Page 6

6

MICHAEL

I step into the opulent lobby of Seas the Day Country Club, instantly hit by the blend of saltwater air and expensive cologne. The chandelier overhead twinkles with a kind of ostentation only a place like this could pull off. My shoes click on the marble floor, and I notice a short man dressed in a mostly-white uniform, although I can’t imagine the length of his shorts is regulation. If he isn’t careful, his berries will show. As the door closes behind me, the sun hits just right, glaring off tiny pieces of glass all over the tiled floor. The short-wearing employee is standing in the middle of it all with a look of despair.

That is until he turns and sees me.

"Good morning, welcome to Seas the Day! How may I make your day fabulous?" The man’s voice drips with an accented desire, his dark brown eyes sparkling with mischief. His nametag reads: Devon.

"Detective Michael Borne," I say, flashing my badge locked on my hip. "I'm here to ask you a few questions about the incident down the road at Who's Your Caddy Country Club."

Devon's eyes widen, and he leans forward, his perfectly manicured fingers playing with the lapel of my suit jacket. "Oh my, a detective! And a handsome one at that. Other than answering your silly little questions, how can I possibly assist you?" His eyes roam from my head to toe sending an uncomfortable tingle up my spine. This guy is eye-fucking me harder than I am used to.

I suppress a sigh when he licks his lips. "I'm investigating a murder that took place there. I was wondering if you've heard anything—any rumors, suspicious activity, anything unusual."

Devon’s lips curve into a coy smile. "Rumors, you say? Honey, this place is a rumor mill. But murder? That's a new one."

"Anything you might've overheard could be helpful," I prompt, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"Well," he drawls, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Let me think. We do get some crossover between clubs—people gossiping in the sauna, whispers at the bar. But murder… hmmm." His eyes lock onto mine with a playful glint. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about something a bit more... exciting?"

"Unfortunately, this is pretty high on my list of excitement," I reply dryly. "Anything you can remember about odd conversations, strange behavior—anything."

Devon sighs dramatically, as if deeply disappointed. "Alright, alright. Let me think... Oh! There was that time Mr. Pembroke mentioned something about the Who's Your Caddy manager acting off somehow.”

“Off, you say?”

He nods. “Yeah, like he was hiding a big secret or something.”

Could be the secret of his lovechild working at the place, but I keep that to myself.

“But that was weeks ago,” Devon continues. He taps his finger on his chin and then eyes me again, dipping the tip of his index finger into his mouth.

I don’t look away, but I give him the most unamused stare I can muster considering the circumstances.

He clears his throat and shrugs, a look of disappointment evident in his expression. “Anyway… and there was Mrs. Shepherds complaining about some new staff being too nosy. Getting into her business, type of thing. Nothing concrete, just idle chatter, darling."

I jot down the names despite feeling certain they’ll both be dead ends. "Mr. Pembroke and Mrs. Shepherds. Got it. Anything else?"

Devon leans closer, his cologne invading my personal space. "You know, you have the most amazing eyes, Detective. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Once or twice," I say, keeping my tone neutral. "Is there anything else you can think of that might help with the investigation?"

He pouts, clearly disappointed by my lack of response to his flirting. "I'm afraid not. We're a peaceful bunch here—mostly just scandalous affairs and the odd financial dispute. Murder is a bit out of our league."

"Alright. If you do hear anything, please give me a call." I hand him my card, which he takes with a little too much enthusiasm, his fingers brushing mine. He jumps in place for a split second as if he’s about to piss himself, but then quickly shoves the card into his front pocket.

"Oh, I will, Detective," he purrs. "Don't be a stranger."

As I turn to leave, a movement catches my eye—a man in a dark suit lingering by the entrance, his gaze fixed on us. His expression is blank, but there's something in his eyes that sends a chill down my spine. He's been listening.

I start to approach, but in the blink of an eye, he disappears into the crowded lobby. With a sense of urgency gnawing at my gut, I carve a path through the thrumming crowd. But the room is no longer the peaceful lobby it had been a few moments before as waves of geriatric ladies, swinging tennis rackets, flock into the space. They are a complete gaggle of cacophonous sound as their loud laughter and joyous conversation seems to suck the air from the room. Despite my gaze being set on a singular figure, the man who had been listening to my conversation a few minutes ago, I lose him amongst the sea of humanity.

There’s no longer room to move and if I’m not careful, I fear I’ll be trampled. Keeping my hands at my sides, I slowly push my way through the crowd toward the front exit. More than once, my ass is grabbed, and I hear a giggle and exclamation of joy, but I don’t bother to turn and find out who the culprit is. Finally, I reach the door and squeeze my way through. I step into the sunlight, take a deep breath, and do my best to straighten my suit. Once I’m a few meters away from the exit, I stop and look back at the building. Something funny in my chest tingles as if I am being watched. It is hard to see if anyone is looking at me through the reflective front door, but I can't shake the feeling that Devon might know more than he's letting on. And that I'm not the only one interested in what he has to say.