Without another word, she ducked under the rope and ran across the fairway, dodging the players and caddies and marshals and cameramen.
'Shit.'
Scott and Nick looked at each other then shrugged and ducked under the rope and chased her.
'Hey, get off the fairway!' one of the players yelled.
'Nick!' another player shouted. 'What the hell are you doing?'
Nick glanced back and yelled without breaking stride, 'Hey, Paul-I got you three million, on your club deal!'
' Three million? Wow! Thanks, Nick!'
Paul gave his caddie an enthusiastic chest bump.
They reached the other side, ducked under that rope, and ran on. Billie Jean had a head start, and they weren't gaining on her.
'She's fast for a girl!' Nick yelled.
'She's fast for a human!'
'She's cutting through the margarita tent!'
They ran into the margarita tent. They didn't find Billie Jean, but they found Tess McBride flirting with another Joe College. She pointed to the back exit without being asked or breaking eye contact with her new beau. They ran out back and spotted Billie Jean heading into the merchandise tent. They followed and cut through displays offering golf apparel and equipment and- shit! — Scott knocked over a pyramid of golf balls and sent hundreds of balls bouncing off the concrete floor like pin balls. They lost her. They stopped outside the tent and scanned the crowd. Nick jumped up onto an official's golf cart. He pointed like a hunting dog.
'She's heading to the clubhouse!'
They arrived at the clubhouse just in time to see Billie Jean duck inside the door to the ladies' locker room.
'Damn.'
They stood there and caught their breath.
'This is fun,' Nick said.
'Why's she on tour? Shouldn't she be in school?'
'Pete's wife died five years ago, breast cancer. Pete brought Billie Jean out here with him, raised her on tour. Instead of home schooled, she's been tour schooled. She's a real spunky kid, always pulling pranks on the network guys.' He smiled. 'One time she mooned-'
The smile suddenly left Nick's face. He was now staring past Scott. Scott turned and found himself face to face with a large, angry man holding a long iron over his right shoulder like an ax.
'You chasing my girl?'
'Scott,' Nick said, 'meet Pete Puckett.'
Pete Puckett was a tall, thick-bodied man with a hard face and a cigar clamped between his teeth. He looked as solid as a brick outhouse, and from his expression, he possessed a similar personality. His shirt sported dark sweat stains under both arms; his gray hair was matted below his white cap. His thick mustache was gray. His skin was leathery and sun-reddened. He was a golf pro, but he had the hands of a roughneck. Pete Puckett had very big hands-and his left hand was now clenching Scott's shirt.
'Oh, Pete,' Nick said-he was obviously trying to defuse the situation-'I got you a million, for your club deal.'
Without removing his eyes from Scott, Pete said, 'Thought you said not a penny less than two.'
Nick gave him a lame shrug. 'It's the economy, Pete.'
Pete addressed Scott. 'What do you want with my girl?'
Scott did not feel physically threatened by Pete Puckett-Pete was bigger, but Scott was younger-although that club would certainly leave a mark. And he wanted Pete pissed-off-a pissed-off witness doesn't think before testifying. So, at the risk of a pro golfer swinging a long iron at him, Scott decided to ramp up Pete's anger.
'Did you kill Trey because he was having sex with Billie Jean?'
Pete put his red face close to Scott's; his breath smelled of whiskey and cigars.
'You leave her out of this.'
'She's in it, and so are you, Pete. You threatened to kill Trey. There's a witness.'
Pete released Scott's shirt.
'Who are you?'
'Scott Fenney. I'm Rebecca's lawyer.'
'He's her ex,' Nick said.
'Maybe you killed Trey,' Pete said. 'For taking your wife.'
'I have an alibi-do you? I didn't have a motive. You did.'
'She's only seventeen, goddamnit! But that don't mean I killed him.'
'Did you?'
'No. Your wife beat me to it.'
'How do I know you didn't kill Trey?'
Pete snorted. 'That should be obvious.'
'Why?'
' 'Cause I wouldn't have stabbed the little bastard. I would've beaten him to death with this fucking one- iron.' Pete pointed a gnarly finger in Scott's face. 'You leave Billie Jean alone or I swear to God I'll take this one- iron to you.'
Pete Puckett pivoted and stormed off. After a long moment, Nick shook his head and chuckled.
'He is such an old-timer. No one carries a one-iron anymore.'
NINETEEN
'Mother, did you kill your boyfriend?'
'No, honey, I didn't.'
'So you won't have to live in that prison?'
'What prison?'
'The one we drove past coming down here, in Huntsville.'
'No, I won't have to live there.'
'Good.' She hesitated then said, 'I had to ask.'
'I know.'
'I mean, sometimes I beat up boys at school.'
'You beat up boys?'
Boo nodded. 'When they bully Pajamae. They're big jerks.'
'It's normal to feel that way about boys at your age.'
'But when I'm older I'll like boys?'
'Yes. You will.'
'Are they better then?'
'A little.'
'But you liked boys, right?'
'Oh, yes, I liked boys.'
Boo's anger at her mother had abated over the last few days. She didn't know what abated meant, but A. Scott said it was natural for her to be really angry at Mother at first and then not so much after spending time with her again. These walks on the beach abated her anger, he had said. All Boo knew was that she didn't like to feel so angry. Especially at her mother.
'Boo, it's okay to like boys, but don't ever depend on a man.'
'Except A. Scott. I can depend on him, right?'
'Yes. You can always depend on him.'
