“Please excuse me, Mr. Blatchford. Sometimes that happens when I’m excited. It’s been too long since I hit the links.”
He walked around the cart and got behind the wheel. “It’s addictive and I really miss it when there’s too much snow.”
I gave him a sly smile as we started rolling. “The club rules clearly do allow some magic. I’ve never seen nicer greens, even in June.”
He smiled, too. “We do it for our wives. If we’re underfoot too much, they get antsy.”
As we drove, I collected my thoughts. “I appreciate the ride, Arnold. It was thoughtless of me to damage the turf in heels. They’re just part of my uniform. I don’t feel like myself without them.”
“I understand. We all need a suit of armor to survive in this town. You’ve done well for yourself since coming back.”
“A good support system. Mom’s just a call away and Liberty mostly lives at the Brighton manor.”
After a pause, he said, “I’m surprised Liberty gave me the antidote at the restaurant.”
“Me, too,” Bixby said. “You didn’t deserve it.”
I touched his wristwatch and confirmed he had been part of the posse who took her down. Robert Parkin and Oscar were there, too, along with other men whose images were in shadows. Unlike Oscar, Arnold actually felt mild regret.
“Maybe Liberty values you as an adversary,” I said. “Who would she argue with if not for you guys? Me, I’m afraid.” I laughed lightly as I withdrew my hand. My fingers were cold from the wind now. “Plus, I hear you’re quite a gardener. Always of value in Wyldwood.”
He laughed, too. “Likely the latter. It’s good to have options, with Maisie Gledhill gone.”
We had reached our destination and I got out first. “Well, that’s strange. There are seagulls on the putting green.”
“It happens,” Arnold said. “Not usually in December. I’ve got an airhorn to clear them.”
Bixby growled and struggled to get down. “Arnold, that’ll hurt the dogs’ ears. Let them take care of it.”
My pedigreed sunbeam hog charged at them, scattering most before Oscar arrived with poodle backup. Ren was looking quite miserable and mouthed, “You owe me.”
I had to wrap this up fast or lose a valuable friend and talented baker.
Oscar made it easy for me by coming over. “Can’t wait to see you sink this shot, Janelle. It’s a tough one.”
Pulling out my putter, I nodded. “Even harder with frostbite setting in.”
I got into position, club raised, only to have Bixby shout, “Stop. There’s a goose now.”
“A goose?” I said it out loud and sure enough, one waddled onto the green.
“It’s the springs,” Oscar said. “They run through the course and don’t freeze so the birds are too lazy to migrate. Look, there’s a duck, too.”
There was indeed a duck of the white barnyard variety hurrying after the goose.
“Wait a second.” I caught Oscar’s arm. “Are you guys pranking me? Why are all these birds on the green?”
Oscar just laughed. “Wish I’d thought of that. Figure you can foozle this on your own.”
“Janelle,” Bixby called. “We’ve got a problem.”
I couldn’t give the dog my attention with answers in easy reach. My fingers grazed Oscar’s watch and I gasped. It was just as I’d seen in Arnold’s mind. The men had been scheming for weeks and it felt like a plot against Ruthann. One with an imminent deadline. But what? And when?
I hiccupped. There was no stopping it.
“What’s wrong?” Oscar said, moving away.
“There are pigeons, Oscar. And mourning doves. I can’t risk hurting them.”
Mr. Bixby and Bijou raced to clear them. In fact, I’d never seen my dachshund work so hard before. He panted a message in my mind. “Hurry.”
“Go ahead and take your shot,” Oscar said. The taunt in his voice made me wonder if he knew I’d poked around in his mental files. “I dare you.”
“Fine. I accept your dare.” I drew in a deep breath and stilled my thoughts. Everything seemed to slow down. And once the green was clear of birds, I sent the ball rolling straight into the cup. “Nice. I got an eagle. Not bad, considering.”
There was a screech overhead and I looked up to see a raptor soaring in a tight circle overhead. Was that a coincidence?
Oscar reached out to shake my hand. “You got lucky again, Janelle. But your luck is about to run out. Fair warning.”
Snakes unfurled in my belly and I pulled my hand away just before I hiccupped. The consequences of a hair-trigger diaphragm may have been erased by the doctor but they felt more intense than ever.
“Excuse me,” I said, before doing it yet again.
“Enough!” Bixby was yelling in my head now. “I will flush your seagulls, your duck, your goose and your squab, Miss Brighton. But I draw the line at turkeys. Find yourself another hero.”
“Would you look at that?” Arnold was pointing. “I’ll have that fatty for Christmas dinner. Anyone got a gun?” Laughing, he shaped his fingers in a makeshift pistol. “Oh yeah, me.”
“I cannot stand by and see an animal harmed,” I said, scooping up my exhausted dog.
