Read Online Dead in the Water by Glenda Carroll - Free Book Online Page A

talk to you.”
    “But, I….”
    “No, listen to me. I don’t want the attention. You want to ask me questions about Waddell; so does everyone else. I wasn’t involved. Understand? The guy died; I’m sorry about that. But I had nothing to do with it. So leave me alone and don’t take any more pictures of me.”
    With that he gave my elbow a tight squeeze and then let go, turning to walk back toward the raven-haired swimmer, now surrounded by a number of men.
    My camera dangled from the strap on my wrist.
    “Welcome to the world of Mike Menton,” said Justin from right behind me. I jumped at the sound of his voice. I almost dropped the evaluation folder.
    “What was that all about? All I wanted to do was talk to him?”
    “He’s a turf specialist type of guy.”
    “A what?”
    “Turf specialist. His turf. You’re not special enough…get it?
    “Okay. Who’s the woman?”
    “Jacqueline…Jackie for short…Gibson.”
    “Lovely, isn’t she?” I said glancing at her as Menton now took hold of her arm.
    “Yes. The Cleopatra of the swim set,” Justin said.
    “Excuse me?”
    “Let’s just say, she bestows her favors on the fastest swimmers.”
    “You are not talking about swimming tips, are you?”
    “Nope. She was the apex of the Waddell/Menton triangle.”
    “Really? Didn’t know there was a triangle. Guess there is a lot I don’t know. Ah…would you be able to talk with me before you leave? I won’t take much of your time. I’ve been around open water swimming before, but not like this. It is different. I have to finish up the evaluation first. Could we talk in about a half hour?”
    Justin agreed to stay around. He suggested we meet at a small Mexican restaurant about two blocks away.
    The swimmers were beginning to leave the beach and head for their cars, maybe to a restaurant or even to the rides on the Santa Cruz boardwalk. My evaluation sheet was filled with checks and detailed notes about the swim. I’d taken a lot of photographs of the swimmers following the race: sitting on the sand, at the refreshment booths, getting awards. A successful first outing, I thought as I walked over to the event director, introduced myself and congratulated him out loud and me—to myself—on a job well done.
    I watched Mike Menton and Jackie move across the sand toward the beach boardwalk. The daughter and weirdo boyfriend were nowhere to be seen.

.
    7
    “Lucky, that’s what Waddell’s dad used to be called,” said Justin. “Although the way I see it, most people nicknamed Lucky rarely are.”
    Justin and I were sitting in La Casa de las Playas, not far from the beach. The Giants game was on the television over the bar and we were working our way through a bowl of tortilla chips and eye-watering salsa.
    “I worked on his family’s ranch growing up and Dick and I were on the high school swim team. He rarely talked to me when he moved here. Putting the past behind him, I guess.”
    “What kind of past are you talking about?” I asked.
    “His dad was something else. Always in trouble. Involved with some bad people. Once, he and a buddy stole some guns, held up a convenience store and took a highway patrolman hostage. Not the brightest thing to do. He spent a lot of years in prison after that. Dick told me he would send out Christmas cards saying ‘Wish you were here.’ It didn’t matter what Lucky did, Waddell idolized him. But when he left Nevada for college in Texas, he never looked back.”
    “What about his mother?” I asked.
    “A quiet lady. Had enough inner strength to manage the ranch when Lucky went to prison. She put up with a lot. Not sure if Dick kept in touch with her. She passed a few years ago.”
    A cheer erupted from the crowd around the bar and then settled into a groan. The new Giants shortstop, Ricky Ferguson, had just thrown a bullet to home plate. But it was high. “Safe,” Justin and I said simultaneously.
    We looked at each other and laughed.
    “Baseball fan?”