“Didn’t there used to be a mirror there?” Conner asked.

“Yup,” Freddy agreed. “Carefully placed by some reprobate to hide the treasure that lay beyond. Till I had the sense to move it.”

“And you discovered-mildewed tile?”

“No. A peephole.”

Conner’s lips parted. Suddenly, all those pros pressing their faces against the wall took on an entirely new perspective.

“We think it was drilled for a phone line or something,” Freddy explained. “But you can see straight through to the ladies’ locker room!”

Conner rolled his eyes. “What a pack of juvenile delinquents you guys are. Get a life already!”

“When did you become such a stick-in-the-mud?” Freddy asked. “I thought you were the ‘gonzo player of the PGA.’ ”

“This isn’t gonzo. This is Porky’s II.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So you disapprove. I’ll note that on the record.” Freddy winked. “Wanna take a look?”

“Well, if you insist.” Conner pushed the other pros aside and pressed his left eye against the tiny hole in the wall. “I’m having a hard time seeing anything…” He blinked and refocused, trying to let his eye relax. “Wait. I’m getting something. It’s… It’s…” He drew in his breath. “It’s the puke green doors to the women’s stalls! Be still my heart!”

Freddy jerked him away from the wall. “If you’re gonna be sarcastic, just leave.”

“Sarcastic? I’m serious. I saw the inside of the girl’s bathroom! Now I can die happy.”

“Yeah,” Freddy shot back, “you’re playin’ the wiseass now. But wait till some women show up. Then you’ll be beggin’ for a chance to peer through my peephole.”

“It’s going to be a long wait.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

Conner patted Freddy on the shoulder. “No women in the Masters tournament, remember? I think they give that locker room to the caddies.”

Freddy was crushed.

John paced around the green of the eighteenth hole. A damn fool place to be in the middle of the night. Conner must think he fell off the edge of the earth by now. He should have just said no and left it at that. Hadn’t he had enough aggravation for one night? And there was still that puzzling sight from yesterday to ponder. The last thing he needed was to be marching around the golf course after hours. Still, the note said it was urgent…

He turned around in a small circle, scanning the horizon, all 360 degrees. Why did it have to be such a dark night? The moon was mostly hidden behind the clouds. That could be a bad sign. Rain could really mess up a golf tournament, especially one as tightly scheduled as the Masters.

The thought brought a chuckle to his lips. What was he thinking? They couldn’t have rain at the Masters. The board of directors would never allow it. There were undoubtedly several regulations expressly forbidding it.

He heard a soft footfall several yards behind him. Or thought he did…

He whirled around. Was something moving? Or was it just the clouds behind the trees, creating the illusion of movement? It was so difficult to tell.

John suddenly realized he didn’t like being here and didn’t want to be here any longer. He should have known better than to come. The whole thing was starting to give him the creeps. He was going inside. Right now.

He started marching down the fairway. Maybe it still wasn’t too late to catch up to Conner, although odds were by now he’d picked up some floozy and fed her that song-and-dance about how he’d “waited all his life for a woman who could make him forget golf and dedicate his life to medical science…”

“Leaving so soon?”

John froze in his tracks. The voice came from somewhere behind him.

“Seems a shame. We haven’t even had a chance to chat.”

Slowly, John turned to face the person speaking to him. Why was he suddenly so damn scared? There was a trembling in his knees that he didn’t seem to be able to stop. It had been a mistake coming out here. A stupid, stupid mistake-

“So it’s you,” John said, when he saw who had joined him.

“Indeed it is. And we have the fairway to ourselves.”

“How lovely.” John pursed his lips, trying to mask his growing panic behind a shroud of anger. “What’s the point of all this, anyway? Why did you drag me out here?”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“I suspect we have nothing to talk about.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’ll bet you are,” John replied. He strained his eyes, trying to get a better look. The person standing only a few feet away from him was holding something. Something that glistened faintly. “But I don’t think talking would accomplish anything.”

“Surely we can come to… some sort of arrangement.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is there nothing that would tempt you?”

“Not in the way that you mean.” John drew up his shoulders. “Look, if it’s just the same to you, I’d like to get out of here-”

“Please don’t rush. I’ve only just arrived. And it’s such a long walk back to the clubhouse.”

“All the more reason to start now.”

“Please-give me one more chance.”

John didn’t have to pretend any longer. His fear really was starting to be replaced by anger. This had gone on too long already. “One more chance for what?”

“To help you understand. To see things from my perspective.”

“That, my friend, is never going to happen.”

“You’re certain about that?”

“Absolutely certain.”

A sigh. “Then I guess there really is nothing more to say.”

John started to turn away. “Glad you’re starting to see things my way.”

“But there is one more thing I must do.”

The glistening shape rose up so quickly John didn’t know what was happening. He heard a sudden slicing sound, like someone was swinging a scythe through the air just beside his head.

And after that, John heard nothing at all.

Wednesday

After ten minutes of frustration and futility, Fitz tired of pounding on the door.

“I’m coming in! Like it or not!” Fortunately, Conner had failed to lock the door to his cabin. Fitz shoved the door open and pushed inside.

He was not particularly surprised to find that Conner’s cabin was a mess. Conner had, after all, been lodged here for over twenty-four hours. Coffee tables were overturned; chairs were upended. The floor was littered with dirty clothes, open pizza boxes, spilled beer cans.

Fitz kicked the pile of clothes nearest him. It capsized, spilling out a shirt, three socks, a belt, soiled boxers, a muddy golf shoe, and a bra.

A bra?

Fitz picked up the frilly black lace undergarment and let it dangle from his fingertip. He was beginning to understand why Conner hadn’t shown up in the locker room to collect his clubs.

Fitz stomped over to the closed bedroom door and pounded. “Conner! Are you there?”

A strained, barely audible voice responded on the other side of the door. “No.”

“Conner, get out here!”

“Don’ wanna.”

“Then I’m coming in.”

“You can’t. I’m not decent.”

“What else is new?” Fitz shoved the door open and kicked through the clothes and debris to the double bed. There were no heads visible, just two lumps under the top sheet-Conner, and a more petite lump to which Fitz didn’t believe he’d been formally introduced. “Conner, get your butt out of bed.”

“Don’ wanna,” the larger lump replied. “What time is it-five?”

“Five! It’s nine-thirty, you lunkhead! You’ve already missed the players’ roll call. And if you’re not on the first tee in twenty minutes, you’ll be disqualified from the par-three tournament.”

Suddenly, the larger lump sat bolt upright. Conner’s bronzed face and hairy chest poked out from the covers. “Twenty minutes?” He glanced at the lump on the other side of the covers, then ducked back under the sheet. “Sorry, sweetie.” Fitz heard a kissing noise. “Gotta go.”

“You’re leaving?” a softer voice under the covers squealed. “But you said I was the one who could make you forget golf and devote your life to medical science.”