The Greatest Course That Never Was: A Novel - Softcover

Veron, J. Michael Michael

 
9780767907170: The Greatest Course That Never Was: A Novel
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0767907175 ISBN 13: 9780767907170
Verlag: Crown, 2002

Inhaltsangabe

When Charley Hunter first discovered the astonishing golfing prodigy Beau Stedman in The Greatest Player Who Never Lived, he broke the biggest story in golf history. But now, just as Charley is settling down into his budding legal career at a prestigious Atlanta law firm, strange notes clipped to obituaries start to arrive. Curious as to their origin, he tracks down the sender–an old caddie from Augusta National named Moonlight McIntrye–and Charley finds himself drawn into another tangled mystery surrounding a hidden golf course.

Driven by his passion for the game and a hunger for the truth, Charley dives into the most riveting, high-stakes mystery yet, another terrific golf story that will entice and delight fans and newcomers alike. Join Charley and Moonlight in their search for The Greatest Course That Never Was.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

J. Michael Veron is a trial lawyer and avid golfer who serves as a committee member and rules official for the United States Golf Association. He is also the author of The Greatest Player Who Never Lived. He lives in Lake Charles, Louisiana.

Von der hinteren Coverseite

When Charley Hunter first discovered the astonishing golfing prodigy Beau Stedman in" The Greatest Player Who Never Lived, he broke the biggest story in golf history. But now, just as Charley is settling down into his budding legal career at a prestigious Atlanta law firm, strange notes clipped to obituaries start to arrive. Curious as to their origin, he tracks down the sender-an old caddie from Augusta National named Moonlight McIntrye-and Charley finds himself drawn into another tangled mystery surrounding a hidden golf course.
Driven by his passion for the game and a hunger for the truth, Charley dives into the most riveting, high-stakes mystery yet, another terrific golf story that will entice and delight fans and newcomers alike. Join Charley and Moonlight in their search for "The Greatest Course That Never Was.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

I had not expected to receive any mail on my first day at work. After all, the start of my career as a new lawyer at Butler and Yates was not exactly the talk of Atlanta. In fact, the firm wouldn't even mark the occasion until later in the summer--after I had presumably passed the bar exam.

Even then, it wouldn't exactly be a media event. Instead, there would be a couple hundred engraved cards mailed to friends of the firm announcing that Charles F. Hunter had become an associate there.

That's why the letter came as such a surprise. Outside of my family and a few close friends, I had no idea who would know--much less care--that I was here.

I also noticed that the postmark was two weeks old. The letter had apparently been lying around for a while. Whoever sent this little missive must have known for some time that I was coming to work at Butler & Yates.

To add to the mystery, it bore no return address. The only clue about its origin was the postmark from Augusta, Georgia, just a hundred miles or so east of Atlanta on Interstate 20. Aside from its significance as the home of the Augusta National Golf Club and the Masters tournament, I couldn't think of any real connection that I had with Augusta.

I knew the letter wasn't from one of my classmates in law school. Almost all of them preferred E-mail to the U.S. Postal Service.

There wasn't anything distinctive about the envelope. It certainly wasn't Crane's Crest. Instead, it looked to be right out of a box of the cheap kind you could buy at the corner drugstore. Judging from its slightly yellow tint, the box had been on the shelf for a long time, too.

In contrast to the computer-generated addresses usually seen on mail received at a law firm, this envelope was addressed to me in a crude handwriting. That certainly added to my interest.

"Good morning."

My reverie was broken by the sound of a soft female voice. I looked up to see an auburn-haired 40-something secretary standing in my doorway with a cup of coffee in her hands. She had the no-nonsense look of someone who knew a whole lot more about the law business than I did.

"Sorry if I surprised you."

"Oh, no," I assured her.

She smiled at my obvious lie.

"I'm Gloria. I was here when you clerked last summer. I work for Mr. Guidry down the hall. He asked me to give you a hand if you need anything."

I suppose it was her way of letting me know that she hadn't volunteered for the job. I could imagine that few secretaries relished the notion of transcribing the awkward dictation of a new lawyer, or otherwise nursing him through his early efforts at malpractice.

Nonetheless, I was pleased that Emile Guidry had taken an interest in me. He was one of the stars of the firm. Now in his mid-50s, Guidry was at the top of his game as a trial lawyer.

