Drowning Pool (Miss Henry Mysteries)

by Melanie Jackson

  Juliet still had her sketchpad and flashlight with her and she led the way to the garage, making sure to choose a route that would accommodate Raphael’s chair.

  “You have made good use of your time,” was Raphael’s only comment at her obvious familiarity with the castle’s layout.

  “I have not been dallying,” she murmured. “And I can usually find my way about anyway.”

  “You do have a certain porosity when it comes to things like this,” he admitted. “Your sense of direction is useful while slipping between the cracks.”

  “Sorry I came along?”

  “Not yet. Ask me again tomorrow.” But he smiled when he said this.

  At the garage they ran into Smythe, whose presence she suspected was far from random. Though a guard had been detailed to serve as driver, Juliet insisted politely on driving a jeep herself. When Smythe suggested that she might get lost she laughed at him, but then told him a version of the truth, hoping to avoid any more conversational jujitsu. It was getting late and she didn’t want to be out after dark.

  “I’m going there to work and I don’t like strangers around when I am drawing. Raphael has the gift of being still so I don’t mind him, but anyone else will ruin it. The ghosts won’t come if there are too many people around.”

  “Ghosts?” he asked.

  “Of course. How can you doubt it? This whole place is creepy.”

  Smythe considered her for a moment and then ordered one of the guards to fetch the keys to a jeep. Juliet was betting that they had tracking devices on the vehicle and made note that if she had to borrow a vehicle in an emergency exit from the castle that she would have to check it for a LoJack.

  Aware that the jeep might also be bugged, Juliet said little on the short drive. Taking a cue from her, Raphael stayed quiet too.

  The little ponds were not far from the castle and not large enough to be impressive someplace like Minnesota. But in a land of perpetual thirst where even short exposure to the sun made one lightheaded, the water was miraculous. She could understand why they might have been a place of worship to those who lived in the wasteland. And why terrible legends of angry gods might have sprung up if the water—or what lived in the water—started making people sick.

  One of the four lakes was slightly larger than the others and at one end it was several shades darker, suggesting that it was deeper at one end. It was there they disembarked. They had to park a little way from the edge of the pozas, but there was a trail of hard earth through the shoulder-high grass which Raphael could negotiate without undue difficulty. The path was about two feet wide and the grass had been prostrated by some animal—perhaps a human. But the trail sometimes narrowed and the chair would occasionally flatten the strong stalks, and the broken stems filled the air with a slightly musky odor that smelled almost animal.

  There was no wind, so no whispers in the dry sward, and the water, which was fed by underground springs, was also still. The place both repelled and intrigued Juliet in equal measure. It was something of a relief when a lone bird hidden in the grass broke the silence with a short, drowsy song. At least they knew that they were not the only corporeal creatures at the poza.

  “This place would be eerie enough without the legends of the water ghosts,” Juliet said softly as the melancholy atmosphere wound its way through her brain and brushed against her heart.

  “But with them?” Raphael shook his head. “I am not superstitious but I feel an intruder here.”

  “That’s because we are. This is a place of apparitions.”

  “Yet you needed to come.” This was an invitation for her open up about what she was thinking.

  “I think so. Though not to call on the dead. My story last night was just window dressing. Von Hayek said something and I want to puzzle it for a while and see if it makes sense. If you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. I think I will nap.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, We are seeing this place in transition. Klaus and the Renaissance are on the way out and Henrik and modern art are taking charge. And Henrik doesn’t like Quatros Cienegas.”

  Juliet found a flat stone and they sat in silence while the sun shifted over. Juliet finally remembered to pull out her sketchbook and drew a few of the flowers in case anyone examined her book while she was away from her room at dinner. She had already removed the maps and hidden them in the secret compartment of her purse. To get a more complete view of the poza, she climbed to the top of a boulder and looked down at the darkening water. It spoke to her morbid state that she half expected to see some Mexican Ophelia—maybe her Cora—floating in the pond.

  The lilies were pale though instead of red, help up on stiff stems where they floated above the green pads, and in the light they looked almost metallic and gleamed in the sunlight which had netted the flowers in wisps of ephemeral gold that would soon be gone. They made Juliet think of a stained glass window in a cathedral. Here and there bits of tarnished gold darted among the living, emerald tiles that almost paved the pond in places, and she noticed a few tiny turtles enjoying the last of the sun around the edge of the pond.

  “What do they call those round church windows?” she asked Raphael, finally breaking her silence. “The ones with the mullions.”

  “The rose window? Or the old name is the Catherine window,” he suggested.

  “Yes, that’s it. That is almost what this is like.” Juliet chose not to think about how the saint the window was named after had died.

  She drew quickly, wanting to watch the last of the light to make the location of the dark hole in the lakebed. As the shade stole over the poza, first one and then another lily closed their parasol petals, shutting so quickly that they trapped any unwary critters inside. She watched in fascination as a small frog had to fight free of the delicate winding sheet. It plopped into the water and disappeared.

  “I am beginning to feel haunted by these lilies and I don’t think I will actually paint them. It would be like inviting the Smoking Mirror into my life and I don’t want that door opened. I want to go home and leave the ghosts here.”

