Aspen Allegations - A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery

Chapter 16

A flurry of trepidation skittered through my chest as Jason drove us down the long, rutted drive which led to the Blackstone National Golf Course. The flag at one of the tees fluttered hard in the wind, and I knew it was barely above 40°F out there. I hugged my black coat tighter around my shoulders. I was glad Jason was here with me. The entire situation with Charles had been building for so many days that it felt as if a blizzard were bearing down on us.

The building stretched out before us, low, white, with the pro shop entrance on the lower level and the more formal main entrance on the upper. We parked the car and then headed around toward the front doors. Once through the short lobby we reached a pair of staircases which descended into the main hall area.

The empty room was set up for the turkey shoot dinner, with long rows of tables covered with white cloth. A fire blazed merrily in the fieldstone fireplace, a wreath of ivy centered high above it. One table to the side held several sets of golf clubs being auctioned off.

We moved to the left, into the bar area. A lone young woman sat at one of the six high, round tables, watching football on the TV and eating a small lunch. After a minute or so she looked around and smiled.

I was half-afraid she would not serve us. "Lunch for two?" I asked.

"Yes, certainly; sit anywhere," she motioned with a wave of her hand. We took a small round table by the large glass windows overlooking the course. The grass was a vibrant emerald against the soft blue of the sky. I settled into my high cherry-wood chair, keeping my coat on. The room was chill; undoubtedly the course building wasn't made to withstand the brutal cold of winter. The expectation would be that, by then, they would have shut down for the season.

The menu was a single page print-out with a collection of casual fare on it. I decided on a Cobb Salad, while Jason got a bowl of chili. I glanced at my watch, and then we settled in to wait.

It was only a few minutes later when a heavy-set man in a forest green collared shirt ambled into the room. His face was lined; his short hair was brown peppered with grey. He walked up to the bar and waved a hand. "Captain and ginger," he called out to the waitress.

Her black pony-tail shook in apology. "We're all out."

His face tinted red. "What? But -"

She shrugged her shoulders. "We have Blackheart," she offered.

The sharp downturn at the corners of his mouth showed his lack of enthusiasm for this, but he nodded. She placed the drink before him, then headed over into the kitchen.

I glanced at Jason before raising my voice to be heard over the TV. "Charles, why don't you come join us? The next round is on me."

His face lit up in delight and he took the few steps to our table in a slow, rolling gait. "I would be happy to," he agreed, settling himself down on the seat. "Here for the turkey shoot, then? I'm up in about a half hour. Do we know each other from the Chamber of Commerce?"

I put out my hand. "I'm Morgan Warren and this here is my friend Jason. We were just having dinner with Richard last week over at Pleasant Valley."

He perked up a bit. "Pleasant Valley, now there's a course," he grinned. "That ninth hole is a lot of fun. Great restaurant there, too." He glanced back toward the bar with a snap in his eyes. "They always have Captain, when Richard invites me out there."

"I'm sure they do," I soothed him. "My lunch there was a lovely afternoon. Richard and I had a great time talking about what his childhood was like."

The waitress came bustling over with the chili and salad. The chef had ringed the edge of the salad plate with jalapeno circles, interspersed with cucumber wheels topped with cherry tomatoes. He had even sliced the bottom off of each cherry tomato so it sat sturdily in place.