It was a simple shot. Just a few feet to the hole, but Hannah watched as her putt veered to the left and threatened to leave the green. She turned and gave her partners a feeble grin. "I guess I'm not having a good day."
"No kidding," Sara muttered as she marked the scorecard, then selected her club and moved forward.
Rita and Amelia were with their own cart, about thirty feet away. It was a windy day and Hannah could catch snatches of their conversation.
"Michael said there's a lot of trouble at John's firm," Rita was saying. "He said everyone's in a tizzy. I also heard that there's another woman involved."
"Another woman?" Amelia asked, her voice rising, then just as quickly going down. "Who?"
"I don't know. Some secretary at one of those firms they contract with."
Amelia frowned. Hannah was watching her out of the corner of her eye. For all Hannah knew, there was another woman, but she was pretty sure that was just a juicy tidbit someone had added for interest's sake. Hannah had watched the gossip hotline for years, never participating. She couldn't claim ethical responsibility, rather it was a case of not giving a damn. She had never anticipated having the spotlight thrown on her.
"I talked to Celia Brumley," Amelia added her own inside scoop. "She didn't say anything about another woman, but she did say John took everything. There's some question of criminal acts."
"My God!" Sara exclaimed. She looked over at Hannah, who raised her eyes and met the gaze. Sara's face twisted in what must have been an attempt at a smile but looked more like a grimace.
Hannah wasn't surprised. She knew the story would make the rounds quickly. She wished she could gripe to John that their lawyer had a big mouth. She walked toward her cart, causing the women to quickly cease their conversation. Hannah wondered how much longer she could pretend. Yesterday afternoon she had called Doctor Jenkins. She'd been going crazy and she knew she needed help. She'd made an appointment and asked him if there was anything she could do in the meantime. "Keep to your routine," had been his sage advice, so she had kept this engagement even though it was the last thing she wanted to do.
She only played twice a year when the Junior League held its tournament. Hannah wondered why she should be worried about questions right now when the ship was going down with all hands, but she felt she had to trust the psychiatrist somewhat. He was a professional after all.
Now, after six holes of questioning looks and catching bits of their muttered confabs behind the carts whenever she putted, she decided that other's advice should be given less consideration than her own instincts.
Amelia and Rita climbed into their cart without a backward glance and that left Hannah with Sara who had been probing Hannah at every opportunity. Sara had displayed enough disbelief when Hannah mentioned that John was on a business trip to alert her that the cover story was wearing thin. People were whispering and Hannah had lived in Cedar Creek long enough to know how quickly the winds of gossip fanned a rumored whisper into a bonfire of truth. She had been hoping to keep things quiet until she had a plan, but that option was fading fast. She wished she had known this before driving to the Country Club. She could have saved the money on the cart.
The change was coming, Hannah could feel it. The gulf separating her from the other women was opening at her feet and they were on the other side. They had been acquaintances for years, going to each other’s parties, listening to troubles, dishing out sympathy and compliments with equal abandon.
Hannah slid into the passenger side of the cart and glanced at her partner. Sara was a lovely woman who lived her life as if there was going to be a quiz at the end. She was always asking questions. Her current silence meant that she'd gleaned enough information to have answered all the necessary questions and graded the test. Hannah knew she'd failed. She was no longer a player in Sara's eyes. She had lost her glove so nobody was going stand around and pitch to her any more. If only they knew the entire truth, Hannah thought.
Looking at the cart ahead of them, Hannah was more surprised by Amelia. Theirs was a relationship she had thought based on a little bit more than my wife-life is better than your wife-life. Today, Amelia acted as if she were disappointed in Hannah. She had the perturbed look of a woman whose guest list has just dropped to an odd number. Amelia had her head bowed toward Rita as their cart sailed along the smooth expanse of concrete that slithered the course like some obscene tapeworm. Hannah wondered what the two were saying now.
They were both married to doctors, or as they said: physicians. Left alone so much by the almighty beeper they had naturally gravitated together. Their empty hours were spent sucking each other in with a ferociousness that left them both overwhelmed but justified. They had seven children between them and were always on the verge of a teenage, teething, bedwetting crisis. In that particular area, Hannah had been an outsider so she had never really fit in.
