Black Princess Mystery (11 page)

“Are they
still there?” Tasheka asked casually.

Adam
nodded. “A month ago I was on the path that runs from my place to the swimming
hole. The shed isn’t twenty feet from it. I snuck up and looked through the
window and, sure as shooting, there was the bag with all those clubs lying on
paint cans and dirty rags.”

“It wasn’t
the fault of the clubs.”

“It never
is,” Adam said with a glint in his eyes, “but most golfers can’t admit that.
Great golfers see their weaknesses, but golfers who just want to be great
always think a new set of clubs or a new ball or a double-edged widget painted
with subliminal messages will turn them into Jack Nicklaus.”

Tasheka
laughed at the young man’s dry wit.

“I’ve
worked over there for years,” he said, grinning, “and the caddies call it the
‘trenches'. I’ve seen thousands of players hacking their way around that course
and I’ve learned equipment is a big factor, but it’s the hands using that
equipment that tell the tale.” He giggled. “Even if you gave Tiger Woods a bag
full of hockey sticks, he’d still be a three-shot favorite at the Arnold Palmer
Invitational.”

Tasheka
laughed at him again.

“But,
really,” Adam said, growing very serious, “Mike should have won that match. He
deserved to win. Father Murphy cheated him.” He paused and then said with a
kind of uninhibited fierceness, “I hate cheaters.”

“Who do
you think killed Father Tim?” she suddenly asked.

“I don’t
know,” Adam answered in a voice that sounded almost rehearsed. “Maybe someone
paid someone else to do a hit.”

“A hit?”
Tasheka replied, intrigued by the idea.

“Sure.
That way you have an alibi.” His eyes looked unnaturally dark all of a sudden.
“I mean, if someone has a lot of money, he—or she—could pay someone else who
doesn’t have much money, and they scratch each other’s backs. I think it
probably happens all the time, don’t you, Tasheka?”

Tasheka
felt very awkward, as if they were speaking in code. “Was there any kind of physical
confrontation between Father Tim and Mike Power after the tournament?”

“You could
say that,” Adam told her. “I watched the match on Saturday and Father Murphy
lost in the semifinals. He just wasn’t into it. I don’t know, maybe he was
unnerved by Mike’s behavior, or maybe he felt guilty. At the awards
presentation on Sunday night, everyone attended. Mike Power was there, and he
got into the rum. By the time it was over, he was drunk. Father Murphy walked
up to him and stuck out his hand. Everybody…I mean everybody…watched Mike push
it away.” Adam paused. “Then he said something he shouldn’t have.”

“What?”

“His
language was not the best.”

“Tell me.”

“Are you
sure?”

“Tell me
exactly what he said,” she insisted.

“He said,
and I quote, ‘I’d like to kill you, you fucking bastard.’”

“Ouch,”
said Tasheka.

“Apparently,
Father Murphy called the police the next day and Mike was taken to the station
for a little heart-to-heart. That did the trick because Mike got real quiet,
real fast. He never played another round at the club last season and wouldn’t
as much as look at Father Murphy.”

“Lakeside
is a small place, Adam. How could they avoid each other, even if they wanted
to?”

“Mike
stopped going to church, but Father Murphy still needed things at the store and
would go there on a regular basis. I saw him come in one day when Mike was
stocking shelves, but Mike quickly walked upstairs to his apartment.” He
lowered his voice to a whisper. “If you think Mike might have killed Father
Murphy, you’re not the only one. There are rumors.”

“Circumstantial
evidence,” Tasheka said. “Mike threatened Father Tim’s life and was angry
enough to kill him. Father Tim was murdered beside Dead Man’s Oak, the scene of
the incident. Seems a little obvious, wouldn’t you say?”

“Sometimes,”
he said, giving her a strange look, “the most obvious choice is the correct
one.”

“Sometimes.”
She stood up from the hay bale. “We better get those boards moved.”

