The Case of the Invisible Dog (25 page)

Myra patiently explained the proper stance while Shirley listened with rapt attention.

“Like this?” she asked, once Myra had demonstrated the proper placement of feet, torso, arms, and shoulders.

“No,” Myra replied, starting to sound frustrated. “You aren't even facing toward the green. Your feet are too far apart. And you need to relax your shoulders.”

A second and third demonstration took place, each ending with the same result: Shirley seemingly unable to follow even the simplest of instructions. “I don't understand why you are having such a difficult time with this,” Myra said, exasperated after her third attempt.

“I don't know, either,” Shirley said with
uncharacteristic
humility. “How is this? Better?”

It wasn't even close.

“It will do,” Myra replied, her enthusiasm starting to visibly subside.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“You don't sound positive.”

“I am absolutely positive that it will do, all right?”

“And what about my club? Is this the one you would use for this shot?”

“Yes,” Myra snapped. “If I were you and I were taking that shot, the club that you are using would do just fine. Can we just get on with it?”

“Really, Myra, I believe that you are demonstrating the same lack of patience that you accused me of earlier.”

Before Myra could respond, Shirley lifted her club behind her head and whacked her ball right into the shrubbery at the side of the fence.

“Oh, dear,” she said sorrowfully. “It looks as if I still have a lot to learn. Lawrence? Could you be a dear and see if you can locate my ball for me?”

“Sure thing.”

“Don't bother to look for it,” Myra snapped. “Just drop a ball here and take the penalty.”

“I don't wish to take the penalty. I wish to have Lawrence find my ball for me and then I will hit it from where it lies. That is the correct expression, is it not? Myra?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

“Oh, good. I am learning a great deal with all this new lingo and whatnot. Go ahead, Lawrence.”

Lawrence leaped out of the cart, with strict instructions from me to take his sweet time locating Shirley's ball. Shirley leaned on her club with an air of complete relaxation while sneaking glances across the street as Myra stared at her through narrowed eyes.

“Any luck, Lawrence?” Shirley called out casually after a minute as Myra began to tap her fingers impatiently against the top of her leg.

“Not yet,” he called back, popping his head up through the shrubbery for a second and then back down again.

Myra glanced over at Lawrence and then back at Shirley, her eyes narrowing into mere slits. “What are you up to?” she asked.

“Up to?” Shirley asked, her eyes wide open with exaggerated innocence.

“One minute you're playing like a lunatic, and now you don't seem to care how long we take. What is going on?”

“Going on?” Shirley repeated innocently. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I am simply enjoying time with my sister while we play a delightful game of golf.”

“This is
not
a delightful game of golf! A delightful game of golf is relaxing, refreshing, invigorating!” Myra exclaimed, waving her golf club back and forth. “This has been a nightmare, and my patience is at an end.”

“A nightmare?” Shirley asked, as if dumbfounded. “Whatever are you talking about? I, myself, have been quite surprised at what a satisfying experience a rousing game of golf has turned out to be. In fact, I believe I have done you a grave injustice, Myra. Golf is truly a magnificent sport.”

“Stop! I am
not
an idiot! I had to threaten to end the game to keep you from running all over this course like a madwoman. But now that we have arrived at the eighth hole, suddenly you have all the time in the world. Time for golfing tips that you couldn't be bothered with before and can't seem to understand now. Time to send that dreadful little man off to hunt for your ball instead of taking the penalty stroke the way you did on all the other holes when your ball went into the trees or shrubbery.”

“I think you are overreacting,” Shirley replied with a little wave of her right hand. “These are merely the pitfalls that can occur when a dedicated golf enthusiast such as yourself plays with an amateur.”

“Pitfalls? Now, listen…Oh, Lord. You've taken so long that the last party is now down on the fairway waiting for us to finish. Just take the penalty shot so we can be done with this hole and move on.”

