Kathy Reichs - Code

“Golf must be part of the answer!” Shelton insisted.

“Shhh!” I ordered. “Let me think.”

The boys exchanged glances, but complied. I needed to do my thing.

Pesticide. The number eighteen. A golf course. Those parts fit together. Staring at the puzzle with a fresh outlook, I willed other pieces into place.

“The eighteen is within a circle.” I traced it with one finger. “Black, like a hole.”

“Golf again!” Hi interjected. “The eighteenth hole!”

I hand-shushed him. Hi rolled his eyes. Shelton rose and began dancing on the balls of his feet. Ben just watched me.

“The eighteenth hole of a golf course.” My finger moved to the top of the image. “So what does this K mean?”

“A strikeout,” Hi offered. “Or a symbol for the Ku Klux Klan—sorry, Shelton. Maybe a very ‘special’ breakfast cereal?”

Shelton squinted, thinking hard. I cycled the data in my brain, but came up blank. K ? Alone? What could it mean?

“What about Kiawah,” Ben offered quietly.

“Could be,” Hi said. “Kiawah Island has incredible golf courses.”

“Maybe.” But I wasn’t sure. Could it be that simple? “We need more to go on.”

Shelton bumped his fists together in a rapid tattoo. “We’re running out of time.”

“Kiawah’s Ocean Course is supposed to be dope,” Hi commented. “It’s hosting the PGA Championship soon. That tourney is extremely hard to get.”

Something clicked.

My gaze dropped to the iPad screen. One element remained.

Surrounding the black circle. A larger, blue circle.

“Like the ocean,” I breathed.

“What the what?” Shelton asked.

Ben smiled for the first time all afternoon. It was nice to see. When he deigned to flash his pearly whites, Ben went from sullen boy to charming young man. I much preferred the latter.

“Guys, we did it.” My hands popped into a roof-raising celebration dance. Even Coop was impressed, and started spinning in little circles.

We’d broken the Gamemaster’s clue. We could still win.

“Kiawah Island,” I proclaimed. “And I know just where to look.”

CHAPTER 22

SEWEE KNIFED THROUGH the surf, tossing spray from her bow.

Ten p.m. We’d waited as long as possible.

We couldn’t poke around the city’s most famous golf course with people still out and about. But time was not on our side.

The clock expired in two hours. Whatever needed doing had to happen before then.

Everyone wore dark-colored athletic clothing. Nothing too sinister—the Ocean Course was famous, and even late at night we might be seen. No sense looking like criminals if we intended to commit a crime.

I sat in the bow, one arm looping Coop’s neck. The wolfdog hadn’t been on the guest list, but his whining had threatened my escape. Kit had continued snoring, but I’d decided not to risk more doggie noise.

Ben piloted, of course. He’d opted for the ocean route rather than risk the twisty, confusing Intracoastal Waterway after dark. Our target was close, a mere two islands to the south.

Hi and Shelton were huddled in the stern. No one spoke. Sneaking out early was trickier than our usual post-midnight jaunts, and the boys seemed on edge.

A crescent moon lit our path down the coast. The breeze was mild, but brisk. I wore a blue LIRI windbreaker, which I’d leave in the boat.

We’d cruised past Folly Beach and reached the Stono Inlet when a dark shadow appeared on the horizon just ahead.

Kiawah is a long, thin barrier island operated primarily as a high-end resort. Exclusive and private, with roughly a thousand permanent residents, the slender strip of land stays relatively quiet. Five world-class golf courses stretch from the densely wooded interior right up to the Atlantic.

The Ocean Course is the most famous of the lot.

Ben motored along the shoreline, passing a series of manicured holes. Minutes later we spied a large structure rising just beyond the first row of dunes.

“I’ll pull as close as possible,” Ben said in a low voice.

“Eighteen is right on the beach,” Hi whispered. “Near the clubhouse. No one should be in there this late, so we shouldn’t be spotted.”

The three-story clubhouse was U-shaped, with massive, towering windows facing the ocean. Exterior lights burned, revealing a putting green at the base of the building. Between the halogens and the moonlight, visibility was excellent.

“We’d better hope nobody’s home,” Shelton said. “Anyone in there will have a front-row seat.”

Ben cut the engine and dropped anchor. We slipped off our shoes and waded ashore, Coop splashing along beside me. Cresting a low sandbank, I was relieved to note an absence of residences close by. So long as the clubhouse was empty, we’d be okay.

The green was flat, oval, and groomed to perfection. A deep sand trap ran along its far side. A short hedge at its tip was all that screened it from the clubhouse.

Hi moved directly to the hole and reached inside.

“Nothing.” He pounded his leg with a fist. “What a letdown.”

I double-checked, hoping Hi was somehow mistaken. Ridiculous, but I was sure this was the place.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” said Shelton. “Let’s bounce before security shows up.” Hi nodded, but neither Ben nor I moved.

“It has to be here,” I insisted. “The clue led directly to this spot.”

“ If we read it right,” Shelton countered. “And who knows, maybe the whole game is a put-on. The Gamemaster might be full of crap.”

He’s not. And I’m not wrong. We’re in the right place. I can feel it in my bones .

Something didn’t add up. But what?

Ben was watching me. “What are you thinking?”

“The timer gave us seventy-two hours.” The problem crystallized as I spoke. “But we could’ve solved the puzzle at any time. What if we’d cracked it earlier, and come during the day? The Gamemaster couldn’t just leave something inside the hole. People golf here all day, every day.”

“That’s true.” Hi pursed his lips. “So what are you thinking?”

“We’re not wrong.” I peered into the hole. “We just need to go a little deeper.”

“Don’t tell me you want to dig up this green!” Shelton stomped a foot. “Don’t say it! I’m begging you.”

“Whoa.” Hi ran a hand over his scalp. “Tory, that’s some pretty hefty vandalism. These greens take years to mature. They’re worth tens of thousands of dollars.”

Ben kept silent, face inscrutable. But his body was as taut as a snare drum.

“The clue points to the hole itself,” I said. “That’s all we need to excavate.”

“Wait!” Hi’s face lit up. “My metal detector is still in the boat!”

Ben snapped off a nod. “Grab it. We can scan the turf before doing any damage.”

“Good idea,” I agreed. “Go.”

As Hi lumbered back over the dunes, Ben trotted to the clubhouse and peered inside. Coop ran beside him, quiet now, in stealth mode.

With nothing to do, Shelton and I sat on the green. For minutes I heard nothing but waves crashing on the beach and the whine of mosquitoes.

Shelton slapped his arm. Scratched. “If Hi doesn’t find anything—”

“We leave it alone.” I raised both palms. “Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that. No sense trashing the place just because we’re frustrated.”

Ben and Coop reappeared first, and dropped down beside us.

“The coast seems clear.” Ben rubbed Coop’s ears. “The hound agrees. At least, he didn’t act like anyone was inside.”

Moments later Hi returned, device in tow.

“Scan the area around the hole,” I instructed. “If that strikes out, we’ll sweep the whole green.” My eyes found Shelton’s. “If that doesn’t work, we call it a night.”