’t argue further. His mind required distance and objectivity, and a golf course was an organic, almost sentient thing, ripe with chaos and distraction. He’d need every ounce of his formidable focus to get a grip on it.

I heard Marisa and Reynolds approaching from the clubhouse, Reynolds with his deep rich baritone, Marisa…laughing? She had her bag on her shoulder, a smile on her face. She even wore a skort, her platinum hair in a tidy knot at her nape.

She hoisted her bag into the back of her cart. “Are we ready?”

“We will be,” I replied. “As soon as we get Trey some shoes.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “You can keep the suit, but we’re going back for the shoes. If you think pizza is hard on the Prada, you should try marsh mud.”

***

I rode with Reynolds, Trey with Marisa. The first eight holes went smoothly, but then on the ninth, she sliced one into the out-of-bounds and sent Trey to fetch it while she took a phone call. Reynolds and I sat in our cart and waited.

“You’re looking good,” he said. “Play much?”

“Not anymore.”

I didn’t tell him I’d grown up on the golf course, my dad usually being the club champion. I’d inherited his swing, but not his discipline, and got banned after I broke in one night and did some drag racing with the carts, sending one of them into the drink. I still remembered the sky that night, as open and limitless and miraculous as a fairy tale.

Reynolds pulled a beer from the cooler. “I hear you’re headed for the Expo tomorrow. I didn’t think that started until Friday.”

“It’s the vendor’s welcome barbecue. I’m meeting my aunt Dee Lynn there.”

“Does she sell guns too?”

“No, she’s a relic hunter. Digs and dives. Her specialty is Civil War artifacts, but she also finds jewelry, fossils, bottles.”

He stuck a cigar between his teeth. “Is she single?”

I laughed. “As single as they come, but you gotta be a brave man to tap that.”

Up ahead, Trey poked at the edge of the cattails, squinting at something beyond the waist-high sedge. I stuck some tees into my ponytail and reached for a beer. This could take a while.

I popped the cap. “A fundraising tournament, huh? Whose idea was that, yours or your sister’s?”

“Mine, but this is the first time she’s actually gone along with it. We’re reaching that age, you know. Legacy. She’s afraid I’ll fritter away my half of the estate. A tournament would keep me busy and fill the foundation coffers with friends and funds.”

I smiled at him. “Do you fritter, Mr. Harrington?”

He grinned around his cigar. “It’s Reynolds, m’dear, and yes, I fritter. Drives the old girl batty.”

Marisa waved us to go on without them, so Reynolds took the cart up to the green. I had the better lie, uphill from the cup, but he had three strokes on me. Reynolds was a steady, smart golfer, strong and long on the fairway, indolently precise with his short game.

We pulled our putters and headed for the green. “Do you collect Civil War memorabilia too?”

“No, I’m more of the genteel ne’er-do-well. Audrina’s the collector.”

I remembered my afternoon at her mansion—the hundreds of papers and books, the black-haired, blue-eyed wait staff. Yes, once Audrina wanted something, she wanted all of it, all for her.

“Everybody has their interests,” I agreed.

“Indeed. So I leave the business of collection to Audrina and that narrow-headed authenticator of hers, and I work the crowds. So to speak.”

I stepped over the cart rope and headed for the pin, dodging goose droppings. “You and Mr. Fitzhugh don’t get along?”

“That twit? He keeps trying to convince Audrina to cut me off. But she can’t—that’s not how our father set up the foundation. I control half, she controls half. Fitzhugh seems to think he should have a half too.”

He pulled the flag for me and stepped out of the way. I could feel his eyes on my butt as I lined up the shot, but I popped the ball too hard, and it lipped out. I called the thing a foul name, and Reynolds barked a hearty laugh.

I held the flag for him. As he approached, a blue heron took flight from the flat gray pond behind us, beating its wings hard against a slanting brisk wind. Everything was manicured and velvety green, tidy and precise, but the weather had a temper that no groundskeeper could tame.

“So you’re here to make friends in the Lowcountry?” I said.

“That’s the idea.” He blew out a plume of rich blue smoke. “Unless Audrina manages to kill me first. Then the whole plan’s shot to hell.”

I stared at him. He placed his cigar on the ground, lined up the putt, and sank it quickly and cleanly.

I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. “Did you say she’s trying to kill you?”

He picked up his cigar and stuck it in his mouth. “Last year for Christmas, she got me skydiving lessons. For my birthday, a Kodiak bear hunting expedition in Alaska. In six weeks, she’s sending me diving with great whites in Australia. What does that sound like to you?”

