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  “Me, too.”

  “Folks around here don’t usually do their own pools. They—”

  “I know—they employ scantily clad pool boys to do the work.”

  “There’s that attitude again,” Milford told her. “I was going to say they don’t do it themselves because it’s too easy to ruin the pool.”

  “Oh yeah?” Milford had Shel’s reluctant attention. She put on a tone that was intended to come off as nonchalant, which was hard to achieve over the ruckus. “How so?”

  “You drain this thing too low without running that there hose out to the sewage ditch, you’ll cause a water buildup. Whole pool insert will pop out and float like a boat.” They both lurched unexpectedly when the pump hit fever pitch. Milford simply raised her own volume even higher. “You’ll crack all that nice tile up on top. Wreck the whole thing!”

  Shel shut off the pump and stared at her. The machinery sounded like it was dying as it wound down. She realized her ears were ringing. They both stood there wagging fingers in their ear canals.

  Milford nodded toward the bit of green water still at the pool’s bottom. “That’s low enough anyhow. Just clean the insert, refill the pool and shock it good.”

  “Then why did he rent me this pump?” she asked herself more than the cop.

  “Kenny, right?” She was referring to the only pool supply store in town, a mom-and-pop operation that reeked of chlorine and cigarette smoke. Shel nodded. Milford shrugged. “Probably for a quick hundred bucks. And why not, right? You don’t look like you know any better, being an outsider and all.”

  “So you told me.” Disgusted, Shel unplugged the pump and dragged the heavy contraption back out of the water. She surveyed the splattered, green mess as she wound up the hose. “Now what?”

  “Now you’re going to have to clean that tile, but be sure and clean your filter or all your work’s for nothing.”

  “I don’t have time for this crap,” Shel muttered.

  “Suit yourself.” Milford leaned forward and stretched, looked prepared to go. She took a step, but dropped back, snapped her fingers. “One more thing. That retirement story of yours didn’t really check out.”

  Caught off guard, Shel glared at her.

  “Here’s what I know—you come around here, looking all kinds of different—” Milford gestured toward Shel’s clothing, hair, and any other point she could reference—“prancing around the neighborhood in the middle of the night in your undies, telling the local cop stories about how you got honorably discharged from public services. Doesn’t bode well with folks.”

  “Well, Officer Milford, to be honest, I didn’t do anything wrong. Therefore I don’t really give a shit what the folks think.”

  “It doesn’t bode well with me,” the cop said, lowering her gaze along with her voice. “I don’t take kindly to being lied to, especially from my brethren, former or what have you.”

  Shel could tell that Milford’s friendly lean was really anything but. The woman wanted answers, and rightly so, Shel supposed. It was her town, after all.

  Shel dropped the coil of hose she’d gathered and returned to the porch. She leaned against the railing and bowed her head, nearly chinning her clavicle. After a bit, she spoke. “I got fired for drugs, which by now you already know.” Shel fixed a steely stare on her visitor. “But I shouldn’t have.”

  “Well, that’s an old story, hon. Every junkie says they shouldn’t have got fired for drugs, arrested for drugs—that they didn’t kill anyone for—”

  “I know. I’m a cop, remember?” Shel glared at her then softened her tone a bit. “Was a cop.”

  “What are you really doing here in my little burg?”

  Shel hadn’t planned to answer that question any more than she’d planned to answer questions about her past. “Looking for an old friend.”

  “An old friend.”

  “She could be in trouble.”

  Milford looked skeptical. “Trouble?”

  “Is there an echo out here?” Shel grew impatient. “Look, run your checks, run your town—do whatever you want, but I’m freelancing, so I’m staying here for a bit. Get over it.”

  Milford studied her a moment. “Fair enough.”

  “Anything else?”

  “You got a license for your ‘freelancing’ thing?” Milford hooked air quotes.

  “I have a gun permit.”

  “Any moron can get a gun permit. I’ll take that as a no on the license.”

  “Take it however you want. I’m not looking for trouble here.”

