Chapter 5
I stare at the body, momentarily paralysed. My brain is refusing to compute. A body. In the pool. What, how, why?
My confusion isn’t helped by the fact that the body is dressed in some kind of furry animal costume, like the ones theme-park characters wear – which is: a/ nuts in this heat and b/ probably not great for breaststroke either.
The thought spurs me into action. I yank off my trainers and socks and make my way down the pool steps, past the bobbing balloons (also, what the fuck?) and as far as I can towards the deep end.
I’m chest deep before I can reach the man’s arms. I’ve decided it’s a man because of the height, but again, hard to tell in the costume.
It’s also hard to move him. The costume is heavy, weighing him down, but somehow I manage to manoeuvre him back to the shallow end and wedge my hands under his arms.
I’m just starting to drag him up the steps when a sudden shrill scream causes me to jump and lose my grip.
I miss a step and fall backwards into the pool, head going under, feet struggling to find the bottom.
I flail and flap my arms, finally managing to regain my balance and grab hold of the pool edge.
Shit. I gasp and shake water out of my hair.
Great. Now, the body has floated further away again.
‘Oh my gosh, oh my gosh.’
The screamer, Frances, stands by the pool, eyes wide, hands at her mouth.
‘Is that … oh my gosh … is that—’
‘A body. In the pool. Yes.’ I wipe water out of my eyes.
‘Oh my gosh.’
‘You think you could help me get him out?’
She blinks, and then efficiency mode kicks back in. ‘Oh, of course.’
She kicks off her wedges and wades into the water. We grab one arm each and together we haul the body out on to the poolside.
I stare at the costume’s headpiece. Some sort of creature with a long snout? An anteater, perhaps?
‘How do we get his head off?’ I ask.
‘Like this.’ Frances gently eases the headpiece off.
Inside the costume is a young man, late teens, early twenties, maybe. I feel my heart give. Long, blondish hair, thin face, the remnants of teenage acne. His eyes are half open, and his lips are blue. I’m pretty sure he’s dead. But Frances – ever the optimist – kneels and starts mouth to mouth.
‘Should I call 911?’ I ask.
She looks up. ‘No. Call Jerry – he’s the sheriff.’
‘Are you sure I shouldn’t call—’
‘Call Jerry first. The number’s on the fridge under “Important Contacts”.’
I stand just as another figure emerges at the sliding glass doors. Sadie. Shit.
‘Dad. I heard a—’ She looks past me and her eyes widen. ‘Jesus! Is that a body?’
‘Where were you?’
‘Out front. Is he dead?’
‘I don’t know. I need you to go inside.’
‘Was he in the pool?’
‘Yes. Go inside and get the contacts card off the fridge door.’
She hesitates, then turns and darts back inside.
Seconds later she emerges with a card, which she thrusts at me.
I find the number for ‘Sheriff’ and pull my phone out of my pocket, only now realizing that I should have taken it out of my pocket before I went for a dunk in the pool.
However, the water resistance seems to be holding up and the screen comes on.
I jab the numbers into the phone and listen to it ring, even as a voice in my head berates me: You should call 911. The guy is dead. In your pool.
On the fourth ring, a man answers in a laid-back drawl: ‘Hello, sheriff’s office. Jerry speaking.’
‘Erm. Hi. This is Dan Barker at 22 Acacia Avenue.’
‘The new guy?’
So, word gets around. But I suppose the town sheriff needs to know who’s living here.
‘Yes. We have a bit of situation at the house.’
‘Don’t tell me. Locks won’t work. Security cameras glitching. You got a ’coon in your garbage.’
‘Not quite.’
I glance over at Frances. She’s sitting back on her haunches and shaking her head sadly.
‘We’ve got a dead body.’
Jerry is a stocky man with a thick neck and a barrel chest who looks like he rolled right out of a casting call for ‘redneck local cop 101’. He crouches down, tan slacks straining at the buttocks, and studies the body.
‘Frankie Gallo, twenty-one years old. Worked at the diner and part-time as a town mascot. Damn shame.’
‘Town mascot?’ I query.
‘Yeah.’ He stands. ‘We got Lenny the Leopard, Daphne the Dolphin, Rikki the Raccoon. Eddie the Eagle and Arnie the Armadillo.’
An armadillo. Of course. Not an anteater.
‘We don’t get to use the big characters here cos they’re contracted to the theme park.’ Jerry frowns. ‘It’s odd, though, cos Frankie normally wears the Lenny costume. Chris usually dresses as Arnie.’
I stare at him. ‘Do you think that’s relevant to his death?’
