P.G.A. Spells Death by James Y. Bartlett

Author:James Y. Bartlett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: A Hacker Golf Mystery
Publisher: James Y. Bartlett
Published: 2020-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

17

I called Mary Jane from my luxury suite. It had a big queen-size bed with a canopy, a seating section with a sofa and two chairs and a 48-inch flatscreen TV mounted on the wall, a small kitchenette with a fridge, microwave and coffee maker, a luxurious bathroom and a balcony overlooking the Hudson River valley. My balcony had a hot tub on one end, water bubbling away with wisps of steam rising into the chilly air of evening. Had I been there with Mary Jane and a bottle of chilled Taittinger’s, I could have envisioned some fun possibilities. Alone, I dialed my phone, fully clothed and mostly sober.

“What’s your opinion of hot tubs?” I asked when we connected.

“Generally good,” she said, “Even though they have a reputation for spreading disease.”

“How about chilled Taittinger’s?”

“Again, good, although I’ve always preferred a good Dom Perignon. Why these interesting questions?”

“There’s a hot tub on my balcony,” I said. “I’m looking at it and was envisioning being in it with you.”

“Aww,” she said. “How sweet.”

“My visions were more carnal than sweet, I think.”

“I should certainly hope so,” she said. “Did you win?”

“Win what?”

“I don’t know…I assumed there was some kind of match today and that means someone won and someone lost. Which was it?”

“I guess I won,” I said. “But he was into it more than I was. We just had a fabulous Conrad Gold dinner and then got some bad news.”

“Oh, no …one of you had to pick up the tab?” she said. I could hear the hint of mischievousness in her voice.

“Ha ha,” I said. “No, we found out that Arnie Wasserman was shot and killed this afternoon down in New York.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Who was Arnie Wasserman and has anyone blamed you yet?”

“Not so far as I can tell,” I said. “He was Ben Oswald’s aide-de-camp. Or go-fer. He did all the dirty work.”

“So, he was the Assassin’s assassin?”

I smiled. “Pretty good,” I said. “Yeah, he was.”

“Well, from what you tell me about Oswald, that means there’s probably a long list of potential suspects,” she said. “Not including you, I hope.”

“I think I’m off the hook,” I said. “After all, I was here playing golf all afternoon. I’ve got witnesses to the witnesses of my alibi.”

“Thank goodness for that,” she said. “So who killed him, if it wasn’t you?”

“They think it was a mugger,” I said. “Still haven’t caught the guy. Seems to be one of those random Big City things. Kinda tragic.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear it,” Mary Jane said. “Is this going to affect your job in any way?”

“Don’t think so,” I said. “I’m sure IBS will have someone new ready to insert into place in a day or two. Like Conrad said at dinner a while ago, ‘No one is indispensable.’”

“Conrad?”

“Conrad Gold,” I said. “He owns this place. Came up to have dinner with us.”

“I can’t believe you are sitting around talking with someone like Conrad Gold,” Mary Jane said. “I mean, I see him on television all the time.

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