Advantage Death: Murder at the Tennis Club

By Jerry Gee Williamson

After a painful breakup with her boyfriend, young tennis pro Annie MacGregor leaves Arizona and relocates to a glamorous tennis club in Southern California. There she encounters a diverse group of people, some of whom are famous. Among her new acquaintances is the senior pro at the club, a tall, handsome man of Mexican descent, who tends to disappear mysteriously on Sundays.

Although Annie enjoys her pupils, and finds the club a beautiful place to work, she is bothered by the tension she senses. At first she believes it will go away, for how, she thinks, could anyone remain tense for very long in such an attractive setting? But as the weeks go by, she realizes that the tension has increased. Tempers are frayed, and the numerous sexual intrigues that are going on at the club are not helping the situation.

Annie feels more and more uncomfortable. She begins to wonder if her move to California was a good idea. Then her Arizona boyfriend turns up, and a murder takes place. Annie finds herself with a choice to make as she and her friends face horror at the club.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 15, 2008
• ISBN: 9780595624461

Jerry Gee Williamson

Jerry Gee Williamson is a native of San Diego, California, and a graduate of Stanford University. In her youth, she played tennis competitively and was nationally ranked. Today she lives in San Diego with her husband, Tom. They have four children and twelve grandchildren.

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Prologue

The deaths at the tennis club shocked us, although perhaps they shouldn’t have. Looking back now, I’m surprised that any of us believed the situation at the club that summer was a normal one. There was so much tension there. Everyone was aware of it. I know I sensed it from the moment I arrived. But none of us ever thought it would lead to murder.

Also, in spite of the tension, nothing really bad took place at first. Perhaps that was one reason we were lulled into a false feeling of security. Life went on fairly routinely for a couple of months until suddenly the terrible things began to happen.

This is a story about love and murder at a glamorous tennis resort in Southern California, but it all began one New Year’s Eve in Arizona.

Chapter 1

The countdown to midnight was about to start at the country-club dance. It was New Year’s Eve, and I felt my usual surge of optimism. I always feel optimistic as those final seconds tick away; I always look forward to a wonderful new year. As New Year’s Day approaches, I know that human kindness will flood the earth in the months to come and that nothing will go wrong. Later, of course, as the year unfolds, I am often unpleasantly surprised.

Angus and I were standing on the dance floor holding hands. I squeezed his hand and snuggled up against his strong right arm. His arm my safe defender. I loved that line. When I was in sixth grade, I had sung it in a song: With Willie I will roam; his arm my safe defender, his breast my happy home.

Streamers with balloons attached to them crisscrossed above our heads. At least three hundred people packed the room. The country club is a lively place on New Year’s Eve.

As I leaned in closer to Angus, someone in the churning crowd bumped against me. I turned my head to the right, to look behind. There was no problem. In the excitement of the moment a woman behind me had tripped.

Sorry, she mouthed. I smiled at her and nodded.

I felt joyful and confident. The new year would arrive in just a few seconds and it would be a wonderful one. I started to look up at Angus’s profile — always a pleasant experience — but for some reason I turned my head and looked down to the left instead, behind his back. It was an idle look, but it had far-reaching consequences. When I looked behind me this time, I noticed Angus’s left hand. I was shocked to see it firmly cupped on the rear of Lila Cunningham.

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Seven, six, five . . . The bandleader had begun the countdown, and the crowd was chanting with him. Four, three, two, one.

Happy New Year, Annie! Angus cried, as he reached for me to give me a kiss.

In a daze I let Angus kiss me. Then I saw that Lila’s unsuspecting date was kissing Lila. He had not been so stupid as to look behind her back during the countdown. Now the band had begun to play Auld Lang Syne, and people were starting to sing. Angus and I joined in — I, softly; Angus, in a booming voice. We sang those familiar words: We’ll take a cup o’kindness yet for Auld Lang Syne. Angus Graham and Annie MacGregor were singing Auld Lang Syne together, for the second year in a row, in a country club in Arizona. But the year before, when we were at the New Year’s dance, Angus couldn’t take his hands off me, and neither of us had heard of Lila Cunningham.

