William Bernhardt - Final Round

Conner paced the length of the eighteenth hole, then made a beeline for the clubhouse. He should just head back to his cabin, he thought to himself. He really wanted to be alone right now. At the same time, he also felt a serious need to partake of an adult beverage. Maybe several.

Conner found a table in the corner by himself and ordered multi-ple martinis. Somehow, he had to get a grip on himself, to try to make some sense out of the day. How could this have happened? What was John doing out there?

And why the hell did Conner have to be the one who found him?

He downed the first martini in a single swallow, then bit down on the olive. He was trying to shock his system back to life, trying to shift his body back into first gear. But it didn’t work. No matter what he tried, his mind’s eye kept revolving back to the same grisly image.

His best friend, buried in white sand. His face streaked with blood.

John, he thought, and the word throbbed like someone was pounding a hammer against the inside of his skull. John !

Conner was nursing his fourth martini when he saw Jodie McCree rush into the clubhouse.

Jodie! he thought. Here he’d been swilling and feeling sorry for himself, and Jodie hadn’t even crossed his mind. He considered running after her, trying to comfort her. If he could just get his legs working again…

As it turned out, the decision was made for him. As soon as Jodie entered the clubhouse, she made a quick visual sweep of the bar area, spotted Conner, then burned a path in the carpet toward him. As she neared, Conner saw her red-blotched face, streaked and wet. Her hands were trembling. She stared at him, as if willing words she could not speak.

“How-“ she said, in a voice that sounded like rusty hinges. “How-”

Conner could only shake his head. He certainly couldn’t respond to the unspoken question; he had no answers to give. There was only one thing he could give, and so he did. He stood up, put his arms around her, and hugged her tight.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. He felt her tears spilling onto his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

Nearly an hour later, Conner and Jodie were seated in a small lounge adjacent to the clubhouse bar. There had been no healing; there hadn’t been nearly sufficient time for that. But there had at least been acceptance. They had both come face-to-face with the horrible truth, and were beginning to try to figure out how they could possibly go on with their lives.

“I-I just don’t understand it,” Jodie said. Her voice was still raw from crying. “Everyone loved John.”

Conner agreed. It didn’t make any sense.

“Have you heard anyone complain about John? Anyone nursing a grudge?”

“Never,” Conner said firmly. “Not in three years on the tour.”

Jodie’s hands clenched. “Then who could have done it? And why?”

“I don’t know,” Conner replied, trying to be comforting. “But the police are working on it…”

Jodie frowned. “I talked to Sergeant Turnbull. I gather you did, too?”

Conner nodded.

“So, Mr. Oddsmaker, what would you say is the likelihood that he’ll be able to find John’s killer?”

Conner shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t want to distress her unnecessarily, but…

“That’s what I thought,” Jodie said firmly. For the first time, Conner realized that she was not simply devastated-she was angry. “About zip. The golf world is so insular, so closed-door. Unless the murderer has an attack of conscience and confesses, we’re never gonna know.”

Conner wanted to argue with her, to give her some comfort. But the truth was, he agreed with her conclusion.

All at once, Jodie reached over and grabbed Conner’s hand. “Conner, I want you to try to find out who killed John.”

“Me? Are you kidding?”

“I wouldn’t kid about this, Conner. This is serious.”

“I agree. Which is why I shouldn’t have anything to do with it.”

“We have to know-”

“Look, Jodie, if you don’t trust the cops, fine. Hire a private investigator.”

“A private investigator wouldn’t be allowed through the front gates at the Augusta National.”

“Still-”

“You, on the other hand, are already on the grounds. You have access to all the players and staff. You’re an invited guest. Everyone will expect you to hobnob with the players and participate in all the activities.”

“Surely you don’t think I’m going to continue the tournament after this!”

“You have to,” Jodie implored. “It’s the only way.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re John’s oldest and best friend. You knew him better than anyone.”

“Maybe so, but-”

“You know you owe him.”

“I’m well aware of that, Jodie. I owe John for almost everything of any value in my whole life. But what you’re talking about-”

“He would’ve done it for you.”

Conner stopped short.

“If the situation were reversed, I mean. John wouldn’t have slept till he found out who killed you. That’s how much he loved you, Conner.”

Conner didn’t reply.

“Conner,” she said softly, “I realize I haven’t seen as much of you as I once did, since John and I moved to Georgia. But I remember a time…”

She didn’t say anything more. She didn’t have to. They both knew what she was talking about. She was forcing his mind to turn back the calendar pages to a time past-a time when Conner and Jodie had been sweethearts. He had been crazy for her-his first love. In fact, he had introduced her to John-a gesture he later regretted. It all seemed a million years ago now. Still, when he peered into her sea-blue eyes, it was hard to forget how much he had once loved her. Impossible, really, because a few of those sparks still lingered.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please.”

“All right,” Conner said. “I think this is a big mistake. But I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.” Her lips turned up in the first smile he had seen on her face all day. “Thank you so much.”

Conner brushed a tear from her cheek. “How could I say no to a beautiful face like that?” He sat up straight. “Fitz told me John didn’t come back last night?”

“It’s true. That’s so unlike him. I was worried sick. Still, I thought he would turn up, and I didn’t want to generate a lot of bad publicity for no reason. I couldn’t figure out-“ She drew in her breath. “Of course, now I understand. He must have been killed last night.”

“Seems likely,” Conner agreed. “When did you see him last?”

“Around nine or so, I’d guess. Just after dark. He left our cabin.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No, and I didn’t ask. I assumed he was going out to the driving range to knock the balls around. Like you guys usually did.”

“Did he do anything… unusual? Say anything out of the ordinary?”

Jodie’s eyebrows knitted together. “Now that you mention it, he did say something. Something strange. I didn’t recall it until you said that.” Her eyes focused on a spot on the floor.

“What was it?”

“I can’t remember. But it was something odd. Odd enough to capture my attention, at least for a moment.” She clenched her fist. “My short-term memory is going to hell.”

Conner placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “It’ll come to you later. When you’re not trying to think about it. When it does, tell me, okay?”

“Of course.” She took his hand in both of hers. “Thank you, Conner. I really appreciate this.”

“No need. It’s the least I can do-”

He stopped short, but they both knew what he was going to say, and once again, Conner saw unbidden tears crease the flushed mounds of her cheeks.