Changing Reflections
Part IV
A few days later, Trixie, bursting with excitement, set out across the country club golf course in hopes of finding Ryan so she could tell him about her upcoming car purchase. When she finally located him, he was crawling out from under a clump of bushes, dragging weeds and various pieces of debris with him.
“Hey, Ryan,” she called out.
“Hi, Trixie. What’s up?”
“Guess what? My parents are going to get me car next weekend.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah, that was part of their deal regarding college. If I agreed to go to the community college, they’d provide me with a car to get me back and forth.”
“Sounds fair enough. Didn’t you want to go to the community college?”
Trixie shook her head. “No. My best friends are going away but I’m stuck here. I have two older brothers who are already in college and since I didn’t get any scholarships or grants that would have made things easier, my only option was the Westchester Community College.”
“I see. But for what it’s worth, I think a community college has its benefits. You can take the same basic required courses for lot less money.” Ryan uncapped a thermos of cold water and took a long pull.
“I guess I didn’t realize that. I just saw myself as ‘poor old me’ being left behind.”
“Well, banish that thought.” Ryan took another gulp of water. “Community colleges can give you a great education.”
Hearing a beeping horn from an approaching cart, Trixie and Ryan stepped aside to let a boisterous group of golfers pass.
“They look like they have so much fun,” remarked Trixie as their laughter and good-natured teasing drifted back to her.
“Do you play?” asked Ryan.
Trixie shook her head.
“You should try it. In fact, because you’re an employee, you get discounted lessons.”
“I do?” Trixie looked at the golfers who had stepped out of their cart and were busy teeing up. “Then I would actually know what they were talking about when they chatted with me.”
Ryan nodded. “Check it out at the pro shop. That’s where all the information regarding the lessons is located.”
“I’m going to do that as soon as I get off today. Thanks, Ryan.”
“My pleasure. By the way, there was nothing sitting on the eighteenth hole today.”
“Really? Hmm… Maybe the culprit is on vacation. A lot of people travel in July.”
Ryan shrugged then took another gulp of water. “Maybe. Now get on those lessons so we can play a round or two.”
“Gleeps! A car and a golf game! This week is off to a great start.”
With a wave, Trixie started up her cart. As she drove along the dappled sunlit path, she tried to imagine herself actually playing the game. Listening to the golfers’ discussions when they made purchases from her cart only fueled Trixie’s excitement. After clocking out at the end of her shift, she hustled to the pro shop where she found that an instructor was available the next day. She signed up, then went outside to wait for her mother. While she was waiting, her phone rang.
“Hi, Angela. How’s your father?” asked Trixie when she clicked on the call.
“Pretty good. In fact, they’ve moved him out of the cardiac intensive care unit.”
“Gleeps! That’s great. Do you need me to cover for you tomorrow?” Trixie crossed her fingers in hope th if she did, it wouldn’t interfere with her golf lessons.
“No. I really, really appreciate all you’ve done for me but now that I know my father’s going to be all right, I think getting back to work will do me a world of good.”
“Well, I’ll be around tomorrow because I have a golf lesson.”
“You do? Great. Once you get some lessons under your belt, you and I can play a round.”
“You golf too?”
“I call it golfing, but my father and uncle call it ‘crolf.”
“Crolf?”
“Yea, a cross between golf and croquet.”
Trixie chuckled. “They’ll probably be able to say that about me too. By the way, there haven’t been any weird occurrences on the eighteenth hole lately.
“Good. I hate it when I miss things.”
The two chatted until Trixie saw her Mom’s car gliding through the parking lot. “My Mom’s here. I gotta go.”
“Okay, look for me tomorrow, and thanks again.”
Sliding her phone back into her pocket, Trixie ran excitedly toward the car shouting, “Moms! Moms! Guess what I’m doing tomorrow?”
**********
At 11:30 the following morning, Trixie walked into the covered shelter at the driving range in search of her instructor.
“Trixie,” a voice called out.
Trixie turned and saw a small woman with closely cropped graying hair.
“Hi, I’m Lois,” said the woman. “I’ve seen you driving around here and wondered when you’d get the urge to give it a shot.”
