The Drowning Pool

by Jacqueline Seewald

  NINETEEN

  Kim saw Mike drive up to the house in a white van. He walked up the driveway carrying coveralls. There was a certain look about him, a faraway expression, as if he were lost in thought.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m making plans.”

  “What sort of plans?”

  “Hey, who’s the interrogator here?”

  She studied him, her eyebrow cocked. “Answering questions with questions again. Very shifty. Come on, Mike, give. I’m part of this. Tell me what’s going on.”

  His expression softened. He followed her into the living room. They sat down together, holding hands, and he told her his plan.

  She listened thoughtfully. “Even if you disguise yourself as an exterminator, won’t Page recognize you?”

  “I did some checking. Page won’t be working from home tomorrow morning. He’ll be at a construction site and then his office.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t ask how you found that out?”

  “Hey, it’s not just you reference librarians who know how to get information. I got my sources.” He gave her a smug smile.

  “Okay, but even if you manage to get in, how do you know that Mrs. Page will be there?”

  “It seems she’s reclusive, rarely goes out. So the odds are in my favor.”

  Kim was worried. Mike was planning to take a terrible risk. She knew it was all about protecting her and his daughters. She wanted to help make it work.

  “You realize you’re endangering your job?”

  “Hey, being a cop is a risky business regardless,” he said with a shrug.

  “But you’ll be going undercover without authorization. I don’t like it at all.”

  He looked at her intently. “Got a better idea?”

  “Well, maybe.”

  She told him what she was thinking. As she expected, he argued with her.

  “You’re nuts. You know that? Practically certifiable.”

  “I don’t disagree, but it’s the only thing that might work, because, frankly, I don’t see Mrs. Page just opening up to you. You’re a man and a police officer who’ll be invading her privacy. Anyway, they’ll be watching you work. You’ll never be able to get near her. You need an accomplice. By the way, can you fake it, really look like an exterminator?”

  “Sure thing. Blodgett gave me spraying equipment, gloves and goggles. I can make it look real.”

  “I’ll call in sick for work again.”

  “I’m really sorry about this,” he said.

  She could see that he meant it. He needed her help. She was convinced there was no way he could do this alone.

  “The girls should be here soon. After I call in, I’ll fix dinner.”

  “I’ll help you. But it’s just you and me for supper,” he said. “The camp took the kids on a trip today so they’ll be getting home late.”

  “Really?” she said. “Well, then, I guess food can wait.”

  “Not hungry?” Mike asked.

  “Not so much.” Her voice was husky and she gave him that special look she had when she was aroused. They were definitely in close communication.

  He took her into his arms. “Turns out I am starving, but not for food.”

  * * * *

  The following day, Bert was outside of Page’s gates as they’d arranged. She would stand-by as unobtrusively as possible in their unmarked car. Gardner would signal if she were needed.

  Gardner found his palms sweating against the steering wheel. He drove up to the main gate, put on a pair of dark-rimmed eyeglasses and pulled the cap low on his head before honking the horn. The guard he remembered from the last visit came forward.

  “Yeah, buddy?”

  “Exterminator come to do some work.”

  “Nobody told me nothing about an exterminator coming today.” The man eyed him with suspicion and then glanced at the panel truck. He had a dark beard that, although shaved recently, left a coarse blue-black texture along his cheeks and jaw-line; it made him look sinister.

  “They must have forgotten. I got my work order right here.” He held up the paper without actually showing it to the man, hoping that his lie sounded believable. Even with all the trouble he’d gone to setting this up, there was no assurance he would be able to get inside. Maybe his plan, born of desperation, had been stupid after all.

  “Mr. Page ain’t here right now, buddy.” The man seemed uncertain.

  Gardner thought he was buying the story. Gardner felt a sense of relief suffuse his body. “Mr. Page won’t be happy if you send me away. It’ll be some time before I can come back again. This is our busy season.”

