What We Found by Kris Bock Page B

around wildly, but I didn’t see anyone within a hundred feet. What had made that sound? I looked up. Nothing. I glanced back over my shoulder.
    A fresh ding marred the stucco wall, about a foot from my head. And then I spotted the golf ball shining white against the green grass beside the bench.
    I pressed a hand to my chest. That had been close. I knew it wasn’t entirely safe to linger near a golf course, but this spot wasn’t in the danger zone, or they wouldn’t have put a bench there. Still, it was astonishing how far off track some shots went. And a golf ball to the head could do serious damage, even kill.
    I pushed myself up off the bench and scanned the course for the golfer responsible. He should have yelled, “Fore!” He should be hurrying to apologize. What kind of bozo doesn’t even apologize after nearly braining someone with a golf ball?
    I saw three men walking toward a distant tee. But they must have just finished putting, and anyway, they wouldn’t have been shooting in this direction. A golf cart was crossing the fairway a couple hundred yards distant, but they were heading in the wrong direction as well. Maybe they were fleeing, embarrassed by their close call.
    I looked back at the mark in the wall. It was a deep, round hole. That golf ball hadn’t hit at a glancing blow from down the fairway. It had hit almost straight on.
    I looked across the fairway. The ball had come from the direction of the woods. No one was over there. No one that I could see.
    My legs threatened to give out. But I didn’t sit again. I turned and ran for the lodge.
     

Chapter 10
     
    I paused just inside the door to catch my breath and let my eyes adjust to the dimmer light. Had that really happened? Was it an accident, random chance … or something worse? A threat. An attack.
    I shook my head. This couldn’t be happening. How had my life turned into this?
    I pressed a hand to my forehead, imagining a golf ball flying at my face. Should I tell the police about this? Or would it sound paranoid, or pathetic, as if I was making up stories to prove I wasn’t involved?
    I needed time to think. But I must have already used up a good chunk of my half hour. I hadn’t even eaten, and despite my anxiety the ache in my belly told me if I didn’t get food soon, the trembling and waves of lightheadedness would only get worse.
    I hurried toward my office. If I could just get a few minutes to eat my granola bar and settle my nerves, I might make it through the afternoon.
    My office was already occupied. But not by the police.
    A man was seated behind my desk, shuffling through my papers. I blinked a couple of times before recognizing him as the general manager, one of several people who had interviewed me for the job. I stood with one hand on the door jamb, staring. What now?
    He looked up. “Miss Needham, there you are. I’ve been waiting for you.”
    I couldn’t think of a response. Even a greeting seemed beyond my powers.
    He leaned back in my chair. “This is painful for me. I understand that you have been starting rumors about my son.”
    His son? Oh. Jay. Right, this was Mr. Preppard.
    I shook my head. “I haven’t said anything about your son.”
    “You’re new here. Maybe you don’t know how we do things. We try to be discreet.”
    “But—”
    “Finding that thing so close to resort property is bad enough. Bad for business.” He made a face. “The police asking questions. Our name associated with a murder. It’s distasteful. But I suppose it can’t be helped.”
    “It’s not like I—”
    “But I won’t have you involving my son.”
    “I didn’t… he… that is….” Finally he seemed inclined to let me finish a sentence, and I couldn’t get one out.
    He stood and came around the desk. He didn’t look much like Jay. More like an aging businessman with a potbelly and thinning hair. But like Jay, he stood too close. He smelled of stale grease and cigarettes. “Your job is on the line, Miss Needham.