Trixie smiled. “I may not end up playing well but at least I’ll be able to sympathize with the other golfers when they make a bad shot.”
“Don’t set the bar so low, Trixie. You may be pleasantly surprised at what you’re able to do.”
Trixie and Lois chatted a bit longer, then stepped onto a putting green for Trixie’s first lesson. Lois instructed Trixie on her foot placement, the correct grip, then taught her a basic swing. Trixie’s hour lesson flew by.
“I can’t believe we’ve been working on this one shot for almost half an hour,” grumbled Trixie. ‘I thought I would learn it more quickly.”
Lois laughed. “Most people spend their entire life trying to perfect one shot.”
Trixie grimaced. “I’m not known for my patience. Hope I don’t toss a club or two.”
“You’ll be fine,” assured Lois. “I’ve helped coach several college teams. Believe me when I say even those golfers felt the way you do now.”
Trixie’s smile faltered. “You coached several college teams?”
Lois nodded.
“Did you happen to get any shot glasses from the colleges where you coached?”
Lois looked puzzled. “No. I just got tickets to their football games and a good parking spot. Why?”
Trixie exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “Never mind. I was just wondering.”
“Well, focus on what I taught you today. You might even want to write some of my instructions down so you can refer to them later.”
“Okay.”
Trixie and Lois made plans for another lesson the next day. Before Trixie left the driving range, Lois poked through a pile of used clubs until she found what she was looking for.
“Here.” She handed the club to Trixie. “Use this to practice.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Absentmindedly twirling the club through her fingers, Trixie watched Lois move on to her next lesson. “I thought I had stumbled onto another clue,” she fretted. “But, as usual, it went nowhere. When am I going to find a clue that actually holds up?” Returning the golf club to the pile, Trixie left and went home, hoping that Honey would be free to join her for an afternoon at the lake.
By the end of the week, Trixie had managed to squeeze in another lesson before one of her shifts and was impatient to use what she had learned. As she sat in her cart waiting for golfers to finish a hole, she carefully scrutinized them, checking out stances and swings and comparing what she saw to what she’d been taught. When they made a purchase from her, Trixie asked lots of questions, eating up any advice and suggestions they had that might help her game. When she spied Ryan in the distance, she sped up, eager to give him an update.
“I knew you’d like it,” grinned Ryan. “It has a way of growing on people.”
“Well, if I want to golf with you, I’d better learn something and I’d better learn it quick!”
“Do you want to go over to the driving range when we’re done today?”
“Sure, I’ll call my mom and tell her to pick me up later.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll drop you off afterwards. By the way, there was no shot glass today.”
“Again? What’s going on?” Trixie stomped her foot in frustration.
Ryan shrugged. “Maybe whoever was doing it has something better to do.”
“Like what?”
“Heck if I know. Maybe he’s drinking the whiskey instead of setting it on the green.”
“Maybe. Or maybe the person is unable to get here, or left the area, or…” Trixie paused, her imagination running away with her then shook her head. “I’m either too busy or too tired to focus on that mystery. I do remember reading about the tribal Shaman and how he was believed to be all-powerful. Maybe somebody is appealing to a great Shaman to improve his game.”
Ryan laughed. “That echoes my friends’ theory. We’ve just got to keep an eye on that hole.”
“Absolutely.”
Ryan picked up a candy bar wrapper and deposited it in a nearby trash receptacle. “I better get back to my begonias.”
“Wait just a minute. There’s another mystery I’ve been dying to ask you about.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen you…” Before Trixie could finish her sentence, a golfer sent a shrill whistle across the fairway. “Gleeps! I’ve gotta go.” Starting up her cart, she drove off, leaving Ryan standing alone on the path.
When her shift was over, Trixie unloaded her coolers and completed her paperwork, then ran outside to look for Ryan. She saw his cart zipping through the parking lot and started to wave, but stopped when she realized he didn’t see her. Squinting her eyes against the afternoon sun, Trixie saw him stop at his car in the employee lot, transfer a bulky, dirty cardboard box into the trunk, then continue on to the groundskeepers’ shed. “Before we do anything, I’m going to find out what’s going on,” she vowed.