Jerry cocks his hat back on his head. ‘Hell no. Just odd. Maybe Chris was ill or had to take the day off or something. I know his mom has been in hospital—’
I try to check my irritation. I fail. ‘I’m sure we’re all really concerned about the health of Chris’s mum, but could we get back to Frankie – and what he’s doing in our pool?’
Jerry gives me a look. Not a pleasant one. ‘Well, obviously he’s tripped and fallen in. Poor kid can’t swim.’
‘But what was he doing in our back yard, dressed up as Arnie the Armadillo?’
‘It’s all my fault,’ Frances says, voice trembling slightly. ‘And I will just never forgive myself.’
‘Oh, it’s not your fault, Frances,’ Jerry says. ‘It’s tradition.’
‘Tradition?’ I query.
Frances sniffs. ‘One of the town mascots always welcomes new arrivals to Serenity. They bring a bunch of balloons and sing a song. It’s supposed to be a surprise.’
Well, it’s certainly a fucking surprise, I think.
I glance at the balloons bobbing in the pool.
The strings have snagged in one of the filters, otherwise they would have floated away.
We all float here. The surreal nature of this is starting to get to me.
Or maybe it’s the damn heat. I squeeze the bridge of my nose.
‘So,’ I say. ‘Frankie was here to welcome us, dressed as a giant armadillo with a bunch of balloons?’
‘That’s right, sir.’ Jerry nods. ‘Obviously, he must have had a stumble – those costumes can be darn heavy – and ended up in the pool. He was probably dead before you arrived. Nothing you could do.’ He smiles in a way that I think is supposed to be sympathetic but just comes across as a little smug.
‘I’ve already spoken to Stella – she’s the coroner. She’s on her way to collect the body.’
‘Doesn’t someone need to come and, you know, collect evidence?’ Sadie asks.
Jerry chuckles. ‘Well, look who’s been watching CSI.’
Sadie bristles. ‘Actually, I prefer reading. You should try it.’
Before Jerry can process the insult, I step in. ‘I thought that was what normally happened with an unexplained death?’
I see a flash of annoyance. ‘Sir, I just explained what happened here. No mystery. No crime. Just a tragic accident—’ He pauses at the sound of the doorbell. ‘That’ll be Stella.’
No one moves. Frances clears her throat. I realize they are waiting for me to answer the door. This is my house now.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘I’ll go let her in then, shall I?’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Sadie says.
We walk back through the living room. My clothes are still dripping, and after the oppressive heat outside, the aircon makes my damp skin ripple with goosebumps.
‘You okay?’ I ask Sadie. ‘Stupid question, I know.’
‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘I mean, I’ve seen a dead body before, right?’
She means Grandma. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea at the time, but Sadie had wanted to say goodbye, so we visited my mum before the funeral directors took her away.
She lay in her bed, flowery cover pulled up to her chest, vein-stippled hands at her sides.
She seemed smaller, yet also strangely serene.
‘She looks younger,’ Sadie had said. ‘Like death has wiped out all her wrinkles.’ And it was true. Those vital expressions of life had all been erased. It struck me that people pay a fortune to freeze their faces and, at the end, Death steps in and does it for free.
Of course, seeing Grandma laid out peacefully in her bed is very different to seeing a young man who has drowned in our swimming pool.
‘You sure?’ I ask her as we reach the hall.
The doorbell chimes again. ‘Just a minute,’ I shout. I turn to Sadie and take her shoulders. ‘This has been a shock. It can take a while to settle. It’s okay to not be okay.’
‘I’m fine, Dad.’
‘Just don’t shut me out. Talk to me if you’re worried or scared or anything. And don’t run off again.’
She squirms. ‘All right. Enough with the well-intentioned but now making me uncomfortable fatherly love thing.’
‘Okay.’ I release her, holding my arms up. ‘See. No more fatherly love for you.’
‘Thank God.’
I smile and cross to the door, pulling it open.
A short, thin woman stands outside, barely taller than Sadie.
Grey hair is shorn close to her skull, and her face is shrewd, blue eyes glinting within a nest of fine wrinkles.
She wears beige slacks and a black polo shirt.
SF Funeral Directors is embroidered in light blue on the chest. In one hand she holds a folded black sack.
It takes me a moment to realize it’s a body bag.
‘Mr Barker?’ Her voice has a blunt Midwestern twang.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She holds out a hand. ‘Stella Gravelot. Coroner. And yes, the surname is appropriate.’
‘Guess you hear that a lot.’
‘Only every other day.’
I glance at her polo shirt. ‘Funeral director too?’
‘It’s a small town. I run double duties.’
I shake her hand. Her grip is firm. ‘Well, it’s good to meet you.’
‘Really? I’d say I’m the last person most folk want to meet.’
