mischievousness, a sly suggestion that he could still be the same troublemaker that many parents had believed him to be in their high school days.
“How’s your game?” asked Tom.
“Seven handicap. Yours?”
“I have a hard time getting through the windmill and the whale’s mouth, but I’m getting better.”
Roland chuckled. “Buddy, we don’t play
“Coke.”
“Right, with a lime,” Roland said, remembering.
“With a lime,” repeated Tom.
“What’s this I’m hearing about you hooking up with one of your players?” Roland said. “I hope for your sake that it’s all a bunch of bull.”
“I guess these days you can put anything on the Internet and people will believe it. Yeah, it’s all bull.”
“Good to know,” Roland said.
Though the bar was packed with thirsty patrons, the bartender took Roland’s drink order first. Roland’s clients were loud and chatty, which Tom attributed to the open bar.
“Tom, let me introduce you to a friend of mine,” Roland said, placing one of his well-manicured hands on the shoulder of a heavyset man seated on the bar stool next to him. The man had the thick neck of a former football player, greasy dark hair, and a round tough-guy face that suggested he, like Roland, had led a very different lifestyle before becoming country club elite. “Frank Dee, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine from high school and fellow vet, Thomas Hawkins. Tom just moved back to town… under difficult circumstances.”
Dee nodded in a knowing way. “Good to meet you,” he said in a voice that sounded like gravel was lodged someplace deep inside his throat. The two shook hands. Dee’s breath smelled of alcohol. The man’s grip felt like a vise squeezing Tom’s hand. Tom noticed a thick band of whiter skin just below the knuckle of Dee’s ring finger and wondered if he’d recently divorced.
Dee said, “I’m sorry about your ex-wife. Tragic. It’s really rocked this town. Any breaks in the case, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Tom shook his head. “No. It’s still very much an active investigation.”
“Well, I hope they catch the scumbag who did it and hang ’em by the balls,” Dee said.
Tom was glad their drinks showed up, because it gave him something to do besides respond.
“You two served together, huh?” Dee asked.
“I was navy. Roland was army,” Tom clarified.
“Navy SEAL,” Roland added.
Dee’s eyes widened. “That’s badass. Very badass.”
“It’s also very much in the past,” Tom said.
Dee just laughed.
“Frank’s in the restaurant business, owns a bunch of different franchises in southern New Hampshire,” Roland said, keeping one hand on Dee’s massive shoulder. To Tom, Roland jokingly whispered, loud enough for Dee to overhear, “I got sick on one of his burgers last week.”
Another man came over to their perch at the bar. He was rugged looking, about Tom and Roland’s age, with a strong jawline and tanned skin that accented his bright white teeth. He reminded Tom of the guys who advertised Just For Men hair coloring products on TV.
“Hey, Simon. Glad you made it.”
“Have I ever missed one of your client parties?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Roland agreed. Turning to Tom, he said, “Tom, I’d like you to meet Simon Cortland. He runs a PR firm in Boston that does a lot of work for clients of mine.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tom said, giving Cortland’s strong hand a firm shake.
“Likewise,” Cortland said with a pleasant smile and another flash of teeth. He turned his attention back to Roland. “You still up for the boat on Saturday?”
“You know it,” Roland said.
The bartender appeared with two drinks. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, the host’s lovely wife has asked me to bring her a drink,” Cortland said.
“Best not to keep the lady waiting,” Roland said.
“Tom, nice to meet you.” There was no handshake this time, as both of Cortland’s hands were occupied with beverages.
Roland watched as Cortland crossed the room and went over to Adriana. Tom thought he seemed slightly bothered. Roland’s gaze shifted left, and his new expression revealed an even harsher edge. “Oh, good,” he said, his eyes narrowing.
Tom turned to look but observed nothing unusual. He half expected to see Kip Lange come sauntering toward them. “What? What is it?” asked Tom.
“I need you to do me a favor,” Roland said. “Frank, if you’ll excuse us.”
“Of course,” Dee said. “Do your thing.”
Roland took Tom by the arm and led him back into the crowd.
“Is this about Lange?” Tom asked, his voice betraying some concern.
“Lange? No,” Roland answered quickly. “I told you, I’ve had all my best sources checking on him. That guy’s off the map. Vanished. No, this is a personal matter that could use your assistance.”
Roland pointed to a set of nearby French doors. “Look, buddy, head out to the patio and wait for me there. I’ll be out in a few minutes. We’re going to have ourselves a little bit of fun. Just like the old days.”
Chapter 18
Tom waited for Roland on a wide stone patio, accessible only through a set of double doors located toward the rear of the club’s dining room. The doors and windows were blanketed by heavy curtains, so Tom couldn’t see in, and those inside couldn’t see out.
He texted Jill again.
She responded seconds after he hit SEND.
Green.
The evening air took on a slight chill that felt refreshing to breathe. It wasn’t long before the closed patio doors opened and a distinguished-looking man, fit, trim, and in his fifties, stepped outside. Roland followed closely behind.
“Shut the doors, Tom,” Roland said to Tom as he passed. Tom remained curious, but calm. “And don’t let anybody come out here,” Roland added.
Tom went from relaxed to tense in a breath. He took another, much closer look at the man Roland had escorted outside, and saw a fearful look in his eyes.
“Roland… please… this is all just a misunderstanding,” said the man. The man’s hands were trembling, and his voice carried a slight waver, which Tom suspected wasn’t natural.
“A misunderstanding?” Roland repeated. “Really? That’s what you call it, Bob?” Roland’s face scrunched up to convey a profound incredulousness. “You made a pass at my wife, and in my house, too. That’s no misunderstanding at all.”
Bob’s face reddened. “It wasn’t like that, Roland,” he stammered. “We were just talking.”
“On the couch? Resting your hand on her knee? Drinking my best vodka?”
“She poured us the drinks,” Bob explained. “I was just showing her brochures for vacation property on Waban Lake. That was all.”
“You sure about that, Bob? You sure that’s all?”
Tom stepped away from the door and took a few tentative steps toward Roland. He didn’t like the dark tone in Roland’s voice. It definitely sounded menacing. Bob might be fit for his age, but he’d be no match for Roland if this confrontation turned physical.
“Please, Roland. I got confused.”