A few minutes later, Ryan strode up to the clubhouse entrance and met an impatient Trixie.
“You ready?’ he asked.
“Yep!” answered Trixie. “But first, I have to ask you a question.”
“Let me grab a few clubs and balls from my car. Come on.”
Struggling to match his long stride, Trixie trotted after Ryan as he led her to the same vehicle he had stopped at a few minutes earlier. Popping open the trunk, he selected a few clubs from his golf bag. When she caught up, Trixie peered into the trunk and saw that it was full of assorted supplies: a cooler, extra clothing as well as the cardboard box.
“What’s in there?” she demanded, pointing to the box.
“Oh, that.” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows “That box contains my golfing funds.”
“Your what?”
“My golfing funds.”
“What does that mean? I thought employees got a discount if they played here?”
“They do. But it costs to play at other courses. So with my rent and college tuition, I needed some extra cash. This is how I supplement my income.”
“What is it? I hope it’s legal.” Trixie worried for her friend.
“One hundred percent. Take a look for yourself.”
Trixie pulled open the flaps of the box. Inside were dozens of used, dirty golf balls. “I don’t get it.” She looked up, a puzzled expression on her flushed face.
“I look for lost golf balls when I play and when I work.”
“Huh?”
“I find balls that golfers have lost. You know, in the tall grasses and under the bushes. The management keeps a few of them to sell in the pro shop then I keep the rest.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Look, there are balls all over the place, including in the water traps, which tends to create problems with drainage. That’s why the management supports me collecting them. After giving them their share, I take the rest home and clean them up. After that, I sort them out, shrink wrap them, then sell them on ebay.”
Trixie’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope!” He laughed. “You ought to see my apartment. I have one wall with about 75 sets of golf balls that are wrapped and ready to ship out.”
“Do you make much money doing that?”
“In a good month, I can make around two thousand dollars.”
“Two thousand dollars a month? On balls you find lying around? And you collect these balls while doing something you love to do? That’s a win-win situation.” She held up her hand and high fived Ryan.
“I think so too.”
“Whew! I’m relieved,” exhaled Trixie loudly as she leaned against Ryan’s car in relief.
“Why?”
“I’d seen you searching through the water traps and then driving to your car and putting the box in it and...and I was afraid you were doing something...I don’t know... shady.” She hesitated at the last word. “That’s what I wanted to ask you about.”
“No problem. It’s all legit. Just another perk of the job.”
“Well, I’m glad I solved the mystery of Ryan.” Trixie made an imaginery check mark in the air. “Now I can concentrate on the eighteenth hole mystery.”
“I would appreciate you getting on that, Trixie. Summer’s half over and we still don't know a whole lot about the whiskey shots except our culprit has access to shot glasses with college logos and it isn’t Scott.”
“And it isn’t Lois either.”
“What does that mean?”
Trixie shook her head. “Just another clue that didn’t pan out. We really don’t know anything , do we?”
“You’ll get it. Come on.”
The two walked over to the driving range, chatting about Trixie’s lessons and what she had been taught.
“I’ve got one more lesson, then I’ll be ready to try playing a game.”
“Good. Let me call my girlfriend, Jessie, and we can set up a round for this weekend or next. Which one works better for you?”
“How about next weekend? I’m getting my car this weekend.”
“Okay.”
Trixie hesitated. “Are you sure your girlfriend wants to golf with me?”
“Of course.” Ryan pulled a handful of tees out of his pocket. “She’s dying to meet you.”
The two got busy practicing their shots with Ryan giving Trixie some helpful suggestions. When they were finished, he gave Trixie a ride back to the farm, amusing her with his outlandish golf stories all the way.
The next morning Trixie had her final golf lesson then clocked herself in for her shift. An afternoon thunderstorm drove the golfers off the course and into the clubhouse. Trixie was called into service in the dining room, assisting the patrons who were waiting for the storm to pass. She found the golfers were eager to give her unsolicited suggestions they swore would help her game. One advised her that the pro shop had several sets of used clubs for sale, a tip that Trixie tucked away. When the storm moved out of the area, the players headed back to the course while Trixie returned to her concession cart and started back on her route.
