Free TURTLE DOVE (Alton Rhode Mysteries Book 7) by Lawrence de Maria

be expected to squire me to at Barnard.”
    I hate academic dinners, and academic poseurs, to the point that Alice often asks me to leave my gun at home. But fair is fair.
    “One other thing,” Alice said. “I expect a gourmet dinner at the club tonight. Followed by another night of ecstasy.” 
    “I didn’t know Dancing with the Stars was on TV tonight,” I said.
    She stuck her tongue out at me and pedaled away for an Audubon tour of the island, to be followed by a day at the Shoals Club spa and reading a book by the pool.
    Thus freed, at least temporarily, from domestic tranquility, I threw my clubs and golf shoes in the cart and headed to the Bald Head Island Country Club.
    I probably should have reserved a tee time, because when I arrived it was obvious that the course was pretty busy. But I got lucky. The assistant at the desk in the clubhouse pro shop said that there was a regular group of permanent island residents going out in 15 minutes.
    “They usually have four, but one dropped out. They were griping that it screwed up their betting game, so they wouldn’t mind a fourth, if you don’t mind losing a few bucks. What’s your handicap?”
    I told him.
    “You’d fit right in. They’re not hackers, but the PGA Tour is safe.”
    “Sounds good,”
    He picked up a walkie-talkie and called someone.
    “Got a fourth for Fred’s group,” he said. “Tell them he’s coming out.”
    An intelligible answer crackled back.
    “You’re all set. All I need is your credit card.”
    I gave it to him. He ran it then handed me a slip of paper.
    “Give this to the starter. Have a nice round, Mr. Rhode. They are good guys and don’t fool around. Strict rules of golf. Play them as they lie and all that. One of them is the police chief. It’s his day off. If anyone cheats, he cuffs him. I’ll have someone bring your clubs out to the range and put them on one of their carts.”
    I thanked him and then headed out to the practice area to meet the others in my foursome.
    They were all a few years older than me, and obviously were pals. But they made me feel welcome. The police chief was named Fred Bentley. He was a short, stocky man with a gray crewcut and big ears. He would have looked better with longer hair, but he had a ready smile. The other two men, Jim Vitale and Charlie McAallister were real estate brokers, and looked the part. They laughed a lot. 
    An attendant had put my bags on Bentley’s cart. We all hit a few practice balls and then headed out to the first tee.
    “I heard that you guys are sandbagging sharks, after tourist money.”
    “You heard right,” Charlie said. “Playing golf without betting is like kissing your sister.”
    “I’ve seen your sister,” Jim said. “All things considered, I’d rather play golf.”
    “Up yours,” Charlie said and we all laughed.
    I liked this bunch already.
    “Is a $10 Nassau, front back and overall, too much for you,” Fred said.
    “I’m shocked, shocked to learn that there is gambling going on in your jurisdiction, chief,” I said.
    Jim said to Charlie, “ Casablanca .”
    “I know,” Charlie replied, a bit miffed.
    “A $10 Nassua is just fine,” I said.
    “Great, what’s your handicap?”
    After a minute of mutual banter and not too much lying we worked out all the strokes, and Fred and I were partners against the other two. We’d play best ball in each cart. The most each of us could lose if we got completely shut out was $30, and that rarely happens. Besides, winners were expected to buy the drinks afterward in the clubhouse. I suspected that this bunch didn’t leave too much money on the table after a round.
    The next four hours were pure bliss. It was a bit windy, as ocean courses usually are, but the layout was both beautiful and challenging. On one adjacent fairway I saw a foursome of women, one of whom was a tall redhead. I was pretty sure it was Alexandra Nidus. Bentley asked what I did for a living and, unlike some big city cops, did