Mystery at St. Andrews by W.P. Lawler

Author:W.P. Lawler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, mystery, crime, british crime, sherlock holmes novels, sherlock holmes fiction
ISBN: 9781780924656
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2013
Published: 2013-06-13T00:00:00+00:00

Hole 12 Heathery In

It was well into the late afternoon when my carriage pulled up to the old majestic Royal Hotel. This fine inn had served as my home away from home whenever I chanced to visit the famous “Old Course.” Its excellent reputation was most deserved, for it was known for its fine accommodations, outstanding service, and the scrumptious quality of its food. Located close to the St Andrews golf course, it was the perfect hotel for the avid golfer.

After alighting from the landau, I summoned the bell-captain. He quickly had my baggage and clubs removed to the interior of the ornate establishment. I stretched, took a deep breath and after climbing a few steps, turned to look out on the golf course that lay spread before me. I smiled a contented smile and allowed myself a few seconds to enjoy the strange beauty that is St Andrews. Tomorrow could not come soon enough and, at that moment, I felt the need to take a practice swing, imagining what it would feel like on the first tee. Oh, what a magical game that can lift the worries of the world from a person’s shoulders, even if only temporarily. I certainly must have forgotten where I was for when I began to walk toward the hotel, I noticed that several of the guests as well as some passersby, were giving me inquisitive looks!

Upon entering the airy lobby, I immediately caught the eye of William Davison, proprietor of that grand old establishment. He seemed to be deeply engrossed with one of the hotel guests. When he saw me, he interrupted the conversation momentarily in the form of a wink in my direction. While still communicating with this patron, he waved his arm, pointing toward the hotel’s main office. Returning his wave, I bowed and slowly made my way in that general direction as he courteously concluded his discussion and moved to greet me.

“Well, now, look who’s made his way to St Andrews,” Davison offered in a most kindly, teasing manner.

“William,” spoke I, “the call of the linksland was too much for me. I simply had to return and once again try to conquer that which is unconquerable.”

Laughing at my remark, he took my arm and led me into his office. I remembered that it was a most tidy room, full of bookcases and filing cabinets. A large blackboard was stationed on one side of his desk, indicating a list of hotel “things-to-do,” as it were. A huge oaken desk was located in a corner, and a large window provided him with a breathtaking view of St Andrews Bay. He sat me down in a very comfortable burgundy-shaded leather chair and offered me a glass of sherry, pouring a glass for himself as well.

“John,” he began, “It’s good to see you. I’ve thought about you these last several months, wondering how you’ve handled your good friend Sherlock’s passing.”

“To tell you the truth, William,” I responded, “it has taken me a while to come to terms with it all.

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