The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [39]
Jacqueline started to say something, but Jean didn’t wait to hear what it was. She plunged into the pool, sending a spray of water high into the air. She swam in steady strokes toward the island and clung to it, her arm hooked over the edge of the stone coping. Dana had recovered the top of her suit and was making a big production of getting it back on. Someone—Michael—was behind her, tying the strings…or not tying them, as the case might be. There was a lot of splashing and yelling, as Dana tried to preserve her modesty by staying underwater—or tried not to stay underwater….
A head popped up, right under her nose, and Jean let out a squeal. In her dark bathing cap and suit Ann was almost invisible, except for her face. How different people’s faces look without hair framing and softening them, Jean thought.
“Having fun?” she asked.
“Wonderful. This is nice of Jacqueline.”
“What does your father think of her?”
“Oh, Sam is quite captivated,” Ann said coolly. “She’s handling him very well; nothing fascinates him like indifference.”
Jean had heard equally cynical appraisals from other offspring, but coming from demure Ann, this remark did surprise her.
“Hey!” Standing up in the water like a seal, Andy called them. “We’re playing hide and seek. Get moving, you two. I’m ‘it,’ and I’m after Jean….”
He disappeared under the water and Jean, who knew his talent for breath holding, got moving as requested. The game was a success; it gave scope for every variety of acrobatics, practical jokes, and ingenuity. Finally everyone had been “it” but Jean. Ted was the poorest swimmer of the group, and had gotten caught most often, but he didn’t seem to mind. Since they had all made it safely back to base, represented by Jacqueline and José, the last time, Ted was “it” again.
Diving down, Jean struck out for the dark end of the pool. The shadowy area behind the island made a good hiding place. When she came up for air the pool looked uncanny; there wasn’t a person, or part of one, in sight, only the rippling blue water. Then a head popped up—sleek, dark. It was Michael. He took a deep breath and disappeared again. Ted was the next to come to the surface. He was wheezing and blowing; Jacqueline leaned out and shouted something. Jean caught a few words—something about “too tired.”
Ted shook his head and resubmerged. His feet flopped agitatedly for a few seconds before they disappeared. Jean decided she had better go under and keep an eye out for him; with the lights reflecting off the water she couldn’t see what was going on under the surface.
She had no warning, except the smallest whisper of sound, and that might have had any number of causes—a lizard scuttling across the pine-needle-covered ground, or the drop of an acorn. Then the darkness solidified and fell in on her. She had a moment of intense pain, but it was soon over; she never felt the water closing in over her head, filling her mouth and lungs.
III
The room was almost dark when she awoke from a nap she had had no intention of taking. Sitting up too suddenly, she clutched her spinning head and tried to orient herself. Slowly memory returned. She was in Jacqueline’s apartment, and apparently Jacqueline had slipped her a Mickey in—
“No,” Jean said aloud.
The word came out as a croak. Jean collapsed back onto the pillow. Her throat hurt, but that pain was minor compared to the throbbing headache that clamped over her skull. What had happened? This wasn’t the first time she had awakened in Jacqueline’s apartment; it was not the day Albert…Or was it? Had all the rest been a vivid, lifelike dream?
A light went on. It was a small, dim light, but it made Jean’s head pound. She closed her eyes with a wordless mutter of protest.
“I was beginning to think that fool doctor was wrong,” said a familiar voice. “Apparently you don’t have concussion. Your head