  “There are lilies at the castle?” Raphael asked.

  “There are lily paintings all over the plaster walls out in the gardens—which are going to wrack and ruin. And there is one on the old well by the temple which van Hayek says connects to these lakes through underground aquifers. By the way, the pyramid temple is real and the locals objected to Klaus von Hayek building on it, but of course he did it anyway. But then, after taking the place over and landscaping it like something out of the Arabian Nights, he suddenly just stopped caring about things outside the castle and they have let the gardens rot. Maybe Klaus got ill and Henrik doesn’t care enough to expend the effort to keep up the gardens. Or maybe the locals remember the legends and won’t work there. In any event, I don’t think it is a financial decision. There are no other signs of penury. The state of the gardens is caused by indifference on Henrik’s part. And Klaus von Hayek being too ill to know or care about what is going on.”

  Raphael nodded.

  “I would not be surprised if, after Dad has gone to that great furnace of the damned, his son might very well leave Quatros Cienegas. Of course, none of this concerns me. I am only after the roundel. The rest is just prurient interest.”

  Juliet smiled wryly, acknowledging that she was curious. It was her nature. Raphael smiled back but shook his head.

  “Maybe this explains all the armed guards in residence. Perhaps Henrik is worried about ongoing hostilities with the local population.” This was a reasonable suggestion.

  “Like his own domestic staff? Because I think they are local. Maybe that’s it. And it could be that this has something to do with them growing marijuana.”

  “Are they growing?” he asked.

  “I am pretty sure they are. I haven’t been able to find a way into that part of the garden yet, but I can smell it.”

  “So, if not local hostility or protecting a cash crop, you think this is ab
out senior von Klaus’s illegal art collection?”

  “Yes, at least in large part. Darn! It’s too late to draw properly,” Juliet said at last.

  “We can come back tomorrow,” Raphael said. “There will be time before the reception. If you really need to visit this dreadful place again.”

  “Good, because I think I may have to come back. And bring a bathing suit.” She stared at the poza with distaste and some trepidation.

  “You are going in the water? Is that wise?” Raphael asked after a moment. “Have you been vaccinated for hepatitis?”

  “Yes, but there were no health warnings about the water, nor any mention of dangerous currents or predators. And I will make damn sure that I don’t swallow any of it.” She knew that he was worried that if she got into trouble out in the lake he would be unable to save her.

  “I find it hard to believe that you want to see the fish that badly. Why are you going in?”

  “I don’t want to see the fish. Of course not, but I definitely want to see what these water lilies are growing out of.”

  “Ah, Juliet! With you, life is never boring. What are you seeing up there in your aerie that is not apparent to me?” Raphael got to his feet. It was a struggle for him but Juliet did not offer to help. He could stand for short times without assistance.

  “I do see what you mean,” he said, staring out at the poza. “Those patches are rather body shaped, aren’t they? It almost looks planned. Could it be von Hayek’s doing? Maybe enhancing the local legend to keep people away?”

  “Maybe, but if it is his work it was done a long time ago. Everything looks very established. I didn’t notice the pattern until the flowers closed and the light was getting low enough to skim the water. If it’s natural, it may be how the legend of the handmaidens got started,” Juliet hypothesized. “I am also very curious about the dark patch to the right. See it? There at the deep end of the pond? It is perfectly round like a well. In fact I would guess it is almost exactly the size of the well back at the castle. It might very well be manmade.”

  Raphael nodded slowly.

  “A well, or a holy cenote—though that was more of a Mayan thing. This is Aztec territory, is it not? Do you truly think that this was a place of sacrifice? There surely wouldn’t be any remains after all this time—assuming that is what the lilies are rooted in.”

  “Maybe it was a holy place. That isn’t what I am curious about. At least not the human sacrifices.”

  Raphael sat back down, looking thoughtful.

  “You are thinking of the Aztecan or Mayan gold offerings? Here?”

  “Gold, yes, but not necessarily of the Aztecan variety. You see, I’ve been thinking about hiding gold rather a lot lately, and one of the nice things about the tears of the gods is that it doesn’t rust like other metals.” She turned and looked at Raphael. “If you wanted to hide a stash of gold treasure—like say a Donatello roundel—someplace where it wouldn’t be found through casual snooping, a cenote on a private nature reserve patrolled by armed guards might be just the place to store it until outside interest died down. You could leave it there for months or years or even decades, as long as it didn’t get too deeply buried in silt—and it wouldn’t be. Not here.”

  Raphael shook his head. It wasn’t negation.

  “I don’t like this at all. What makes you think that it wouldn’t be booby-trapped if it is really there?”

  “They wouldn’t risk damaging the roundel or other treasure, and they have to be able to retrieve it eventually so it won’t be anything tricky, if they even bothered with traps. Besides, I’m not planning on touching anything down there. I just need to be here around high noon and to take a look at what’s down there while the sun is overhead. I know it’s a longshot, but I would prefer it to either the dungeon or the crypts as a hiding place, and I am running out of options.”

  “Dungeon?” Raphael was startled.

  “Yep, so von Hayek tells me.”