When her shift was finally over, she ran to the pro shop where she found a set that matched her height perfectly. Wandering out of the shop, she heard her father honking his car horn from the corner of the parking lot.
“I had my last lesson today. Now I’m ready to play,” she exclaimed as she jumped in the front seat.
Peter smiled. “We’re car shopping this weekend. How about you and I play nine holes next weekend?”
Trixie smiled. “Sorry, Daddy. I already have a game scheduled next weekend.”
Peter’s brows raised in surprise at Trixie’s new plans. “That’s great, Princess. But how are you going to play without any clubs?”
“Taken care of. I bought a used set from the pro shop. Ater I pay for them tomorrow, they’ll be mine. I just need to pick up some balls and tees and junk like that.”
“I have extra stuff in my bag that you can have,” offered Peter.
“Oh no. I want golf balls that are designed for a woman’s swing so they’ll go farther.”
“Duly noted! Hey, why don’t we compare our schedules. Maybe we can play a game during the week or maybe fit it in this weekend?”
“Gleeps! We can do that as soon as we get home. Now, back to my car. Let’s get on the computer tonight and check out some car lots. All of the dealers put their inventory online.”
“I like that kind of efficiency,” said Peter, turning into the driveway of Crabapple Farm.
“Yeah. And I’ll know exactly what’s available. We’ll save tons of time.”
Saturday morning,Trixie arrived at the country club at eight o’clock. She helped prepare the sandwiches then loaded up the concession cart.
“What’s with you this morning, Trixie?” asked Phil. “You seem like you’re going to burst.”
“As soon as I get off work, I’m going car shopping. I just can’t wait to get started on that.”
“Then hopefully your morning will pass quickly.”
Trixie agreed with a brisk nod then hopped in the concession cart and sped off, determined to stay busy so she wouldn’t be focused on the time. When her shift was over, she drove back to the clubhouse where she completed her duties, then turned over the cart to another driver. Grabbing a sandwich from the kitchen, she went outside and waited for her father to pick her up. When she saw Peter’s car turn into the country club parking area, she excitedly ran toward it.
“Hi, Daddy. Let’s get going.”
Peter laughed at Trixie’s exuberance and the two headed off, a list of dealers and the cars they wanted to look at on Trixie’s lap.
For the next several hours, Peter and Trixie looked at different cars. Peter watched in amusement as Trixie climbed in and out of dozens of cars, declaring the car a potential hit or a definite miss. They weighed the gas mileage against the safety of each vehicle. Finally, Trixie narrowed her choice down to a used, grey Honda Civic with a sunroof.
“But, Trixie, this is a stick shift. Can you drive that?”
“Hop in, I’ll show you.”
Trixie and Peter waited while the salesman got the keys to the car. When he returned, the three of them got into the compact car, and took a short drive, with Trixie testing different roads and speeds. When they returned to the dealership, Trixie knew she had found the car. Peter and the salesman sat and reviewed all the necessary information while an impatient Trixie agonized over the amount of time the paperwork was taking. Finally, Peter stood and shook hands with the salesman. Turning to an anxious Trixie, he handed her the keys.
“Come on, Trixie. Let’s go show your mother your new car.”
A short time later, Trixie drove up the long driveway to Crabapple Farm, beeping her horn all the way. When her mother and younger brother appeared, she got out of the car and proudly showed it off while Bobby climbed into the front seat and pretended to drive.
“Now remember, Trixie,” said Moms, “Our deal was that you had to help with errands and that includes Bobby’s activities.”
“I know. Don’t worry, Moms. I’ll do my part.”
That evening, over a delicious dinner of grilled hamburgers Trixie told her parents about Ryan’s unique business and her plans to play golf with him and his girlfriend the following weekend.
“How do you like that?” complained Peter. “I have to get in line to play golf with my own daughter.”
Trixie giggled. “But it will be so worth it, Daddy. Just you see.”
“I can’t wait,” he winked as he put the last bite of Moms’ delicious hamburger into his mouth.
***************
It was late afternoon, a week later, when Trixie, Ryan, and Ryan’s girlfriend, Jessie, paid the greens fees, got two carts and set out to play nine holes of golf. Standing next to her cart at the first hole, Trixie watched Ryan tee off, then Jessie.
