Sandtrap

By T. Jackson Stuart

Murder, Suspense, Sex, Comedy.

Sandtrap has it all, from biting satire to steamy romance to absolute horror. Readers should be careful not to blink, because either the killer or the punch line may be lurking just beyond the turn of the next page.

Can you guess which characters are suspects and which are only comic relief? NO FAIR PEEKING!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 16, 2002
• ISBN: 9780759696297

T. Jackson Stuart

Formerly a drugstore manager, Tim Cain, a.k.a. T. Jackson Stuart, has won several awards for poetry and has written newspaper columns as Rees Barker. Mr. Cain used his own personality as a model for Chief Mike McIntyre, and being "only 38," feels that there is still time for Major League scouts to realize they made a mistake in relegating him to the role of "fan."

Book preview

This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

© 2002 by T. Jackson Stuart. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 0-7596-9629-2 (Electronic)

ISBN: 0-7596-9630-6 (Softcover)

ISBN: 1-4033-3636-9 (Hardcover)

IstBooks-rev. 05/16/02

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chapter 1

Sam Harrell had come to accept his station in life. As head caretaker at Cypress Beach Golf Club he was little more than a common gardener, and considerably beneath the course’s clientele. But it was steady work that paid fairly well, which was more than his college educated brother could say, so Sam never let it bother him when the duffers chose not to notice his existence. He himself always waved or spoke to them, but the courtesy was seldom returned.

And so it was on the sunny April morning as Sam steered his mower down the fairway to the green on the eleventh hole. He waved at the pretty blonde lady sunbathing in the sandtrap. Well, maybe she was pretty. Sam really couldn’t see her that well, but he preferred to imagine that she was pretty. At any rate, she ignored him and he went on with his mowing. Uncle Ralph McIntyre owned the course and he had a standing order that clients were not to be disturbed unless it was life or death emergency.

Sam thought that maybe a sandtrap was an unusual place to sunbathe. But to Sam’s way of thinking, rich folks often did strange things, not the least of which was playing golf. He failed to see the amusement in hitting and subsequently chasing a little white ball all over the countryside in the hot sun, although he was thankful for all those people who did find it amusing, thereby providing his employment.

Suddenly realizing that tee times for early morning rounds were almost upon him, Sam shifted his mower into a higher gear.

Looks like the fairways will be a little narrower than usual today, he said to himself. I hope nobody complains to ‘uncle’ Ralph.

Quickly finishing the 18th hole, Sam hurried his mower toward the caretaker’s tool shed, his eyes scanning for his helper, Roy. It simply wouldn’t do to be working on the course while members and guests wanted to play. Most of them wouldn’t wait, so being in their way could be dangerous to say the least.

Roy! Sam shouted as he locked the door of the shed. Even before that singular word was completely out of his mouth, Roy appeared from behind a hedge wielding a shovel, across which was draped a four foot snake of indefinite species.

Before either of them could comment on the reptile, a piercing scream rent the air, apparently emanating from the far end of the golf course.

Do you reckon that means your friend there has a brother? Sam asked.

Maybe. Or it might be a ‘possum out of them woods yonder.

"Whichever, we’d better grab the rifle and head that way before ‘uncle’

Ralph hears the ruckus and starts one of his own."

***

Veronica Lynch was double amazed by her misfortune on the eleventh hole. To begin with, her second shot on the par four sailed deep into the sandtrap, short and to the left of the green. Complicating matters further, the ball had apparently struck another golfer, who now lay unconscious on the sand, obstructing Veronica’s lie. And then she noticed the blood staining the sand at the young woman’s head. Consequently, Veronica began emitting the screams heard by Sam and Roy. Fearing herself a murderer, she fainted before help could arrive.

CHAPTER TWO

By the time Mike McIntyre arrived at the sandtrap on the eleventh fairway, quite a crowd had gathered. Referred to as Chief Mike by most of the citizenry of Cypress Beach, Mike, too, had been lured to the area by ‘uncle’ Ralph’s dream of creating a new resort community on the Georgia coast. In Mike’s case, however, Ralph actually was his uncle.

