Chapter Five. The Body in The Pool
CHAPTER FIVE
THE BODY IN THE POOL
Between the travel, the family drama, the murder, and Felix, I sleep like a rock that night. When my eyes open the next morning, my first thought is POOL.
The place, not the game.
The courtyard behind my grandmother’s building has a “Secret Garden but make it Mediterranean” vibe.
Claude hired a landscaping crew to transform the standard budget hotel concrete wasteland into a hidden grotto, complete with birdbaths and sundials nestled amid the lush greenery.
The pool is now saltwater, painted a deep blue on the inside.
High walls covered in climbing vines block out the rest of the world, and a faux ancient statue of a kid in a furry loincloth holding a pan flute presides over the scene from the center of a burbling fountain.
I spread one of my grandmother’s luxuriously fluffy towels over my favorite lounge chair, claiming not only this spot but the entire domain. If I came down and Felix was already here, I certainly wouldn’t hang around to let him see me in my bathing suit. Here’s hoping he’ll feel the same way.
It’s annoying to have to think about this stuff, but if last night’s game taught me anything, it’s that Felix is in it to win it. He’s not going to fade into the background and let me do my thing.
I pick up the old copy of Vogue I swiped from the basket in my grandmother’s living room, flipping past the first few pages of ads before setting it aside.
Now that I’ve beaten Felix here, I can relax.
Maybe close my eyes for a bit. Tipping my straw hat so it covers my face, I rest my hands on my stomach.
When the heat gets unbearable, I’ll take a dip. For now, between the shade and the hint of morning breeze, I’m perfectly comfortable. At last, some freaking tranquility.
“Didn’t realize you were a fashionista, Space Cats.”
The sigh sticks in my lungs, too heavy to budge. Is he making fun of my bathing suit? It’s a classic black one-piece with a scoop neck and tiny diamond-shaped cutouts at the waist. Five seconds ago, I would have called it chic.
Lowering my sunglasses, I squint up at Felix. He’s wearing basic board shorts and a T-shirt, so there’s not a lot of room for mockery. We’ll call the Battle of the Bathing Suits a draw.
“Did you say something?” I ask, as if I’ve only just noticed him there and can barely bring myself to care.
Maybe I need to work on my withering tone, because Felix only grins. “I wasn’t aware hair could be carbon neutral.”
It takes another beat for it to click that he’s reading the cover of my magazine. Unfortunately, I can’t say anything about his hair, which has bounced back from the stress of air travel and looks even better than yesterday. “I guess the rumors of your omniscience were exaggerated.”
“Ooh, look at you.” He hits me with a sarcastic finger wave. “AP English or SAT prep?”
Like I’m going to tell him. Maybe I’m a person who knows big words. Omniscient. Onomatopoeia. Osteoporosis. Stuff all the cool kids are talking about.
“You’re giving me an existential crisis,” Felix fake pouts.
I study his face for signs of an imminent breakdown, but he looks too pleased with himself.
“Am I carrying the bag of the moment?” Felix pats the faded canvas tote that’s probably full of fancy art supplies and next year’s day planner, or whatever he plans to do poolside. Besides bothering me.
“The bag is the least of your worries.” I slide my sunglasses into place, settling my head against the lounger in a subtle signal that the conversation is over. He’s free to go about his business and let me enjoy the rest of my day.
Felix ignores the social cue. “So.”
It’s obviously the prelude to something bigger, but that doesn’t stop him from indulging in a pause long enough to parallel park a school bus. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
“Wow, somebody’s tense. Maybe you should choose less judgy reading material.”
“I’m trying to relax. Savor the peace and quiet.”
“You seemed pretty relaxed last night.”
Is that a backhanded compliment? I’m not ready to lower my guard, especially when he casually spreads his towel on the lounger next to mine. So much for scaring him away.
“It was a good setup,” I say, like I’m congratulating another parent after a peewee soccer match.
Felix snorts.
“What?”
“You kind of went off the rails.”
“It was nothing personal.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “It felt personal when you poisoned me.”
“I was committed to my role.”
“Oh really? Because it looked to me like you were scared I was going to crack the case before you.”
“That thought never crossed my mind,” I lie. “It’s like Chekhov’s pistol. If you give someone a poison ring, clearly you want them to use it.”
“You were supposed to poison the cat food, not my drink. To sabotage the business.”
“It’s called improv.” I shrug. “Claude would have approved.”
“Probably,” Felix admits, giving in a lot more easily than I’m expecting. He sounds distracted, like there’s something else on his mind. I force myself not to ask, which turns out to be the right play.
“His sister was a piece of work.” He glances at me, and I give him an eye roll of affirmation. If anything, it’s an understatement.
“It’s going to be awkward having her around,” he continues. “I don’t see her meshing with everyone else.”
“My grandmother thinks she’ll sell the unit back to them.” There were some other details about bylaws and boards, but that’s the part I remember. “Take the money and run.”