  “They never are,” Milford muttered. She turned to go, but dropped back a second time. “One more time—why were you running around in the middle of the night?”

  “I heard a noise across the street, I told you, and I went over to check it out. I thought something might be wrong.”

  “Fair enough,” Milford repeated what seemed to be her favorite phrase. She stared out at the murky pool again. “Don’t go wavin’ your gun around my burg though, you hear?”

  Shel only looked at her. Milford was looking over her shoulder at the pool.

  “Get yourself some strong bleach water and scrub that insert and tiles. Let it drop into the bottom, fill it up. You’ll shock it and run the pool pump for a few days anyway. That’ll clear it.”

  “Thank you, Officer,” Shel said, disgust obvious in her tone.

  Milford started toward the side of the house. “And here’s your pump over here.”

  Shel was aggravated that she actually needed to know its location. She begrudgingly followed the cop to the side of the house and together they stared at a contraption that looked like a giant oxygen tank. Shel wondered suddenly if she was in over her head. She didn’t need a pool, or its accompanying hassles.

  “Now just unscrew this,” Milford narrated, giving the plastic cog a spin. She removed it, handed it to Shel. “Then you pull this top off, and there’s your filter.”

  “Jesus…” Shel gasped.

  They both gasped at the overwhelming fetid odor, waved their hands before their noses, eyes watering thanks to the stench.

  Milford, appearing to muster her bravery, reached into the contraption and removed the slimy filter. She stretched her shirt collar up to cover her mouth and nose, then proceeded to talk through it, her words muffled. “Looks to be intact and that’s good. If it wasn’t, it could set you back a hundred bucks or so.”

  Shel was amazed at the woman’s seemingly endless knowledge of strange things. “You a pool cop, too?”

  Milford ignored her. “Just spray this thing down until it runs clear, and from the looks of it, that’s going to take a while. Replace it and turn it on. That’s the key. The pump must be turned on.”

  “I take it that it wasn’t,” Shel said, scratching her chin.

  “Lord, girl. You don’t know a thing about swimmin’ pools any more than you know how to dress for south Florida.” Milford flipped back the lid on the switch box and adjusted a dial inside. She tapped it to get Shel’s attention. “Run that pool full of water and then hit this switch, but not till it’s full, you hear? Drop in all your goodies and do a pH level in a couple of days.”

  “Okay.”

  Milford looked suspicious. “You have no idea what a pH level is, do you?”

  Shel looked away. Milford recapped her crazy head of hair and started to leave through the side yard.

  She called behind her, “Good luck.”

  Chapter Twelve

  By early evening, the pool was technically clean, but heavily clouded with chlorine. Shel padded out into the backyard to check the water level, clean bare feet stepping carefully across the uneven patio to avoid stubbing her toes. When she was satisfied that it was filling properly, she sat down on the back step and took a swig of cold beer.

  The sun was setting, thoroughly pinking the sky in its wake. Shel figured since she would soon be gone, it wouldn’t hurt to see the sunset a time or two from the beach. This sneak peek of day’s end promised a
spectacular show given the mere slice of sky above the tree line. The night was navy blue and the moon looked fuzzy. She got a strong whiff of chlorine and blinked, realizing it wasn’t the moon at all, but vapors rising off the pool. She took a final swig and went inside.

  The house across the street had been quiet all day long. As per usual, Kathleen had arrived home shortly after five with Fortier’s daughter, and had once again disappeared inside. Shel sauntered over to the countertop, set the bottle in the sink and gazed over paperwork she had spread all over the place.

  While the pool was filling, she’d gone to the library where the Internet was free. She’d intended to Google the location of City Hall with the intention of paying the records office a visit to find out who owned the yellow house across the street. When she’d found a Collier County city property directory online, she felt like she’d struck pay dirt. She loved the idea of avoiding a trip to such a public office. With the lingering presence of Officer Milford, she was already closer to one civil servant more than what made her comfortable. Within fifteen minutes she had the name of a listed owner, SLW, LLC, a business with no website and no listed address, only a telephone number. She could also see that SLW, LLC owned sixteen other properties, all seemingly similar modest cottages in the same type of beach neighborhoods. She printed out mini profiles on each property.

