Due Justice

Chapter 17

Tampa, Florida

Sunday 5:30 a.m.

January 17, 1999

It wasn’t hard to get up for my golf game with Dr. Aymes Sunday morning since I never went to sleep. I was in no mood to play, but it was way too late to cancel. George was more fortunate; he was snoring softly when I crept out of the bedroom. I snatched the Sunday papers off the front porch and searched for further news of Dr. Morgan. I didn’t have to look far. While the disappearance of a once prominent surgeon may not command front page coverage, his death did, although still below the fold.

No closer to solving the mysterious disappearance of Dr. Michael Morgan, Police Chief Ben Hathaway released further details of the investigation Saturday. He said police found Dr. Morgan’s scheduling notebook inside his home and are in the process of interviewing everyone with whom Dr. Morgan had contact in the weeks before his disappearance. Because there are no signs of forced entry or burglary, police believe Dr. Morgan may have been killed by someone he knew.

And maybe someone we all know, I thought. The rest of the article repeated the information printed in the earlier stories. Incredibly, there was no link, and no speculation, connecting Morgan’s disappearance with the unidentified body. How could they be so dense?  Wasn’t it obvious to everyone?  The timing, the disappearance, the homicide?  It just didn’t make sense to me and I couldn’t figure it out. But George wasn’t up yet so I could discuss it with him, and the dogs are good listeners but somewhat short on analytical ability. I couldn’t wait any longer. I left the paper propped by the coffee pot and dashed out to Great Oaks.

  You know you’re playing with serious golfers when they have a 6:30 tee time on Sunday. Only a serious player get on the course at prime time. I was paired with Dr. Aymes. The other two golfers were Grover’s partner, Fred Johnson, and another doctor I didn’t know. We walked up to the first tee promptly at 6:30 and the men were 240 yards down the first fairway four minutes later.

I thought Dr. Aymes was just being snide when she said my ten handicap was high for the group. She wasn’t. These golfers were going to end up waiting for me, and it put me at an immediate disadvantage. It wasn’t until later that I figured out she had deliberately invited me knowing I wouldn’t be able to compete, even if I’d had a clear head for the game. In my present state, I was about to get killed. On the golf course, that is.

Marilee hit her first drive from the blue tee about 220 yards. I held my head high, hit from the red tee, and landed just about thirty yards behind her. We got into the cart and she drove.

“Nice shot, Willa. But if you want to play with the better golfers, you’ve got to shoot from the blue tees.”

“Not today,” I said.

“No guts, no glory.”

“Maybe, but with this group, I’ll be lucky if I can keep my head above water.”  My temples were starting to throb, a dull pounding resembling the beat of a Johnny Mathis tune. I put my sunglasses on as well as my visor. The dim pre dawn light was too much. I was just thrilled with the idea of bright, glaring sunshine in half an hour.

“Just hit ‘em straight, and you’ll beat these two. I always put them together because they end up in the woods and it saves time.”  I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or just being Marilee.

She zipped the cart over to my ball and we were off. I finished the hole with a double bogey and felt grateful. Marilee missed a par by a five foot putt.