Chapter 4: Visit from Reggie

It was still dark when I arrived at the maintenance shed to start my first day of work, but the place was already humming with a small army of guys climbing all over a dozen Greenskeeper Riding Mowers and more than two dozen walk-behind mowers of various descriptions and uses. These were housed in the giant pole barn along with assorted four-wheel ATV’s and Gator utility vehicles, all getting ready to head out.

Melinda was already in her office going over some papers with a couple of guys while Steve was busy talking with another older man as they hunched over one of the mowers. When he finished, he seemed to notice me and began looking around for someone else. Then he gestured at another guy and started over to where I was standing.

“Randy, this is Daniel,” he said quickly. “He’s with you today. Show him how to do it right.” Then he was off to talk to some other guys.

“Good to meet ya,” Randy said as he extended his hand. “You a freshman?”

“I will be in June. Summer school,” I replied. “So what do we do?”

“Right now, we wait. The mowers will get out of here in a few minutes, then we’ll start with cleaning the shop. They can’t start the engines before six o’clock. The neighbors don’t like being woken up too early,” Randy said. “Where you from?”

“I used to live here, then my dad got transferred to Georgia. I decided to come back to UT for school,” I told him using the speech I had rehearsed. “How about you? Where are you from?”

“My folks have a small place just south of Fort Stockton, about three hundred miles west of here,” Randy supplied, but didn’t elaborate.

Suddenly, the big mowers all started their engines. For the next five minutes, normal conversation was almost impossible, so I just watched as the long string of mowers made their way out onto the course. These were followed by three guys in Gators with special tools they used to move the cups on the greens.

“They usually change the pins on Saturdays, Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays unless it’s raining or there’s a tournament going on,” Randy explained when he saw where I was looking. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the chance to learn that too!”

Randy then showed me where the brooms were and we began sweeping up where the mowers had been parked. He also took the time to show me where to return the tools the mower drivers had left out and generally put things away. Then he led me over to a cork board outside of Melinda’s office. It contained any notes or announcements for the crew. It also had a schedule of what was going on at the golf course for the next week.

Today was a Saturday, but with no tournaments on tap, Randy explained that it would be a busy day with lots of locals. “Saturday is a busy day, even with no tournaments going on. They have to rake all the bunkers today,” Randy added.

He then showed me the list of everything we had to do. Next on our list was cleaning and restocking the toilets. He led me to a closet that held the cleaning supplies and we started on the two toilets in the shop. After we finished there, we gathered more supplies, grabbed a cart and headed out for the restrooms located all over the golf course.

I found out quickly that it was everyone’s responsibility to pick up even the tiniest bit of trash on the course, so we ended up making plenty of stops, gathering trash and putting it in the ever-present buckets that were on all the work carts.

I didn’t actually keep count, but I think I ended up making more than a half-dozen trips around the golf course that day, cleaning restrooms, picking up trash, moving and repairing tee boxes. And once, to rescue a lady-golfer who accidentally drove her cart into the water next to the green on thirteen. Turned out that she was okay, though I suspected she’d have one hell of a hangover, later. The cart, however, was not-so-okay. But Steve thought the mechanics could maybe rebuild the engine sometime next week.

By the time three o’clock rolled around, I was dragging.

The next four days were unremarkably similar to Saturday except I wasn’t feeling quite as worn out at quitting time by Wednesday. Steve had elected to use me eight hours a day on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday simply because I wasn’t in school yet and so he didn’t have to work around my schedule. However, that meant I was off Thursday and Friday because he said he couldn’t afford to pay me overtime.

It was as I was punching out on Wednesday afternoon that Melinda called out, asking me to stop by her office before I left.

“Uh-oh!” I thought to myself. “I guess she’s ready for me to move out of her dad’s camper.”

“This came for you,” she said, nodding to a FedEx package sitting on a chair. “How are you doing here?”

“I really like it,” I replied as I picked up the package and looked at the return address. It read ‘Zurich, Switzerland’ so I did not try opening it on the spot.

“My dad wants to talk to you when he gets home,” she said hesitantly. “He wants to make you an offer, but he’s not sure you’ll agree.”

“I plan on looking for a place to live tomorrow, but I can get out now,” I told her. “If that’s what he’s wanting.”

