“It’s kind of you to give our dogs credit, Mr. Blatchford. They deserve a share for detecting the poison you consumed, but it was Cousin Liberty who supplied the antidote. I guess that makes us friends.”
His silver eyebrows rose. “Friends? Not really. But I won’t pitch your dogs off the course.”
Robert Parkin scowled. “You’re related to Liberty Brighton?”
“Yes, indeed. I’m Janelle Brighton, and this is my best friend, Renata Scott. Mr. Parkin, are you one of the men who helped Oscar imprison Cousin Liberty for decades?”
He tried to conceal his shock but his cheeks flushed over his salt and pepper beard and the color raced to his hat line. “How do you know me?”
“You look like a distinguished older version of your nephew. I was a bridesmaid at Blaine’s wedding.”
His mouth worked as he digested that information. “I heard about that fiasco.”
“You didn’t answer my question about Liberty. She said she was a victim of the Main Street ‘boys’ club’ and I’m curious.”
Mr. Parkin smirked at me. “Ladies, if you’re going to play, play. If you’re going to chat, we’ll have you ejected. Don’t think we can’t.”
“Fine. Be that way.” I pulled out a driver, placed my ball, got into position and swung. Seeing their jaws drop as the ball sailed down the fairway was one of my happier moments.
Mr. Bixby arrived in my head with his arrogance detector. “Don’t get cocky. There is a very strong stench of magical flatulence coming from all three men. Oscar isn’t the worst offender.”
Renata let me guide her, and somehow made a very respectable first showing. It landed quite close to the putting green, where mine already sat.
“Magic is not allowed in golf,” Arnold said. “It’s in the club rules.”
“We wouldn’t know the first thing about that, Mr. Blatchford. Ren and I are novices to magic. Am I right, Mr. Knight?”
He nodded. “She gets the odd lucky break and I’d say that shot was one of them. We’ll know by the second hole. I’m curious to see what happens.”
“Wouldn’t want to hold you up,” I said. “We’re walking the course.”
Oscar looked at our footwear and laughed. “You can’t possibly.”
“Sure, I can. Heels are my only gift.” I bent to release both dogs. “Besides, it’s a gorgeous day and we need the exercise.”
He gestured to his cart. “Get in. Tavi would have my head if I let you sprain your ankle. Although it’s tempting to put you out of commission for a while, I won’t lie.”
“Oscar, come on.” Robert Parkin didn’t bother to hide his chagrin. “They’ll slow us down.”
I gestured for Ren to ride with Oscar. “Have patience, Mr. Parkin. I haven’t even warmed up. If you don’t mind, I’ll ride with you. It’ll give us a chance to talk about Blaine and Cassie.”
“That we won’t. My nephew is none of your concern.”
“I care about Blaine. When Mr. MacDuff tried to kill him, I was distraught.”
“Easy does it, Janelle,” Bixby said. “This guy is cut from the same tacky tartan as Angus. Maybe a little more finesse would help.”
I beat Robert to his cart and hoisted my bag into the back. Then I ran my fingers over his golf clubs, heading straight for the driver.
If it hadn’t been for Dr. Featherburn’s wonder cure, I would very likely have hiccupped and ended the game early. Instead, I kept my expression neutral as I scanned the impressions Blaine’s uncle inadvertently shared. He had seen Angus MacDuff twice very recently and neither meeting had gone well. Their expressions were ferocious and gestures flamboyant. Both times they’d met at Withrow Park, where Robert’s beard had frosted over in the mist. Furthermore, he’d been in the public library to check out the very aisle where Angus perished. I could see the lineup of books from his point of view and then pages flipping. What I sensed now was disappointment. His mission was a bust.
“Get in if you’re coming,” he said, joining me.
I pulled my clubs out of the cart again and walked away, with Mr. Bixby grumbling at my heels. “I think I’ll join Mr. Blatchford instead. I heard he plays competitively and want to pick his brain for golf tips.”
My first goal was to “pick” Mr. Blatchford’s driver while he loaded my bag into his cart. Again, it was a good yield. Arnold, too, had argued with Angus this week, tag-teaming with Oscar. They’d done it right here, during a round of golf, and left Angus to walk back to the clubhouse. What had he done to be ousted from their group in this way? It must have been a business deal gone south. Money and power were the things they cared about most. But Arnold Blatchford had apparently been in the library eyeing the same shelf, too, and came up empty, like Robert. What had they hoped to find? And why was Angus MacDuff the one to score?
Bixby popped into my mind. “You were probably right about money and power being the driver, pun intended. Maybe there’s a magical version of that ‘think yourself rich’ nonsense. Suckers fall for the message every day.”
“Are you all right?” Arnold said, offering his arm. “The cold must be getting to you.”
“Hadn’t noticed it, really.” I reluctantly accepted his arm and my fingertips brushed his expensive watch. It must have been studded with gems, always my best conductor, because so many images flooded into my mind that I nearly capsized.
“Careful now,” Arnold said. For a moment I feared he’d felt my intrusion, but he was trying to steady me. “The grass can be slippery.”
So could he, unfortunately. His watch revealed that after his failure at the library, he’d visited Ruthann Longmuir at City Hall with Oscar and Robert Parkin. The three men had taken the leather chairs, leaving the paisley sofa empty. Ruthann sat on it briefly, her feet barely touching the floor. Rising, she stood at the end, one hand resting on Minerva. The cat perched on the sofa’s arm, tail twitching in a serpentine fashion. Ruthann looked nonchalant but the cat was angry. I could feel it.
“You can feel Minerva?” Bixby asked, silently. “Not Ruthann?”
“Ruthann locks me out,” I replied. “Minerva’s probably given me a temporary ticket in.”
“What did the men want?” Bixby asked. “Can you tell?”
“Power. You were right. And… uh-oh.”
I dropped Arnold’s arm just before unleashing a loud hiccup. Looking around, I saw no sign of sunflowers. What a relief, as it had felt pretty powerful.
“One of your finest,” Bixby chuckled, as I picked him up and stepped into the cart.
