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  In for a Penny

  Maggie Toussaint

  A Cleopatra Jones Mystery

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Cover design by Maggie Toussaint

  Published in 2008 in conjunction with Five Star and Tekno Books.

  Published in 2012 by Muddle House Publishing

  Second edition: July 2012 electronic book

  First Printing: June 2008

  Copyright © 2008 by Maggie Toussaint

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States.

  ISBN 10 098336144

  ISBN 13 978-0-9833614-4-2

  Muddle House Publishing

  PO Box 2119

  Darien, GA 31305 USA

  This book is dedicated to the fabulous lady golfers of Glade Valley Golf Club in Walkersville, Maryland.

  For your patience and friendship, you have my undying gratitude. Those halcyon days of camaraderie in the ladies nine-hole league are a cherished memory.

  Acknowledgments

  Many hands make light work and that’s certainly true with this book. First, I need to thank my agent, Janet Benrey, for liking this story. Mystery writer Peter Abresch helped polish the opening. Accountant Carol Ann Greenwood graciously shared the ins and outs of her profession. My very own professional golfer, Craig Toussaint, helped with my “course management.”

  Granddog Missie provided the inspiration for the short-haired Saint Bernard in the story. For her rowdy partner in crime, I used the personality of my other granddog, Leroy. (You know you can’t just mention one grandbaby, you have to praise them equally.)

  Suzanne Phillips and Michelle Adams gave me a lifetime of material on daughterly interactions. Marianna Hagan and Suzanne Forsyth taught me the true value of friendship with their trust and devotion for all these many years. My mother read every story I ever wrote, not just the good ones; thanks for your unflagging belief in my ability to tell a story. Last, but not least, the Gray Beast in the story, our trusty Volvo sedan, provided many years of service.

  Chapter 1

  The golf course is one of the few places I don’t have to pretend. Oh, I still give the socially correct answer of “fine” when asked how I am, but I am not fine. There’s enough anger churning through my gut to fuel a volcano.

  Golf therapy is how I’m relieving my stress. I imagine my ex-husband’s face on every ball I hit, and when I’m done, I’m almost fine.

  My name is Cleopatra Jones, Cleo for short. Self-employment allows me to spend my Wednesday mornings playing golf in the Ladies Nine Hole Golf League. So far in today’s round, I hadn’t experienced any signs of rebirth into a nicer, perkier thirty-five-year-old, but I hadn’t given up hope.

  Sunbeams danced around me on the number six ladies tee of the Hogan’s Glen Golf Club as I aimed my shoulders at the distant flag. I swung hard. My tee shot hooked left into the trees lining the fairway.

  I whacked my driver against the ground. Exorcising Charlie through golf was therapeutic to my mental health, but it was hell on my golf score.

  “Provisional ball,” Jonette Moore suggested. People thought of Mutt and Jeff from the comics when they saw us together because I was tall and slender while she was short and stacked. I’d known Jonette since forever, a fact she never let me forget.

  Jonette’s tee shot taunted me with its perfect lie in the middle of the fairway. By mutual agreement we’d decided that the winner of the previous round got to drive the golf cart. I can’t remember when I last drove Jonette around the course.

  I dropped my provisional ball on the tee box. Hitting this second ball would speed our play if I couldn’t find my first ball. Unfortunately, my provisional ball curved along the same evil trajectory into the woods.

  Drat. I stomped back to the cart.

  “Looks like you’ll be buying more golf balls,” Jonette said with a smirk.

  I’d used up my late father’s lifetime accumulation of golf balls during the first year of my golf therapy. If I didn’t find either of my tee shots, I’d only have one ball left for the remaining three holes. Not good. “I’ve been over there before. The underbrush isn’t too thick.”

  “Have you given any more thought to going out with that lawyer friend of Dean’s?” Jonette asked as we zipped towards the woods. Dean was the current man in Jonette’s life. He was also her boss at the tavern where she waited tables.

  The thought of dating twisted my stomach in knots. “Sure I’ve thought about it. And the answer’s no.”

  “Damn you, Cleo.” Jonette waggled her finger at me. “Don’t let Charlie win.”

  My ex hadn’t won. I was being cautious. I wasn’t giving up. Who said I had to jump back in the dating pool right away? The view from the high dive was terrifying. “I’m not ready.”

  “Maybe some hot guys will move into White Rock. I wouldn’t mind checking them out for you.”

  “That development is wishful thinking and you know it.” The much-hyped new subdivision on the old Wingate farm had stalled in the bulldozer phase of construction.

  “You need to get out of that house.”

  “If I wanted to get out of the house, I should take a golf lesson so I don’t spend half my round scouring the woods for my balls.”

  “There’s an idea.” Jonette beamed her approval. “The golf pro is definitely hot.”

  I sure wished Jonette would get off this dating kick. “Don’t go getting any ideas. I’m not interested in dating.”

  “You may be right about Rafe Golden,” Jonette said. “He’s supposedly slept his way through the women of the club. But, he’s a such a hunk.”

  “I don’t want a man that reeks of sex appeal. If I ever dated again, I’d want someone like me. Hardworking, loyal, trustworthy, family oriented, and obedient.”

