When the women’s tour visits her home course, a female golfer must face her past as a failed professional and solve the mystery of her best friend’s death to discover there’s life beyond the 18th hole. (available as an e-book for $2.99 US)
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Golf is more dangerous than dodging hooks and slices…at least that's what Riley Quinn, a former golfing professional, discovers in Teed Off!
When Riley tees off an investigation into a suspicious death, her inquiries pitch her behind the scenes of professional women's golf and jeopardize her new career as part-time coroner. As the tournament progresses, she finds herself sand-wedged by a villainous environmental group, a mysterious Japanese consortium and her estranged sister.
The chocoholic club pro quickly discovers that not all bad lies are on the golf course…
Rubbing my wrist, I watched the green spot disappear into the woods which separated the course from the condominiums. I saw a splash of yellow and used it as a marker. I flicked a glance around. No witness in my world of green. Yanking a wedge out of my bag, I trotted into the tangled shadows.
With the morning light scattering through the tiny conifer forest, I caught the flash of yellow. Edging closer, I whacked at the thick underbrush with my club. Up ahead, Candy's ball glowed beneath a thick bush.
Lunging forward, I tripped over a stump and crashed headfirst into the spongy forest floor. The music stopped. The dank, sweet smell of moss was overpowering. I yanked myself up. Pieces of yellow plastic trickled to the ground. I swore. Ripping free the ear plugs, I wrenched the broken casing off my belt and hucked the useless machine into a Douglas fir. Bits of gold and silver showered the base of the tree. Wayddago, Riley.
Spitting pine needles, I brushed off my sweater and carefully took a couple of steps. I cleared a few inches in front of and behind the ball. Ignoring the thump thump in my wrist, I imagined the Walkman at my feet and let the little sucker have it.
A green streak whistled up through the brush, shot past the tree tops into the light and dropped. I trudged out of the rough to see it smack the flagstick and bounce back hard, leaving Candy with a difficult uphill 14-foot putt. "Too bad," I said aloud in my sweetest voice, "losing a beauty like that."
Things were looking up; maybe another stroke. I turned and again caught a glimpse of lemon as the morning light struggled through the thick branches. Looked like a jacket. Better pick it up, I thought, some member's sure to rummage through the Lost and Found for it.
I paid more attention to my feet than to the jacket, so was practically on top of it before I knew it. My heart skipped. I blinked in the hazy light. It wasn't a jacket. It was a man's golf shirt. And the man was still in it.