K is for Killer

Serena didn't seem to be asleep. I knocked on the door frame. She turned her head and looked at me. I didn't think she'd been crying. Her face was pale, unmarked by tears, the expression in her eyes more one of resignation than sorrow, if one can make that distinction. She said, "Are they finished out there?"

I shook my head. "It'll probably be a while. You want me to call anyone?"

"Not really. I called Roger. He's coming over as soon as he can get away from the plant. Did you want something?"

"I need to ask you a question, if you can tolerate the intrusion."

"That's all right. What is it?"

"Do you use the pool on a daily basis?"

"No. I never liked swimming. That was Daddy's passion. He had the lap pool put in about five years ago."

"Does someone else here swim? One of the maids, or the cook?"

She thought about it briefly. "Occasionally a friend might call and ask to use the pool, but no one else," she said. "Why?"

"I heard a taped conversation under circumstances I'd prefer not to go into. Lorna was talking to a man who used the phrase ' she goes in at the same time every day'. I thought the reference might be to swimming, but at the time it made no sense. I was just wondering if there was a 'she' on the premises who went in 'at the same time every day.' "

She smiled wanly. "Just the dog, and she only goes in when Dad does. You saw her the other night. They play fetch, and then when he does his laps, she swims alongside him."

I could feel a flicker of confusion. "I thought the dog was a male. Isn't his name Max?"

"It's Maxine. Max for short," she said. "Actually, her real name's much longer because she's pedigreed."

"Ah, Maxine. How's she doing? I didn't see her downstairs. I thought she might be up here with you."

Serena struggled into a sitting position. "Oh, heavens. Thanks for reminding me. She's still at the groomers. I took her over first thing this morning. The shop owner even came in early to accommodate the appointment. I was supposed to pick her up at eleven, but it completely slipped my mind. Ask Mrs. Holloway if she'd go over there; at least call and let them know what's happened. Poor Max, poor girl. She's going to die without Daddy. The two of them were inseparable."

"Mrs. Holloway's the housekeeper? I haven't seen her, either, but I can call if you like."

"Please. Maybe Roger can pick her up on his way over here. It's Montebello Pet Groomers in the lower village. The number's on the planning center in the kitchen. I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"It's no trouble," I said. "Are you okay?"

"Really, I'm fine. I just want some time alone, and then I'll be down. I'll probably have to talk to the detective again, anyway. I can't believe this is happening. It's all so grotesque."

"Take your time," I said. "I'll tell the pet groomers someone's picking Max up later. You want this closed? It might be quieter."

"All right. And thank you."

"That's all right. I'm sorry about your father."

"I appreciate that."

I left the room, pulling the door shut behind me. I went down to the kitchen and put a call through to the grooming shop. I identified myself as a friend of Serena's, indicating that her father had died unexpectedly. The woman was extremely gracious, expressing her condolences. The shop was closing at three, and she said she could just as easily drop Max off on her way home. I left a note to that effect, assuming that Mrs. Holloway or Serena would spot it.

By the time I returned to the patio, the bodies had been removed and the photographer had packed up and left. There was no sign of the electrician, the coroner, or his assistant. The fingerprint technician was now working over by the pool equipment. At the near end of the pool, I saw Cheney talking to the younger of the two detectives, his buddy Hawthorn, I gathered, though he never introduced us. When he spotted me, he finished up his conversation and crossed the patio to meet me. "I was wondering where you went. They're nearly done here. You want to head out?"

"We might as well," I said.

We didn't say much until we'd left the house, walking down the driveway to the spot where Cheney's car was parked. I said, "So what's the current theory? It couldn't have been an accident. That's ludicrous."

Cheney unlocked the door and held it open for me. "Doesn't look like it on the surface, but we'll see what they come up with."