Adam stood
up straight and faced her. “Tasheka, the accusation of cheating and the threat
Mike made are common knowledge, but you are the only one who I told the story
about Father Murphy actually moving the ball. That’s between me and you, okay?”

“Sure
thing.”

“Granddaddy
always told me never to speak ill of the dead,” Adam continued, “and in this
case it’s a priest. If this gets around, it could bring me some serious juju.”

“As you
say,” she remarked, “everything is common knowledge.” She looked meaningfully
at him. “It’s a shame you never saw how the ball actually moved. Now we’ll
never know what happened.”

“Right,”
he said with a knowing nod and then moved a green ax out of the way. He carried
all the boards to a spot beside the tennis court fence, where a truck could
reach them. The whole job took less than an hour. After they finished, the two
of them admired the lovely day.

“Ever been
in the swamp back there?” Adam asked, pointing at the thick woods behind
Tasheka’s house.

“When I
was a little girl, I used to go there with friends and catch all kinds of
creatures.”

“What
kinds of creatures?”

“A few
toads and lizards, lots of frogs and spiders.”

“I never
would have guessed,” he said, looking at her with surprise, “that you were a
tomboy.”

“Still
am,” she assured him with a playful smile.

Tasheka
led Adam into the house where they each had a hot chocolate, and then she drove
him home, pulling up next to a small red car with no hubcap on the right front
wheel.

“What do
you think of my new ride?” Adam asked.

“I’d say
you’re ready for Daytona.”

He
laughed, but there was a palpable unnaturalness in his manner. “Dad bought it
for me and he’s going to fix it up this spring. A new hubcap, a brake job, a
little spit and polish, and presto, I’m mobile. I won’t have to hitch rides
anymore.”

“Sounds
good,” Tasheka said.

He
hesitated. “Maybe I could take you for a drive some night.”

“I’m too
busy,” Tasheka said, cutting him off with such razor sharpness that it didn’t
even hurt, “but thank you for asking.” She then took a wad of hundred-dollar
bills out of her purse and put them into his hand, curling his fingers around
them. “Thank you for all your help, Adam.”

He
laughed. “Is this some kind of joke, Tasheka? The job I did for you hardly took
any time at all. It was easy.” Adam counted the money. “There’s two thousand
dollars here.”

“I’m glad
to see someone else in Lakeside furthering his education,” Tasheka said with a
sweet smile. “Take a hundred dollars for your work today and apply the rest
directly to your tuition. All right, Adam? We’ll call it a signing bonus for my
new assistant manager of landscaping at the Lakeside Golf Club.”

Adam, like
everyone else in Lakeside, knew that Tasheka was a multi-millionaire. “All
right,” he answered, making no secret that he was transfixed by the older
woman.

Tasheka
looked deeply into his eyes. “Don’t tell anyone about this, all right? It’ll be
our little secret.”

“Done,” he
said, as if he was a co-conspirator in a major crime.

He nodded,
looked at her again, and then got out of the car. Tasheka drove off with the
new information churning in her mind. Was there a chance, just a chance, that
the set of clubs in Mike Power’s shed was either missing a nine-iron, or
contained a nine-iron that had recently been cleaned of, oh say, some blood and
brain matter? For some unknown reason, Tasheka was convinced it was Mike
Power’s club which had crushed Father Tim’s skull. That Mike was the murderer
was more than plausible, considering the golf club to the head at Dead Man’s
Oak. What could be more fitting than using his own nine-iron, the very one he
mishit because Father Tim had cheated? Like a crossword puzzle, it just fit.
But it was just one possibility. She had a long way to go before snapping that
last piece into place.

After
reaching her turnoff, instead of proceeding home, she drove toward the Lakeside
Garage. Half a dozen cars were parked beside the service station and a number
of people were gathered in a small group. Outside the county fair, Tasheka had
never seen her neighbors so animated. Even Mike Power, usually aloof in his
store like a king in his castle, was standing there.

Tasheka
pulled into the parking lot and approached the villagers. “Hi, everyone.”

“Hi,
Tasheka,” Matt greeted, gesturing for her to join them.

