'Why did all these wives have affairs with Trey? Why did you?'
She smiled. 'You saw him-he was gorgeous. Our husbands aren't. Jesus, Brett looks like that guy in Sling Blade.'
'But you married him,' Nick said.
' 'Cause he's rich. Sort of. And I was really drunk that night.'
'Ah, true love.'
'Did Rebecca know about Riley?' Scott said.
'She didn't act like it,' Tess said.
'So at the time of his death, Trey was having an affair with Riley Hager?'
'No.'
“But you just said-'
'I said he left me for Lacy and Lacy for Riley. But he left Riley, too.'
'For whom?'
'Billie Jean.'
' Billie Jean Puckett? ' Nick said.
She nodded. 'He started up with her a few weeks before he…'
Nick, to Scott: 'Pete's daughter. She’s seventeen.'
'Hard to compete with a teenager who doesn't even know how to spell cellulite,' Tess said. 'Even for Riley.'
They left Tess to the margarita machine and walked outside. Scott needed a breath of fresh air, even if the air were ninety-five degrees.
'Five WAGs plus the Mexican gal, all before the U.S. Open,' Nick said. 'That's a whole season for most guys.'
'Is every WAG out here a Hooter's girl, a porn queen, or an underwear model?'
'No, of course not, Scott. Some are former Playboy Playmates and Penthouse Pets. For gorgeous gals like Tess and Lacy and Riley, those gigs are straight shots to the altar with a rich athlete.'
'Why?'
' 'Cause that's where pro athletes shop for wives. Playboy and Penthouse, that's like the social register for them. Guy wins the World Series, he marries a Playmate. Guy wins the NBA championship, he marries a Pet. Guy wins the Super Bowl, he marries a supermodel.'
'Why?'
'Because he can. See, Scott, football and basketball stars, they've had gorgeous gals all through high school and college, they ain't suddenly gonna settle for the nice girl next door. Did you? And golfers, they've been dreaming of having a gal like Tess or Lacy or Riley since they were thirteen with acne and whacking off in the shower. They were the guys who had to wear husky pants, who didn't have a date to the prom, who weren't good enough athletes to play football or basketball. So their dads took them out to the golf course. Ten years later, they're on tour and filthy rich. Now they can have those girls they dreamed about. This is their adolescence-with money.'
Tess McBride had walked up.
'The margarita machine break down?' Nick said with a smile.
But Tess wasn’t smiling.
'There's something else you should know,' she said.
'What?'
'Pete knew… about Trey and Billie Jean.'
'How do you know?'
'Pete confronted Trey in the locker room at the Challenge, slammed him up against the lockers. Brett was there and…'
'And what?'
'Pete threatened to kill Trey, if he didn't stay away from Billie Jean.'
Scott walked away fast; Nick caught up.
'Pete's temper is legendary on tour,' Nick said. 'If you haven't been cussed out by Pete Puckett, you either haven't been on tour very long or your name is Tiger.'
'Tell me about him,' Scott said.
'Pete's ranked five-seventy-eight in the world, which means there are high school juniors ranked higher than him. Won the British Open twenty-four years ago, a few minor tournaments along the way. He's forty-nine now, been running on fumes the last decade, hoping to make it to the senior tour next year, kind of like a pension fund for old golfers.'
'Where does he live?'
'Ranch outside Austin.'
'Where Goose lives.'
Nick nodded.
'Rebecca said he looks like Rambo.'
Nick snorted. 'Shit, he'd kick Rambo's ass. Pete ain't one of these fat boys out here. He's big, got arms like tree trunks, from chopping cedar on his place. And he's an ornery old cuss. Old-style, smokes big cigars, eats red meat, drinks hard liquor, ain't afraid to say what he thinks-more like an Arnold Palmer than a Tiger Woods, but without Arnie's ability. Or charisma. Pete's a prick.'
'Anything else I need to know?'
'Yeah-don't piss him off.'
'He threatened to kill Trey a week before he was murdered. Then he DQ'd last Thursday. So if he flew home from Florida with Goose and got into Austin at five, he could've driven to Galveston before midnight. He could've killed Trey.' Scott looked at Nick. 'Or they could've killed Trey. Both had motives, the golfer and his caddie. Is that just a coincidence? We've got to find Pete Puckett.'
They found Billie Jean Puckett instead.
They were jogging up the eighteenth fairway when Nick spotted her sitting alone under a tree on the far side of the fairway. Between them and her lay forty yards of green grass roped off on both sides. Allowed inside the ropes were the players, caddies, scorekeepers, officials, on-course reporters and cameramen, marshals, and security for the big-name players. Kept outside the ropes were players' wives, girlfriends, groupies, and children, vendors, sponsors, and agents, and a lawyer trying to defend his ex-wife against a murder charge.
They couldn't cut across the fairway. So they jogged all the way around the green and down the far side. When they got to Billie Jean, she didn't look up. She was leaning back against the tree with her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her face was buried in her arms. She wore shorts and sneakers and a T-shirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Nick spoke softly to her.
'Billie Jean.'
No response. Nick squatted next to her and touched her shoulder.
'Billie Jean.'
She slowly looked up. She was a cute kid. She didn't look like a Hooters girl or an adult movie star or an underwear model. She looked like a high school cheerleader. And she had tears in her eyes.
'Hi, Nick.'
Her voice was small.
'You okay, kiddo?'
She wiped her face. 'Just sad.'
'About Trey?'
She frowned a bit. 'What do you mean?'
'I know… about you and Trey.'
'You were at his funeral,' Scott said.
She glanced up at Scott then said to Nick, 'Who's he?'
Nick stood. 'Rebecca's ex-husband… and lawyer.'
She held her hand up to Nick. He took her hand and pulled her up.
'Thanks.'
