Murder at the Cappuccino Cup

Carmine left the solitude of the men’s locker room, returning to the President’s office on the main floor.  He removed a thick leather binder from the bookshelf behind his large, mahogany desk.  He did not need to open the book or to flip the pages to know what was contained inside.  Over the years he had read and flipped and stared and memorized every word, every picture, every caption and every memory in the thick ledger.  The title, embossed in gold letters, read, Mohawk Hill Golf Club – History of the Cappuccino Cup – 1956 – Present.  It was a scrapbook of sorts, the official recorded history of the club’s most infamous event.  Every year was represented, tracing back to that very first match almost half a century before.  In the early years the pages contained little more than the recorded scores and the names of the participants.  Some years the actual scorecards were included, protected by clear, plastic coating to maintain their quality.  Over the years the record of play evolved to include pictures of the teams,  individual shots of players in action, newspaper clippings reporting on the event and the personal notes of past club presidents, secretaries and members.  The binder provided an invaluable history of a most unique event at a very unique club. 

      Carmine turned to the early years and read the account of the Roman’s first victory.  This triumph gave him great pride as his father had played very well and had contributed well to their tremendous win.  Flipping forward, he recalled that the Romans had not successfully defended the Cup in 1960 and lost again in 1961 and 1962.  A considerably longer record filled the pages for the 1963 Cappuccino Cup.  Pictures and scores and scorecards took up plenty of space but Carmine flipped past these items searching for the front page article from the Mohawk Messenger, the town’s local newspaper.  It was dated the Monday after the event but it contained very little news regarding the scores, matches or players.  Instead it focused on the chilling story of the cold-blooded murder of one of the club’s members, one Alfred Hoch.  Found early on that Sunday morning on the eighteenth green, Hoch had been shot in the back of his head.  The county sheriff had very few clues and no leads as to who may have committed the crime.  Infante knew the article by heart but he read it again anyhow.  Finished reading, he closed the binder gently and returned it to its place on the bookshelf.  Lighting another cigar, he let out a cloud of blue smoke from the corner of his mouth.  Looking out from his office window down towards the eighteenth green, he shook his big head in dismay.  Two murders on the same green forty years apart would certainly draw attention to the club.  He did not know everything about the two murders but he knew more than most.  No one could know all the details of the two deaths after so many years.  Or so he hoped.  Moments later, when the knock came at his office door, he was not surprised to see the Sheriff standing in the hall.