He had built his reputation by defending chemical companies against suits brought by individuals who claimed to have been poisoned by various kinds of noxious emissions. It was no easy trick convincing a jury that his Fortune 500 clients were the good guys, but he brought in one defense verdict after another. Usually, he was able to persuade the jury either that the plaintiff hadn't been hurt too badly or that his condition had some other cause. No one was better at medical causation than Emile Guidry.

Guidry was originally from New Iberia, a small town in South Louisiana. Perhaps its most noteworthy claim to fame was its close proximity to Avery Island, home of the McIlhenny family plantation where the world-famous Tabasco pepper sauce is produced. Guidry was a genuine Cajun or, as he preferred, "coonass."

When I first heard him use the term, I was a bit surprised. I had heard it used before, while I was in law school in Louisiana at Tulane, but always with somewhat derogatory connotations.

However, I had never been altogether sure what it meant, so I asked. Guidry said that it was a slang word for Cajun. He then explained that, like most colorful references to race or nationality, "coonass" was either a term of endearment or an insult, depending on who said it to whom--and how much alcohol had been consumed at the time. I asked him where the term came from. "You don't want to know," he laughed, and I knew it wouldn't do any good to ask again.

I had first gotten to know Guidry when he asked me to draft a research memorandum for him on the recovery of nonpecuniary damages for breach of contract. I busted my tail on it, and it came out well. It was the high point of my budding professional career when he called me in to compliment me on it.

"This is a good piece of work, Charley. I can see why you made the law review."

Since it was my first research assignment outside of law school, I was thrilled by his approval. Guidry was confirming for the first time that what I had learned in class was transferable to the real world.

He gave me several more research assignments during the course of my clerkship. I must have passed muster as a law clerk, because now he wanted to put me under his wing. Having his secretary check on me was a good sign. He knew better than I that you can only learn so much in law school. I had years of on-the-job training ahead of me before I'd be able to do all the things real lawyers do. An old hand like Gloria could teach me a lot of things my law professors couldn't.

Holding up the mysterious envelope, I said to Gloria, "I've already gotten my first piece of mail."

My ragtag little trophy obviously didn't impress her. "Maybe it's your first big case," she said in a clearly facetious tone.

She then excused herself to finish typing a brief, and I turned my attention once again to the envelope. Tearing it open, I found a clipping of an obituary from the Augusta Chronicle. It read:

George "Chico" Carter

George "Chico" Carter passed away yesterday, May 24, at his home in Augusta after a long illness. He was 86.

Mr. Carter was a lifelong resident of Augusta. He retired from the Augusta National Golf Club, where he worked for many years as a caddie master. He was a member of the Knights of St. Peter Claver and the Hip-Hop Social Club. He is survived by five children, eleven grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren.

Funeral arrangements are made through Thompson Funeral Home. There will be a rosary tomorrow at 7:00 p.m. and a funeral mass at Sacred Heart Catholic Church on Friday at 2:00 p.m.

The family has requested that memorial donations be made to the American Cancer Society and the Sacred Heart Altar Fund.

I had no idea why someone would want to send me this obituary. I noticed a small slip of paper that was also in the envelope. I pulled it out and looked at it. It consisted of only two words, written in the same crooked hand as the address on the envelope. The note read: "It's time." It was unsigned.

Time for what? As far as I could tell, I had no connection whatsoever to George "Chico" Carter or his family. Whoever sent this couldn't have expected me to attend the funeral; the clipping was over two weeks old. Someone thought it was important nonetheless to let me know that Mr. Carter had passed on to his great reward.

That made me a little uncomfortable. Getting an obituary in the mail wasn't exactly the bright note on which I had hoped to start my new career. I don't know how long I spent pondering the whole thing when I suddenly noticed Emile Guidry standing in front of me.

"You okay, Charley?"

I must have jumped, because he quickly added, "I didn't mean to startle you. You were looking awfully deep in thought about something."

I quickly pushed the...

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Verlag
Crown
Erscheinungsdatum
2002
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0767907175
ISBN 13 
9780767907170
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
384
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
preigu
mail@preigu.de

Lengericher Landstr. 19
Osnabrück
49078
Deutschland

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