Dead in Vineyard Sand Read Free Page A

you’ll like the guys and have a good time. I have an extra set of sticks you can use.”
    â€œI haven’t swung a golf club since I was seventeen,” I said, feeling my mouth water as I watched Zee put ice in two glasses, pour the glasses full of vodka, and add an olive to each. “I don’t think your friends will want to stand around while I look for my ball in the woods.”
    â€œOh, don’t worry about that. None of us will be playing par golf. Besides, you’re in good shape and I know you can hit the ball straight. I’ve seen you cast.”
    Zee sipped her drink, batted her eyelashes at me, smiled and licked her lips, and carried the glasses up the stairway to our balcony.
    I said, “I’m not sure casting and swinging a golf club use the same muscles.”
    Glen was full of the confidence that had probably helped make him rich by early middle age. “You’ll be doing me a favor and I’ll be doing you one. Once you taste the game, you’re not going to want to give it up. Trust me!”
    â€œWell . . .”
    â€œGreat! See you at Waterwoods at four, then! Make sure you wear a shirt with a collar.” He rang off while I was still trying to say, “But . . .”
    I looked at the phone in my hand, wondering if Glen’s phone technique had also helped him earn hismillions. Maybe if you acted like a deal was done, it really was done, often enough, at least, for you to come out ahead most of the time.
    I put crackers, cheese, and chutney on a plate and went upstairs to join Zee. The evening sun slanted over our shoulders, illuminating our garden, Sengekontacket Pond, and the barrier beach that carried the Edgartown–Oak Bluffs road. Beyond the beach, white boats moved over the blue waters of Nantucket Sound, and beyond them a hazy stream of clouds hung on the horizon above Cape Cod.
    Most of the cars had long since left the parking places beside the road, taking their owners away from the beach and back to their rented rooms and houses. Two ospreys circled above the pond, and a flight of cormorants passed above us, headed west.
    â€œNot a bad spot,” I said, glad as always that my father had been smart enough to buy the place when it had just been an old fishing camp, and that I had been smart enough to modernize it into a house fit for my family. I tasted my drink and told Zee about the telephone conversation.
    â€œWell, Vijay,” said Zee, “how much are you getting paid to play? You major players do get paid to show up, don’t you?”
    â€œIf I get paid by the stroke, I should do just fine,” I said.
    â€œIsn’t Waterwoods the place where Joe Callahan liked to play when he was still president? Pretty posh for a tyro like you.”
    â€œI don’t think the Waterwoods people care how good you are as long as you can afford the fees. And I don’t have to worry about those because Glen is picking up my tab.”
    â€œGood for Glen. But if you get lucky, just be sure you don’tget conned into making bets on who wins the next hole.”
    â€œI take that as a vote of no confidence in my golfing abilities, untested though they may be.”
    â€œAs long as you walk and carry your own clubs you’ll have my complete support,” she said. “I’ll even accept being a golf widow if it keeps you in shape.”
    I sighed. “How soon we forget. Why, just today I thought I’d offered ample evidence of my manly vigor.”
    She grinned. “Well, parts of you are in good shape. It’s the rest of you that needs work.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    The next afternoon I drove to Waterwoods. It was the island’s prettiest club, featuring tennis courts and a beautiful golf course that wound through low hills and overlooked marshes and a lovely great pond. If you didn’t want to play on the courts or fairways, you could have a fine meal in the