Ralph McIntyre was a successful land developer who found a great challenge in the notion of carving a resort area out of swamps and marshes. There were certain environmentalists, however, who thought alligators, snakes, and waterfowl to be considerably more important than hotels, tennis courts and golf courses, and, thanks to their attorneys, Cypress Beach was a project that had not yet been finished and quite possibly never would be.

Mike McIntyre, in addition to being Ralph’s favorite nephew, was a former minor league baseball player driven from the game by a shoulder injury. It was the ‘favorite nephew’ part that held him in good stead when Cypress Beach needed a police chief.

Mike slowly edged his way through the assembled onlookers. He still didn’t consider himself a real cop, even though his previously athletic build had deteriorated far enough that he now looked like a man who’d had more than a passing acquaintance with numerous doughnut shops. It takes more than a badge and knowing the way to the nearest Krispy Kreme, wherever you are, to make a person a cop, and Mike, until now, had yet to witness a dead body outside of a mortuary. And he was in absolutely no hurry to do so. Maybe this was all a bad dream, from which he would awaken momentarily. After all, these things simply never happened in Cypress Beach. Maybe if it took long enough to work his way through the crowd the woman would recover and walk away. No, the dream idea was a better one; he might even wake up back in the Texas League with all his limbs intact.

Emerging from the spectators, Mike finally caught a glimpse of the blonde laying lifeless in the sandtrap. An utterance escaped his mouth unbidden.

Michelle!

Reality suddenly blurred into remembrance as Mike’s thoughts were transported back to the evening when he and Michelle first met. He sat at a table in a bar in Ft. Lauderdale with a couple of fellow players in the Florida State League and three of the local ‘diamond darlin’s,’ thinking how boring this scene had become. Mike had been an all-state quarterback in high school as well as a star baseball player, so girls who chased ballplayers had been frequent companions for him for nearly as long as he could remember.

And then the waitress came to the table. She was a stunning blonde with bright blue eyes and a wide smile revealing a perfect set of white teeth. She was friendly, but apparently not intent solely upon flirting with every ballplayer who glanced in her direction, planning to catch at least one for herself.

Finally, a girl who’s different, thought Mike.

He watched her as she went about her work. Each time he sighted her faded Levi’s walking away he thought his heart would surely follow. Three hours later when those same Levi’s lay empty on the floor of his hotel room he was convinced that he was really in love at last. He had guessed correctly that a little bit of heaven had been wrapped in that pale denim found in a Ft. Lauderdale bar.

A husky male voice roused him from his reverie.

Mike, that isn’t Michelle. It was Police Lieutenant Buddy Lee Jackson who spoke.

Huh? Oh, I mean, who is she?

I don’t know. There’s no identification on her. But it isn’t Michelle.

How the hell would you know? You’ve never met her.

You’ve showed me her damn’ picture a thousand times, Mike. It isn’t her.

Mike hesitated to take a closer look at the body. Does anybody in the crowd know her?

No. At least, not so far. What are we gonna do about this, Mike? We don’t have a detective division.

‘We never needed one until now. I guess you and me are it. Or, then again, maybe you’re it."

Thanks. Loads. I came here to get away from this kind of stuff, Buddy Lee grumbled.

I know. But we’d better at least act like we know what the hell we’re doing. How’d she die?

Looks like she was hit on the head. Doc Mitchell still hasn’t shown up. There’s something strange about her, Mike. Most of her clothes had been ripped off, and the word ‘harlot’ looks like it was branded around her neck … like with a bent coathanger or something.

Was she raped? Even the question made Mike uneasy.

It doesn’t look like it. She still has her underwear on and it isn’t torn or bloody. No bruises visible. Doc will be able to tell for sure, but my guess would be ‘no’.

Who found the body?

Mrs. Lynch. Thought she’d killed the girl with an errant golf shot.

Hell, errant golf shots are a whole lot more appropriate in Cypress Beach than murder. Especially one like this.

So, how do we handle it? Buddy Lee wanted to know.

Well, for starters we don’t tell anybody, especially not Uncle Ralph.

And then what?

Why ask me? You’re the one who went to the police academy. All the cop shows I ever watched tell me we have to find out who she is, I mean, was, before we can determine a motive.