“Your turn, Trixie,” said Ryan.
Trixie nervously pushed her golf tee into the ground and placed the ball upon it. Trying to remember all she’d been taught, she pulled back and swung, hitting the ball. She looked up as the ball sailed off the tee. Grinning at Ryan and Jessie, Trixie skipped back to the cart, feeling like a real golfer.
But after the first couple of shots, Trixie’s shots became weak and erratic. They weren’t going where she wanted them to and she didn't have any power behind her drives. Her face was flushed and sweaty in the hot sunshine and her curls stuck to the back of her neck. Her frustration was apparent.
“Come on,” she grumbled, as she smacked her ball then watched with dismay as it popped straight up in the air and landed behind her.
“Hey, Trixie,” called out Jessie. “Can I ride with you?”
“Sure, climb in,”
Jessie, a small, asian girl with a long ponytail, got into Trixie’s cart and the two silently bumped along the asphalt path. Feeling uncertain and awkward, Trixie glanced at the girl seated next to her wished Honey was sitting there with them. “She always knows what to say. I wish I were more like her?” thought Trixie as she desperately tried to think of a way to start a conversation.
“Hey, Trixie, can I say something?” asked Jessie as the two approached Trixie’s ball that was lying under a small group of trees.
“Sure,” answered Trixie.
“Don't think of the ball as going anyplace. Line yourself up and focus on your arm movements and your body motion. And don’t look up, as much as you might want to. Relax, and exhale as you pull the club through.”
Trixie positioned herself for her shot, inwardly repeating what Jessie had said. Taking a moment before she swung, Trixie focused on everything but the ball’s potential journey. Thwack! Trixie waited a second, then looked up and saw her ball soaring toward the hole.
“Hey!” she cried.
“I knew you had it in you,” said Jessie as she struck her own ball.
“Thanks,” said Trixie, pleased with herself and grateful to her new friend. “I can’t believe how frustrating this can be.”
Jessie laughed as she climbed into the cart. “I can. I’ve seen Ryan toss a few clubs around.”
“Really?” Trixie’s eyes widened then the girls burst out laughing.
“Not that he’d ever own up to it.” Jessie offered with a sly grin.
“Never!” chuckled Trixie.
The rest of the afternoon was a series of bad shots, followed by a good one. Trixie would get irritated only to find herself elated when her ball would finally travel across the greens or go neatly into the cup. When the game was over, Trixie heaved her clubs into the back of her car.
“This was fun. Thanks for the game, guys,” she said.
“Want to grab a bite to eat?” asked Ryan.
“Okay,” agreed Trixie. “How about I treat you two at Wimpy’s”
“Wimpy’s?” puzzled Jessie.
“Yes, Wimpy’s. Best burgers ever!”
“Sold!” grinned Jessie.
“Let’s go. I can practically taste one already.” Trixie led the way from the country club to the unique diner in the center of Sleepyside.
When the three entered the favored establishment, they embraced the burst of cool air that greeted them. Before they could grab a booth, Mike, the owner called out.
“Hey, Trixie. I haven’t seen you much this summer. Whatcha doing?” He wiped the shiny counter with a towel that perpetually hung off his shoulder.
“Hi, Mike. I’m working at the country club driving the concession cart for the golf course.”
“Ooh, fancy. How do you like it?”
“I love it,” grinned Trixie. “In fact, I’ve taken up golf, or at least something close to it.” She laughed with her friends as they made their way to a booth near the back of the eatery.
After ordering a trio of juicy burgers and shakes, the three sat and talked about college options and curriculum. After a bit, the conversation drifted toward the strange happenings on the golf course.
“Why would somebody put a shot of whisky on the eighteenth hole anyway?” grumbled Trixie. “I’ve never had a mystery I couldn’t solve. But with this one, I can’t get a ’who’, ‘how’ or ‘why.’”
“A shot glass on the eighteenth hole,” mused Jessie softly. “Why does that ring a bell with me?” She tapped her fingers on the formica tabletop, her eyes screwed shut tight as she tried to remember.
“Think!” ordered Trixie. “We’ve just got to figure this out.”