  “Yeah, well, all right, I guess it’s okay. I mean, they’ll have to clear you at the house anyway. I’ll call ahead and let them know you’re coming.”

  Gardner drove through as the guard opened the gate. He called back to Kim, who was concealed from view.

  “So far so good. Just stay down back there until I call for you.”

  * * * *

  Kim nodded her head without saying a word. Her posture was stiff and tense. In her white coveralls with her hair tightly pulled under a cap, she looked like an ordinary worker. Hopefully, she would draw little attention to herself. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

  So far their luck was holding. The huge, white colonial dwelling loomed against the bright, cobalt summer sky. She noticed the large brick fireplaces built on either side of the house and impressive white pillars at the front. The Pages lived well. She wondered what sort of person Mrs. Page was. Well, she would find out soon enough.

  * * * *

  Gardner left the white van at the front entrance and placed the keys in his side pocket. The spraying equipment and goggles were clutched in either hand for the sake of believability. Then he rang the doorbell and took a long, deep breath. He knew very well that what he had in mind wasn’t going to be easy to accomplish, but he didn’t know anything else that he could do.

  The same hulking manservant answered the door, the voice more gruff than before. Gardner pulled the cap well down on his forehead, feeling sweat drip down his armpits.

  “We aren’t expecting any exterminator,” the man said with a hard look. “Get lost!”

  “Mr. Page knows all about it. He wants the company in to look over the house. It’s overdue for inspection.”

  “He ain’t said nothin’ to me.”

  “Probably didn’t think it was important enough. ’Course, I could always come back some other time, but by then those little critters could have eaten away your foundation. I see many a house sustain structural damage for want of care. I could probably come back again in a few months though. We’re awfully busy these days because we’re the best in town.”

  “Yeah, well you sure talk a lot. Okay, come in. We’ll see.” He eyed Gardner narrowly.

  Gardner walked briskly past him into the entry foyer. He looked around for the door that led down to the basement.

  “Be right back,” he said. “Have to get some stuff.”

  Back at the truck, he signaled Kim. She took some equipment and followed him inside.

  “My assistant will be checking things out upstairs while I work in the basement,” he told the big man with an air of authority.

  The man followed him down the stairs with a heavy step. Gardner noted the casual shirt and slacks and the jacket that only partly hid his holstered weapon. Gardner decided even if the big man looked like he’d served time at Attica, he was little more than a butler.

  Gardner played his part well, inspecting the basement with thoroughness. His every move was watched by the retainer with the aquiline nose resembling an eagle’s beak.

  “Hey, I just remembered something. This house was termite-proofed when it was built. What are you up to?”

  Gardner’s heart began to palpitate. “Haven’t you ever heard of carpenter ants?” he said. “They’ll chew your foundation through good as any termite. And they can be anywhere in the house.” He hoped
the white coveralls he wore lent him an air of authenticity.

  “Don’t termite-proofing take care of the ants too?”

  “Nope, they’re a hardy breed. Entirely different species of insect. You’ve heard of the killer ants down in South America? Well, these are related. They can eat through anything if they’re not stopped.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Well, I got to look around, fella. These ants breed awful fast. No telling where they are.”

  The sandpaper voice sounded anxious. “Okay, just do what you have to quick.”

  “My intention exactly.” He walked around with Lurch following close behind.

  * * * *

  Kim didn’t waste a second. She hurried up the stairs to the second landing and quickly looked around. Her heart was beating violently. It crossed her mind that she was now guilty of criminal trespass. It wasn’t only Mike who could lose his job. And they might both be thrown in jail. She recalled horror stories of what happened to people in prisons and shuddered involuntarily. What was she doing? She prided herself on being a sensible person. This was totally insane! And yet she kept on going.

  The house was large with plush carpeting, expensive furnishings. It looked as if there were at least five bedrooms up here, each with a private bath, but they seemed deserted at first. Then she noticed a small room set off from the others. Kim walked in, aware that someone else was there. A blond woman was sitting on a velvet sofa with her feet on a hassock watching television. She didn’t seem to hear Kim come in at first, which gave her an opportunity to study the woman. Kim thought she was around forty. Although her clothes were well-tailored, there was an aura of neglect about her.