  Jonette’s mouth gaped. “Where’s the excitement in that? You need someone to sweep you off your feet.”

  I leveled my sternest gaze at her. “Forget it.”

  Jonette rolled her eyes and huffed her disapproval.

  Too bad. If I could erase Charlie from my life, I would, but his weekend visitations with our two daughters put him on my schedule every week.

  Shedding Charlie was more difficult than getting fungus out from under a toenail. Just when you thought you had the problem solved, there it was again.

  Jonette stopped the cart near where my balls had disappeared into the woods. “Should I help you look?”

  “Stay put.” I waved her back in her seat. “I won’t be responsible for you getting poison ivy again.”

  I marched into the thicket alone, kicking through last year’s musty leaves as I searched for my golf balls. A gleam of white beckoned in the honeysuckle-scented shade ahead.

  Both balls lay adjacent to each other. That brought a fleeting smile to my face. Hell, if I couldn’t hit straight I’d settle for consistent. “Got ’em,” I called to Jonette as I pocketed my provisional ball.

  A massive maple stood between me and the number six green, blocking forward progress. I had no choice but to chip out of the rough and hope for distance on my next shot. Of course if I missed and hit the slender trunks of the myriad of smaller obstacles between me and the fairway I’d quite possibly lobotomize myself. Fair enough.

  I marched back to the cart and selected my pitching wedge. “You might want to back up the cart while I hit.”
/>   “Won’t do it.” Jonette smoothed her flirty little red golf skirt. “But you hit me and you are one dead dog.”

  Back in the woods, I took aim at Jonette and whaled away. My ball skimmed over the top of her head and landed in the center of the fairway.

  Success tasted sweet in my mouth. “Hot damn! I’m on a roll.” I jogged back to the cart and noticed Jonette had a death grip on the steering wheel. Served her right. I thumped her on her back.

  She choked in a breath of air. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Cleo. Nice shot.”

  I was still furthest from the hole, so I exchanged my wedge for a seven iron. In truth, I didn’t see the point of having so many clubs in my bag when my trusty seven worked well for any occasion. I took a deep breath and swung easy.

  My ball landed twenty yards ahead of Jonette’s. Counting all my strokes, I lay three to her one, but that was beside the point. If the world ended right this minute, my ball would still be closest to the pin. That was worth a lot.

  The golf gods must have taken a lunch break because my next shot zoomed over the green and down a steep embankment. I grabbed a club and started down the hill.

  Jonette followed, sniffing tentatively. “Do you smell something?”

  I did. My eyes watered at the latrine-like stench. It wasn’t unusual to smell something ripe this time of year in Maryland. The odor could be anything from farmers manuring their fields to the groundskeeper’s natural fertilizers. “No telling what that is.”

  Using my golf club as a cane, I crabbed sideways down the hill, scoping the terrain near my feet for my ball. At the base of the hill, I saw something that resembled a bundle of clothes.

  A huge lump formed in my throat. “What is that?”

  “I’ve got a real bad feeling about this,” Jonette said.

  “You and me both.” The closer I came, the more certain details stood out in my mind. I saw that the bundle of clothes was actually an expensive business suit. Pinstriped trouser legs were rolled up to reveal dark crew socks and black-and-white golf shoes.

  The man lay on his back staring straight up at the cloudless sky. Between his slate-gray eyes was a dark circular wound. Bloodstained grass framed his lifeless head in a grotesque abstract shape, as if some wicked cartoonist had thought to ink in the conversation.

  Only there was no conversation coming from this person. He was dead. Very dead.

  My personal problems receded in a heartbeat. I fought down dizzying nausea as I felt my blood charge through me like a speeding freight train. I wanted to run and get far away from this grisly scene, but my feet weren’t listening.

  I knew this man. He was my ex’s best friend and coworker down at the Hogan’s Glen Bank. His name tumbled from my lips. “Dudley Doright.”

  Chapter 2

  “Donny Davis,” Jonette said. She bared her arms across her chest as if that would keep the death cooties at bay.

  Technically she was right about the dead man’s name. Donny Davis was Dudley’s real name. Charlie had nicknamed Donny “Dudley Doright” in first grade and the name had stuck.

  Jonette pointed to Dudley’s crotch. “What are you going to do about that?”

  Nestled in the narrowest vee of his inseam was my ball. I knew it was my ball because I could clearly see the initials I’d hastily scribbled on the brand new ball this morning. Those initials radiated from the dimpled surface like a search beacon in a midnight sky. I grimaced.

  “How many penalty strokes do you get for hitting a dead man? What club has the correct loft for an inseam lie?” Jonette asked.

  From the high-pitched tone of her voice, I knew Jonette was about to crack. The best thing would be to get her out of here, away from Dudley. I had to come up with a plan, fast.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t dream of playing that ball.” I drew up a mental to do list. We needed help. An ambulance. The police.

  I pointed up the incline. “Go back to the cart and call nine-one-one on your cell phone.”

  Jonette stomped her foot. “Damn him. Why is he dead? Why did we have to find him? Why couldn’t Alveeta or Christine stumble across him?”

