Free The Rotary Club Murder Mystery by Graham Landrum

club don’t have but only very select members. Of course, some of them—but I
won’t say anything about that. Lots of rich people in this club, and me and Bill do all right.”
    â€œMaybe you knew that poor gentleman that committed suicide in Borderville last month.”
    â€œMr. Hollonbrook.” Noralou said it as if she had just adjusted her frame of reference and was ready to go.
    â€œYes,” I said, “I believe that was his name.”
    â€œMr. Holly Hollonbrook, poor soul. Killed hisself up there in Tennessee. Is that the town you come from?”
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œWell what do you know?” This, of course, was not a question, but a prelude.
    â€œWhy, I’ll say I knew that poor soul—know Miz Hollonbrook a lot better—real nice lady—always gives a real good tip. But I can tell you, she had a lot to put up with about him—poor soul—taking his own life that way! But he’s paying for it now.” She kneaded away for a moment in silence.
    â€œAnd such a fine-lookin’ man!” she continued. “It seemed like he about had everything. But still everybody has their own private life. And the Good Book says we hadn’t ought to judge.”
    â€œAre you saying he wasn’t just what he ought to have been?” I suggested.
    â€œWell,” Noralou admitted, “now that you mention it, I have to say he sure wasn’t. It’s a terrible thing when somebody takes their own life, but let me tell you, there’s folks in this town that thinks he done us a favor when he killed hisself.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?” I asked. There was no need to urge Noralou, but I did so anyhow. Her pause was only artistic punctuation.
    â€œHoney, it was women.” Noralou made it sound like something out of the garbage can.
    â€œNow I know what men are like,” she continued, “and I guess I’m as forgiving as the next one. But there’s a limit. Folks
talk about him and his first wife and how he divorced her to marry the one that’s now his widow.
    â€œI don’t have a thing against her, mind you. She’s a member here and just as nice as you please. Always generous and nice. And the divorce and all that happened before me and Bill came to work here, but they say she was his secretary. Some say she caused the divorce, and some say it was the first wife’s fault; and it was only natural with a pretty secretary that she would be the second misses.
    â€œBut that don’t excuse him.”
    By this time, Noralou had peeled the sheet clear down below my hips and was working away at the small of my back. It just felt wonderful, but I was so interested in what the woman was saying that I didn’t pay much attention to what she was doing.
    â€œI guess you mean he had affairs,” I said.
    â€œAffairs! I couldn’t begin to tell you.”
    But she did begin, and did a right good job of it, too.
    â€œIt was about five years ago,” she said. “We had this new pro here at the club. Now pros are men just like any other men. And working at a golf club, you see pros make passes now and then. But Bucky Patterson had this cute little wife, Desiree, and he was just crazy about her. He spent every penny he had on her, and she was a doll.
    â€œBucky was good-looking, too—brown wavy hair and blue eyes and good buns. She had no call to turn her eyes to another man.
    â€œBut that Chuck Hollonbrook! Him with his Lincoln Continental and his Rolex watch. Not much of a golf player, but he’d swagger into the club with his golf bag like he was Arnold Palmer.”
    â€œNoralou,” I said, “I don’t think you liked him.”
    â€œRoll over,” she ordered, giving a little pat to my behind. There hadn’t been a pat like that in a long, long time.
    â€œI’ll tell you, Bucky Patterson was as nice a fellow as you
would ever want to meet. He just had stars