Sara finally broke the silence and was starting to talk in general terms about the museum fundraiser. With a start, Hannah realized her friend's real unspoken quandary: What to do about the fundraiser? Was it appropriate to leave Hannah in the position of chairing the publicity committee or should they replace her? If they replaced her, how would she respond? If they didn't, how would the thing turn out? If Hannah went by herself would their husbands ask her to dance?
Hannah could have walked away right then and there. Maybe she should tell them she didn't have the money for a ticket. Waking up this morning there had been a slim hope she would find some help among her three acquaintances. That hope had died as she'd sensed their growing coldness, as if she had a sickness that they could catch. Sara's musings about the fundraiser had struck to the heart of the matter. The priority here was appearance first; substance if you could spare the effort.
Hannah also realized that much of this was her own fault. She had never gone out of her way to cultivate any special friendships. She was in this cart because of the position she filled in their social circle, not because of who she was. She was a piece that could easily be replaced if broken and with John gone, there was no doubt she was broken.
Hannah took the easiest way out for all involved. As the cart pulled to a halt, she briefly touched Sara's arm. "Sara, I know it's late to bring this up, but I don't think I'm going to be able to attend the fundraiser. The publicity is almost all wrapped up and, since I can't attend, maybe you could take over for me?"
Sara put her hand to her chest. "Oh, I really don't know, Hannah." She turned to the other two women waiting for them. "Hannah doesn't think she can make the fundraiser and wants to know if I can finish the publicity."
Hannah realized the tone indicated Sarah wasn’t phrasing it as a question.
"What?" At least Amelia had the grace to appear surprised and a little bit worried.
"Oh, come now." Rita had a strange look on her face. "We've been working on that for months now. Certainly you can make it."
"I don't think John will be back from his conference by then," Hannah lied, knowing, even as she said it, that it was foolish to pretend any more.
Amelia's eyes drew together. "Well, that's not a problem. Come by yourself then."
"I don't think--"
"I can understand if you didn't want to come," Sara said quickly.
Hannah felt a sharp irritation. Sara was always worried that someone wanted to steal her short, fat doctor from her. Hannah imagined Sara's biggest concern at the moment was that Hannah was the dreaded "unattached" woman. If only I was unattached, Hannah thought, rather than locked to a man who had skipped out after breaking several laws.
"Hannah, if you want to talk . . ." Amelia began. The other two women looked exceedingly uncomfortable. They wanted the scoop but they didn't want the emotions, not here on the country club golf course.
Hannah didn't even bother to muster up a reply. She looked away, so angry that she worried she couldn't control it. Anger at John was just the tip of the iceberg. She knew the unseen bulk of the anger was toward herself and that was a bitter realization to accept. She blinked rapidly. On a hill near the tree line she thought she saw someone, a tall, dark figure in a long coat.
"Hannah?" Amelia said, cutting into her thoughts. Amelia pointed to the tee. "Your turn, dear."
Hannah turned to look again for the odd figure. There was only the shadow of the trees.
***************
The conversations among Hannah Masterson and her golf partners intrigued Neeley. She could hear almost everything from her position at the top of the hill overlooking the course. The small directional mike hooked to the earpiece worked quite well. Definitely worth the exorbitant fee Gant had paid for it. Even more intriguing were the whispered discussions among Hannah's golfing partners when she was out of earshot. Hannah was a woman with a large problem and that meant Neeley had a problem. It was John she needed to find according to the information she had and he was gone.
The last few hours of watching Hannah had left the rather frustrating impression that the woman had no clue of her husband's activities or whereabouts. It appeared that not only had John Masterson gone under, but he had also left his wife high and dry. Of course, it was also very possible that all this was a smokescreen left behind by John to confuse his trail and Hannah knew where he was. Regardless, Neeley recognized this was more than coincidence.
Neeley knew time was of the essence. The Cellar had to know that Gant was dead by now. Which meant that whatever ace he had held up his sleeve to protect both of them from the Cellar now had to be up her sleeve. But John Masterson held part of that unknown card.