When the song ended, Angus turned to kiss Lila. I discouraged a kiss from the man on my right. For the first time that I could remember, I felt no optimism during the early minutes of a bright new year. I knew right then that I would never eat a bite of food again, or sip a frothy margarita, like the one I’d left behind me on our table. A big, heavy stone had crashed into my stomach, and I knew it was lodged there forever. Never again would there be room in my stomach for food or drink.

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That New Year’s Eve party took place three and a half years ago. At that time I was the assistant tennis pro at the country club, and Angus was a first-year resident in anesthesiology. Lila Cunningham was a tall, sleek stunner with black hair, dark, sparkling eyes, and very white teeth. Lila didn’t seem to know about the danger of ultraviolet rays, for her skin was deeply tanned. She was out of date in another way as well: she still wore mink. For a minute that night I was sure she was going to light up a cigarette, but then I remembered she no longer smoked. In November she had quit smoking. Lila was a tennis player, although not a very good one. Recently she had explained to me that tobacco smoke did awful things to the lungs and was therefore something an athlete should avoid. She said Angus had told her that. I wondered why he had neglected to tell her about the sun’s rays. Perhaps he just couldn’t bring himself to criticize such an attractive tan.

Angus was a frugal man, but he did belong to the country club. He had joined it just after he graduated from med school. His parents had paid the initiation fee. They were good people. They weren’t trying to spoil him, and he wasn’t spoiled. They’d felt he needed a refuge from his work, a congenial environment where he could escape from pressure and get some exercise.

Angus’s parents lived in northern Arizona, but occasionally they came south to visit him. They always acted glad to see me. According to Angus, they liked me and approved of me. Since they were both of Scottish stock, they especially liked my name. In truth, I am not as Scottish as the name MacGregor would suggest. Other nationalities are represented on my family tree. Still, I was born a MacGregor, and that fact does assure me membership in the clan.

Most nonScottish people admire the Scots, and the Scots certainly admire themselves. In this country they are famous for their achievement and respectability. As a group they are intelligent, hardworking, and honest. And they pass along their sterling traits to succeeding generations. I am well aware that the Scots are admirable, but I also know they can be exasperating. At midnight that New Year’s Eve, I decided they were a highly overrated race.

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At the time of that party, Angus and I had been going together for nearly nineteen months. He had entered my life on a warm evening in June. I was twenty-three years old back then, the new young pro at the club. I gave him a tennis lesson that evening, and our relationship took off from there.

In those early days several things attracted me to Angus, but what attracted me the most were his good looks and his sincerity. I had only to look into his eyes and I knew he was sincere. Partly because of those eyes, I believed everything he said. I’ll have to give him credit, though. When he made his declarations, I’m sure he believed them, too. He promised he would always be there for me. He told me he wanted to take care of me when I needed caring for, to comfort me when I needed comforting. His words had a beautiful cadence, an almost Biblical ring. He said he was in love with me. I told him I was in love with him.

I began to spend the night at his small apartment, but I didn’t move in with him. Had I set up housekeeping with Angus, my dad would have had a stroke. He disapproved of such arrangements. He also disapproved of overnight visits, but we had reached a compromise on those. We had agreed that if I would live at home, if I would make home my official residence, my dad would stop lecturing me about those visits. I know it was hard on him to remain silent, for he had strong views regarding the customs of today. My mother had died when I was thirteen, and my father and two older brothers had done their best to guide me through my teenage years. My dad was a traditionalist, but after my mother died he, like my brothers and me, had adjusted to our new, nontraditional way of life. Together the four of us had run the house, taking turns with household chores. We had made up the rules as we went along, and it had worked out fairly well. By the time I met Angus, however, the situation in my home had changed. By then one of my brothers was married, and both had moved away, so my dad and I were muddling on alone.

After Angus and I had known each other for a little over a year, the word marriage began to creep into our conversation. Soon Angus was suggesting Scottish names for Scottish children. Did I like this one? That one? Would I mind living on the west coast? He thought he’d like to live in California. How many children would I want to have?

I was trusting and contented. Angus and I had an understanding that we would get married after he had completed his residency. He seemed to feel he should finish his medical training before he became a husband. He approached life in a serious, methodical way, but I understood and I didn’t mind the wait. I felt no compelling need to marry. Angus was big and handsome, and I loved him. I knew we would marry someday, and that eventually we would start a family. At some future date a little Duncan would join us, or a Douglas; a little Nancy, or a Bonnie Jean.