“Like she’s trying to kill you.”

“See?” Reynolds chuckled. “I’m kidding, of course. What she’s trying to do is keep me far away from the foundation.”

“Why?”

“Because deep in my sister’s tight little heart, she wants to control everything—the foundation, the collection, the family name. Having me out of the way makes that easier, which makes Fitzhugh happy too. He’s always telling her what a tragedy it would be to let the infidels get their filthy hands on the family treasures. Audrina falls for that ‘great privilege, great responsibility’ argument every time.”

“But you think differently?”

“I do. Those items belong to history, not us. Creating a museum will make sure they’re cared for properly for the long haul and accessible to all.” He waggled his putter at the hole. “Now sink that gimme already. I’ve got a poker game with the mayor, and you’ve got to chase that Bible.”

I took my stance, eyes on the ball. “What Bible?”

He laughed again. “Let’s drop the pretense. The tournament is a bribe. In return, I’m supposed to spy on you and let Audrina know if you find the Bible so that Fitzhugh can convince you to sell it.”

I tapped the ball lightly, and it rattled into the cup. “Or steal it out from under me.”

“Or that. And Trey’s here to keep me out of trouble while I perpetrate all this nefariousness, even though I’m not supposed to know that.”

“I’m pretty sure Trey doesn’t know that.”

“And Marisa’s here to grease the slippery wheels of her profit margin. It’s a game of monkey-in-the-middle, with that Bible the grand prize. And some of the other players don’t play nice.”

“You mean like Hope Lyle?”

He squinted in what looked like genuine confusion. “Who?”

I hurried back to my bag and pulled out the screenshot of Hope smirking with tart satisfaction at the surveillance camera. I handed it to Reynolds.

He grinned. “Goodness gracious. Is she single?”

“No. You recognize her?”

He shook his head. “What’s she got to do with the Bible?”

“Long story.” I took the photo back. “But if she shows up, you need to tell me.”

“Why?”

“Because it will put me one step closer to finding that Bible. Which puts you one step closer to getting it without Fitzhugh’s involvement.” I smiled. “But don’t forget I don’t always play nice either.”

“Some people play especially not-nice.”

“Like who?”

“You know who. The Invisible Empire. Well-moneyed and ruthless, with a taste for Confederate memorabilia. If she’s one of them…”

I got a shiver, and it wasn’t from the suddenly chill wind. The Ku Klux Klan. The great Southern shadow, still long, still dark, still thick in the least expected places.

“What would the KKK want with a Bible signed by Lincoln and Sherman? They’re Yankees.”

“You got me. But whenever big money items show up, so does the Klan. And they pay well. But my sister and I will pay you better, and we’re not evil.”

He said this pleasantly, but a vague feeling of apprehension washed over me anyway. We returned to the cart just as Trey and Marisa pulled up beside us. Trey got out, but Marisa remained in the cart, still talking on her phone.

I plucked a piece of pine straw from Trey’s hair. “Did you find her ball?”

“No. There were alligators.”

I’d seen the reptiles in question, maybe three feet long, their knobby noses poking above the waterline. Not harmless, but no cause for panic. Of course, I’d watched Trey become practically unglued around a rather petite reticulated python.

“So you gave up?”

He looked at me as if I were insane. “Alligators,” he repeated. “Plural.”

In the distance, the clouds thickened, and the first fat drops of rain splattered on the plastic windshield. Reynolds held out his hand, palm up.

“Blast it,” he said.

Marisa put her phone away. “It doesn’t matter, we have to go. The director of Secure Systems says he can squeeze in a lunch meeting. We might have a hardware vendor.”

“But I have poker,” Reynolds protested.

“Not if you want your tournament.” She turned to Trey. “How soon can you be ready?”

“I’ve got to shower and change and print out the specs. I’ll meet you there in forty-five minutes.” He turned to me. “What will you do while I’m gone?”

I remembered Reynolds’ words. The KKK had their grubby fingers in this mess, although for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why. But I knew who could help me start.

“I’ve got to make a delivery,” I said.

“But I’ll have the car.”

“I’ll take the bus. Or a cab.”

He frowned. “Can’t this wait until I get back?”

I put my hand on his arm. “Trey, you can’t be with me every second. I have my job to do, like you have yours. Trust me, okay?”

The rain intensified, and the first rumble of thunder rolled over the horizon. He nodded, albeit reluctantly, and sat beside me in the cart. Reynolds climbed in next to Marisa. He tipped his hat in my direction and grinned wide, and for a second, I understood why Trey got squeamish around alligators. Even when they smiled, it was all teeth.