Рита Браун - Pawing Through The Past

She plopped her pencil in a Ball jar she kept on her desk for that purpose and joined him. "The fact that Charlie was shot at such a close range implies he knew who killed him."

"No, it doesn't. There's not a lot of room in the men's locker room. A stranger could have come in as though going to a locker. Charlie wouldn't have paid much attention."

"Yeah." Coop knew he was right, and it frustrated her.

"All we have is Hunter Hughes' testimony that he thought he saw a slender man come down from the landing. He heard the footsteps because he had left the counter in the golf shop and had walked outside for a smoke. He worked until nine that evening. He assumed the man was leaving the men's grill, heard the footsteps and as he turned to go back into the golf shop he saw the back of an average-sized male wearing a white linen-like jacket. This was close to the time of the murder. That's all we've got."

They both stopped in front of the detailed drawing of the country club golf shop, grill, and the men's locker room, along with a sketch of the buildings on that side of the club.

"But when we questioned the manager of the grill, he doesn't remember anyone at the bar about that time."

"Could have been a member passing through from the 19th Hole to the back stairway on the second floor, since it would be a faster route to the men's locker room."

"What if our killer came out of the pool side?" She pointed to the pool, which was behind the long brick structure containing the locker room and golf shop.

"Easy. It would have been easy to park behind the caretaker's house. The car would have been in the dark. Walking up here behind the huge boxwoods would have made it easy to escape detection." He pointed to the sketch. "For that matter the killer could have sat in his car. Who would notice back here? Whoever he is, he knows the routine and layout of the club. He knew no big party was planned that night. Then again, the schedule is published monthly, so it's easily accessible. It goes to each member plus it's posted at the front desk."

"A member." She nodded. "Knowing the layout points in that direction."

"Yeah, or an employee"-Rick folded his arms across his chest-"possible but unlikely."

"A jealous husband could have paid a professional."

"Could have."

She turned to face her boss. "But it smacks of a deeper connection. 'Up close and personal,' like they used to say during the Olympics coverage."

"Sure does. Our killer wanted to get right in Charlie's face."

21

"Not so fast!" Denny Rablan called from behind the camera. He was beginning to wonder why he was doing this, even if it was for his class reunion.

Bonnie, black curls shaking with laughter, sped on her bicycle toward a short but handsome Leo Burkey, also pedaling to pick up momentum. Bonnie and Leo screamed at one another as they approached. Chris Sharpton buried her face in her hands since she thought they'd crash.

BoomBoom, standing behind Denny, appeared immobile while Harry giggled. She knew Bonnie and Leo were thoroughly enjoying discomfiting BoomBoom, who was determined to follow through on her before-and-after idea.

The two pedaled more furiously, heading straight for one another, at the last minute averting the crash.

"That's not funny!" BoomBoom bellowed.

"Olivia, you have no sense of humor. You never did." Bonnie called BoomBoom by her given name.

Her maiden name had been Olivia Ulrich but she'd been called BoomBoom ever since puberty. Only Boom's mother called her Olivia, a name she loathed although it was beautiful. Once she married Kelly Craycroft she happily dumped all references to Ulrich, since the Craycrofts carried more social cachet than the Ulrichs.

Eyes narrowed, BoomBoom advanced on Bonnie, who merrily pedaled away from her. "Get serious, Baltier! This is costing us. Time is money."

"God, what a rocket scientist." Leo smiled, revealing huge white teeth.

"You're a big, fat help." BoomBoom pointed a finger at him.

"I thought dear Denny was giving us his services for free." He innocently held up his hands, riding without them.

"I am. Almost," Dennis growled. "A greatly reduced rate."

"Well, Denny, my man, if you hadn't pissed away a fortune, you could do this for free, couldn't you?"

"Leo, shut up. It's over and done. I live with my mistakes and I don't throw your screwups in your face."

Leo rode in circles around the tall, thin, attractive photographer. "Maybe you're right."

"I could name your screwups. They all have feminine names."

Leo stopped the bike. He put his feet on the ground and walked the few steps to face Dennis. "So many women. So little time. Not that I'm in Charlie's league."

"Guess not. Charlie's dead."

"Did you get that asinine letter?"

"I figured you did it." Dennis smirked.

"Sure. I drove all the way from Richmond to Charlottesville to send a mailing with fake blood drops. Get real."

"I wouldn't put anything past you."

"No?" Leo's light hazel eyes widened. "Remember this: I'm not stupid. You were stupid. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Jesus, Denny, by the time you got off the merry-go-round you were broken. How could you do that?"

"Too loaded to care, man." Dennis's mouth clamped like a vise.

"I think you broke bad in high school."

"Leo, I don't give a damn what you think." Dennis turned his back on the shorter but more powerfully built man.

The others glanced over at the two men, then glanced away. Dennis and Leo were oil and water. Always had been.

"Shiny nose," Bitsy Valenzuela, in charge of makeup, called out.

Bonnie, ignoring BoomBoom-something she had perfected throughout high school-glided over to Bitsy.

Chris Sharpton picked up the orange cone she'd dropped when she thought the two were going to crash at high speed. Stationed at the entrance to the high-school parking lot, she put the cone upright. If anyone drove in they'd see the blaze-orange cone, see her and stop. She could direct them toward the rear. She stood there forlorn since no one drove through this early September afternoon. Many of the kids were behind the school at football practice.

"Listen, you two, we haven't got all day. Just get in position. Put the bikes down."

Finally obeying, both Bonnie and Leo approached one an-other and screeched to a halt.

"Put that bike down carefully, Leo, it's an antique," BoomBoom again commanded.

"No one is going to know if this bike is twenty years old or not. You're getting carried away with this," Leo said, but he did restrain himself from saying other, less pleasant things.

Bonnie laid her bike down, turning the wheel up just as it was in the original photograph. Leo's bike took more work. It stood on its front wheel in the original photograph as though the wreck had just happened. Harry, Susan Tucker, and a very subdued Marcy Wiggins set two blocks on either side of the front wheel. Since Leo would be sprawled on the ground his body would cover the blocks. They then braced the back side of the bicycle with a thin iron pole. As this was a balancing act, the two principals lay on the ground. The first time the shot had been taken, in 1979, the bike kept falling on Leo. The next day he was covered with bruises. Harry, Susan, and Marcy hoped they had secured the bicycle better than that but they also held their breath, hoping Nature would do likewise.