Read Online Dead in the Water by Glenda Carroll - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Glenda Carroll
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Justin asked.
“Giants fan,” I said. “The new shortstop isn’t bad for a rookie.”
Justin smiled. “We have a lot to talk about.”
The waitress started to put down a wood bowl of mixed nuts. I touched her arm.
“Please don’t. I’m allergic.”
“Consider them gone,” she said and took them away.
“Hope you don’t mind. Everyone in my family has some sort of nut allergy, some worse than others.”
“No worries,” said Justin.
I picked up my bottle of cold beer and started to peel off the label, strip by strip.
“So tell me more about Nevada. I’ve never been there.”
“Well, it gets real cold in the winter, real cold. Lots of snow. Too difficult to get to school. Waddell’s family had an apartment in town during the school year and he and his sister would live there with their mom.”
“Is that unusual?”
“No, not really. There wasn’t much other way to get an education. My mom lived in town, so that wasn’t a real concern for me. Our high school had an Olympic size indoor pool. So while it was minus 15° outside with snow up to your eyeballs, we were working up a sweat in 80° chlorine-filled water.”
“What was Dick like?”
“A real pain in the ass. No one could touch him in the water. But no one wanted to talk to him out of the water. Except the girls. He had it all figured out. Each week—or so it seems—there was a different girl. It started out with him giving the week’s winner—that’s what the rest of us guys called them—a rose. A week or so later, that girl was walking through the halls of our high school, head down, crying her eyes out. And he was on to the next one, and the next one and the next one. Kind of like a conveyor belt Casanova.”
“Not a very sensitive guy.”
“About as sensitive as a can of paint.”
“So, he eventually moved to the Bay area?”
“Yeah, not that long ago.”
“And made a name for himself locally in the open water world.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t understand why winning these swims or being named overall winner is so important. There’s no money involved. Or endorsements. They don’t become worldwide celebrities, right?”
“Yes and no. You won’t find a Masters swimmer on the Wheaties box if that’s what you’re asking. I take that back. Some of the swimmers on past Olympic teams have swum at Masters meets so that could be a possibility. The most well-known swimmers are sponsored by companies. That means they get free swimsuits. They show up at an open water event in one of those suits and other swimmers pay attention. And they really are celebrities within the open water swim community. Big celebrities.”
Justin glanced down at his watch. “Hey, I gotta go. Things to do. Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk again.”
“Thanks. Good information. One more thing,” I said as he stood up.
Justin turned around. “Yeah?”
“Back to Dick Waddell. Did you two swim against each other?”
Justin nodded. “Yeah, we did. But he was always too fast for me. It didn’t matter. He was older by a little, so I had my chance to shine when he graduated.”
After Justin left, I sat there for a while in the restaurant and slowly drank my beer. The Giants game droned on over the bar. Richard Waddell was an interesting character. Swimming seemed to be his whole life. He was good at it, but lacked social skills big time. Sounds like he might have been dragging a number of enemies behind him. From Nevada to Texas to the San Francisco Bay area. His death, as the email had suggested earlier this week, might be questionable. There were probably plenty of people around who would have liked to remove him from this planet, as well as any body of water.
And this guy, Mike Menton. Justin didn’t have much nice to say about him. Or his dopey daughter. Don’t know why he wouldn’t talk to me. I wasn’t going to accuse him of anything. Yet. All I wanted was some simple conversation—ask a couple of questions.
I
“Giants fan,” I said. “The new shortstop isn’t bad for a rookie.”
Justin smiled. “We have a lot to talk about.”
The waitress started to put down a wood bowl of mixed nuts. I touched her arm.
“Please don’t. I’m allergic.”
“Consider them gone,” she said and took them away.
“Hope you don’t mind. Everyone in my family has some sort of nut allergy, some worse than others.”
“No worries,” said Justin.
I picked up my bottle of cold beer and started to peel off the label, strip by strip.
“So tell me more about Nevada. I’ve never been there.”
“Well, it gets real cold in the winter, real cold. Lots of snow. Too difficult to get to school. Waddell’s family had an apartment in town during the school year and he and his sister would live there with their mom.”
“Is that unusual?”
“No, not really. There wasn’t much other way to get an education. My mom lived in town, so that wasn’t a real concern for me. Our high school had an Olympic size indoor pool. So while it was minus 15° outside with snow up to your eyeballs, we were working up a sweat in 80° chlorine-filled water.”
“What was Dick like?”
“A real pain in the ass. No one could touch him in the water. But no one wanted to talk to him out of the water. Except the girls. He had it all figured out. Each week—or so it seems—there was a different girl. It started out with him giving the week’s winner—that’s what the rest of us guys called them—a rose. A week or so later, that girl was walking through the halls of our high school, head down, crying her eyes out. And he was on to the next one, and the next one and the next one. Kind of like a conveyor belt Casanova.”
“Not a very sensitive guy.”
“About as sensitive as a can of paint.”
“So, he eventually moved to the Bay area?”
“Yeah, not that long ago.”
“And made a name for himself locally in the open water world.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t understand why winning these swims or being named overall winner is so important. There’s no money involved. Or endorsements. They don’t become worldwide celebrities, right?”
“Yes and no. You won’t find a Masters swimmer on the Wheaties box if that’s what you’re asking. I take that back. Some of the swimmers on past Olympic teams have swum at Masters meets so that could be a possibility. The most well-known swimmers are sponsored by companies. That means they get free swimsuits. They show up at an open water event in one of those suits and other swimmers pay attention. And they really are celebrities within the open water swim community. Big celebrities.”
Justin glanced down at his watch. “Hey, I gotta go. Things to do. Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk again.”
“Thanks. Good information. One more thing,” I said as he stood up.
Justin turned around. “Yeah?”
“Back to Dick Waddell. Did you two swim against each other?”
Justin nodded. “Yeah, we did. But he was always too fast for me. It didn’t matter. He was older by a little, so I had my chance to shine when he graduated.”
After Justin left, I sat there for a while in the restaurant and slowly drank my beer. The Giants game droned on over the bar. Richard Waddell was an interesting character. Swimming seemed to be his whole life. He was good at it, but lacked social skills big time. Sounds like he might have been dragging a number of enemies behind him. From Nevada to Texas to the San Francisco Bay area. His death, as the email had suggested earlier this week, might be questionable. There were probably plenty of people around who would have liked to remove him from this planet, as well as any body of water.
And this guy, Mike Menton. Justin didn’t have much nice to say about him. Or his dopey daughter. Don’t know why he wouldn’t talk to me. I wasn’t going to accuse him of anything. Yet. All I wanted was some simple conversation—ask a couple of questions.
I
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