Then, in late September, Lila arrived at the club. Her father had recently opened a large department store in our city. He already owned a chain of them, located throughout the southwest. Lila arrived, ready for swimming and tennis, and for whatever else might be of interest.

Very quickly she discovered Angus. He didn’t have much time for recreation, but soon he seemed to be spending most of his few free daylight hours with her. While I gave tennis lessons, he and Lila frolicked together in the pool. They also played tennis together — doubles matches, where they could hug each other in congratulation when they won, or hug each other in consolation when they lost. I still spent the night at his apartment once or twice a week. I considered Lila a pain, but I wasn’t worried. I felt nothing serious would come of their friendship. I trusted Angus, and I believed all those things he’d told me. I could still picture our little Scottish children.

Then Angus began to look unhappy and confused. I was too dumb to realize what that meant. But New Year’s Eve, at exactly ten seconds to midnight, I knew. I just wondered how long it had been going on.

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I don’t recall much about the next hour. The party continued, but I was barely conscious. I do remember that I smiled a lot. I felt that if I kept smiling no one would know about the big, heavy stone inside of me. I smiled at Angus. It was important that he not know. I smiled at Lila. It was very important that she not know.

Finally the lights in the room dimmed, signaling that the party was over. As we all started toward the foyer of the club, I noticed I had my margarita glass in my hand — my full margarita glass. I had picked it up from the table as we left; I was that dazed.

Lila’s date had gone ahead with Lila to claim her coat. Angus walked beside me into the hall, but then he left me and went to get my coat. I remained in the crowded foyer, waiting for him to return. I thought he was taking a long time. I looked around for him and saw him standing with Lila across the room. Her date had disappeared. Lila, now encased in mink, was gazing into Angus’s eyes, and he was gazing into hers.

I wanted to turn and run the other way, but the crowd swept me forward. When I came to a stop, I found myself directly behind Lila. Since she is a tall woman and I am of medium height, Angus had only a partial view of me. Or he would have, if he’d been looking.

I was still clutching my margarita glass, and the margarita itself was splashing over the rim. I knew I had to get rid of that splashing margarita. I couldn’t drink it — I was never going to eat or drink again — but I had to get rid of it. I looked at it and suddenly a thought came to me, the solution to my problem. I emptied the glass, in its entirety, down the back of Lila’s mink.

For a second I couldn’t believe I had done such a thing. I waited for a sense of shame to sweep over me. I waited for several seconds, but I felt no shame. A feeling of satisfaction swept over me instead. Then I began to wonder if anyone had witnessed my crime. Lila didn’t seem aware of what had happened, and neither did Angus. I turned and glanced around the crowded hall. At the far end of it I saw an elegant, silver-haired woman staring at me. She had aristocratic features and a haughty expression on her face. She looked right into my eyes from across the room. I had never seen her before, and I have never seen her since. She must have been a guest at the club that night. As she looked at me with raised

eyebrows, she lifted one slender, elegant hand. She had formed the A-OK sign with her fingers, and she gave me that familiar, quick salute. Then her haughty expression softened, as she smiled at me — and winked.

Chapter 2

Angus was the soul of innocence when he saw me to my door that night. He hugged me, without checking to see if I wanted a hug; expressed surprise that I’d chosen to go to my own home rather than to his; and said he would be over soon to watch the bowl games.

My brothers, Jim and Alex, turned up around 10:30, along with Jim’s wife, Diane, and their two young sons. Then the New Year’s Day ritual began. It was the day when men relaxed and women worked, but that was fine with me since I am not an ardent football fan. My sister-in-law joined me in the kitchen to help with the New Year’s brunch. In the last ten and a half hours I had had one fretful hour of sleep and nothing to eat or drink. So far, I had not shed a tear. After a while Angus appeared, and the men and my two young nephews settled down in the living room in front of the TV.

Within minutes they were whooping and cheering over a kickoff return. During the first quarter of whatever game it was they were watching, Diane and I served brunch. Angus cleaned his plate with gusto. At halftime, when the meal was over and Diane and I had washed the dishes, I motioned Angus out into the empty patio. I pointed at two patio chairs, and we both sat down. Angus waited for me to speak. He didn’t seem to know what I was going to say.