I chuckle. ‘Well, under the circumstances, it’s good to meet you.’
‘I hear you.’ She glances at Sadie. ‘This your daughter?’
‘Yes, this is Sadie.’
Sadie raises a hand. ‘Hi.’
Stella nods in return ‘You doing okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your first dead body?’
‘No.’
‘Me neither.’ Stella grins, and Sadie’s lips tilt a little in return.
‘Okay.’ Stella grabs the mortuary stretcher propped against the outside wall. ‘Best show me where he is?’
I lead her through the house and out to the back yard. She regards Frankie lying on the ground. ‘We’re gonna need to get him out of that costume.’
I look at her. ‘We?’
‘Well, I can do it on my own, but it’d be quicker with help.’
This really is a small town, I think.
It takes three of us. It’s horrible and undignified.
The costume smells of chlorine and wet fur.
Beneath it, Frankie is wearing only boxer shorts and a faded Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt.
His skin is pale and puckered. Each time I touch a bare limb my stomach rolls.
He’s just a kid, I tell myself. But my brain screams back – He’s a corpse now, and he’s cold, so cold.
At last, the costume is off, and Stella takes over. She’s efficient, and stronger than she looks. Within seconds she has Frankie zipped into the body bag and loaded on to the stretcher. She drapes the wet costume on top.
‘Okay, we’re ready to roll.’
She wheels the stretcher back through the house. By some unspoken consensus, we all follow her, like a funeral procession.
‘What happens now?’ I ask as we reach her van.
Stella opens the rear doors and manoeuvres the stretcher inside. ‘Well, I’ll make a report, and then Frankie’s body will be officially released to his family and prepared for burial, or cremation, whichever they choose.’
His family. Shit. I hadn’t even asked about the poor kid’s family. ‘What about his parents?’
Jerry sighs deeply. ‘I’m on my way to see ’em next. They live on the other side of town. Nice couple. He’s their only kid.’
Suddenly, it hits me. Up until now, it had all felt slightly unreal.
The bright blue pool, the mascot costume.
But Frankie is real. Not a prop or a joke.
He was somebody’s son, their only son, and now he’s dead.
Did he cry out? I wonder. Did he struggle for long, trying to keep his head above water, splashing around, grasping for the side of the pool, even as the cumbersome costume and his own efforts dragged him further down?
And poor Frankie couldn’t swim. I close my eyes, feeling a headache blooming.
And why did nobody hear him? Why did nobody see him?
My train of thoughts crashes to a halt.
‘Wait,’ I say as Stella moves to close the van’s rear doors. ‘I just remembered something.’ I turn to Frances. ‘You said there was a security camera at the back of the house? Could it have recorded what happened?’
Frances shifts uneasily. ‘Oh, the cameras aren’t active yet. You’ll need to download the app and set up your account.’
‘Right.’ I make a mental note to check the camera myself.
‘Mr Barker,’ Jerry says. ‘I understand this is distressing. But just let us deal with it, and you concentrate on settling in here.’ He rests a hand on my shoulder. A little too firmly. I don’t find it reassuring. It feels more like a threat, like he’s about to snap cuffs on me. He smiles. ‘Okay?’
I nod, just to get his sweaty hand off me. ‘Okay.’
‘Good. I’ll be getting on.’ My shoulder is released, and Jerry walks over to his brown-and-white cruiser. SF Sheriff is written along the side.
The cruiser and Stella’s van are the only two cars out on the street.
Frances must have walked here. It’s quiet, disconcertingly so.
On our old street, the slightest bit of drama and the neighbours would be out on their front steps gawking and gossiping.
But then, I wonder how many people are peeking out of their windows, watching the spectacle.
‘My cue to leave too,’ Stella says.
She holds out her hand again. ‘You and your daughter look after yourselves now.’
‘We’ll try,’ I say. And then I find myself asking: ‘Does Jerry deal with all deaths here? It seems odd not to involve the county police.’
She raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, the county police deal with crimes, sir, and there’s no crime in Serenity Falls. Didn’t you get the memo?’
I smile thinly. ‘I guess not.’
She nods, and then her eyes flit to Frances. ‘Jerry takes care of things. That’s his role.’
‘What about you?’
‘Me? Oh, I get called when I’m needed.’ She gives me a meaningful look. ‘So, hopefully I won’t be back anytime soon.’
And with that she climbs into the van and pulls off.
‘Her, I like,’ Sadie says.
Frances moves to my side. ‘I’m so sorry about all of this,’ she says. ‘If there’s anything – anything at all – I can do, just let me know.’ She flashes a sympathetic smile. ‘Oh, and you’ll find the number for the pool-cleaning company on your contacts card.’