“No. Traci was watching. She would have yelled at them.”
“You’re sure? I mean, you said you went to get the skimmer. Maybe, while your back was turned, and while Traci was clearing the pool, one of those boys, just horsing around, pushed Hudson in and held him underwater?”
“I’m telling you, my back wasn’t turned but a few seconds. And when I got back to the deep end, Hudson was the only kid in the pool.”
She stood abruptly. “I gotta get back. Ruth is probably writing me up right this minute.”
Whelan couldn’t let her leave. “Did you and the other lifeguard, that girl Traci, did the two of you talk about it, afterward? I mean, maybe she saw something you missed?”
She headed for the elevator bank and stabbed the Up button. He’d lost her. She was stony-faced, shut down. “Me and Traci didn’t talk at all after that day. About anything.”
Whelan followed her to the bank of elevators. “Really? You’d just witnessed what had to be the most traumatic event in your lives, and you never talked about it? At all?”
“At all,” she said, pressing her lips together. The doors opened, she stepped inside, and a moment later the doors closed and she was gone.
CHAPTER 26
By late Saturday afternoon on the day of the Beach Bash, Traci was on the phone in her office, frantically trying to stave off a chain of minor disasters that threatened to ruin the event.
“Traci?”
Charlie Burroughs’s expression was glum. He sat down in the chair opposite her desk and gestured to his cell phone. “We’ve got a shituation down at the beach club.”
She sighed and disconnected. “What is it now?”
“Just got off the phone with Gary in maintenance. Someone flushed an entire roll of toilet paper in each of the commodes down at the beach club.”
“Oh God. What do the plumbers say?”
“Plumber. Singular. It’s just Marvin, and he says it’s not good. Six plugged-up commodes. We gotta shut the bathrooms ’til it’s fixed. And he doesn’t know how long that will take.”
“Okay,” Traci said. “Plan B. Call Cindy over at Royal Flush. Ask her if they can get us some portalettes delivered to the beach club ASAP.”
“That ain’t gonna be cheap,” Charlie said gloomily.
“We’ve gotta have bathrooms down there. Other than toilets, how’s everything else looking?”
“Okay. They’re setting up the tables down there now.”
“Mrs. E?”
Felice, the new chef, stood in the doorway of her office, holding a small bowl covered with plastic wrap.
Charlie bristled. “Felice? Now is not a good time.”
Traci waved away his objections. “Hi, Felice. Come on in, but please tell me you don’t have more bad news.”
Felice stepped into the office and held out the bowl, removing the plastic wrap. Inside were a handful of grayish, foul-smelling shrimp.
“Gah!” Traci pushed the bowl away.
“The whole order is like this,” Felice said angrily. “I called that Tommy Betz and told him we’re not paying for this mess. He hung up on me. I went down to the docks in town myself and bought some fresh stuff right off the boat.”
“Good thinking,” Traci said.
“We need a new fishmonger,” Felice said.
“Felice?” Charlie said. “Let’s just get through tonight. Okay? Monday, you and I will have a talk with Tommy. I’m sure he wouldn’t intentionally send us bad shrimp.”
