Chapter 7. If My Stalker’s Here, Is Something Bad Going to Happen?
If My Stalker’s Here, Is Something Bad Going to Happen?
“Cathy, what are you doing here?” I ask, working hard not to call her “crazy.”
Because that’s who she is. Crazy Cathy, my stalker, who always seems to show up just when the shit is about to hit the fan.
So. Stand back.
“What do you mean?” Cathy says in a hurt tone, which is her default setting. “You were advertising this event for months. I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to be embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed?”
“You know, if it didn’t sell out.” Cathy puts her hands on her ample hips. She’s dyed her frizzy hair a bad red shade that will require a lot of maintenance and is wearing a kaftan made of colorful silk that looks complicated to put on.44
“What are you even talking about?”
“She means she saw it in your newsletter,” Harper says. “Ticket sales were a bit slow, so I sent out a couple of extra issues. Vicki asked, like Connor mentioned before.”
I pull Harper aside. “I thought we were unsubscribing Cathy from the newsletter?”
“I did. She must’ve signed up with a new email address.”
“I’m allowed to! You should’ve asked for my consent to remove me!”
Serenity now. “Cathy, we’ve talked about listening in on conversations.”
She bats her wide eyes at me slowly.
Do all crazy people blink oddly, or is it the slow blinking that makes you nuts in the first place?
“You’re talking about me right in front of me!”
Deep breaths, Eleanor. Deep breaths. “Why were you looking for me?”
“Someone was asking for you at the reception. I overheard and thought I’d come to find you.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. He looked kind of official. A police officer maybe? Are you in trouble?”
Only if I commit the homicide I want to right now.
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Maybe he’ll be at the water polo game?”
“You should get to that,” Guy says, flicking his hand at us in a go, go gesture.
“I could use a beverage by the pool,” Connor says.
“Hard day?”
He squints at me. “I was teaching. And I’m on deadline.”
“For what?”
“Book two in the series.”
“Wait. It’s a series?” I look at Harper. “Did you know this?”
She gives me a half smile, clearly enjoying herself. I learned recently that Harper’s been working as Connor’s beta reader/editor, which I took as well as you’d imagine.
No, worse.
“You knew this, El,” Harper says. “He got a multi-book deal, remember?”
“I must’ve blocked out that information.”
“We should make an appearance at the water polo game,” Oliver says gently.
“You’re kidding.”
He gives me a small smile. “It’s a conference tradition, apparently. Staff against participants.”
“I have to get in the pool?”
“That is where water polo takes place, traditionally.”
“Shut it, Connor.” I close my eyes and count to five. I can do this. I open them again and give Guy a hard stare. “We’re not done here.”
Guy could not care less about my vague threat, so we shuffle out of Guy’s office, Harper, Connor, and Cathy trailing behind us.
“What do you think of all that?” Oliver asks once we’re a little down the path toward our villa.
“Which part? Crazy Cathy being here or Guy’s explanations?”
“Either.”
I glance back at Connor and Cathy. “I guess there’s an innocent explanation for all of it.”
“I hope so.”
Turns out that Oliver wasn’t joking about the mandatory water polo.
So, here I am, thirty minutes later, in a pool that’s just warm enough to stand, treading water in a bathing suit that’s a bit too tight around the chest and doesn’t hide my pooch as well as my regular clothes do.
I know Oliver doesn’t care about things like that, and I hope there’s eventually a day when I don’t either, but today is not that day!
Harper’s wearing a cute striped suit that has one shoulder strap, and she slips easily into the water on the participants’ side.
She’s joined by Sandrine, wearing a suit that can only be described as European, with high slits on the sides and a deep V between her breasts.
She’s got her hair in an elegant swimming cap and a determined look on her face.
Next to her, Stefano looks ridiculous in his 1920s-inspired one-piece—it’s half wet suit and half statement piece and entirely out of place.
But he high-fives with Cathy, who’s in a black swimming dress, and one of the other members of the Poison group, an older man who’s already got a ridge of sunburn across his nose and his shoulders.
The rest of the participants are lazing around the pool on the loungers, watching us with notebooks in hand as if they’ll get tips on writing murder mysteries from watching a bunch of writers toss a ball around for thirty minutes.
That’s how long a water polo match lasts, right?
It’s not longer than that.
Fine, fine, I don’t want to know.
The faculty team is made up of me, Ravi, Oliver, Connor, and Vicki. Elizabeth’s here, too—she’s going to be acting as the ref and is trying to explain the rules to us because who knows the rules to water polo?
“There’s supposed to be seven people a side,” Connor says as he slips a red cap on his head that has ear flaps. “Six players and a goalie.”
“Where did you learn that?” I ask.