  Raphael looked disgusted and then began to shiver as the evening winds began to sigh over the water. The desert’s breath was chill after the heat of the day. If Juliet listened hard enough she was pretty sure that she could make out words of warning. She truly wished that she could heed them.

  “We should leave,” Raphael said. “It is getting dark and I would rather not put Mr. von Hayek to the trouble of sending out a rescue party. Especially not if we plan to return tomorrow.”

  “I suppose, though I wouldn’t mind missing dinner,” she told him, getting down from her rock. “I am beginning to feel like a gavaged goose and I am tired of the constant in-fighting. It’s bad for the digestion.”

  “Understandable, but I think, given our host’s strange proclivities, that we had best not do anything to arouse his suspicion or ire. We will go, smile, and eat selectively.”

  Juliet nodded.

  “You’re right. And speaking of the strange proclivities of our absent host,” she said. “I haven’t told you about the library. You won’t believe what I found there.”

  “At this point I would believe anything. Please relieve my curiosity.”

  She told him about the human skin books.

  “Did you find anything else?” he asked when she was done.

  “Well, at least one of the castle dwellers is a regular pot smoker, but that doesn’t help me with finding the roundel, except in the most indirect way.”

  “And I am afraid that I cannot help you very much either. I’m sorry, Juliet.”

  “Well, there you are wrong. I expect you to make sure I leave with you—and if I should disappear that you call Merton and demand the cavalry come rescue me at once.”

  “I am also wondering if we should not call Esteban. It might be wise for someone on the outside to have some knowledge of what you have found.”

  “Yes, but we will have to be careful about what we say. I am willing to bet that our rooms are bugged and our calls are monitored. The vehicles too. It would be great if we could think of some reason to get him into the castle.”

  “We should think diligently about this, because I am not able to help you as I should.”

  Juliet leaned over and kissed him. He looked slightly startled.

  “You keep me grounded. I can’t tell you what that is worth when I am feeling like a stranger in this very strange land.”

  Chapter 10

  Smythe played piano through the cocktail hour while the God-touched swilled drinks and glared at one another. Juliet had to admire his finger strength. The key action was so stiff that she would have been willing to swear that the keyboard had never known the touch of human hands.

  Smythe wasn’t bad, especially considering that he was playing by ear while busily watching everyone in the room, including—perhaps especially—Henrik von Hayek. Juliet wondered what was up. Had something happened while they were absent? Or was it their long absence that had their host distracted?

  Juliet was not surprised when Smythe again asked to take her into dinner.

  “And how many courses tonight?” she asked lightly. It was foolish but she was feeling slightly bereft and wondered how she was going to limp through the rest of the evening. The trip was turning out to be even less fun than she had anticipated. She hadn’t the comfort of the real Raphael’s company most of the time since he was immersed in his public role.

  Besides, she missed her cat. Especially at night when she would have liked a friendly body in her bed.

  “Too many. But at least some are prepared in the French style.” He glanced at her. “But you have had a surfeit of foreign-tasting food?”

  “And nearly everything else. House parties are no place for a bunch of loners. It makes them even more insane,” she muttered. Then she added in a normal voice, “I shall weigh two hundred pounds by the time I leave.”

  “And that is why you eschew all company? Fear of insanity?”

  She looked into his eyes.

  “Tell the truth. If it wasn’t for your job you would eschew the company.
”

  “Not all of you,” he added with a small smile that felt genuine.

  “Of course not. But then Raphael James is a great artist.”

  “Just so.”

  “But that still doesn’t help me with fitting into my dress for the party.”

  “I doubt that you will have any problems,” Smythe answered, looking more serious. “I’ve noticed that you seem to be burning off the calories with exercise.”

  “Yes, well, I only brought one fancy dress. I need to make sure I fit into it for the show without looking like an overstuffed sausage casing.”

  “And someone said that tomorrow you are going back to the poza?”

  “Yes, I wasn’t able to finish all the drawings I need this afternoon.”

  “That might be a good thing—having a day away from the castle.” His eyes flicked to von Hayek. “I would however be careful about swimming.”

  “Swimming?” Juliet asked with feigned surprise. “Good heavens—what an idea. But what is wrong with the water? Swarms of piranhas? Flesh-eating microbes?”

  “Nothing like that,” he said smoothly. “But there can be currents since the pozas are linked by underground aquifers to wells in the castle and other underground caverns. And you wouldn’t want Smoking Mirror to grab you down there in the dark.”

  “No, I definitely would not,” Juliet said with feeling, consoling herself with the fact that at high noon the lake would be as bright as the land around it. She would also be taking precautions against any currents.

  Juliet did not like the dining room. It was uncomfortably, even theatrically large, and even with their large party it was full of echoing shadows.

  That evening she was seated to the left of von Hayek, who was looking more thin and tubercular than ever. Across from her Oscar Dandie was talking about his childhood in Cologne and lamenting the changes that had come to Europe with immigrants who did not understand the past and the cultures they were destroying with their food and religion.

  Juliet refrained from mentioning that the good old days he was longing for in good old Cologne had included one of the largest witch executions in history as well as two world wars.