Murder At the Pool

By Misty Reddington

Molly Tinker and her big white poodle find another dead body at Pond Park. This is the second book in the MOLLY TINKER MYSTERY SERIES. Molly and her chief-of-police husband encounter teenage craziness before they can bring the killer to justice. Molly, as usual, is funny and endearing. A must read!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329123304

Book preview

Murder At the Pool

Murder at the Pool

Misty Reddington

Copyright © 2011, Misty Reddington

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means— whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN 978-1-329-12330-4

Chapter One

What’s your day like? I said, drinking my coffee at the table in my bright yellow kitchen.

My paperwork is stacked a foot high, Eric, my hunk of a husband, said.

Why do you do it? Shred it. No one will know.

It’ll only come back to me in a bigger pile.

At least you’ll be able to get outside to solve some crime, I said, getting up to rinse my coffee cup. I have to answer the phone all day.

Why don’t you take a walk around Pond Park at lunch? I’m sure Tinker will enjoy a run around his favorite evergreen tree on the hill. Eric looked down at our big white poodle, sleeping with his head on Eric’s shoe.

I looked at the kitchen clock. I’m going swimming. It will be easier to sit five hours at a desk if I get a good workout.

I kissed Eric on his blonde head and started into the bedroom to gather my swim gear, but Eric’s cell phone rang. It wasn’t quite seven o’clock, so I stopped to listen as he answered.

I’m on my way, he said, creasing his forehead with a frown. He disconnected the phone and put it back in his shirt pocket.

What’s wrong?

Something is going on at the Y.

Something criminal?

Don’t know, Eric said. I’m heading over there now.

I’ll get my stuff and ride with you.

Eric drove his Chevy truck past two-story houses with vast lawns and huge old trees, down quiet streets to the Y. He stopped at the curb near the front of the building and jumped out. I followed, wondering what could be so urgent at seven in the morning in our small New England town.

A lifeguard, wearing his large red coat, met us in the lobby.

I’m Police Chief Eric Wade and this is Molly Tinker, Eric said, nodding at me.

Bob, he said. He shook Eric’s hand.

What’s the problem?

Bob led us outdoors to the pool and pointed down at the deck.

Eric bent and dipped his finger into the pinkish water, and he turned to him. Why did you call the police?

I came to work about twenty minutes ago. When I saw the pink water, I checked around the pool area for something injured, like a squirrel. When I didn’t find anything, I figured something was wrong.

Why? Did you think this was blood?

I figured it was blood mixed with pool water.

Eric took his cell phone from his pocket and dialed police dispatch, requesting that forensics come to the Y to pick up a sample of the water.

Who was working last night’s lifeguard shift?

Lyle Cabot, Bob said. He worked from six to ten. The front desk has his number.

I’ll need to talk with him.

I better have the girl at the front desk put a sign on the door, Bob said.

Saying the pool is closed? I said.

Bob looked at the police chief.

All day, Eric said.

Looking across the pool and through a six-foot tall chain-link fence to the far woods, I noticed the sun rising above the treetops and turning the gray clouds at the horizon pink, almost the same color as the pool deck.

Great, I said.

Chapter Two

It was eight o’clock and my workday started at ten. I was ready, dressed in a white blouse and navy pants. I sat in a gray metal chair at a gray metal table in the interrogation room and listened to lifeguard Lyle tell Eric and Deputy Police Chief Willie Monroe about last night at the Y pool.

Nothing happened, Lyle said, glancing at the wall above Eric’s head. Just a bunch of swim team guys doing laps. Then I blew the whistle to clear the pool, so I could go home.

What time was that? Eric said.

Ten minutes before the Y closed.

It closes at ten?

Exactly at ten.

Do you ever stay after the building closes to finish putting equipment away?

Sometimes, Lyle said.

Lyle was a big kid, his upper body husky, and his bicep muscles strained against his long-sleeved gray t-shirt. He looked big enough to play football.

Did you stay after ten last night? Eric said.

No, Lyle said, glancing at that spot on the wall again. I put the equipment in the pool room fifteen minutes before ten.

None of your swim team buddies hung around after hours to help you put stuff away?

No. I had everything back in the pool room and I left at ten.

So you left the building with the rest of the staff?

Lyle hesitated. I didn’t go inside the building. I left through the back gate off the pool, but I left when the other staff did.

So no one saw you leave the Y?

Lyle looked at the wall. No.

Where was the Y swim coach?

There was no swim coach. He’s on a cruise with his wife.

So nothing unusual happened during your lifeguard shift? Eric said again.

No.

I got the forensic report back ten minutes ago. Tell me about the blood on the pool deck.

Lyle sat for a long moment staring at the gray wall paint. I don’t know anything about any blood.

Something in Eric’s eyes made me think that he didn’t believe Lyle. I noticed the same look in Willie’s eyes. Did it have something to do with Lyle’s preoccupation with the wall?

Eric stopped the questioning. I may need you to come in again to go over the events of last night.

Sure. Lyle pushed back from the gray metal table. I’m late for English.

Wait, I said before he could leave the room. Who do you have for English?

Mr. Moore.

Eric leaned back in his chair with a grin on his face. Lifeguard Lyle is a damn poor liar.

Because he didn’t make eye contact when he answered half your questions? I said.

Partly, Eric said. There was also something in the tone of his voice.

Lucky for us, Willie said. We have someone to start our investigation with.

And a place and time, Eric said. We just have to find out what we’re investigating.

A murder? I said, hoping that something less felonious had happened that was responsible for the bloody water mottling the pool deck at the Y.

If someone was murdered, he or she has to be missing, Eric said.

I checked with dispatch, Willie said. No missing person’s report has been made as of eight o’clock.

Maybe I’ll stop by the high school after work to chat with Jerry Moore, I said.

Are you helping Willie and me with the investigation?

Sure. I always like to be helpful.

Chapter Three

I sat on my blue-cushioned chair behind my old wooden desk, answering phone calls from the residents of Millsbury. Every single person in town knew that Pond Park was officially closed until May, with no park ranger on duty. So why did people keep calling me at the park office to confirm that I wasn’t at the park today?

Fortunately, I was able to gossip with some of the callers. Unfortunately, some of the people were Y members and wondered why the pool was closed for the day. I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to compromise a police investigation, and I had no answers for what had happened at the Y pool the previous night.

I did know that I would be finding out about lifeguard Lyle from Jerry Moore at the high school in twenty minutes.

I walked down the corridor to Jerry Moore’s office. Most students I passed didn’t pay me any special attention because I look young enough to be a high school student. But two students stopped to say hello because they recognized me as the park ranger at Pond Park.

Jerry Moore’s office was in room 213. I knocked on his door and turned the doorknob. I pushed the door open and said hello. A man in his early twenties with light brown hair sat at a desk, marking students’ papers with a red pencil. Books, both textbook and paperback, were stacked on the floor in three-foot piles. Sunlight came through the one window, adding a small amount of light to the room.

He looked up at me with dark blue eyes and smiled. You saved me from reading my thirtieth essay, Jerry Moore said.

I’m Molly Tinker, I said, holding out my hand.

Jerry shook it. I remember.

I’ve come on unofficial business, I said.

Police business? He smiled again.

Yes.