'I'm one of them.'
'Are you her agent?'
'I might be,' Myron said. 'Why?'
'Then you're a lawyer too, right? You went to law school and everything?'
Myron was not sure he liked where this was going.
'Yes.' +
'So I can hire you to be my lawyer too, right? Not just my agent?'
Myron really didn't like where this was going. 'Why would you need a lawyer, Tad?'
'I'm not saying I do. But if I did '
'Whatever you tell me is confidential,' Myron said.
Tad Crispin stood. He put his arms out straight and gripped an imaginary golf club. He took a swing. Air golf, Win played it all the time. All golfers do. Basketball players don't do that. It's not like Myron stops at every store window and checks the reflection of his shot in the mirror.
Golfers.
'I'm surprised you don't know about this already,'
Tad said slowly.
But the creeping feeling in the pit of Myron's stomach told him that maybe he did. 'Don't know about what, 'Tad?'
Tad took another swing. He stopped his movement to check his backswing. Then his expression changed to one of panic. He dropped the imaginary club to the floor. 'It was only a couple of times,' he said, his words pouring out like silver beads. 'It was no big deal really. I mean, we met while we were filming those ads for Zoom.' He looked at Myron, his eyes pleading. 'You've seen her, Myron. I mean, I know she's twenty years older than me, but she's so good-looking and she said her marriage was dead .... '
Myron did not hear the rest of his words; the ocean was crashing in his ears. Tad Crispin and Linda Coldren.
He could not believe it, yet it made perfect sense. A
young guy obviously charmed by a stunning older woman. The mature beauty trapped in a loveless marriage finding escape in young, handsome arms. Nothing really wrong with it.
Yet Myron felt his cheeks go scarlet. Something inside of him began to fume.
Tad was still droning on. Myron interrupted him.
'Did Jack find out?'
Tad stopped. 'I don't know,' he said. 'But I think maybe he did.'
'What makes you say that?'
'It was just the way he acted. We played two rounds together. I know we were competitors and that he was trying to intimidate me. But I kind of got the impression he knew.'
Myron lowered his head into his hands. He felt sick to his stomach.
Tad asked, 'Do you think it'll get out?'
Myron held back a chuckle. This would be one of the biggest news stories of the year. The media would attack like old women at a Loehmann's clearance sale. 'I don't know, Tad.'
'What do we do?'
'We hope it doesn't get out.'
Tad was scared. 'And if it does?'
Myron faced him. Tad Crispin looked so darrm young check that, he was young. Most kids his age are happily pulling fraternity pranks. And when you thought about it, what had Tad really done that was so bad? Slept with an older woman who for some odd reason remained in a dead marriage. Hardly unnatural. Myron tried to picture himself at Tad's age. If a beautiful older woman like Linda Coldren had come on to him, would he have stood a chance?
Like, duh. He probably did not stand a chance now.
But what about Linda Coldren? Why did she stay in this dead marriage? Religion? Doubtful. For the sake of her son? The kid was sixteen years old. It might not be easy, but he'd survive.
'Myron, what'll happen if the media find out?'
But Myron was suddenly no longer thinking about the media. He was thinking about the police. He was thinking about Victoria Wilson and reasonable doubt. Linda Coldren had probably told her ace attorney about her affair with Tad Crispin. Victoria would have seen it too.
Who is declared U. S. Open champion now that Jack Coldren is dead?
Who doesn't have to worry about out-choking the choker in front of a massive audience?
Who has all the same motives to kill Jack Coldren that Myron had earlier assigned to Esme Fong?
Whose squeaky-clean image might get soiled by a Coldren divorce, especially one where Jack Coldren would name his wife's indiscretion?
Who was having an affair with the deceased's wife?
The answer to all the above was sitting in front of him.
Chapter 35
Tad Crispin left not long after that.
Myron and Win settled into the couch. They put on Woody Allen's Broadway Danny Rose, one of Woody's most underrated masterpieces. What a flick. Rent it sometime.
During the scene where Mia drags Woody to the fortune teller, Esperanza arrived.
She coughed into her fist. 'I, ahem, don't want to sound didactic or fictitious in any manner,' she began, doing a great Woody impression. She had his timing, the speech delay tactics. She had the hand mannerisms. She had the New York accent. It was her best work. 'But I may have some important information.'
Myron looked up. Win kept his eyes on the screen.
' 'I located the man Lloyd Rennart bought the bar from twenty years ago,' Esperanza said, returning to her own voice. 'Rennart paid him in cash. Seven grand. I also checked on the house in Spring Lake Heights. Bought at the same time for $21,000. No mortgage.'
'Lots of expenses,' Myron said, 'for a washed-up caddie.'
'Si, senior. And to make matters more interesting, I
also found no indication that he worked or paid taxes from the time he was fired by Jack Coldren until he purchased the Rusty Nail bar.'
'Could be an inheritance.'
'I would doubt it,' Esperanza said. 'I managed to go back to 1971 and found no record of him paying any inheritance tax.'
Myron looked at Win. 'What do you think?'
Win's eyes were still on the screen. 'I'm not listening.'
'Right, I forgot.' He looked back at Esperanza.
'Anything else?'
'Esme Fong's alibi checks out. I spoke to Miguel.
She never left the hotel.'
'Is he solid?'
'Yeah, I think so.'
Strike one. 'Anything else?'
'Not yet. But I found the office for the local paper in Narberth. They have the back editions in a storage room.
I'll go through them tomorrow, see what I can dig up on the car accident.'
Esperanza grabbed a take-out container and a pair of chopsticks from the kitchen and then she plopped down on the open couch. A mafioso hit man was calling Woody a cheesehead. Woody commented that he had no idea what that meant, but he was confident it wasn't a good thing. Ah, the Woodman.
Ten minutes into Love and Death, not long after Woody wondered how old Nahampkin could be younger than young Nahampkin, exhaustion overtook Myron. He fell asleep on the couch. A deep sleep. No dreams. No stirring. Nothing but the long fall down the deep well.
He woke up at eight-thirty. The television was off. A