Trixie’s pleading was interrupted by the arrival of their food. After passing around the bottle of ketchup and salt shaker, the three dug into the hot, juicy burgers then sighed contentedly.
“These are the best,” sighed Trixie contentedly, “A thoroughly, completely memorable hamburger!
“That’s it!” Jessie snapped her fingers. “You said the magic word, Trixie.”
“I did?” Trixie looked puzzled. “What was it?”
“Memorable.” Jessie looked at Ryan. “You know, like ‘memorial.’”
“What are you talking about?”
Jessie shook her index finger at Ryan. “Remember the tournaments your Dad watched on tv?”
“He only watched two.” Ryan took a big bite of his sandwich.
Jessie nodded. “And what were they?”
“He watched the Masters Tournament and the Memorial Tournament.”
“And…?” Jessie continued.
“And what?” interrupted Trixie.
“Remember that day he was laughing hysterically at the Memorial Tournament?” hinted Jessie.
“Oh, yeah.” Breaking into a grin, Ryan bobbed his head up and down.
Trixie shoved her plate aside and leaned onto the table. “Yeah, what? If you guys don’t tell me what you’re talking about, I just might die right here and now.”
“The Memorial Tournament.” answered Ryan. “It always rains during it so one year somebody placed a shot glass of whiskey on the eighteenth hole in hopes of appeasing the Indians that lived in the area. I think the Muirfield Golf Course, where the Memorial tournament is held, was built over sacred land or something like that.”
Trixie sagged against the back of the bench. “Really? Do you think that’s what’s happening here?”
Ryan shrugged. “Makes sense. Remember I thought I’d heard of a similar thing happening before? And we know Indians lived in this area.”
Trixie wiggled excitedly. “So if this is right, then we have our ‘why.’ Now all I need to do is figure out ‘who’ and ‘how.’” She turned to Jessie. “You are a genius. I’m so glad we golfed together.”
Jessie smiled. “No, I’m not a genius. I just happened to remember Ryan’s dad laughing and why.”
“I can’t believe we may have actually solved one part of the mystery.” Trixie bounced up and down in her seat. “Now we need to figure out who’s doing it. Although, there haven’t been any shot glasses since …” She looked at Ryan quizzically. “I think the Fourth of July or maybe even before.”
“Hmmm…” Ryan stuffed the last piece of his sandwich into his mouth. “So maybe our culprit did leave the area.”
“I still think it’s an employee. Ooh! Maybe whoever it was got fired.”
“Maybe.” Ryan shrugged then helped himself to a few of Jessie’s french fries.
“But I’m not giving up.” Trixie dragged her last french fry through her ketchup. “You just wait and see, Ryan. I’ll figure this out before you have to go back to school.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“Hey, Ryan, I don’t want to be a party pooper but it’s getting kinda late.” Jessie pointed to her watch.
“I know. Let’s get going.”
Ryan, Jessie and Trixie slid out of the booth then left the diner. They talked a bit longer in the parking lot then Trixie got into her car while Jessie got into Ryan’s. With a crunching and spewing of gravel, the two cars left the parking lot.
“One piece of the puzzle is solved,” said Trixie happily as she drove along the country road toward her home. “I’m going to get the rest; I can just feel it.”
Zooming up the long driveway, Trixie spun her car into the space next to the garage, then bounded into the house.
“Moms! Moms! Wait till you hear about my day!”
***************
Word count - 4686
Author’s notes: A big thank you to my DD Katie who has read various versions of this story for two years. Her patience is impressive! Another big thank you to my sister Judith for her keen editing. Picture courtesy of Pixabay.
Ebay- An American e-commerce corporation.
Masters’ Tournament - One of four major championships in professional golf.
Memorial Tournament - a PGA Tour golf tournament, played at Jack Nicklaus’ Muirfield Village Golf Club. One year, Jack Nicklaus’ wife put a shot of whiskey on the eighteenth hole in hopes of appeasing Chief Leatherlips, a former Wyandot Indian who, according to legend, was buried at Muirfield. Did it work? No! The Memorial Tournament is known for its stormy weather that always interrupts play.
Honda Civic - a subcompact car manufactured by Honda.
