Page 19 of Cursed By Fate

I stepped outside and called Penny. “What’s up, Beaufort?”

“Thank the gods,” the fury said. “I was starting to worry.”

“What’s the problem?”

“There’s a situation. Can you meet me at the golf course?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, shoot. Which one?” She was silent for a moment, presumably checking her surroundings. “The one with the dolphin fountain.”

“On it.”

I ran to my golf cart and sped toward the eastern end of the island. Of course, “sped” was a relative term when behind the wheel of a golf cart.

I found Penny on the sidewalk between the parking lot and the golf club entrance. There was an older man handcuffed to a bench. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember his name.

Relief flooded Penny’s features as I approached.

“Who’s that?” I asked, nodding toward her handcuffed companion.

“Ezra Kline. People reported that Mr. Kline was walking around the golf course muttering to himself.”

“Why is that a security issue?”

“Because he was swinging a machete instead of a golf club.” She held up the weapon.

Right. I looked at him. “Mr. Kline, why were you playing golf with a machete?”

His blink was slow and deliberate. “Because I couldn’t find my clubs. I think my roommate hid them.”

I scrambled my brain to remember the name of his roommate. Name of a musical. Hamilton. Hadestown. Oklahoma. Nope.

Wait.

“Why would Oliver take your clubs?”

“Because he doesn’t have any of his own.” Ezra said this in a tone that suggested I was an unteachable moron.

“Ezra, where did you get this machete?”

“What’s the problem? A man can’t carry a machete anymore? What’s the world coming to?”

“The Neighborhood doesn’t allow weapons,” I reminded him—except in certain circumstances, none of which covered Ezra Kline at the golf course.

“It doesn’t count as a weapon if I’m using it to hit a ball,” Ezra argued.

I didn’t have time for this. “I’m going to suggest that you make an appointment with Dr. Adam. In fact, why don’t we call him right now, together?”

“I don’t need to see a doctor,” Ezra said. “There’s nothing wrong with me that a good day on the golf course can’t cure.”

I placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Except you weren’t playing golf, Ezra. You were alone with a machete, shuffling around the green and mumbling to yourself. You scared away the actual golfers.”

He seemed genuinely perplexed. “I did?”

I nodded. “They’re the ones who called security. They were worried about you.”

“I wouldn’t have hurt anyone, Maya. I only wanted to hit the ball.”