In the Heat of the Summer [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONE A RUNNER found the first victim near the thirteenth green. He was an ordinary man, middle-aged, worried about his heart and his paunch; a broker whose mind fixed on figures, stocks and options as he pounded out laps around the perimeter of the golf course. It was a private club in the midst of an exclusive section of the county, a place of manicured lawns, high pines and sweeping palms. The morning heat had risen fast and hard, and the runner traveled his route out of instinct and familiarity, not watching where his feet landed. He had circled the golf course three times, thinking more about the Dow and his work and what he would do with this holiday off than of what he was passing. As he cut by the edge of the green his hand came up reflexively to wipe the sweat from his eyes, and in the same quick clearing motion he noticed a streak of color in the ferns, ground palms and brush of the rough, a shape amidst the morning shadows.