  “Mrs. Page?” she asked in a soft voice, trying not to startle the woman.

  The woman looked up, puzzled; hazy blue-gray eyes found her own. “I’m sorry, who are you? Was I supposed to expect you?”

  She removed her cap. “I’m Kim Reynolds, an academic librarian who works at the humanities library at the university. I came here today to talk to you on behalf of Lieutenant Gardner of the Webster Township Police. He brought me because he found it difficult to get in to talk with you.”

  For some reason, the woman didn’t register surprise. “Georgio doesn’t like me to talk to strangers,” she said dully. Kim thought Mrs. Page might be on some form of meds.

  “I can understand that, since he has such a lovely wife.” Kim hoped that wasn’t pouring it on too thick, but Mrs. Page actually seemed pleased, offering a wide if somewhat vacant smile.

  “Why do you want to talk to me?” she asked, a confused expression on her face.

  Why indeed? Kim knew she didn’t have the experience and expertise at interrogation Mike had achieved. He knew just what to ask. Mike spoke with authority. They didn’t call him the psychologist for nothing.

  Kim took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. She needed to have more confidence in her own abilities. After all, she might not be a law enforcement officer, but she had plenty of experience framing reference questions. That was an art in itself, asking questions of people to determine what they really needed and wanted to know. And she was very good at it. Being a good reference librarian wasn’t all that different from being a perceptive detective, she reasoned. In both occupations, you had to put the pieces together to solve a puzzle. You needed to ask the right questions if you were ever to find the right answers. With that mental pep talk, Kim was able to relax a bit.

  “The man your husband introduced to you, Richard Bradshaw? He’s dead. Was he a friend of your husband?”

  “Friend? I don’t know.”

  “He died under strange circumstances, and we need help finding out what happened. I thought you might know something that could help.”

  Mrs. Page looked upset; Kim’s instincts told her that the woman did know something. Short lashes fluttered over her distracted eyes. “I can’t talk to you. Georgio wouldn’t like it.”

  “It’s for his sake. People are thinking bad things about him. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “I want to watch television,” she said.

  “Our talk won’t take very long.”

  Kim glanced around the room, trying to get a handle on the woman. Nothing extraordinary: bookshelves mostly filled with romance paperbacks, a sewing machine and some gilt-framed photos. Prominently displayed were pictures of a young boy.

  “Your son?” she asked pointing. “A handsome child. You must be proud of him.”

  Mrs. Page looked away, a pained expression on her face.

  “I’m sorry. Did I say something to upset you?”

  Mrs. Page turned back and Kim saw the well of sorrow that lay deep inside her. “You couldn’t know. The little boy in that photo was my son. He died shortly after that picture was taken.”

  Kim hated to use personal grief as a device for pumping information, but she knew it couldn’t be helped. “Was he an only child?”

  Mrs. Page lowered her eyes, nodding miserably.

  “I’m not a parent myself, but I can understand how painful it was for you to lose him. My mother lost her younger sister when she was a girl. She had leukemia. It was terrible for the entire family especially my grandmother.”

  “At least with illness, it’s something that can’t be helped not some stupid, pointless accident.” There was undisguised bitterness in her voice.

  So her son had died in an accident. Kim walked to the window and looked out, trying to decide what to ask next. How was she to reach this woman who isolated herself from life, wallowing in a world of grief and pain? Kim looked out at the backyard. Something about it didn’t look right. There was a concave area of dirt where nothing grew. All around, there were plants and shrubs beautifully landscaped and maintained. Why would nothing grow in that large center area? And then she had a vivid flash of insight. She saw the past. She had a clear image of what happened. There had been a drowning pool.

  Kim turned seeking confirmation. “Mrs. Page, what used to be in that empty area out behind your house?”

