Bound To Be Dead: Cozy Mystery Bookshop Series Book 3 by Tamra Baumann (best historical fiction books of all time txt) 📗

and sign themselves up on the reservation portal. Some of the older guys like to play together, though. They bet for beer afterward and aren’t really serious.”

That doesn’t help. “How far in advance, can people make reservations?”

John tilts the screen my way. “We only accept two weeks. And sometimes we block out times to give the public a chance at a decent tee time too. It all depends on your uncle’s mood that week.” He points to the keyboard. “The arrow keys will take you back a week at a time. And since you’re here, I’m going to grab a bite to eat. If anyone needs help, tell them I’ll be right back.”

“Sounds good.” I tap on the arrow key and start sifting through the sea of names. This is when I could really use Brittany’s help. She probably would have written a quick program to find patterns for me. I miss the kid already. I hope she’s not in any trouble.

Shaking off my sadness, I force my brain to focus on the task at hand. I know the man I’m looking for is probably over forty because Nat said he had a dad gut and wore dad golf clothes. And he has brown hair. He might have played last weekend because Pattie was here in town then. But then, maybe he just says he’s playing golf and never does. Then what would I do?

Dylan asked for the same data, so I should just forge on and hope I figure it out as I go. I pull up the tee times from last weekend and dive in. I’ve only been back in town for about six months and was gone since college, so I don’t recognize all the names, but some I do.

John returns, pulls a golf magazine from the rack, and then sits on a chair in the shoe section to read. Should I ask him what some of the men look like, or would that give away my secret mission? Do I really care if John knows what I’m up to? At this point, my dad’s depending on me, so I’m going to risk it.

“So, hypothetically, if I were looking for a man who was described as having a dad gut and brown hair, who is probably married, and might play golf every other weekend, who would I be looking for?”

John tosses the magazine aside and joins me at the computer. “The member database has pictures of everyone if I don’t already know what they look like. Assuming they’re a member.”

“If someone played golf that much at the same place, it’d be cheaper to be a member, right?”

“Yeah. By a lot. Chances are it’d be a member.” John pulls out a laptop from under the counter. He opens it and pulls up the member database pictures arranged alphabetically. While John goes through the reservations, he calls out the occasional name for me to find the image. None fit the bill so far. Either too old and gray or too young and slim.

After a few minutes, John stops and tilts his head. “Look up Mike Sanchez, Doug Poole, and Art Bishop. They all play with Joe Kingsley pretty regularly.”

Kingsley, the bane of my store’s existence. He’s always on me to comply with his silly merchant association rules. “When I was in last, asking about the golf ball through my store’s window, you said Kingsley didn’t play often.”

John nods as he continues searching through tee times. “He sponsors the high school golf team and recently started playing again. I was told he used to be good, but he had a shoulder injury last year, so he took some time off.”

“Oh. Then that makes sense.” I scroll down and find Mike’s picture first, and he’s close but not a match, but the other two could be candidates. I write Art’s and Doug’s names on a stray slip of paper sitting on the counter. “These two guys would fit. And Kingsley too, for that matter. Have they played every other weekend?”

“Let’s see.” John arrows down through the weeks. “None of them are exactly every other week, but they all play often. Kingsley can play for free with the high school kids when we have open times, so it’s hard to tell how often he actually plays.”

“So you don’t make the kids sign in?”

John shakes his head. “The only rule is that they have to have one of the coaches from school with them when they play. We just note it as team play.”

Huh. Joe is married to Emily, my former biology teacher. He might be a fit. The other two men I don’t know anything about. I shoot pictures of the three men from the laptop’s screen to my phone. Maybe I can get Nat at The Blue Hippo to take a look and see if she recognizes any of them.

“Thanks, John. Are you sure you don’t want me to drop off the printouts? Dylan won’t mind.” Probably.

John’s forehead crumples. “Are you sure?”

I nod as I cross my fingers behind my back. I’m pretty sure Dylan won’t mind. And maybe I can just give it all to Madge, so Dylan will never know where the pages came from.

“Okay. Thanks. I’m going to San Francisco to meet a friend right after work, so it’d save me a stop.” He reaches under the counter and pulls out a stack of pages. “Good luck with whatever it is you’re up to. And tell Dylan your uncle will never know.”

“Will do. And I owe you a meal. You name it, and I’ll make it.”

John’s whole face lights up. “Do you know how to make jambalaya? I love that.”

“Child’s play. I’ll drop it off along with some beignets for dessert. Does Friday work?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll be by at closing, then.” I grab Cooper’s leash and scoop up the pages. “Thanks again, John!”

He smiles and lifts a hand. “Can’t wait till Friday.”

Cooper and I head out to the parking lot. After my dog is strapped in, I take a quick