Excerpt: Murder at the Indian Burial Mound

Chapter One

Sheppard Albright cringed. The wayward golf ball sailed to the right above the empty tennis courts and the adjacent soccer field, directly through a large upper window of the Granger Field House. Even at their distance they could hear the large window shatter.

“Hole in one!” came a cheer from behind him along with a mocking pat on his shoulder. “You got the distance but you’d better get some control. And what a lucky break. The pun is intended.”

“Lucky? You call putting a ball through that window lucky?” Sheppard hit the grassy ground with the five iron. His near six foot height seemed to shrink a few inches.

“Why not?” Perry Damien, his best friend, said playfully pushing him aside. He teed up his golf ball on the grass in front of him. “Your dad’s the one who can fix it without any trouble from the University. He’s the big fix-it man on campus, the Big kahlua – ”

“That’s Big Kahuna, dummy. Kahlua’s a drink.”

“See, you even recognize his status as The Man behind the upkeep of the buildings on campus. And that includes fixing of the windows – does it not?”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. If he finds out I’m swinging the club he’ll know I’m practicing, getting ready for tryouts. He’ll use it to keep me from going out for the Golf Team.” Sheppard slowly ambled behind his friend.

Before stepping up to the ball Perry made an exaggerated practice swing. He was using his Driver.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t think of that. Maybe we shouldn’t be standing up here on the hill. Maybe we should run away?” He picked up his ball and grabbed Sheppard’s arm anxiously looking toward the building. “We’d better get out of here.”

“No, we have time. I’ll tell him when I get home.”

“Are you sure? We’re far enough away we could get out of her without being seen. Your golf career is at steak here.”

Sheppard shook his head.

“Okay then.” Perry teed his ball up again and made his usual exaggerated practice swing.

Watching Perry stepped up to the ball, Sheppard shook his head. He had the must awkward golf swing. Perry’s feet were too far apart. His position not centered. The ball was forward, toward the target – almost adjacent to his left foot. And it was teed too high.

Perry wagged the large club then held the club head, momentarily, a good six inches behind the ball. He glanced toward the soccer field one last time before swinging the club back and up. But he only went to shoulder height and there was no twist of the body.

Sheppard didn’t think his robust body could get any higher. On the down swing Perry’s body moved forward as he struck the ball. The follow through ended with his club pointing in the direction of the ball flight. Not a conventional swing at all.

The ball flew low and straight, lifting slightly over the tennis courts landing shy of the soccer field and rolling a short distance in the rain soaked grass.

Perry grinned proudly through glasses with large lens. “Well, not real long but straight as an arrow, if I do say myself,”

“Okay, okay, Mr. I-do-say-myself. You can send it out there straight as an arrow but you’re a little shy of the green.”

There was no green. They were practicing hitting from the top of a hill overlooking the activity fields behind the University Field House. Their target was the middle of the empty soccer field – about two hundred – a pretty good distance for high school.

“If it was dry out there and the grass was cut, it could have rolled up into position,” said Perry, wiping his glasses with the bottom of his oversized plaid shirt. It hung down over a large waist. He wasn’t fat. His large muscular legs bulged, stretching the pant legs of his shorts.

Sheppard knew a lot of surprising things about Perry. He was no slouch in sports or academics. He never stopped surprising him nor stopped teasing. So Sheppard tried to give it back.

“I’ll admit, that was a great shot. I only wish I could keep it that straight. I wouldn’t have to worry about making the team.”

“I just have to get this wrist action going, like hammering a nail.”

“Hammering a nail?”

“Yeah, it’s part of a Natural swing.”

“There doesn’t seem to be much natural movement in that swing.”

“What do you know?”

Sheppard looked toward the broken window, shaking his head. He’d have to do more than hit it straight to make the team.

“Try it again Shep. This time don’t try to kill it.”

“I didn’t try to kill it. I swung the way I always do. I just tried a little something new, is all.”

“Well I think your little something new left your club head a little open that time,” he said turning the end of his closed finger hand rearward. “In your normal swing you have a tendency to have your club head closed. That sends it over to the right.” The end of his hand moved forward, like he was slapping the air at his side. “If you’re going to hit it that way then maybe aim a little to the left. It’ll draw right in.”

“Open huh? Are you playing with me?”

"Take it for what it is."

Throwing another ball down Sheppard stepped back, swung his club like a baseball bat a few times while looking toward his target, the center of the soccer field. Taking his stance he concentrated on his routine – with feet together he placed the club head just behind the ball at arms length, widening his stance, centering on the ball

Glancing again to his target he wagged his club behind the ball to relax his grip.
Pushing his hands down, creating a slight angle between his arms and club shaft he paused for only a second. Slowly taking the club back away from the ball he swung up, smoothly, over his right shoulder, twisting his body. His grip cocked at the wrist the top with the club head pointing toward the target. Another slight hesitation, he a focus on the ball as he swung the club down in an arc. His twisted body un-sprung in a fluid motion, as the club came down through the ball, hitting squarely. His focus stayed on the position of the ball as he followed through, finishing it’s upward motion over his left shoulder. Sheppard stood holding that finished position as he watched his ball. It was perfect form – better form than the average sixteen year old could have.