Dr. Parker Mitchell chose this moment to stage his arrival. Stage being appropriate terminology; Parker Mitchell entered every scene as though it were a Shakespearean drama and he was the star of the show. Although in Atlanta, Savannah, and Augusta his medical skills had left him too small a fish in too big a pond, Mitchell had brought with him to Cypress Beach a haughty arrogance which held him aloof from the other, more subservient locals and created a confidence in his abilities on the part of the resort’s visitors.

Chief McIntyre, why was I summoned here? You know I never see patients outside my office. And besides, this young woman is quite obviously beyond my help.

She’d be beyond your help if she had a skinned knee, Buddy Lee almost said. Almost, but he stopped himself in time. As much as he disliked the finding of unknown bodies in sand hazards, he liked snobs even less. And he preferred the company of almost any corpse to that of almost any doctor, especially this one.

And speaking of snobs, another was about to barge onto the scene. Buddy Lee saw her coming and decided he had left something in his car … the old one, his first car, the one still parked in his parents’ barn back in Ohio.

Jennifer Lynch had waited most of her young life to become a snob, and now that Ralph McIntyre had bought much of the land on which he planned to build Cypress Beach from her widowed mother, she had the opportunity. And no one, living or dead, could say that Jennifer Lynch did not make the absolute most of that opportunity.

Chief McIntyre, I demand to know why my mother has been detained here. She was to meet me for lunch an hour ago. Isn’t the shock of finding a body considered enough inconvenience for one day?

Mike searched his mind for a reply. He hadn’t ordered the woman detained; he wasn’t a real cop, and all of this was new to him. Jennifer glared at him as he stammered for an answer. She was a rather pretty girl, with golden hair and brown eyes, but her snooty attitude made her one of the most unappealing girls he had ever met.

I didn’t come here to be ogled, Chief. I want to know why my mother has been detained. She found the body, which should have been your job in the first place. If you were really doing your job, there probably wouldn’t even have been a body to be found. Your incompetence aside, certainly Mother has endured enough.

She can go for now, but I’ll need to see her later.

That will be quite impossible. She has already told your men that she doesn’t know anything about any of this.

You mean, it would be inconvenient, corrected Mike, becoming annoyed. It will be possible, and I will be around to see her.

If you continue to harass my mother, I will see that you are removed from office.

As Miss Lynch stormed away, Mike mused If only you could, Jenny. Some days, I almost wish you would. Today being one of them. In addition to her disdain for common, working people, especially servants, public or otherwise, Jennifer Lynch resented Mike for his knowledge of her occasional nocturnal visits to the bartenders’ quarters at the club. She complained to him, or about him, whenever their paths happened to cross. Why did the outfield walls in Midland have to have been so hard and solid?

As Mike was about to drift into one of his frequent interludes of re-living the better times in his life, he heard Sometimes I almost feel sorry for that little bitch. Buddy Lee’s voice again.

‘Why is that, Buddy Lee? She doesn’t like you too much, either."

Because, every time it looks like rain, she has to stay inside. With her nose in the air like that, she might drown in a summer shower.

Both men laughed at the old joke as they returned to their work.

CHAPTER THREE

The rest of the day proved to be uninformative for the Cypress Beach police force. The body was removed to an examining room at the local medical center, but Doc Mitchell, who had used the distraction caused by Jennifer Lynch as an opportunity to find more important things to do, had steadfastly refused to leave his office during the afternoon.

Mike McIntyre arrived at his apartment shortly after six o’clock that evening, and was somewhat surprised to find Wendy Martin in his kitchen, preparing steaks. He probably should have expected to see her, small town gossip being what it is. She most likely wanted to get the latest on the day’s unusual events. On those few occasions when he found her waiting in his apartment, however, he was always surprised. He was surprised that he had given her a key, and frequently forgot that he had. The two had dated sporadically since his arrival in Cypress Beach, but only sporadically.

Wendy, while she currently worked as a waitress in a nearby diner, adamantly maintained that she would accomplish bigger and better things in the future. To that end, she refused any commitments with the men she dated, insisting they would hinder her career. Despite this tendency to be somewhat cold in personal relationships, she somehow managed to become nearly irresistible when she wanted something from him. The greater her desire for help or information, the more fervent her passion became, making her periods of irresistibility even more difficult to escape.

