Stuart Woods - Santa Fe Edge

She had been in her office for only a moment when Lance rapped on her doorjamb.

“Welcome back,” she said.

“Same to you. Anything to report?”

Holly took a deep breath. “Yes. Maybe you’d better sit down.”

“Come into my office,” he said.

She followed him down the hall and sat on his sofa, next to the chair where Lance liked to sit during meetings.

“So?”

Holly decided to just blurt it out. “Teddy Fay is still alive,” she said.

Lance put his face in his hands. “I didn’t hear that,” he said. “And I’m not going to hear the rest of what you have to tell me.”

“I met him in Orchid Beach,” she said. “I had no idea who he was.”

“He would have planned it that way,” Lance said. “Do you think he planned to meet you?”

“No, I’m certain he didn’t, but I’m also certain he knew who I was.”

“Is he still there?”

“No, he left town shortly before I did. I stopped by the cottage he rented to say good-bye to his girlfriend, a state police officer named Lauren Cade, who I knew in the army. The house had been cleared.”

“How do you know it was him?”

“I didn’t until the last day. I found him interesting, and a little odd. He was an excellent cook.”

“He cooked dinner for you?”

“For my boyfriend, Lauren and me.”

“Good God.”

“When I stopped by the cottage to see Lauren, there was a big safe in a closet that I didn’t know about. He had left a note on the safe for the landlord. The note said the combination was T-E-D-D-Y.”

“Any idea where he went when he left Orchid Beach?”

“None,” she said. “He could be anywhere.”

“He’s not anywhere,” Lance said. “He’s somewhere. Have you met Todd Bacon, who’s the station chief in Panama?”

“No.”

“He has a special interest in finding Teddy,” Lance said. “Call him and tell him he’s done in Panama, to report to me here as soon as he can clear his desk and pack his things.”

“Am I going to be involved in this?” she asked.

“Do you want to be?”

“No more than I have to.”

“You can brief Todd on your experience with Teddy in Orchid Beach,” Lance said. “After that I’ll try to keep you out of it. I know you have some sympathy for him.”

“I’ll do what I can to help,” Holly said, but she wasn’t looking forward to it.

Tip Hanks stood outside the clubhouse at Las Campanas, hitting chip shots to the practice green. About one out of six was going into the cup, but, of course, he was hitting from the same position. Still, he was getting better at sinking chip shots, and that could win tournaments. Tip had had a number of top-ten finishes this season, and one in the top five. He was determined, in the next season, to start winning, instead of just making a good living.

The season playoffs were just ahead-four tournaments-and the winner on points would win the FedEx Cup, and that was a ten-million-dollar check. Tiger Woods was out with a knee injury, so it was anybody’s to win.

A member ambled by and stopped for a moment to convey his condolences. Tip was momentarily surprised. He had been shaken by Connie’s death but, he reflected, more shaken when he had been arrested. It had not been much of a relationship beyond sex, and he wondered-not for the first time-if God had somehow short-changed him in the emotions department.

He walked over to the driving range, teed up a ball and snapped into his brain’s swing mode, which obviated any other thought, even of his dead wife. He hit a bucket of balls with his driver and fairway woods and was satisfied with the results. He had improved his driving a lot this season by shaving ten yards off his length and hitting fairways instead of hooks and slices.

He had lunch in the bar, then put away his clubs and went home. When he got out of the car he saw an envelope propped against his front door. Inside was a letter.

Dear Mr. Hanks,

My name is Dolly Parks, and first of all I want to tell you how sad I was to hear of Connie’s death. We had met only recently, but I liked and admired her.

We met when I posted a notice on a bulletin board at the farmers market in town, seeking an assistant’s position, full- or part-time. She called me, and we had lunch, and she told me that the two of you had discussed hiring someone to deal with the bills, the house maintenance and travel arrangements. I was supposed to start next Monday.

I don’t know if you are still interested in hiring someone, but I would appreciate the opportunity to talk with you about it. My number is below.

Her résumé was attached. She had held office and secretarial jobs in New York for a period of ten years or so.

Connie and he had talked about hiring a secretary, Tip remembered. He picked up the phone, called her and asked her to come to the house for a drink in the late afternoon.

He showered and shaved and dressed, then took an hour’s nap. By the time he had roused himself and dressed, the doorbell was ringing.

Dolly Parks was unexpectedly attractive-small, blond and shapely. She had dressed in informal but appropriate clothes for her interview. Tip invited her into his study. “Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” she said. “Maybe later.”

“I liked your résumé,” he said. “Sounds like you’re a well-organized person. When did you last see Connie?”

“At the end of last week. She called the day before she… died and said that she had checked my references and that I was hired.”

“At what salary?” he asked.

“Twenty-five dollars an hour, health insurance, three weeks’ vacation after six months. She said that she thought you would need me only half a day, but if the work mounted up, maybe longer. That’s why we agreed on an hourly rate. I have one other client in Santa Fe, but I work for him only a couple of hours a day, three days a week.”

“That sounds fine to me. I’m leaving on Tuesday to play a tournament. Can you start tomorrow? I’d like to get you familiar with the computer banking I’ve set up.”

“Of course. I’d be glad to.”

“Come on, I’ll show you some ropes now.” He went to his computer and began explaining the banking program.

“I’m already working with that for my other client,” she said, “and for the same bank, so I can hit the ground running.”

“That’s good news,” he said. “My caddie, Mike, has been doing the travel arrangements, but he’s not very good at it, so I’d like you to take over that. I have an airplane and fly myself, so there won’t be much in the way of airline reservations, except for Mike, if he’s meeting me at a tournament. He lives in Dallas.

“My checks from the PGA are deposited into a savings account at the bank here, and I make computer transfers to the checking accounts, one for business, one for household and personal. I’ll make you a signatory on those two, so you won’t need my signature to pay bills, and I’ll transfer funds into them as needed. My accountant does regular audits on my accounts, so he’ll catch you and send you to prison if you steal.” Tip laughed, and she laughed, too.

“I understand,” she said. “Do you travel with a laptop?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I can scan the bills and e-mail them to you for approval. After a while, I’ll learn your spending habits, and you might want to give me a little more freedom.”

“Probably.”

“I would like you to check every credit card bill, though, to see if the charges are genuine. There’s a lot of credit card fraud around, and you don’t want to fall victim to that.”

“Right. I’ll also want you to keep track of my tax-deductible expenses, so you can give them to my accountant at the end of the year. I don’t like to deal with taxes any more than I have to.”