“I believe it is my choice whether or not to take the penalty, is it not? And I choose not to,” Shirley declared firmly with a nod of her head, and the orange yarn ball on top of her hat bobbed up and down. “I find that I am becoming quite fond of this game. It is bringing out my competitive nature, and I wish to improve my score on the remaining holes.

“Actually, it is not your choice,” Myra said, as a tone of desperation crept into her voice underneath the fury. “There is a time limit as to how long you may look for your ball—five minutes—and you have exceeded it.”

“A time limit? Why is this the first that I have heard of it?”

“Because until now you have always taken the penalty!” Myra pulled a golf ball out from her jacket pocket. “Take this. Place it
somewhere—anywhere!
Place it right on the green next to the hole, for all I care, and take your damn shot. I won't even make you take the penalty.”

“You want me to
cheat
?” Shirley gasped indignantly. “I must say, Myra, I am quite disappointed to hear that. What happened to respecting the rules of the game?”

“Oh, for the love of—never mind. Trying to explain something to you is pointless. We'll just let them play through.”

“Play through?” Shirley asked. “What does that entail?”

“We get in our cart, and sit on the side,” Myra explained as she signaled to the group in the cart below to play through. “And then we wait until they're done. Quietly!”

“An excellent and extremely civilized solution!” Shirley exclaimed.

“I don't think your sister is very happy,” I said quietly as Shirley ran over and got into the cart next to me.

“Indeed not,” Shirley replied with a shrug. “But I believe that in this case the ends shall justify the means. I thought the detectives surely would have arrived by now.”

“It probably takes some time to get a search warrant,” I said, hoping that was the explanation. I thought they would have been here by now, too. I didn't need to witness the entire search. All I really needed was to see an indication that they'd found something—even just one thing—to prove that we'd been right, and I would have been satisfied.

We both glanced over toward the street that adjoined the edge of the golf course, behind the wire fence. We kept staring for a few more minutes, and I started to wonder if the detectives had thought the whole thing over and decided they'd been right the first time: Shirley and I were nuts. I heard a cart pull up to the green and then Myra greeting the group sitting inside it, but Shirley and I didn't pay much attention. We were both on pins and needles waiting for something to happen across the street.

“Well,” Myra exclaimed huffily as she came marching up to our carts. “They were very understanding. Much more so than I would have been.” Myra climbed into the cart next to mine, sitting down beside Shirley with a loud sigh. “This is the sort of thing one expects on a
public
course.” Myra looked back over toward the green. “They're getting ready to putt. No one say a word—not one single word—until they finish with this hole and drive off in their cart. Then maybe, just maybe, I can leave here today with some shred of dignity still intact.”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw two very tan, silver-haired men in their sixties standing next to the green. One man was putting his ball from the outer edge of the green, while the other stood farther away, waiting to take his turn.

As I turned back to look across the street I saw Shirley suddenly sit up ramrod straight and grab the edge of her cart while she stared fiercely through the fence. I followed her gaze. A white Plymouth Valiant was pulling into Chuck and Nancy's driveway, followed by a police car. Shirley leaped out of her golf cart and dashed toward the wire fence.

“Shirley!” Myra shouted as the cart shook a little from Shirley's rapid and clumsy departure. “What are you—” Myra clamped her hand over her mouth, looking mortified.

“Hey!” one of the golfers shouted angrily from the green. “You just made me blow my shot!”

“I'm so sorry,” Myra said in a small, embarrassed voice. “My sister, she…” Myra threw her arms up in the air, apparently at a loss for words. I felt for her predicament—I really did. Under different circumstances it might have been a bonding experience. No one knew better than I how she was feeling at that moment. But it was not to be.

Leaving Myra to her fate, I jumped out of my golf cart and ran over to where Shirley stood by the fence, stopping next to her and never taking my eyes off what was taking place down the street. Detectives Owen and Addams got out of their Valiant, parked in the Browns' driveway, and a few seconds later two young police officers in uniform emerged from the police car beside them. The four of them conferred together for a few minutes and then began walking up the driveway.