He should ask her to leave. Mike knew he should.

After all of the times she had informed him that cooking and cleaning were demeaning to a woman, here she was, fixing dinner in his kitchen, without having been asked. She must want something really big this time.

He should tell her to leave. Now.

He didn’t.

Mike! I didn’t hear you come in, Sweetheart!

‘Sweetheart’, she called him. This was going to be something major. He should tell her to leave before she got him all tangled up.

Hi, Wendy. I didn’t expect you.

So? Wendy wrapped her arms around Mike, and kissed him ‘hello’. Am I not a nice surprise?

SHE kissed HIM. She must want to buy Colorado, and needed a co-signer.

It was too late now. Mike had to find out what she wanted, and he knew she’d never come right out and tell him. When she got it she’d simply leave. So he kissed her in return, and mumbled something to the effect that she certainly was a pleasant surprise.

As soon as their kisses started to become more heated, Wendy drew back a bit. ‘Here it comes,’ thought Mike. Instead, Wendy took his hand.

Dinner’s almost ready. Why don’t you go in and sit down and I’ll bring it in.

Mike couldn’t help but wonder just how much trouble he was in. Wendy most likely would have been a great spy.

***

Buddy Lee Jackson received much the same treatment upon arriving at his home. In his case, though, it was his wife, Julie, who greeted him. Then, too, Julie Jackson was a warm, caring, supportive woman who greeted her husband with kisses and a waiting dinner because she loved him, and because her mother had instilled in her a belief that that was how things should be. Buddy Lee always received the same greeting, regardless of the day’s eventfulness. Well he knew how lucky he was to have the life he had, mostly because he had been lucky enough to find Julie before he had a chance to mess things up too badly.

***

So, what’s for dessert? Mike asked. He might as well see how badly Wendy wanted whatever it was she wanted.

Wendy replied by perching herself on his lap. I’ll give you a hint, kiss, it isn’t apple pie.

She must be wanting to buy Colorado AND Utah. A few more kisses and

Mike no longer cared what her motive was.

***

What do people around here do for fun? Jerry Ray Butler posed the question to two young girls seated at a nearby table. His cousin Joe Evans sat next to him at the local pizza parlor. The girls sat by themselves, apparently interested in Jerry Ray’s attention.

They hang out in this place, replied Ashley, the older and more interested of the girls. Bor-ing!

"What do people who are too young to drink do on your planet?" This was Christy, the younger girl who spoke this time. Ashley glared at her for reasons Christy didn’t understand.

***

In Ralph McIntyre’s mansion on the north side of town, ‘uncle’ Ralph sat in his study reviewing plans for the project that had become Cypress Beach. He did so nearly every night, even though various court injunctions prevented continuation of the development. Ralph still viewed the project as one that would eventually be completed, which was one of the factors that had led to the breakup of his first marriage. Mary had taken their kids and returned to her family in Dallas.

So it was that Thelma Jean, his second wife, who now shared the mansion and fostered the dreams that Cypress Beach would, when finished, rival even Palm Springs as a vacation hotspot. It had to, so that maybe she’d get herself mentioned in his will, because she wouldn’t get anything out of the marriage, except a few more years of survival, otherwise.

In hopes of getting her name mentioned in that will, Thelma Jean was openly supportive of everything Ralph did. Or intended to do. Or hoped to do. She also rained upon him all the affection she wrongly believed had been missing from his marriage to Mary.

***

Buddy Lee?

Mmmh. Yes?

I want to have a baby.

I admit to bein’ kinda sleepy right now, but I think I’ve been doin’ my part.

That isn’t what I mean. I want your permission. To go off the pill, I mean.

Can’t we talk about that when we’re both awake?

I don’t think it will wait.

How long have I been asleep? You were only twenty-four the last I remember.