Have you been seeing Lila? I asked. I mean, besides when you’re together at the club?

I expected Angus to tell me the truth, for it was not like him to lie. He prided himself on his honesty.

Yes, he said, looking wary.

I took a deep breath. Are you sleeping with her?

No, he said. Then, after a pause, he mumbled, Not yet.

The no eased my pain a little. I was glad to hear that no. But I can’t say I was glad to hear the ominous words that followed.

Will you stop seeing her? I asked.

Angus looked down at his hands. Then he looked at me. I almost felt sorry for him. There is nothing sadder to see than a big, troubled Scot looking at you with misery in his eyes. He hadn’t answered my last question, but he didn’t need to.

Well, Angus, I guess this means we should end our relationship — you know, our love affair. My voice cracked as I finished that sentence.

Angus’s face crumpled. Annie, please try to understand. Please bear with me. If you’ll just stick around, I think it will be all right in the end. This is really painful for me.

I’m sure it is, I said.

I still love you, Annie.

I saw no reason to comment on that statement. I stood up, and Angus stood up, too. Now, I said, I’m going to my room.

I knew that I was about to cry, and I didn’t want my tears falling in front of Angus. You’d better get back to the TV, I told him. Halftime’s almost over.

Angus’s ruddy face turned white. I’ll go home, Annie. I couldn’t stay here now.

He put his arms around me and held me. I buried my face in his chest. Oh, Annie, Annie, he said.

Men have a habit of saying those three words to me. I don’t know why, but they do. They’ve done it all my life.

When I got to my room, I threw myself down on the bed. Then I cried and cried. I cried so long and hard I began to hiccup and gasp. Diane heard me and knocked on my door.

Annie, are you all right?

Yes, I said. Come in.

It’s something to do with Angus, isn’t it? He looked like a ghost when he left.

I nodded. It’s OK, Diane. I’ll be OK. We’ve broken up. It’s over, but I’ll be all right. I just have to cry some more, and then I’ll be all right. This crying is just something I have to do.

Diane looked worried. I’m here if you need me, Annie.

I nodded again, and smiled. I know that. And thanks. Please tell Dad I don’t feel well. Tell him I’ll be here in my room the rest of the day.

I cried for another hour. I couldn’t let go of my grief. I kept remembering the music and words of Auld Lang Syne, and that would inspire more tears. Finally I grew exhausted and fell asleep. I slept off and on throughout that afternoon and night.

When I woke up the next morning, I knew there was something else I had to do: I had to find another job, and preferably one that was not in Arizona.

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Tennis has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My father is a tennis pro. He is also the proprietor of a little tennis shop, which is situated beside some public courts in our city. Next to the shop, there grows an old tree that I liked to climb when I was a child. The shop is a popular hangout for players of every age, but the people who come into it have to abide by its rules. My dad strings racquets there, offers advice — about life as well as about tennis — and maintains order. He is old fashioned. He will allow no profanity or four-letter words spoken in his shop. That’s because there are often little girls present, and he doesn’t believe they should hear such words. Surprisingly enough, the young male tennis players clean up their language when they come through the door. My father has a florid complexion and a knobby nose. He blusters a lot, but no one seems to mind. Everybody loves him, including me. He says it’s nice that I have inherited my mother’s pretty nose instead of his.

My childhood home is located near the shop. I grew up on the courts, as did my two older brothers. Our mother encouraged the three of us to play tennis, although she did not play herself. She was a housewife, and I think she enjoyed the role. She was domestic, but she also liked to read. She instilled in my brothers and me a respect for literature. Yet no one would ever call us intellectuals. My mother was a gentle person, small and delicate. To some people my parents must have seemed a strangely matched pair, but they loved each other very much. I’ve told my dad that I still remember my mother and always will. He likes to hear me say that. He had feared I would forget her as I grew up.

My brothers played in the local junior tournaments when they were young, and on their high-school team. To my dad’s disappointment, however, they both quit competitive tennis after high school. Today they are still tennis players, but they play only for recreation.