“Sorry again!” I heard Myra call out from behind us as a golf cart started up. “And don't forget to put your drinks on my tab. That's Myra Homes. Have dinner, too, if you want. And dessert. They make a lovely chocolate torte. Invite your wives to join you. What's that? Really? Both of you? Just this past year? I am so sorry. Well, at least you have each other. Again, my apologies for my sister. Her first time. Doesn't understand the rules. It won't happen again. Enjoy the rest of your game.”

Shirley and I paid no attention to what was happening behind us. We watched breathlessly as the four members of the Springville Police Department made their way up the driveway toward the Browns' front door. I swear I could feel every step they took.

“Well, I hope you are happy, Shirley,” Myra hissed, coming up behind us. “You have made this one of the most horrible days of my life. Are you even listening to me? What are you looking at that is so…I knew it!” she exclaimed as she spotted the activity across the street. “I knew you lured me here under false pretenses!”

“I do apologize,” Shirley said without turning around. “I knew you wouldn't let us come if I told you the real reason. Damnation! I should have thought to bring binoculars. Watch, Myra. I want you to see this. Those police officers are about to search that house on the basis of information that I gave them, information that may solve a homicide. So if the police are listening to me, Myra, then perhaps I am in the right line of work after all.”

Myra narrowed her eyes and cocked her head, looking back and forth between Shirley and the action across the street, trying to absorb what Shirley had just told her.

I returned my attention to Matt's driveway when suddenly I heard a “Pssst!” and then Myra let out a shriek and jumped back.

“Sorry,” Lawrence whispered, as he popped up from the ground behind Myra. “I was trying to keep a low profile. I was over at those bushes, you know, looking for your ball, Shirley, and I just now saw the you-know-who people show up at the house of the you-know-who-couple-who-are-named-after-a-color,” he said, panting a little between each word. “Just like you said they'd be, Shirley.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dunbar,” Shirley replied. “We had realized that for ourselves.”

“Oh. So I ran all the way over here for nothing?”

“Helpful colleague,” Myra muttered. “I suppose this means that you
still
have not located that golf ball?”

“Uh, well…”

“Never mind. Shirley, now that the true purpose of this golf game has been revealed, I see no need to continue. You people are a menace. You do not belong on this golf course—or any other golf course, for that matter. You have managed to humiliate and embarrass me and…Oh, Lord. There's another cart headed down the fairway.” Myra glanced down at her watch. “I was told we were being given the slot immediately before the last reservation.”

“Wonderful!” Shirley exclaimed as we watched the detectives pound on the Browns' front door. “We can let them play through! I must say, I am very impressed with the entire playing-through concept. Solomon himself could not have devised a better resolution to the inevitable conflict between expert and amateur on the course. This golf game of yours intrigues me more and more.”

“Oh, stuff it, Shirley!” Myra snapped. “Whoever is in that cart hasn't stopped. It looks like they aren't even playing…if that's someone from the club coming to investigate because somebody lodged a complaint against you, then that's it. Game over. I will not give you any more opportunities to embarrass me, and run the risk of losing my membership at Sturdy Oaks. This is the only decent club in Springville. We are leaving! Everyone in their cart.”

Ignoring Myra, the rest of us returned our attention to the street, where Detective Owen continued pounding on the front door as Detective Addams walked over to peer in the large bay window next to the door and the two police officers went in opposite directions toward the back of the house.

“They must not be home,” I said.

“Or they are foolish enough to believe the police will simply give up and go away,” Shirley replied.

Myra threw her hands up in the air and made a sound of complete disgust.

“I'm leaving now,” she called out as she started to march away. “With or without you. That cart is almost here, and if it's someone from the office I will have no problem telling them to have security remove you however they see fit! This is it, Shirley! The proverbial straw that broke the camel's back!”