Dead In The Water (Rebecca Schwartz Mystery #4) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

you.”
    “I happen to be very good at it,” I snapped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some diapers to change.”
    “Rebecca, you just don’t sound like yourself. Are you sure you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew?”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you sound like my mother.”
    “Nobody sounds like your mother. She’s been on the horn as usual, I expect?”
    “Actually, yours is the first—uh—call from my old life.” I had stopped myself just in time—I’d almost said “unwelcome phone call.”
    “Your old life? You haven’t even been gone twenty-four hours.”
    Keil and Libby, who had been standing first on one foot and then the other, had taken to whispering and now burst forth in a chorus of “Anchors Aweigh.”
    “Listen, I’ve really got to go.”
    “Have you run away with half a dozen sailors?”
    “The kids are trying to remind me in a nice way that we’re late for our sailing date.”
    “Date? Did you say date?”
    “Give me a break, okay? Some kid’s dad’s taking a bunch of us out on the bay. Could I be excused, please?”
    “You really sound harried.”
    “That’s motherhood for you. ’Bye now.”
    “But I didn’t tell you what I called for.”
    I sighed. “An exclusive, inside interview, I guess.”
    “No.”
    “No?”
    “I wanted to tell you I miss you.”
    “That’s sweet.”
    “I love you.”
    Perspiration popped out like a rash on my forehead. I didn’t want to hear this. “Gosh. Well, you’re very sweet today. I’ve got to go, really.”
    “Okay. Call you for the story later.”
    My hands were as sweaty as my face before he finally let me go. It had been a call from the other side of the moon, so alien was it. I’d let Rob go a long time ago. I just hadn’t let myself realize it.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    Julio and Esperanza were waiting impatiently beside what Julio said was a Victory, a twenty-one-foot boat in which the five of us were a nice snug fit.
    Julio, at any rate, was impatient. Esperanza, I thought, seemed still down in the dumps, though she cheered a little when she saw Libby.
    We’d stopped on the way for fruit juice and Cokes, which the kids informed me were usually strictly forbidden, but which, I informed them, were permitted today.
    “Okay, who’s going to help sail?” asked Julio, looking almost wistfully at Esperanza, clearly wanting her to volunteer.
    “Me,” said Keil. Of course.
    Libby slammed a fist down on the fiberglass deck. “I never get to help.”
    “You can take turns,” I said, but Libby only walloped the boat again.
    I could understand her frustration. It must have been tedious having Little Mr. Perfect for a brother. I was starting to get the hang of him a little. He was perfect for the sake of an audience: applauding appreciative adults. Which didn’t mean he didn’t sincerely think he had to be perfect. In a way, I felt sorrier for him than I did for Libby. At least she knew she was mad and had sense enough to pound on something when she felt like it. I didn’t have the feeling Keil had it in him to do that—probably thought it a vulgar display from an inferior and couldn’t possibly lower himself.
    But I banished the thought as soon as I had it. No doubt he felt judgmental about Libby, but I got the feeling lowering himself didn’t come into the picture. He probably just never felt mad and thought anger a curious phenomenon that applied only to other people. Poor baby. I hoped he wouldn’t get an ulcer before he was fifteen.
    Julio said, “Okay, all kids get into lifejackets.”
    Keil reached under the bow, where they were stowed, but Libby and Esperanza chorused, “Noooo!” in a single agonized howl.
    Esperanza, who, like Libby, apparently could get as mad as the next little brat—I mean, the next little darling—said, “Daddy, please! We can all swim!”
    Julio hesitated. I got the feeling he’d usually insist, but he looked at the perfect cloudless sky and said, “Okay, I guess we’re not going to have a storm. It takes quite a bit to tip one of these babies. But listen, we’re not going to make a practice of this; does everybody understand that?”
    All three nodded, Keil looking relieved, since he was the only one of the crew who’d actually intended to obey captain’s orders, no matter how stupid he’d feel in an orange puffy thing. The girls looked smug, like cats who’d not only just had a dish of cream, but were used to cream, not cat chow.
    Julio settled himself at the