He lifts his chin. “I know things.”
“Have you … played water polo?”
“As a boy, yes.”
I start to laugh.
“What?”
“That is so … geeky … Wait … Is that what that helmet you’re wearing is?”
“It’s called a cap. It protects your ears from getting injured.”
I try to hold in my snort. I fail. “What position did you play?”
“Hole set.”
“What now?”
“Hole set. It’s the focal point of the offense.” He holds up a hand. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”
I’m full on laughing now. “Oh my God, you’re embarrassed!”
“I am not.”
I glance at Oliver. “Connor was a nerd. Like an athletic nerd, which I didn’t think was possible.”
The corner of Oliver’s mouth twists. Did I mention he looks great in a bathing suit? No? Not the time. “What school did Connor go to that it had a water polo team is what I want to know.”
“Smart.” I turn back to Connor. “Care to enlighten us?”
“I do not.”
“Fine. Elizabeth, what are the rules here?”
Elizabeth taps her cane against the concrete.
She has an inscrutable expression on her face and is wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat that shades her eyes.
“Pretty simple. Each team tries to score a goal by tossing it into the opposing team’s net.
” She points to the ends of the pool. There’s a small net set up on each side.
“How many goals do we need to win?” I ask.
“There’s no set amount. Whoever has the most when the time is up wins. Like hockey. I’ll start the game by throwing the ball in.”
“So, there’s no serve?”
“That’s volleyball, El, franchement,” Sandrine says.
And then Harper giggles. Actually giggles.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her laugh freely in a while. And Sandrine did it.
Ugh.
“Whose team are you on?” I ask Harper.
“Um, this one?” She motions around her. “I’m not on the faculty.”
“Fine, good point. Shall we go?”
Elizabeth nods and holds up what looks to me like a volleyball above her head, but what do I know? “Someone needs to go in net on each side.”
“I’ll do it,” Stefano says like he’s making a grand gesture. “Good luck getting it past me!” He splashes off to the other end of the pool and sets himself into the goal, moving back and forth with vigor. “Just try me!”
“How Ron Weasley of him,” Oliver drawls.
“Yes! Exactly. I knew he reminded me of someone! Now, who’s in net for us?”
“You’ll need me for goal scoring,” Connor says. “It’s my specialty.”
“Mm-kay. Oliver?”
He looks to the net and back to me. “What about Ravi?”
Ravi has been completely quiet since we got in the pool, just staring at me in a way that makes me uncomfortable.
And not just because of the male gaze. He looks so much like his dead brother, and it’s disconcerting to be this close to him.
Especially since he’s clearly feeling some kind of way about being around me, which is something I didn’t think about before this very moment because, hello!
Have you met me? I do not disasterize in advance!
I leave that to Harper.
“Can you be goalie, Ravi?” I ask him gently. “It’s probably like wet soccer.”
“You mean football,” he corrects me. “Only Americans call it soccer.”
“Aren’t you American?”
“We were born in Mumbai,” he says, his chin lifted as if it’s an affront that I don’t know this. It’s also not an answer to my question.
Why is everyone so sketchy with their personal details?
That might be a clue.
Or maybe not. Not sure yet.
“What’s with all the genealogy questions?” Connor says. “Let’s play.” He touches Ravi on the shoulder. Ravi jumps back as if he’s been electrocuted. “Take it easy, Ravi. Go in goal. I’ll defend you.”
Ravi looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Which is different from his brother, for sure. Shek never held back.
But back to the matter at hand. This sports game that I’m definitely winning.
Because I’m intensely competitive, particularly at sports.
I was the captain of the tennis team in high school and a walk-on in college, and while I always knew I wasn’t good enough to go pro, that doesn’t mean I didn’t take it seriously.
Especially with Sandrine on the other side.
I’m beating her for sure.
“Everyone ready?” Elizabeth says, holding the ball above her head.
“Ready!”
She bounces the ball on her hand and then pops it into the pool.
Four of us rush for it—me, Connor, Sandrine, and Harper—and we’re soon in a four-way tangle trying to get a handle on a very slippery ball.
Connor comes up the winner and holds it above his head.
Since he’s taller than all of us, it’s an easy game of keep-away.
But my God, does he look ridiculous in that helmet. I mean cap.
“Swim up to the net, El!” he shouts.
I follow instructions, swimming past Sandrine and Harper, trying to get open for Connor’s pass. I watch as he launches the ball, and I try to jump up to catch it.
But I can’t.
Someone’s got ahold of my leg and they’re pulling me down.
Pulling me under.
I open my mouth to scream as I’m dragged beneath the surface, and all I get is a strangled squeal as I fight for breath.
No.
I’m fighting for my life.