Gant had told her, and she had known from her own experience, that a person never truly retired from the covert world, no matter what part you played or who you worked for: government spy, contract worker, terrorist, hit man, it didn't matter. Once you were in the only way out was death. Or having a lot of money to be able to cover one's trail, which was why Gant had kept a line into his Uncle Joe in New York City for so many years. Even the money though, wouldn't be enough. You needed ‘leverage’ as Gant called it and he'd had it. He'd never shared it with her because that was part of his provision with the Cellar to keep his end of the deal in balance.
Neeley didn't know much about the Cellar because Gant hadn't known everything and he’d been reluctant to talk much about it with her. He understood that knowledge could be a very dangerous thing in the covert world. He had told her that he'd been contacted by the Cellar while he was still in the army, working in the Special Forces, well before he met her in Berlin. He'd done occasional, outside the line of military duty, jobs for the Cellar.
When they'd disappeared out of Berlin, Gant had left the army behind. And Gant's leverage had bought them not only that freedom but a monthly paycheck from the Cellar in return for his silence.
And now she was on her own and she needed to know what Gant and John Masterson had shared. Neeley felt foolish on the hill, directional mike in the briefcase at her side, earplug in, standing in the shadows. Worse than foolish, she felt vulnerable. She didn't have a very good cover story for her presence.
Neeley stiffened. Hannah Masterson looked straight up the hill at her. Neeley felt a shiver as they made distant eye contact. Neeley turned and walked away, out of sight. Returning to her truck, Neeley drove it to a point where she could wait, unobserved, for Hannah to leave the country club.
After forty-five minutes, her wait was rewarded as the black BMW pulled out. Neeley followed at a discreet distance and, when she was sure Hannah was returning home, she drove in another direction. She parked the truck over three kilometers away from Hannah's house.
Hannah lived in Manchester, a wealthy suburb to the west of St. Louis. The neighborhood was a juxtaposition of forest and development. Neeley had parked just off the main strip, Manchester Road, in the lot of a small shopping center where the truck would not stand out. The forest started right behind the stores.
Neeley turned on her hand-held Global Positioning Receiver. A flashing question mark appeared in the center of the screen for about ten seconds, then the receiver triangulated on the closest three global positioning satellites and locked in her position. Neeley entered Hannah’s address in the hand-held GPR. Then she punched the ‘go-to’ button. An arrow went from her position toward the house. Using the GPR Neeley moved unerringly through the woods to come out right behind Hannah's house.
The street Hannah lived on, Cedar Creek, was a dead end. Hulking, brick houses lined the way, evenly spaced apart, separated by the price of a lot of land. On Neeley's side, behind the Masterson house, the backyards ended in a tree line that extended back to a creek almost half a kilometer away from the shopping center. Neeley had followed that creek most of the way coming here. She'd climbed up over the bank and moved forward until she could see the back of the house.
Neeley had gotten the address from the phonebook. She’d checked it the previous night with a drive-by. That exercise had been dangerous, dead end street and exclusive neighborhood, but she was from out of town, and as such could have easily explained her presence to being lost. A weak cover but one she had felt would be sufficient.
Neeley pulled out a pair of field glasses and focused on the back of the house. She scanned the facade and frowned. No sign of life, but she was surprised, and pleased, that all the windows were basically uncovered except for a frame of drapes. She flicked left to the neighboring house and checked it out. Same set-up. Neeley thought about that for a second. Why have curtains back here anyway? No one should be looking in except woodland creatures. Still, she couldn’t imagine living inside such an open structure—it practically invited a sniper to take a shot.
Neeley checked each window, cataloguing the room beyond according to function. Bedrooms and bath on the top floor. The ground level was oddly shaped. The center of the back bulged out and a large window, slightly to the left of that center bulge, revealed what she supposed was the master bath. Neeley grinned as she compared the size of this one room to the entire inside of Gant's cabin and realized his wooden palace was several square feet short. To the left of the bath were the only windows with heavy curtains interdicting the view. To the right, on the ground floor, was the kitchen.