I began entering tournaments when I was nine, and I kept on entering them. Before long I had filled the house with trophies. I went to college — to the University, just across town — on a tennis scholarship. During my teenage years my dad used to tell people I was the real tennis player in the family. Whenever he said that, he would smile with pride. One day, after I’d begun teaching at the club, I heard him say it again. I knew he was still proud of me, but this time there was a hint of sadness in his voice, for he knew that I, too, no longer played competitive tennis. He knew it was a miracle that I could play at all.

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My best friend, Charlotte (Tap) Tappan, and I were NCAA women’s doubles champions two years running while we were in college, and the last year we played together we helped our squad win the team title in Division I.

My father used to stress ground strokes with me when I was a child, but I was never very interested in ground strokes. He pointed out that unless I was serving I would need them in order to get to the net, and he added that sometimes my opponent would get there first, and then what would I do if all I knew how to do was volley? Today, because of his persistence, I have ground strokes that no one could fault. They are efficient and reliable. I can hit with pace and accuracy off either side. And I have an effective lob. My dad thought lobs were important, too. If the occasion calls for it, I can uncork a topspin passing shot that will leave a net rusher feeling foolish. Or I can lob over that net rusher’s head. But I still prefer to be the net rusher, for I remain a volleyer at heart. During those years when I was actively competing, my volleying ability carried me pretty far in singles, but in doubles it took me to the top.

Tap and I were famous for a while. Or at least we were well known to those who followed intercollegiate tennis. Tap was a beautiful blonde, with goddess-like proportions and a spectacular serve-and-volley game. She, too, was a doubles specialist. She was so good she could play with almost anyone and win. I wasn’t just anyone, however. I was good, too, and together we were practically unbeatable.

Tap and I had known each other since we were eight years old. Her father had brought her to my father for tennis lessons soon after her eighth birthday. The Tappans belonged to the country club, but Mr. Tappan chose my dad as Tap’s instructor for he knew that when it came to teaching beginners — especially children — John MacGregor was the best pro in town. I remember Mr. Tappan as a very nice man. He was devoted to his daughter, and he was always kind to me. He died when Tap was twelve. He left her and her mother gigantic trust funds. Tap told me about them one day when we were in high school. I’m not sure how a trust fund works, she said, but I know it’s a handy thing to have.

Tap and I started out as singles players. Most children do. During our childhood we often played singles against each other, in practice and in tournaments. But even when we competed against each other in tournaments, we got along. We kidded around and made up jokes. We were in tune on the court and off. After a time we discovered doubles. The year we both turned twelve, we began playing together as a team. We clicked from the very beginning. If my memory is correct, we won our first tournament that year.

Tap’s and my friendship continued as we grew older, and our doubles victories continued, too. When we were playing in the junior divisions, we always entered singles events as well as doubles, and we both gained national singles rankings. Our singles rankings were respectable enough, but when it came to doubles we were Number One. Few other teams could touch us; we dominated the field. By the time we were eighteen, we had won three national junior doubles titles. We had also won a record number of doubles matches while playing on our high-school team. Then we began our next winning phase, in college. I’m afraid we didn’t study very hard at the University, but we managed to scrape by with passable grades. We lived for tennis. We had plans to play doubles together after graduation. Our sights were high. We were aiming for a U.S. Open title someday, and for a Wimbledon crown.

Those ambitious plans, those lovely dreams, ended with the accident. I was riding in the back seat of a friend’s car one September night at the beginning of my senior year. There were five of us in the car. We were driving down a four-lane highway — in the fast lane, and moving along at a good clip — when, up ahead, a car coming in the opposite direction suddenly leaped the divider and came straight at us. Before our driver could swerve, the other car ploughed into us. The man driving it was drunk.

The drunken driver of that car was killed, and two people in our car were killed. Although I was one of the lucky ones, who survived, I didn’t come out of that wreck unscathed. I had no head injuries or internal injuries, but my right leg was smashed. It took some major surgery and many months of therapy before I could play tennis again. I’m sorry to say I never finished college.

The following September, a year after the accident, I finally got back to tennis. After a few weeks of practice, I discovered I could play as well as I ever did. The only problem was I couldn’t play competitively anymore. I could make it through one long, hard match, but then I would have to give my leg several days of rest. My weak leg was not up to the rigors of tournament play. I found that I could teach tennis, however. My leg was strong enough for that.

The accident left me with