  “What?” She seemed startled. “We don’t talk about it.”

  Kim knew without being told. Her special awareness was putting visions into her brain, horrible visions she wished would stop. Kim put her hands to her head and swayed slightly.

  “You had a pool back there, a beautiful pool. Did he drown in your swimming pool?”

  Mrs. Page’s mouth dropped in surprise. “How did you know?”

  “I saw it. His spirit is still here. He’s suffering. You must go back there and place your hands deep into the earth. I know it won’t be easy, but he needs you. Otherwise, he can’t go into the light. His spirit won’t cross over to the other side where he’s meant to go. Only you can help him.”

  Mrs. Page’s head tilted to one side in a look of appraisal. “You’re not pretending, are you?”

  “No. I try not to see, believe me. It’s too painful.”

  “You say he’s still there?”

  Kim nodded. “His ghost or spirit. He’s confused. He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know that he’s dead. He needs you to tell him, to sooth him, to let him go. You must do it for his sake.”

  Mrs. Page grasped Kim’s hand sobbing. “You know, don’t you? You have a sensitive look. Not many people understand, and even fewer care. My little boy drowned in our swimming pool—my husband’s pool, I should say. My baby sneaked away that morning long before anyone else in the house was awake. He always wanted to do whatever his father did. He knew that he was forbidden in the deep end of the pool, but his daddy always swam there, so he wanted to as well. It’s been a few years now, but the nightmare remains.” Her mouth quivered.

  In her mind’s eye, Kim had a vision of Richard Bradshaw’s body floating face down in the La Reine Gardens pool. She tried to shake it.

  “I don’t know why I told you about it. I never talk to anyone about it except my doctor.” Mrs. Page dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

  “It’s all right. I understand,” Kim
said sympathetically.

  “Yes, I believe you really do.” Mrs. Page was staring at the boy’s picture again. “I made Georgio fill in the pool. I couldn’t look at it anymore. He thought that I was trying to punish him. Swimming is his favorite recreation. I suppose I was blaming him for what happened.”

  So that was why Page had built such a magnificent pool in his apartment complex. He’d been trying to compensate for the one he was deprived of at home. Kim wondered if the special pride he took in the swim club had perhaps served as a release from guilt feelings.

  “Mrs. Page, you were aware that your husband enjoyed swimming at La Reine Gardens?”

  She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the child’s picture.

  “Did you ever accompany him for an evening swim?”

  “I hate swimming pools!”

  “Do you know any of the people your husband met at La Reine Gardens? Did you ever meet Richard Bradshaw for instance?”

  Her face began to color and she again seemed agitated. “That awful man? I’m sure Georgio didn’t know him very well.”

  “But you had dinner with him once, didn’t you? What did he talk about with you and your husband?”

  “I think you better go now. I shouldn’t have talked to you. My husband wouldn’t like it.”

  How could she get the woman to open up? “Mrs. Page, before I leave, I just want to tell you I believe your husband had some involvement with Bradshaw. You know the man was murdered, don’t you? Since Lieutenant Gardner questioned your husband about it, he’s been warned that his job is in jeopardy. His family was threatened. Someone warned me on the telephone that if he didn’t stop investigating your husband, I too might be killed. What happened to your son was a tragic accident, but if any harm should come to Lieutenant Gardner’s children, you can be sure it won’t be the result of any accident.”

  Kim saw that she had reached Mrs. Page; a small tic pulsated in her left eye. Kim viewed her with keen anticipation, hopeful that Mrs. Page would provide the information they desperately needed.

  * * * *

  Bert was growing impatient; it seemed like the waiting had gone on forever. Maybe Gardner and Kim Reynolds were in trouble. She should get in there and see what was happening. The wall had a smooth stone surface, which made it difficult to firmly grasp. It was also higher than she’d first estimated. Good that she worked out whenever she had the chance. Karate and jogging kept her in top condition. Besides, physical activity was the best antidote for depression. She knew she could climb over it.