I don’t mean that, either. I forgot the other day. Julie searched Buddy Lee’s eyes, sleepy as they were, hoping to find approval in them, but fearing to find anger instead. Buddy Lee, I think I’m pregnant …

***

‘Here at Yankee Stadium today, folks, we will be privileged to witness the big league debut of Mike McIntyre, one of the most anticipated arrivals in recent years. Batting third and playing center-field today, McIntyre is expected to quickly blossom into one of the game’s brightest young stars, displaying prodigious power from both sides of the plate and possessing blinding speed on the basepaths

Many scouts say that Mike McIntyre reminds them of another M.M., Mickey Mantle. We ‘ll be back to talk to Mike after these important messages . . ,"

Mike? the soft, warm thing in his arms spoke. Oh, it was Wendy. It must be time to find out what she had wanted earlier.

Yes, Wendy?

Who’s Michelle? I mean, when we’re making love, you always call me ‘Michelle’.

Mike was glad the room was dark so that Wendy couldn’t see the tears trying to well up in his eyes. Michelle is my wife. Ex-wife, I should say.

Oh. I guess I did know that you had been married, but I never heard you mention her by name before. What happened?

She left me. I guess she found me to be inadequate. Mike really didn’t want to talk about this.

Do I look like her, or something?

No. Not even close.

Do I feel like her? Wendy had now turned to face him.

No. Why all the questions after all this time?

I’m not sure. Wendy relaxed her aggression. It just … well, all my friends, I mean the girls I used to run around with, they’re all getting married or having babies. Sometimes it makes me feel kind of lonesome.

Mike found it difficult to control a sudden urge to chuckle. So that’s what this is all about? You’re going to domesticate yourself so we can become more of a couple?

Well, at least you seem happy about it.

In the clear light of day we’d both probably back out. I just figured you had come over to find out about Cypress Beach’s instant crime wave.

I did want to talk to you about that, too. In private.

Ain’t nobody here but you and me.

Chief Mike, you know my brother Jeff is a bartender at the club? suddenly Wendy was serious.

I know Jeff Martin. I didn’t know he was your brother. What about him? The name reminded Mike of Jennifer Lynch’s tirade the previous afternoon.

He lives there at the club. I think he may have seen something that could help you.

Did he tell you that?

No. He kind of hemmed and hawed and it didn’t make enough sense to me to mean anything, she admitted.

Okay, I’ll talk to Jeff tomorrow.

Don’t tell him I told you anything, though, okay?

All right. I’ll just question everybody who lives at the club. It would probably be a good idea, anyway.

Good. Wendy snuggled closer. Now let’s talk about ‘us’.

As far as ‘us’ is concerned, talking isn’t first on my agenda right now, Mike whispered against her neck.

***

At about one a.m. the phone rang in the bar at the Cypress Beach Golf Club. It was some girl, asking for Jeff Martin.

While these various love scenes took place in Cypress Beach, whether the love was real or contrived or imagined, convenient or hidden, a young woman lay on an examination table at the Mac Medical Centre. She was dead. Nobody knew her name, or why she was even in Cypress Beach. It was uncertain how she had died. It was even more uncertain why she had died. Or who had killed her. But in the excitement of an event that was so unexpected, the few residents of Cypress Beach who knew about the event forgot the one thing they shouldn’t have forgotten: Somebody had been murdered. A killer was on the loose in Cypress Beach!

CHAPTER FOUR

Mike McIntyre arrived at his office before eight the next morning, which is very difficult for anyone who has ever been a ballplayer. He sat down with a cup of coffee, and tried to plan out his day. As soon as he wrote Jeff Martin’s name on his legal pad, his mind reverted to Wendy and her alleged domesticity, which had at least lasted through breakfast.

Even though Mike doubted Wendy would stay interested in a more serious relationship for long, he surprised himself by being somewhat pleased with the idea. He remembered how Michelle had always rushed to meet him at the door. How she had taken interest in every aspect of his life as no one else ever had. How good it felt waking up next to her. How much he wished she had never left him.

In walked Buddy Lee, wearing a smile so broad, it looked as if he were trying to swallow his own ears. Good morning, Mike. In kind of early today, aren’t you? Say, I was thinking about our case, he proceeded without waiting for Mike to return a greeting, That lady had to get here somehow. We don’t have an airport, a bus station, or a train station, so, either she had to drive here, or someone had to bring her here.

So, if we can find the car… Mike began.

Or, whoever brought her here, Buddy Lee continued, ‘We’ll at least get a lead on who she was."

‘We need to talk to