The ball started out straight, in line with the target. It went high over the tennis courts before veering left this time over the north end of the soccer field, over the road, over the stone wall and into the woods beyond.

“Oh, no, I knew I shouldn’t have tried that,” Sheppard said hitting the club hard against the ground.

“Wow,” said Perry squinting his eyes after looking into t. “If that had kept going straight it’d have been beyond the field. Sheppard, you have to get control of that swing, especially if you want to make the team . . . And quit hitting the club on the ground.

You’re going to break it. You think you have problems with your dad, you can’t even imagine my dad.”

Sheppard shook his head looking at the ground, tapping the ground gently, wanting to pound it or throw it. If he had his own clubs he wouldn’t have to use Mr. Damien’s.

Actually they’re better clubs than his, and they fit his long reach. He normally uses his mother’s, a set of lady’s clubs, too short but at least they’re better than nothing. He had left them at Perry’s house for a couple of weeks until his mother started her league the week before. He didn’t mind riding the bus with them except he didn’t want to chance having his father see him.

“Where’re you going?”

“I have to get the ball,” Sheppard said walking toward the road.

“I have others.”

“I need some time to think about what I’m doing wrong. You go ahead and practice some more. I’ll be right back.”

“Well, while you’re at it, get the others you put in there. I don’t have an endless supply, you know.”

Chapter Two

Sheppard swung his club at the yellow dandelions as he walked along the road, thinking about how his father would react to the window. More than that, he thought about playing golf for the high school team this spring instead of base ball. It was enough of a hassle having to play foot ball last fall.

If the girls had Fall Golf., why don’t the boys?

“Football – that’s the sport you will get your scholarship for college,” he mocked his fathers words. “That or base ball. Blah, blah, blah. You’re a natural. Blah, blah. What’s wrong with your head, what’re you screwing around with that sissy sport for? Grow up, use what God gave you. Why when I was –”

He stopped. Looking back at the Field House, he knew what his father would say. He needed to come up with his defense – not just about the window but to convince his father he should play golf. “I’m a natural!”

He thought maybe he shouldn’t tell him he put the ball through the window. That could solve it. He wouldn’t know any difference.

Sheppard saw Perry swinging his club. He should tell him to stop before someone saw him – if they hadn’t already. But if they do see him Sheppard would have to tell him he did it. He wouldn’t be able to lie about being here. But what if they thought Perry did it? He put that thought out of his head. Perry might take the blame. He’s a good friend. But is he that good a friend, especially when his father would have to pay for the window?

“Perry! Hey, Perry!”

Perry looked his way.

“Perry, come on.” He said and wave for him to come.

Picking up his golf ball Perry started toward him swing his club idly at the nearly green grass.

On the other side of the road Sheppard jumped over the sidewalk and quickly walked the short expanse of grass to the stone wall where he used the large protruding rocks to easily climb up to the top of the five foot height. With his feet dangling over to the wooded side he sat on top, waiting for Perry to catch up, trying to see the golf balls.

The new undergrowth was too thick to see anything. He would have to rummage around with his club and using his feet to feel the balls.

“Come on slow poke. Let’s go exploring, like when we were kids,” Sheppard said pushing his ball cap back on his head. He swung the club idly at the one tree with a red vine hanging from it's limb.

“I’m not going to climb up there, let alone go into the woods looking for some old golf balls. It’s not worth getting all scratched up and maybe even poison ivy.”

“Well, you shouldn’t wear shorts if you’re going to golf.”

“Hey, we are not golfing. And besides I’m not the one who always hits their ball into the rough, am I? Remember – I hit them straight. I’m the one who’s on the team.”

“Hey, come on Perry, good ol’ buddy of mine. There’s not that much growth. It’s not that high. And I think it’s still early; I don’t think poison ivy is out yet. Anyway, let’s go out on the point for a while. We haven’t been out there since last fall.”

“Well, okay. Maybe we should take a break. We’ve been at it for a couple hours.”

Perry’s glasses raised up on his nose, squinting toward the Field House. “I just thought – I hope no one saw us out there. If we’re not going to tell anyone we’d better hope no one saw us.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t lie about breaking the window,” Sheppard said looking over toward the buildings.

“No, but if I were you I’d not tell anyone. That way you won’t have to lie about it. And you’re right about your dad. If he finds out he’ll go ballistic and put the kibosh on golf, like last year. My advice, buddy – don’t tell him if you want to go out for the team.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sheppard said shaking his head, looking across the activity fields. His eyes widened. Someone came out of the Field House. He pointed. “Hey, someone’s coming. Get up here. Quick, let’s go.”

Perry looked back across the field with his squint, then back at Sheppard on the wall. “Ah huh, no thanks. I’m not going over that. I’ll meet you around on the path,” he said and started running toward the Picnic Point Park entrance.

“Hey, slow down. Walk slow so they won’t notice you. And put that golf club at your side.”

With that Sheppard slid down into the woods.