She smiled
and blended into the loose circle. Everyone welcomed her home, except Mike
Power. He seemed strangely detached. Was he the murderer? This man, a man she
had known since elementary school, was this man the one who killed Father Tim?
He was definitely stiff, unnatural, tense. Did he have a guilty conscience, or
was he simply afraid of getting caught? Then again, maybe he was on edge
because everyone suspected him. Yes, it was quite possible he was completely
innocent.

“He was a
friend of yours, wasn’t he?” Mike suddenly asked Tasheka.

“Yes,” she
said, forcing a smile, “he was a very good friend of mine.”

“Tragedy,”
Mike noted, staring a hole in her.

“I suppose
all murders are tragedies,” Tasheka replied, staring back.

“Yes, I
suppose they are.” A muscle in his left cheek kept twitching. “Do you think the
police have any idea who did it?”

“If they
do, they haven’t arrested anyone. But I’m sure they’re looking at every
possibility.”

“You don’t
live far from the golf course, Mike,” said Matt. “Did you see anyone walking in
the area that night?”

“No, I
can’t say that I did.” He made a sour face and cleared his throat. “I don’t
live any closer to the golf course than you do, Matt. Did you see anyone?”

“No,” he
replied.

“You were
probably working in your store when it happened,” Tasheka speculated.

“Actually,
I was in my room,” Mike said to her, though everyone listened. “I was sick and
it felt like I had the flu. I was in my room all night and I never left. It’s
hard to imagine how only a few hundred yards away
that
took place.”

“I like to
be alone in my room when I don’t feel well,” Tasheka said. “I just close the
door and don’t want anyone to bother me.”

“I’m the
same way,” said Mike, “but that night Gina was concerned about me and checked
on me before she went home.”

That news
surprised Tasheka. “She stayed right till closing at nine-thirty, did she?”

“Yes,” he
answered. “The police apparently believe the murder occurred right around
nine-fifteen. Gina stopped by my room almost to the minute that the tragedy
occurred, and she walked out of the store only fifteen minutes after it was
over. The murderer was probably close by and none of us had the slightest
idea.” He shook his head. “Dead Man’s Oak is no more than a ten-minute walk
from the store. The closeness, that’s what’s so unnerving.”

“Gives you
the creeps,” said one of the women, “to think there was a murderer in Lakeside.
Who would ever have thought that?”

“Not me,”
said Mike, his eyes nervously shifting over everyone in the group. He looked at
his watch. “I’d better get back to the store. See you later, everybody.”

All the
villagers said good bye.

“I saw Gina
leaving the store at nine that night,” an old man noted after Mike left. “I was
just going to bed and I saw her pull out of the parking lot. I remember
mentioning it to my wife.”

“Be
careful what you say,” a middle-aged man cautioned. “If Gina left early, there
goes Mike’s alibi.”

“Right,”
agreed the old man. “Now that you mention it, maybe I saw Gina leave early the
night before.” He shrugged. “I can’t remember, but I’ll keep thinking about
it.”

Henrietta
caught Tasheka by the arm and gently led her away from the crowd. “Do you think
Mike did it?” she asked in a whisper.

“I’m not
sure,” Tasheka replied as casually as if they were talking about the weather,
“but I am sure that hard evidence is required.”

“Yes,
that’s the hardest part, isn’t it?” Henrietta turned to walk back to the group.
She suddenly stopped, turned back to Tasheka, and stared right into her eyes.
“Sometimes it might not be in your best interest to expose the truth.”

“I know,”
Tasheka said mysteriously, walking past Henrietta to rejoin her friends.

Chapter
Eight

Mike was
almost to the store when he unexpectedly turned around and walked back to the
group. “Did anyone see Father Murphy’s brother?” he asked.

“No one
but Mildred,” said Matt. “She just happened to be there when the two of them
walked in. She said she thought she was seeing double. That’s how much alike
they look. The brother apparently didn’t say a whole lot, but she said he
seemed polite.”