table from which Craig had picked up the towels. There were at least half a dozen glasses and dishes, sets of silverware, and crumpled paper napkins. Apparently, Craig and Billie hadn’t been the first couple to think of having a minipicnic up here. Of course, I had not brought a tray with me, which would have proved helpful.
The dishes were littered with crumbs and were already attracting rows of ants. Wonderful. One of the glasses was almost full of a pink liquid; a drowned bee was floating in it. Other glasses were empty or almost so, and hadn’t yet attracted any insect life. I started stacking up the dishware, then thought better of it.
I pulled out my cell and punched in Charlotte’s home number. To my surprise, not only was the cell connected, but Jack answered on the first ring.
“Where’s Charlotte?” I demanded.
“Happy to speak to you, too, godchild.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Sorry. It’s just that Charlotte sent me on a wild goose chase to find Billie, and I found her, up in the spa’s hot pool. She was with Craig. She’s fine, or as fine as any monster about to be married can be.”
“I’ll tell her, sweetheart. Calm down, will you? You sound stressed out.”
“I am very stressed out. When will you be here?”
“Around four, Charlotte says. I’ll come looking for you.”
“Thank God for that,” I said. “You’re the best,” I added impulsively.
“As are you,” he replied. “Just hang in there. Weddings are like olives. They can be the pits.”
I didn’t mention that Charlotte thought she and Jack themselves were soon to be wed. I was pretty sure that would be news to him. If so, would their wedding be a kalamata or a California olive?
“See you soon,” I said.
“Will Tom be there?” he asked suddenly. It sounded like a casual question posed as an afterthought, but I knew Jack too well for that. He’d probably seen my caller ID on Charlotte’s phone, and immediately picked up just so he could inquire about where my husband would be and when.
“Why?” I asked.
“I’d like to see how he’s making out on the Finn case, that’s all.”
“He’s working the Finn case today, actually. I know he’ll keep you posted, Jack.”
“Will anybody else from the sheriff’s department be at Billie’s wedding?”
I paused for a moment. What was going on here? I had the feeling Jack was fishing for information, but for what kind of information?
“One of Tom’s associates will be here,” I said cautiously. “His name is Sergeant Boyd.”
“Is he a guest?”
“No, he’s helping me in the kitchen. Jack, what is going on? Why are you asking me these questions? You know, you can always leave a message for Tom if you want to.”
“Hey, Gertie Girl, back off!” He laughed. “I just want to know what they’ve found out.”
“I doubt Boyd will know anything.”
“All right, then.”
We signed off, and I continued piling up the dishes and silverware. The conversation with Jack troubled me. Did he know something about Finn’s death that he had withheld from the sheriff’s department? If Finn was his friend, why not tell all to Tom?
I tried to put these questions aside as I worked on figuring out how to balance all the plates and glasses. I started with the dishes, then put the napkins on top, then the glasses, then the silverware inside the glasses. I was immensely proud of myself when I’d constructed a mountain of china that looked like something out of Arch’s old magic books.
With great care, I picked up the whole thing. Unfortunately, I hadn’t figured on the hot pool’s steam covering the surrounding flagstones and my carefully constructed stack with condensed moisture. I slipped, fell on my knees, and watched in despair as my castle of dishware plunged into the depths of the pool.
I cursed, rubbed my knees, and tried to think of what to do. I peered into the murky water, but could not see the glass. The famous Creek-side Ranch hot pond, about fourteen feet across, was fed by genuine geothermal springs. There were two ladders, but the bottom was invisible because the soaking pool was constructed of dark, and undoubtedly slippery, rocks.
“Dammit to hell,” I muttered.
What would happen if someone drank to excess at the wedding reception, came up here, and decided to have a soak? And what if he or she cut a major artery on broken glass? Unlikely, perhaps, but I didn’t carry enough insurance to cover stupidity, my own for losing my grip on all those dishes, or others’, for drinking too much.
I prayed that no one, absolutely no one, was anywhere nearby. I pulled up my sleeve, knelt, and reached into the steaming water.
It was so hot that I gasped. But I got used to it after a few moments. Scooting forward and feeling a couple of feet down along the edge of the pool with my fingers, I realized that a bench of some kind had been constructed around the inside perimeter. Marvelous. Only one plate had landed—and broken—on the bench.
I decided to make another grabbing circuit of the hot-spring pool. Unfortunately, when I extended my right arm as far as I could, my knees gave way yet again on the slippery stones and I fell in.
Cursing as wildly as one can while one’s mouth is full of foul-tasting water, I tried to get some purchase on the bottom. Underneath the bench was another shelf, probably meant as a footrest. I used it to propel myself upward, where I emerged, choking and coughing.
I heaved myself onto the pool’s bench, shivering and thinking. Thank God I kept a clean change of catering clothes in my van.
Since I had dropped the load in the first place, Victor would no doubt blame me—endlessly—for the broken dishes and glasses.
What the hell, I was already wet.
I took a deep breath and plunged down, down, down. How deep was this thing, anyway? Finally, at a depth that I judged to be about eight feet, I touched an uneven bottom. I pushed off and up for more oxygen, as I didn’t want to risk hurting my eyes by opening them. Then down I went again, and began to feel, ever so carefully, for more dishes and glasses.
The water was hot, really hot, and I wondered if anyone ever scalded him- or herself. There was only one warning sign indicating that the very old or very young should not expose themselves to extreme temperatures for more than ten minutes. Peachy.
After what had to have been twenty minutes of probing, I had found four glasses and five plates. Had there been more? I could not remember. My hair stank of sulfur, and I was so light-headed I thought I might pass out. Had I just heard Julian yelling for me?
I had. He seemed to be hollering from a distance that might not be too far off. Was he on the path, maybe?
“Yeah, I’m here!” I croaked, sputtering.
“Goldy?” he called.
“Yeah, I’m in the pool! Just don’t come all the way up, ’cuz I fell into the water and my clothes are stuck to me!”
Julian laughed, sounding relieved. “All right, I’ve got my back turned. Jeez, it’s misty up here.”
I clambered out of the pool and immediately felt even more light-headed. “No kidding,” I said.
“I couldn’t imagine what had happened to you! Look, why don’t you have a shower in the spa gym? They’re cleaning in there and it’s open. I’ll bring you your clean clothes from the van. We’ve got lots of work in front of us, boss.” He paused. “What’re you doing up here, anyway?”
I told him about finding Billie, then being ordered to pick up all the dishes and glasses, then dropping all of same into the pool, then feeling guilty and worried and reaching for the stuff, and finally, falling in, which was when I started looking everywhere for the still missing glasses,
“This is easy,” Julian called from the path. “We tell Victor about what happened. He puts a sign up saying the pool is being cleaned or something, and then he finds somebody to fix the problem. I’ll meet you in the gym in ten minutes?”
“Okay,” I said reluctantly. I clomped down the path toward the gym.
I simply could not wait for this day to be over.
