Jake chuckled.

And promptly lost the next five points.

The mood had shifted on both sides of the table.

“What's the score?” Hackerman asked in a high falsetto voice. “I forget.”

Jake grimaced. “Eleven to seven. I'm still up.”

“Not for long,” Hackerman promised, bouncing on his feet.

Most of the Olympic attendees had wandered over to the table, forming a large circle around it to watch.

They traded points until Jake was up seventeen to twelve. Then Hackerman won four in a row to close to within a single point. He was practically dancing around on the other side of the table.

All I could think of was how unbearable my husband would be if he lost. He hated losing to anyone, but losing to someone he couldn't stand would upset him to no end.

Fortunately, Jake took the next three points to get to game point. Then Hackerman won two more points so it was twenty to eighteen.

“Choking a little bit there, pal?” Hackerman asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Can't close it out?”

Jake started to say something, then took a deep breath and muttered something to himself that I couldn't understand. He served the little white ball over the tiny net and they volleyed back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, the crowd oohing and aahing at the appropriate times. Jake finally stepped in close to the table and smashed the ball down on Hackerman's side. The ball ricocheted off the table and popped up and smacked Hackerman right in the mouth before he could get his paddle up.

Jake dropped his paddle and raised his hands in the air like he'd just won a gold medal. The crowd erupted in applause. And Hackerman seethed.

“Guess I was able to close it out, wasn't I?” Jake said across the table. “Pal.”

“You got lucky,” Hackerman muttered.

“Right. Luck was what put that last ball in your mouth.”

There was nothing like seeing two grown men act like fourteen year olds.

Twice.

I took Jake by the elbow. “Congrats, killer. Now behave yourself.”

“I'm fine,” Jake said. “I'm fine.”

“No fighting,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “And be gracious in victory.”

He snorted. “He's lucky I didn't make him eat the paddle.”

Rhonda Hackerman materialized on the other side of Jake, clad in an electric blue tube top and denim shorts. “That was just...wonderful. No one ever beats Wayne.”

Even beneath the heat and sweat, I could see Jake's cheeks redden.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“The way you handled that paddle,” she said, placing a hand over one of her massive boobs. “That was just...incredible. You have tremendous...hands.”

“Yeah, he really does,” I said, irritated. “And you might need to go comfort your own husband.”

She made a face like I'd suggested dog poop for lunch. “Wayne's fine. He's going to need to cool off anyway. First loss I can remember in a long time for him.” She touched Jake's elbow. “But he's never played anyone as good as you.”

“Rhonda!” Wayne screamed. “Get over here!”

Rhonda frowned, then gave Jake one more smile before sauntering away.

“I might drown her,” I said.

“You were the one telling me to play nice. That only applies to me?”

“It does not apply in any way when some shrew is hitting on my husband.”

“Shrew?”

“Shrew.”

The crowd around the table dispersed and I lost sight of the Hackermans in the throng of people. We found bottles of water in the cooler and then headed into the clubhouse to get out of the sun. Jake went to use the bathroom when Wayne Hackerman stormed into the clubhouse, mumbling to himself.

He stopped abruptly when he saw me and his face contorted into a sneer.

“My husband is in the bathroom,” I said, hoping to hold him up. “He'll be out in a minute.”

He stared at the bathroom door, then shook his head, visibly disgusted. “Fine. I'll wait for him to come out before I go in.”

I didn't say anything and we sat there in awkward silence, the only noise the ceiling fan buzzing above our heads. I stole a glance at him. He looked upset and exhausted. I squinted, trying to picture him crouched down by our car, stabbing a knife into the tire. Surprisingly, I had a hard time visualizing it.

“Our car was vandalized last night,” I blurted out, waiting to see his reaction.

“Vandalized?” he repeated.

I nodded. “Someone slashed one of the tires.”

I didn't think he could fake the shock that appeared on his face. “Did you call the cops? Tell Delilah?”

“Not yet,” I said, shaking my head. “We just want it fixed.”

“You need to report stuff like that,” he told me. “We don't need any more trouble up here.”

“Any more?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

He stared at me like I was an idiot. “Harvey?” he said, his eyebrows raised. “Finding a dead body on the property isn't trouble enough?”

“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Yeah, that just seems different than having your tire slashed.”

He untied his bandana and mopped his forehead. “Trouble is trouble,” he said. “And we don't need none of it.”

“You've been coming here for a long time, right?” I asked.

He eyed me suspiciously, then nodded. “Yeah. Long time.”

“Do you know anything about a development nearby?” I asked. “Like condos or homes or something?”

He stared at me, trying to process my rapid change of subject. I didn't even know what I was doing but Wayne Hackerman seemed like someone who might know things. And I was desperate for information, especially when my husband wasn't around to prevent me from doing a little digging.

“Here?” he said. “No.”

“Were you friends with Harvey?”

He wiped at his forehead again. “What's up with all these questions, little lady?”

“I don't know,” I said. I decided to play to his ego. “I'm just curious. And you seem to know a lot.”

He nodded, as if this was the absolute truth. “I knew him, if that's what you're asking.”

“But were you friends?”

He scowled at me and I saw visions of his son making that same face. “I don't even know what that means.”

I hesitated, then said, “I'm just curious why you would've been arguing with him.”

His mouth puckered up. “What the hell are you even talking about?”

Jake emerged from the bathroom and stopped short of the sofa I was sitting on. He folded his arms across his chest and stared down Hackerman.

“I was just waiting to use the restroom,” Hackerman said. “Don't get your panties in a wad.”

“Panties. Little lady,” Jake said, repeating some of Hackerman's favorite words. He tossed a crumpled paper towel into the waste basket. “I feel like you may have some masculinity issues.”

Hackerman's face flushed. While I agreed with my husband, I was a little tired of seeing them fight.

“I heard that you were fighting with Harvey,” I said, ignoring Jake. Then I held up my hand. “Sorry. Not fighting. Arguing with him.”

The corners of Hackerman's mouth twitched. “Harvey and I got along just fine.”

“But were you arguing with him?” I asked. “Recently?”

“Listen, little lady, I don't have to tell you anything.”

“The sheriff thinks Delilah might have had something to do with Harvey's death.”

Hackerman froze and there was no mistaking the surprise on his face was genuine. “What? That's a load of crap!”

“I know,” I said. “So I'm just trying to figure out what was going on with Harvey before he died. For Delilah.”

“She ask you to do this?” His voice was gruff.

“No,” I admitted. “But I consider her my friend. And I'd like to help her.”

Hackerman stuffed his bandana in his pocket and cleared his throat. “Harvey and I, we ran into each other around the campground. I helped him out sometimes, moving stuff, setting things up. We watched a couple of ballgames together.” He shrugged. “I guess we were friends.”

“And friends sometimes argue,” I said.