  She stared at the screen a bit before punching the number into her new phone, courtesy of Richard Fortier. It didn’t bother her that it was after nine o’clock, in fact, she preferred the late hour. A business would have a recorded message or voice mail, and either one would give her a bit of information about what kind of company was behind the cryptic acronym. To her surprise, a real, live voice interrupted her internal prattle.

  “Hello? Can I help you?”

  Shel froze, in part from the fact that she’d actually reached a human at this hour, but also because it was a familiar voice. She couldn’t believe it was possible.

  “Hello? Anyone there?”

  “Hello,” Shel half-whispered in the event the woman on the line was as good at identifying voices as Shel was. “I’m sorry it’s late.”

  “We’re always here to help.” Yes, she definitely recognized the well-spoken, polite-sounding woman. “Who referred you, please?”

  Referred her? For what?

  “Mmm…” Shel covered the phone as she quickly exited the kitchen, sidestepped the cat, and within seconds was in the bedroom. She snatched her jacket off the bedpost and violently shook the garment. Her pen and leather bound notebook went flying from the pockets and two bucks feathered onto the bedspread. Shel barreled into the closet and snatched the plastic hotel laundry bag and hurriedly dumped it on the bedspread. “I can’t say…”

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “I was, uh, given this number by a friend.” Shel wanted not only to keep the woman talking, but hopefully to say something—anything—that would indicate the nature of her employment. She shook dirty laundry all over the bed and quickly sorted through the heap.

  “Are you still there?”

  “I am. I’d rather not say who gave me your number.” Shel drew the conversation out as much as possible. She hurriedly plucked and discarded each item from the pile, littering the floor with the castoffs. “He’s a confidential person.”

  “He?” It had to be her. Smooth-sounding, deliberate, intelligent, hint of Midwest accent… “I’m happy to assist you, but I will need that name.”

  Shel panicked, hoped the woman couldn’t hear her breathing heavily. She found her jeans stashed at the bottom of the bag, pulled them out, and yanked at the pocket linings until they were inside out. A wrinkled, white business card fell onto the bedspread and she snatched it up. Running her finger over the rubberized gallery embossment, she flipped it over and froze.

  “How do you think you can help me?” Shel asked after a lengthy pause.

  “I have many contacts,” the woman calmly replied. “It’s okay. This is a guaranteed safe line.”

  “I-I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Shel whispered. She hurriedly punched the off button on the phone then scrolled through the abbreviated call history. Heart pounding inside her tight chest, she dazedly dropped on top of the bed, amidst the strewn clothing.

  Blinking, as if she could somehow sharpen her focus and prove herself wrong, she compared the handwritten telephone number on the card’s backside to the digital one on her phone screen. They were the same.

  She’d just talked to Silvia Frances.

  “Many contacts? She some kind of madam?” Shel muttered. It seemed absurd, but possible. But the woman assured her the line was safe. “They sell drugs…?”

  Was Silvia Frances the owner of SLW, LLC? Was she an employee? Shel was well out of practice for such problem solving. Realistically, the employee guess was probably correct; perhaps Silvia Frances was a realtor or a secretary or personal assistant for the individual behind SLW, LCC. Perhaps she was SLW. Maybe Silvia and Kathleen were in cahoots on a scam—the possibilities seemed endless…

  Her fugue state was interrupted by a low buzzing sound coming from the front of the house. Dropping the card onto the bedspread, Shel rose up and snatched her gun off the nightstand. She quietly followed the dull hum that sounded like a dying neon sign and grew louder with each cautious step she made to the foyer. The sound of her nervous breathing filled the otherwise quiet room. She nudged aside the thin blind on the front door and peeked out. Her shoulders fell and she dismissed a great sigh that was one part annoyance, one part relief.

