"Great game Clifford; you even made me play better." The stout man huffed over to the cart and put his clubs away then climbed with difficulty onto the seat beside the driver.

"Thanks Benjamin. I like to think my prowess rubs off occasionally."

"Old Porter even shot a couple under par and never lost a ball all afternoon."

"James tries, Ben. He's had more bad games than I can remember." The cart bumped off the fairway onto the paved road leading to the clubhouse and the rest of the foursome followed a moment later.

"He wasn't keen on being paired with Sandy. Said that the guy can't stop talking about wind and grass grain. You'd think he was a pro or an instructor."

"Sandy brings a lot of contacts to the table, Benjamin, don't knock him."

Since when did you need contacts?" Benjamin grabbed the roof support as the cart left the path and cut across a lumpy rise in a shortcut to the clubhouse.

Clifford stopped by the steps and just left the cart there, grabbing his clubs and striding up the steps to the foyer, Benjamin in puffing pursuit. James and Sandy left theirs as well and scurried after the others.

"Mr. Whyst, will you be dining with us tonight?"

Clifford stopped and waited until the others caught up.

"Who's low man?" He asked.

"I guess that's me," Sandy replied, smiling weakly.

Clifford turned to the manager and announced that there would only be two for dinner then he gave Benjamin and James a hotel room key and told them that their prize was in that room; they could take advantage or they could have dinner in the hotel dining room on him.

"What's in the room, Clifford?" Sandy asked, miffed at being left out.

"It's for good golfers, Sandy. You aren't a good golfer so you are eating with me and I am going to give you some expert recommendations on improving your game. One more like today's and you won't be invited back."

The group split up and Sandy followed dutifully behind Clifford into the private dining room.

Rodney placed his hands on the desk and with a tilted head he smiled graciously at the two men crossing the lobby.

"Welcome to the Colonial Palm gentlemen. How may I serve you?"

Benjamin dropped his key on the counter and Rodney looked down, his smile freezing in place.

"Ah . . . yes, I see. One moment please."

A minute later Rodney returned with Hiram Belvedere and introduced him to the guests.

"Gentlemen, let me take you up to the suite; there is a small protocol to be followed." The two looked curiously at one another and followed the manager.

"You were advised that this is simply one option to be used or not; there is no liability involved for any guests of Mr. Whyst's so you have no need to be concerned about the arrangement."

"What exactly are we talking about here?" James asked.

"Here we are, you question will be answered momentarily."

The door opened and Jeannette stared with a sinking heart at the two men with Hiram. He nodded and ushered them inside, explaining the service available in the suite and left them to make their own decision.

*****************

Judge Wilks poured a generous amount of brandy into the glass and passed it to Wilfred, filling one for himself and raising it in a silent but obvious toast.

"It was touch and go Wilfred but you pulled it off."

"Not alone, Bernard, Warren was a big help with Brewster."

"What do you think of Warren as our new Mayor?"

"Marchmount is next in line."

"I know, but he's not really the type of man we want driving the interests of Santa Gordo is he?"

"You mean our interests."

"Precisely. With Mrs. Whyst out of the picture we can get back to business the way we like to run it." The Judge sipped his drink and patted a protruding belly.

"Maybe we need someone who is , shall we say, untrained in the political arena; somebody we can mold anew. Warren is an old hand at strategic politics and might prove obstinate on some matters."

Wilks nodded thoughtfully. "Anyone in mind? We don't have slate to choose from."

"I might be going out on a slender limb here but what about someone from the business community. One of the businesses that Santa Gordo is known for?"

"You mean tourism." Wilks drank some more and gazed at the ceiling. "You do have someone in mind don't you, Wilfred?"

"Gordon Hardy. He runs a small successful hotel with some recognition across the country through travel guides and magazine articles. He was involved peripherally with Jeannette and has experience on hotel committees and a few panels at the Chamber. He's young-ish, looks presentable enough and has a very commendable partner, who by the way was assisting Miss Cowls at one point."

"How is that an advantage?"

"They both know the reason for the changes we've made and they both know that Santa Gordo politics could be easily corrupted. They would be gung ho to right the ship."

"That sounds like an impediment not an advantage."

"We would control the council and therefore the voting and the proposals. Gordon would be nothing more than an attractive figurehead with a very hard to resist, salary and perks."

"In other words, you want to corrupt your virgin politician right of the bat."

"Precisely."

"Make some overtures, let's see what he thinks."

************************

The sun was almost molten in its intensity, turning the patio into a grill. Going barefoot to the pool was suicide and one or two guests learned that unhappy fact, requiring medical attention at the hospital down the street. Deborah was performing hostess-y deeds for the injured parties and generally empathizing with the husband of one couple and the girlfriend of another.

Gordon had sent a bottle of wine down to each with his apologies for their discomfort, hoping they wouldn't begin thinking lawsuit.

"You look so- so Martha Stewart out there."

"She's a cook and a crook." Deborah said, rubbing a towel over her face.

"Maybe I meant, Oprah."

"I hope that's not a literal comparison."

"Maybe I should just shut up."

"Now you're talking." She folded the towel and draped it over the back of the office chair. "The wine was a nice touch, Gordon."

"Thank you, my dear."

"So have you decided?"

"About?"

"Don't be coy. The Mayor's job."

"Yep. I turned it down."

"Why!"

"Deborah, they just wanted a figurehead to operate behind. Those guys don't plan on changing anything that will inconvenience the wealthy of Santa Gordo. They were going to stack the council with cronies; I wouldn't even get a vote."

"So much for our fantasy future."

"Well we still have an ace in the hole." He stood and grabbed her by the waist. "They don't really know what, if anything, Mindy might have told us or left us. I just hinted that certain material she had with her while she was here could be as damaging as anything Jeannette had."

"What did they say?"

"That I could have a position on the council as chair with a very nice financial remuneration."

"You bugger, Gordon!" She hugged him tight and they shared a long, dreamy kiss.

"Speaking of finances," he turned and rummaged through some papers on the desk. "This came this morning addressed to you."

"Me? What is it?"

"I didn't open it, Deb."

"Why did you say, speaking of finances?"

"It's from a bank in the Caribbean."

"What do you think it is?"

"Just open it, okay."

Deborah tore open the end and slid the contents out. A piece of paper floated down to the floor and Gordon picked it up, reading it. His mouth locked open and his eyes began blinking. Deborah wasn't paying attention because the contents of the letter had left her stunned.

"Deb- this is a cheque for twenty-five thousand dollars!" She nodded, still unable to speak. "Who is Tania Squire?"

She handed him the letter and took the cheque, staring with unfocused eyes.

"Holy shit! Mindy!" He sat heavily and began reading. When he was done they stared at one another and then slowly began smiling until laughter began to build and they finished holding one another clutching aching stomachs and wiping tears from their eyes.

"I need a drink." Gordon staggered through to the living room and poured them each a stiff shot of rye. "I want to read that again- slowly."

Deborah curled up on the sofa and nodded. "Read it aloud."

Gordon flopped down beside her, swallowed some rye and then began to read.