Read Online THE DEEP END by Julie Mulhern - Free Book Online

eyes to erase the picture. “He wanted to stay.”
    Detective Jones opened his mouth as if to speak then closed it. Perhaps he too was imagining the things that could happen to a human jellyfish at a place where inflicting pain was a prized skill. He bit his lip and shook his head. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
    His eyes really were nice, a deep shade of honest brown.
    “I’m sure,” I lied. I was the opposite of all right. I thought I’d been helping Roger when I agreed to go with him to Club K. I thought he needed answers. I had no idea he’d discover a latent need to experience pain. Worse, I’d discovered my husband had been playing slap (literally) and tickle with not one but three women. The whole sordid morning of shameful revelations made my stomach churn. I needed an antacid and my paints and I needed them now. “Am I getting a ticket?”
    A tiny furrow formed between his eyebrows and he rubbed it away with the pad of his thumb. “Not from me. Slow down. Be careful. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
    Again rather sweet. Again worthy of a smile. At least a small one. I had none available. I drove the rest of the way home at a sedate pace. My mood, black is the new black, lightened to charcoal grey. I might have glanced in the rearview more than once—more than five times—but didn’t see Detective Jones behind me. I was almost disappointed.
    I was driving by the entrance to the club when I remembered. Lunch.
    Damn.
    It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see my friends. I did. But, I wanted to paint and think and be alone more.
    I glanced at my watch. I was already late, but I could hardly cancel now. Swallowing a sigh that seemed to rise from my toes, I turned the car around and drove it up the club’s winding drive.
    Eight

      
    The ladies’ dining room at the club was decorated in shades as soft and delicate as watercolors in the rain. Small white-linen topped tables were set for two or four and the scent of roses perfumed the air. Crossing its threshold meant the reminder of simpler times—when ladies lunched, when husbands honored their vows, when Madeline Harper didn’t float in the pool.
    Three women had already taken their seats. I knew they waited for me with the barely contained excitement of four year-olds on Christmas morning so I lingered at the door. They’d want to hear all about Madeline and, now that I knew all about Madeline, I didn’t want to talk about her.
    I wanted to talk about Kitty and Prudence. Had one of them killed Madeline?
    I walked to the table.
    Jinx looked up from the menu. “Great dress. I love seersucker.”
    “Thank you.” It was a relief to be around women for whom seersucker was a fabric and not a safe word. I sank into my chair.
    Libba half rose from her chair to wave at the waiter, a soft-spoken man named Frank who’d worked at the club for years. “A glass of liebfraumilch for Mrs. Russell. Bring a bottle.” Then she directed her attention at me. “You look like you need it. Do you want to tell us about finding Madeline?”
    I tried to smile but my mouth felt stiff. I was reminded of Grace’s description—gritted teeth and pursed lips. I gave up the effort. “Surely there’s something more interesting to talk about.”
    Daisy choked on a sip of wine. “More interesting than how Madeline Harper came to be floating in our pool?” She looked around the table then frowned. “It’s still not open. I imagine the children are just desperate. And swim team? It’s almost impossible to borrow practice time from another club. Do you have any idea when the police will remove the crime tape?”
    Did she think ending up in a police interview room gave me some kind of insider status? “None,” I said.
    Jinx rimmed the edge of her wine glass with the tip of her finger. “There’s some talk of draining the water and refilling.” At least she didn’t pretend grief for Madeline.
    Then again, Daisy was more worried about swim team than murder. And