  “What now?” She secured the safety on her gun and tucked it in the back of her jeans waistband then smoothed the hem of her shirt to conceal it. She opened the door. “Officer Milford, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “Your doorbell is broke,” the woman calmly announced. She wore green shorts and a matching striped top, but even in her civvies she looked regimented. She pressed the illuminated button a half a dozen more times, causing it to emit the same low, annoying and highly ineffective buzz. “Hear that? Somebody disconnected the speaker. Better fix that.”

  Shel watched her, willed her pounding heart to calm down. She hoped she looked status quo and not a nervous wreck. “Pool cop...doorbell cop...”

  “Har-har.” She walked past Shel and entered the living room.

  “Come in,” Shel said, after the fact.

  “I might, thank you.” She turned to face her reluctant host and waved a small box. “I brought you something.”

  Shel bypassed the living room and instead went into the adjoining galley kitchen. There, she ditched her gun on the countertop and went to the refrigerator. She opened the door and leaned in, relishing the icy blast that swept over her until every bead of perspiration was thoroughly chilled. When she felt better and her breathing was back to normal, she called out to the cop, “You want a beer?”

  “It ain’t a cheap one, is it?”

  “The very cheapest.” Shel swiped two off the top shelf and popped the caps before returning to the living room. She presented one to Milford, who was still standing in the middle of the room. Given the woman’s bold entrance, it seemed funny she hadn’t already sat down and made herself comfortable. She motioned toward the sparse furniture. “Care to sit on the dusty couch?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Milford plopped down, creating enough of a cloud to thoroughly powder the place. When it cleared, Newton had appeared on the coffee table before her, like a magic trick, waiting to investigate their first guest. He leapt onto the couch next to her and purred loudly. “Well, hello kitty. What’s your name?”

  “That’s Newton. He’s an idiot.”

  Milford scrubbed the cat’s neck with her fingertips. “Hello there, Newton.”

  Shel scooted the cat off the couch before she sat down in a chair across from the cop. “Scram, cat.” She glanced at her guest. “I’m at the end of my allergy meds with that one.”

  “Either him or this decrepit furniture.” Milford chuckled, n
odded toward the coffee table where she’d tossed the little box. “Gotcha some pH strips for the pool.”

  “Okay…” Shel warily eyed her, picked up the test kit and set it down again.

  “You’re welcome,” Milford emphasized.

  “Thanks,” Shel said, unsure of what was happening.

  They drank their beers for a few seconds before the cop looked at her and smiled big. “So, tell me again why you’re in Naples.”

  Shel rolled her eyes, also set her beer on the table. “Is this official cop business?”

  “No, ma’am,” she answered, shaking her head. Her interest remained unapologetically strong. “Whose dime you on?”

  “It’s really none of your business, no offense.” Shel took another long swig and allowed her gaze to float past the woman’s shoulder, out the window to Kathleen’s house. She took another swig, made her best effort at appearing indifferent.

  “None taken,” Milford calmly answered. “I’m trying to decide if you’re walking on the right side of the law. That’s all.”

  Shel borrowed Milford’s favorite line. “Fair enough.”

  “You said you were looking for a friend, or was that also a lie?”

  “I’m sure she’s a friend to someone.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Milford looked pleased with herself. She set her beer on the table between them, leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “What’s the case?”

  “That’s confidential information.” Shel rose from her place and went back to the refrigerator. Though their beers weren’t close to empty, she grabbed two more just to put some distance between them, again letting the refrigerator cool her. Everything about the night thus far had her feeling anxious. Perhaps another beer might soften Officer Milford, make her ease off whatever harebrained questions she intended to ply her with. Shel was tired of her polite interrogations. As there were only two more beers in the refrigerator, she doubted she’d get far on the idea, but at least it might keep things hospitable.

  She grabbed the bottles, popped the tops a second time, and headed back to the couch where Milford was seated looking patient, but expectant. Shel set the fresh beers on the table, then again took a seat on the opposite couch. She took a long pull off her old bottle, quickly draining it, but Milford’s eyes remained intently focused on her. Shel knew she should say something. She set the empty bottle aside and settled back against the couch. The silence had her making an unnecessary explanation.