“Oh no!” she exclaimed. “That’s not what he wants at all. He wants to know if you’ll stay in the camper until the dorm opens and do some work around the house for them.”

“Oh!” I said. I was really enjoying staying in their fifth-wheel. I And hadn’t find it that inconvenient using the bathroom in the house. “That sounds okay.”

“Shit! I wasn’t supposed to say that! So don’t tell him I told you. Let him bring it up with you. Okay?” she said as the phone rang. When she answered it, I simply waved my goodbye and headed for the minivan with my unopened FedEx package under my arm.

Last month, when I left the naval base on Martinique, my first goal had been to disappear. My second goal had been to find the person who planted the bomb that destroyed the Serendipity and killed Cécile.

With the arrival of the Fed Ex package, it became obvious I had now failed in both objectives. I still had the cell phone that I believed was used to trigger the bomb, but had not found a way to exploit it. I couldn’t turn it in to the authorities without blowing my cover and risking prosecution for withholding evidence. Besides, I wasn’t at all sure about trusting those ‘authorities’.

And I had been so busy disappearing, then getting to Texas to take advantage of the fake identity my mom and Dr. Weinstein had created for me, that I hadn’t had time to do anything about tracking down the killers.

If what Melinda had said about her dad wanting me to stay there and help him out around the house was true, maybe I could finally get to work on finding whoever was trying to kill me.

I drove past the Henderson’s subdivision and across the Mansfield Dam. I was headed to the boat-ramp area on the other side of the dam. I figured that particular parking lot should be mostly empty on a Wednesday afternoon, this early in the season.

Once there, I pulled to the far side, under the shade of a clump of Mesquite trees, and opened the package from Cynthiana. I should have known that if anyone could find me, it would be her.

The package contained four bundles of cash and a new iPhone with some kind of square device strapped to it with zip-ties. There was also a note that said simply, ‘Call A.S.A.P.’

I was surprised that it wasn’t a satellite phone. There was a number pre-programmed into the iPhone and I hit the button to make the call while I thumbed through the cash. Five thousand dollars in each bundle. And there were four bundles. Wow!

“Alex?” the voice that answered the phone quickly asked.

“It’s Daniel,” I replied automatically.

“I understand,” Cynthiana replied. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. A bit tired since I just got off from work,” I told her.

“So ... you’re actually working at that golf course?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” I replied and then, because I knew she’d want the whole story, proceeded to tell her about my journey from Martinique to Austin, filling in all the pertinent information before she asked.

“I have to say that I am impressed, Al ... Daniel,” she said. “Are you sure you’re safe?”

“Yes ma’am,” I replied and then filled her in on Melinda and her parents and their generosity. I also told her about needing my high school transcript and even how the government and the school were sending stuff to the address on my driver’s license.

She was silent when I finished, obviously digesting all that I told her. Then, in typical Cynthiana fashion she started down her list.

“I think that you are probably as safe as you can be for now. You need to stay where you are until I can get things arranged. I’ll send someone to retrieve the Lavigne’s yacht, and do something to compensate Jeanne for assisting you. Although I may have a word with her about misleading me. I’ll get with Reggie and Isabella to see what arrangements we need to get in place to cover you...”

I let her drone on with her ‘to do list’ because I already knew it would not do any good arguing with her.

When she finally wound down, I asked, “How did you find me?”

“Oh. Well, I should have figured it out when Layami contacted me about her schooling, but it wasn’t until someone in the admissions office at UT ran a background check on you last Friday. Since Reggie had both of your identities set up in the system, we got the notification almost immediately. From there it was just putting two and two together and doing a little checking into the school’s records. They listed the golf course as your employer, so we sent the package.”

“Thanks for the funds,” I told her. “But I was actually doing pretty good on my own. In fact, my first payday is a week from Saturday.”

“Well, if you can live that well on two hundred and sixty-four dollars a week, I may need to adjust your salary,” she quipped. “Now, I want you to keep the phone, but don’t call anyone but me or Reggie on it. He’s enroute right now, but you should plan to call him at ten o’clock tomorrow morning from the Starbucks next to the Randall’s grocery store in Steiner Ranch. Can you do that?”

Steiner Ranch was the name of the community that the Henderson’s lived in. And where the UT Golf Club was located.