Felix doesn’t look convinced. “Did you see Mervyn’s face when he came back from the parking lot yesterday?” He imitates the screaming emoji, hands bracketing his cheeks. “Headed straight for the bar.”
“What are you saying?”
“She seems like a person who’s going to stir up trouble, one way or another.”
My stomach chooses that moment to let out a disturbing rumble.
“I forgot to have breakfast,” I explain, in case he thought I was having intestinal issues.
“Why don’t you go eat?” he asks, like I’m too slow to figure it out on my own.
Felix probably knows this is the good lounger. The second I leave, he’s going to steal it for himself. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I mean, not really? It’s nice having someone to talk to.”
Extrovert alert! My phone buzzes, distracting both of us.
“Who is it?” he asks when I check the notifications. “Boyfriend back home missing you already?”
I swallow the urge to say None of your beeswax. I’m not 100 percent convinced Felix isn’t making fun of me, like the idea of me having a boyfriend is hilarious. “Maybe.”
“Maybe you have a boyfriend or maybe he misses you?”
“Both. It’s the real deal. He’s very … solid.” Said no one ever about their significant other. “Totally shredded,” I add, flexing like I’m in a bodybuilding competition.
Felix nods like he’s familiar with the type “’Roids?”
“MMA,” I double down. “What about you?”
“You mean my special someone at home? Yeah. She can bench like 500 pounds. Rip phone books in half. Total beast.”
“She must be crying into her Muscle Milk. What did you say her name was?”
“I didn’t.” His pause is impressively brief, almost as if he’s telling the truth. “But it’s Olga.”
“Olga.”
Felix nods. “She promised to write.”
“Literate and everything. Lucky you.”
“Thank you. I’m guessing your guy is named something like Fortress or Obsidian.”
“Yes. I’m dating a bottle of Axe body spray.”
He tries to pass it off as a cough, but I know I made him laugh.
Picking up the magazine, I open to a random page near the middle and pretend to be absorbed in an ad for eye cream. In case I want to see visible signs of improvement for those really deep wrinkles in seven days.
“Are you going to swim?” Felix asks, interrupting my not-reading.
“Why? Did you have more invasive personal questions?” I’m not usually this quick with comebacks, but Felix seems to bring it out in me—the speed and the attitude.
“I was hoping I could borrow your magazine,” he deadpans. “I’ve always wanted to know how to slay with satin in the boardroom. Are we talking suffocation?”
“More of a garrote.” I mime choking someone to death.
Shaking his head to hide what I’m pretty sure is another smile, he drags his bag closer. My eyes go wide when I see what he’s hauling around.
“What?” he says, defensive.
“You brought Crime and Punishment to the pool.”
“It seemed on-brand.”
“If your brand is pretentious pseudo-intellectual.”
“I figured I could force myself to read it while I was here.”
He has a point: the Wi-Fi is spotty and you can’t fake-murder people 24/7. I want to ask if it’s for school, but if he says yes, I’ll feel like a slacker. And if the answer is no, I’ll look like an intellectual lightweight, sitting here with my glossy magazine.
A window opens on the second floor and Mr. Gutierrez sticks his head out to yell, “Buzzer.”
Felix looks from his bag to me. “I need to run upstairs. Can I leave my stuff here?”
“Are you worried I’m going to sell it on the black market?”
“I was thinking more like throw it in the pool.”
“Too obvious. What would my alibi even be?”
Felix seems satisfied with my response, sliding his sandals on before disappearing into the building.
Alone again, I try to slip into vacation mode but I’m still twitchy from our sparring match.
I’m not used to second-guessing myself at Castle Claude.
The people who live here think I’m miraculous because I can get out of the pool without using a ladder, never mind the fact that my skin mostly stays in one place.
With Felix here, there’s a whole new dimension.
What does he think of me, what do I think of him?
It’s throwing me off my game. One minute he’s taunting me, the next he acts like we should be besties …
unless that’s also a ploy? Or a theater kid thing?
I like to think I’m good at reading people, but he’s slippery.
I can’t even decide if he’s handsome or too annoying to be attractive.
Okay, yes, those first few minutes at the airport, I remember thinking, Huh, a cute guy is talking to me; maybe I’m entering a new phase of life where this type of thing happens to me?
Now I can’t admit to that spark of interest until I know whether it was mutual, because otherwise I’m giving him all the power.
There is a nonzero chance that the real reason I slipped fake poison in his drink last night was that murder seemed easier than trying to flirt, per Claude’s stage directions. I wouldn’t even know where to start playing that game with Felix …
Oh no. It’s like the word “flirting” unlocked something in my brain.
Is that why he asked if I was texting with my boyfriend?
The idea that Felix was testing the waters for reasons other than teasing is probably something that should have occurred to me ten minutes ago, while the conversation was happening.
So much for my legendary detective skills!
In my defense, his tactics were also lacking. If I wanted to know if someone was single, I’d ask Mrs. A because that woman is a repository of gossip. Much more efficient that way.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t solve my brand-new problem. How am I supposed to act normal around him now?