The pool lay beyond a tiled terrace, blue water catching hard light.Planters lined the edges.White loungers faced the view.At the center of the pool, Carl Higgins floated on a black pool float with one arm hanging in the water and the other hand wrapped around a tumbler of dark liquor.
Carl was in his fifties, deep-tanned, broad through the shoulders, and still carrying the kind of fitness men liked to display when age had begun taking other things from them.Sunglasses hid his eyes.His bare chest glistened with lotion and pool water.
“Sheriff!”Carl shouted.“Would you care for a drink?”
Connor stopped at the pool’s edge.“No, Carl.I’m working.”
“A shame.Working on days like this is the death of civilized life.It’s too hot.”
“You look like you’re celebrating.”
Carl raised his glass.“I am.”
“What are you celebrating?”
“Another grain deal.This time to the Middle East, would you believe?A lovely little shipment arrangement.Very profitable.Very international.”Carl grinned.“Why the long face?County budget fall short again?”
Connor looked down at him.“Victor Schmidt was found dead in the early hours of this morning.”
The smile vanished.
For a moment, Carl did not move at all.Water lapped against the side of the pool float.Somewhere behind Connor, Maxine stepped onto the terrace but kept her distance.
Carl sat up slowly.“Vic?”
“That’s right.”
Shock showed on Carl’s face, or something close to it.Then his mouth worked into a smaller, strained expression.He raised the tumbler halfway.
“Well,” Carl said, “I’ll give him this.He was a hell of a competitor.”
Connor felt heat move through him that had nothing to do with the sun.“That your tribute?”
Carl lowered the glass.“Don’t start with me, Connor.”
“Let me guess,” Carl added after a moment, forcing a brittle tone.“Heart attack.We always did tell him to lose weight.”
“You called him a pig.That’s different.And he was anything but.”
Carl stared at him through the sunglasses.Then he paddled the pool float toward the pool steps, climbed out, and took a towel from a nearby chair.Water ran down his legs onto the tile.He dried his face, his chest, then tossed the towel aside and pulled on a white robe.The belt stayed loose.The robe hung open as if he were posing for a catalog nobody had requested.
“What happened?”Carl asked.
Connor did not answer right away.
Carl walked closer.“Look, if that Marlene of his is saying I pushed him into a grave, that’s just not true.”
“Victor wasn’t pushed into a grave by stress,” Connor said.“Someone murdered him in cold blood.”
Carl took off his sunglasses.
The smile had gone now.Completely.
“What?”His eyes searched Connor’s face.“Are you sure?”
“Yes.I saw the body.”
Carl’s hand tightened around the sunglasses until the frame clicked.
