Dark Harbor (Stone Barrington 12)

They drove through Dark Harbor and out to the golf course, where they unloaded their clubs. There was a wait while a foursome teed off before them.

“Let’s give them a good head start,” Rawls said. He looked down at Stone’s loafers. “What kind of golf shoes are those?”

“Oh, Dick’s were too small, and I didn’t have any of my own. I’ll have to send for some, I guess.”

Stone looked around; there were no carts. “We going to walk?” he asked.

“Oh, sure; it’s how I get my exercise.”

They teed off, and Rawls set a rapid pace down the fairway. Stone followed as best he could, but his loafers were not built for this.

TWO HOURS LATER they sat at a table at the Tarrantine Yacht Club, which was a modest building with a big dock and a lot of moorings, waiting for cheeseburgers. Stone took off his ruined loafers, which were soaking wet after a few tramps through the rough, and rubbed his feet.

“You gotta get some better shoes,” Rawls said, sipping his Coke.

“Tell me about it.” He had to replace the loafers, too. It had been an expensive round of golf.

“What did you shoot, finally?” Rawls asked.

“Don’t ask.”

“How’m I going to play you for money, if you won’t tell me your score?”

“All right, I shot a fifty-two. How about you?”

“Forty, a little off my handicap.”

“Which is…?”

“Six.”

“Jesus, Ed, how the hell are you playing to that kind of handicap at your age?”

“I practice a lot. There’s fuck-all else to do around here, if you don’t sail or play tennis. What’s your handicap?”

“I don’t know, probably around twenty-five.”

“You need to practice more.”

“Well, if I spend enough time up here, I might do that. Golf is tough when you live in the city. I have a place in Connecticut, and I belong to a club there, but I don’t get up there often enough.”

“You going to be spending any time around here?”

“Maybe. Dick left me his house.”

“No kidding? That’s a very tidy inheritance. You know what that place is worth?”

“I get to use it, and so do my heirs, but if it’s sold, the proceeds go to the Samuel Bernard Foundation.”

“You know what that is?”

“Yes. Bernard was a mentor of mine in law school.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t recruit you.”

“He tried to, but I didn’t know it at the time. It was many years later he told me he thought I might not have been suited for the life. Lance signed me as a consultant, though.”

“That speaks well of you; Lance is a good judge of talent.”