then picked up his rental car and drove to the Four Seasons hotel and checked in. He showered and changed, then went down to the bar for a drink before dinner.
Everybody there was properly respectful of his mourning, and he couldn’t pay for a drink. There were the usual hanger-on girls, some of whom showed an interest in him, but in spite of his stir-rings, he was determined to remain chaste on the tour, at least for a while.
He had dinner with a couple of cronies and got to bed early. He was playing the pro-am the next day with some movie star, and he wanted to be fresh. The golf course had been renovated, and it was his first opportunity to play it since. He took a look at the pin positions in the book before retiring, and he liked what he saw. The course was set up well for his game.
Before he fell asleep he wondered, not for the first time, why he was not more upset about his wife’s murder. It was as if he was viewing a film of the event, and he was playing his part badly. All he felt was emptiness.
BARBARA HAD LEFT TUCSON early in the morning, driving east, and she arrived in Santa Fe at dusk and found the FedEx office still open and the package waiting for her. She got back into the car and examined the passports, driver’s licenses and credit cards the man in Venice Beach had created for her. They were of his usual excellent quality.
She had another hour and a half of driving to reach the Holroyds’ house beyond Los Alamos, and she was tired, so she checked into the Hotel Santa Fe, at Cerrillos and Paseo de Peralta, a place where she had not been known when she had lived in the town, and called the Holroyds, telling them she’d be there for lunch the following day. She had a quiet dinner in the bar, followed by a good night’s sleep.
The following morning she drove up the winding mountain road to Los Alamos, continued through what was visible of the town and followed the directions to the ranch that Hugh Holroyd had given her.
Charlene greeted her with a big kiss as she got out of the car. “You made it! We missed you last night.”
“I was whipped when I got into Santa Fe,” Barbara said, opening the rear of the station wagon so that a servant could remove her new luggage.
Hugh met her at the door with another big kiss, and she was shown to her room, which, not to her surprise, was connected to the master suite by a door and a short hallway.
She spent the afternoon unpacking, napping and watching a golf tournament from Houston, which featured a player she found very attractive. She was pleased to hear an announcer say he hailed from Santa Fe. Maybe she’d look him up later.
They were served a sumptuous dinner prepared by the Holroyds’ chef, then given after-dinner drinks before an open fire in the living room, where they lounged on large cushions. From that moment, Barbara noticed, there were no servants in sight.
Charlene got things started by giving Barbara a playful kiss, and soon they were all naked while Hugh watched the two women make love, and he weighed in from time to time. Then they rested and drank for a while and started in again, this time with Barbara and Hugh. She found them both very comfortable to be with.
AT ED AND SUSANNAH EAGLE’S house up the mountain from the village of Tesuque, they hosted the writer and producer who had arrived in Santa Fe to begin production on Susannah’s film project. She had taken the supporting role, on Ed’s advice, because the character had a couple of scenes the likes of which would be taken notice of by the Los Angeles film community and members of the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences.
Susannah had been nominated twice before, and this seemed the perfect opportunity to seal the deal.
Eagle was interested to talk to Jim Long. Previously, he had seen the producer only on TV, when he had testified at Barbara’s trial. Eagle might as well break the ice, he thought.
“Jim, have you heard from Barbara since her incarceration?”
Long shook his head. “From what little I know of Mexican jails, people seem to just disappear into them. She’s going to be in for a long, long time.”
“I think that’s best,” Eagle said.
“Maybe you’re right,” Long agreed. “She was a bad, bad girl.”
The group drank, dined and talked on until after midnight, then the visitors excused themselves and drove back to their hotel.
Eagle and Susannah got ready for bed while the cook and her helpers cleaned up after the party.
“What did you think of Jim Long?” Susannah asked.
“Seems like a nice fellow,” Eagle replied. “He agreed with me that Barbara will be away for a long, long time.”
“I suppose she will,” Susannah said. “It’s a pity Mexico doesn’t have the death penalty.”
11
Tip Hanks stood on the eighteenth green and sized up his putt. Not good. He had been at the top of his game for four days, and now he had a one-stroke lead on the last hole. Trouble was, he had a thirty- five-foot putt that was going to go over a little rise in the green, then break on the downhill slope to the hole, while his opponent had a six-foot straight-in putt to tie the match and force a play-off. Tip did not want a play-off. He conferred with Mike, his caddie.
“Play it like the hole is at the top of the rise,” Mike advised, “and a foot past. Aim for a line a foot right of the hole. It’s going to break left and be very fast downhill.”
Tip took another look from ten feet behind the ball and agreed. He took a couple of practice swings, then stepped forward and struck the ball smoothly. It rolled up the rise, slowed nearly to a halt at the top, then curved gracefully down the slope and into the cup. The crowd went nuts.
Tip walked to the edge of the green and leaned on his putter. His opponent had to sink this putt to keep sole possession of second place. He sank it, and it was over. Tip had won it.
He hugged Mike, then shook hands with his opponent and his opponent’s caddie. The crowd swarmed around him as he walked to the tent where he would double-check his scorecard and sign it. That done, he walked to the cleared area in front of the clubhouse and was interviewed briefly for television, where he accepted condolences for Connie, then appeared appropriately modest about his win.
All that remained then was to accept the trophy and hit the showers, secure in the knowledge that tomorrow morning there would be a wire transfer to his bank account of one million, one hundred thousand dollars. He was now officially richer than he had ever been, and he had improved his position to fifth in the race for the FedEx Cup.
He was too tired to fly but not too tired to celebrate, so he stayed another night at the Four Seasons and celebrated with the few stragglers who had not immediately flown home. When he returned to his room at bedtime, he found a congratulatory e-mail from Dolly waiting for him. They had exchanged e-mails every day, always with a business reason but always pleasantly. She seemed to be on top of things at home.
The following morning he took off from Hobby Field and flew northwest to Santa Fe. He arrived at the house at noon and saw Dolly’s little BMW convertible parked out front. “Anybody home?” he called as he entered the house. He dropped his bag by the door for his housekeeper to unpack and walked into his study.
Dolly came out of her office smiling. “Congratulations,” she said, walking forward and offering her hand. When he shook it, she stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. He seemed surprised. “The transfer is in your savings account,” she said, “and I’ve already sent the check for the taxes to your accountant.”
“Thanks, Dolly,” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve done with your office.” She led him there, and he looked around for a moment. “Very nice,” he said, but he was more impressed than that. If she handled his affairs as neatly as she did her office, everything would be fine.
“Have you had lunch?” she asked.
“No. Why don’t you join me?”
“I’ll tell Carmen,” she said, going off to find the housekeeper.
His study was a lot neater than when he had left, and he liked that, too.