  “I don’t know, Jonette. This is a police matter. That’s why you need to go call them.”

  “I can’t. Folks know I have a history with Dudley. They’re going to think I had something to do with his death. Let’s get out of here. We can call the cops from the pro shop.”

  Dudley had stolen Jonette’s virginity as a teen, foreclosed on her house in her twenties. They’d spent the next fifteen years ignoring each other. Not easy to do in a small town like Hogan’s Glen.

  “We can’t just leave him here,” I said.

  Jonette’s face turned as red as her golf skirt. “Are you choosing him over me?”

  Of all times for their old rivalry to crop up. Here I was trying to help her save face, and she was giving me a hard time. I didn’t have a cast-iron stomach either. I was, however, cursed with a strong streak of responsibility.

  “This isn’t a competition, Jonette,” I said. “Dudley was a screwup, that’s for sure, but he’s also my daughters’ godparent and honorary uncle. I thought you’d want to go back to the cart, but if you want to stay here, fine. I’ll go make the call.”

  “No, wait. Don’t leave me down here with him. Are you sure he’s dead?”

  “For God’s sake, Jonette. There’s a hole in his head and the ground is saturated with more blood than I’ve ever seen. How can he possibly be alive?”

  “Would you check? Please?”

  If Jonette wasn’t my best friend in the whole world, I would have said hell no. But she was my friend and if she wanted me to check I would.

  Acting like there was nothing to it, I nudged Dudley with the toe of my scuffed Foot Joys. I might as well have kicked a wooden bridge. A smelly wooden bridge. I fanned fresh air towards my face. “Definitely dead.”

  Jonette’s face turned green. “I’ll make the call.”

  While Jonette scrambled back up the hill, I stood watch over Dudley. It didn’t seem right that the sky should be so blue when something terrible had just happened. It should be dark and overcast and nasty. Sleeting even.

  I’m an organized person and I like information to be arranged in tidy piles. To escape the nauseating terror clawing at my stomach, I imagined the scene before me was a disassembled jigsaw puzzle. The first piece of the puzzle was that Dudley had been shot. There were no guns lying about, so his wound was most likely not suicide. That meant someone else had been involved.

  I glanced through the wire fence separating the out of bounds area from the nearby fallow farm field. Not a soul was in sight. Who did this? The better question was who didn’t want to kill Dudley. We’d all wanted to from time to time, myself included. He had a talent for pissing people off. In addition to thinking he was the ultimate Casanova, Dudley liked to play God in the bank loan department.

  He didn’t look very godly now. I glanced down again, trying to be clinical and unfeeling. Not easy when my breakfast was looking for the emergency exit.

  Dudley still wore his signature onyx ring and his watch. I wasn’t about to search his pants for his billfold, but a robber would have taken the watch and ring. So, his demise probably wasn’t a robbery.

  And it wasn’t like he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The golf course wasn’t in a high crime area, not that there were many of those in Hogan’s Glen.

  That left murder. Sadly, I couldn’t say Dudley didn’t have any enemies. When it came to life, Dudley wasn’t a nice guy. There was a long list of folks he’d hurt because of his attitude about money coming first. I’d turned a blind eye to Dudley’s machinations because he was Charlie’s friend. Now, with the clarity of a single mom trying to make ends meet, it was apparent that Dudley was a financial and emotional black hole, sucking the life out of anything he touched.

  It was a Wednesday morning, for Pete’s sake. Why wasn’t Dudley in his office at the bank? I couldn’t believe that
he was dead, that his blood stained the ground at my feet.

  Jonette climbed back down the hill. “The police are on their way. I also called the clubhouse and told them not to wait for us to finish today.”

  I nodded. With all the gurgling in my stomach, speaking didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  “You don’t look so good, Clee.” Jonette put her arm around my shoulder and steered me back up the side of the hill. We sat on the side of the green. With distance, I gained some needed perspective and my head cleared.

  “You’re no tower of strength, either,” I said. “You’re trembling like a leaf and your face is bile green.”

  “I can think of a hundred things I’d rather be doing right now. Wednesday mornings are supposed to be our fun time. This isn’t fun and after we get done with all this mess, I’ve got to work tonight at the Tavern. My life sucks.”

  Sirens wailed in the distance. The police would be here soon. “Not as much as Dudley’s. I wonder who killed him.”

  “I didn’t do it. Though I can’t say I never thought about it.”

  “I can’t believe he’s dead. Pinch me so I’ll wake up from this bad dream.”

  Jonette pinched me.

  I jerked away from her and rubbed my arm. “Ouch. That hurt.”

  “You said to pinch you.”

  “It was a figure of speech. Why aren’t the police here yet?” The sun went behind a cloud and the air temperature dropped several degrees. Goosebumps covered my arms and legs.

  “I can forget about having a life now,” Jonette said. “It’s public record that Dudley screwed me every way possible. I’ll probably spend the rest of my miserable existence doing time for a crime I didn’t commit. Will you visit me in prison?”

  “You’re not going to prison. I won’t let anyone railroad you for Dudley’s murder.”

  Jonette shoved her hands in her skirt pockets. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”