Death on a Deadline

inhaled his clean soap smell, almost forgetting the horrific scene behind me and the danger that might lie ahead.

    *****

    Wednesday afternoon, I waited until I knew Amelia was in the pool, then turned to Gail. “I’m going to lunch. See you in an hour.”
    In the locker room, I slipped into a swimsuit and picked up a towel. At least three times a week, I swam in the mornings before we opened, but usually I avoided the pool during normal business hours. Too many people gawking to see if I ever had a chance at the Olympic gold.
    I breathed a prayer of thanks when I entered the pool area. Other than Amelia swimming laps and a young mother with two little girls splashing in the far corner kiddy pool, the place was deserted.
    I dove in on the opposite side from Amelia and swam a little underwater. Discreet. Discreet. I said the word over and over in my mind with each stroke. Lord, please give me a natural opening.
    I surfaced and glanced around. No Amelia. Had she slipped out while I was swimming?
    “Looks like someone’s feeling better.”
    I turned and she was perched on the side of the pool, her lemon-yellow bikini showing off her trim figure.
    I wiped the water from my face with one hand. “Amelia. Hi.” Not brilliant. But discreet.
    “Hi.” Her makeup was apparently waterproof and quite possibly bulletproof. Other than her slicked back hair, she looked like she was ready to go out. “Glad you made it out of the hospital.”
    “Yeah, me, too.”
    “I’m sorry about Brendan.” She actually looked uncomfortable. “I hope that wasn’t too painful for you.”
    “Actually, in spite of what you thought at the hospital, we weren’t involved.”
    She nodded. “Oh. Good. I found it hard to believe you were. Even before we found out he killed Hank, he didn’t seem your type.”
    A shriek from the kiddy pool drew our attention. The two little girls in their ruffled two-piece bathing suits were pulling on a blow-up doughnut. “Mine! Mine!” they screamed in chorus.
    Amelia rolled her eyes. “Some people need to learn to control their children.”
    “Well, you know sisters. . . ,” I said. “They don’t always treat each other the best.” The old me would have said something about not mentioning birthdays, but the new discreet me just left it at that.
    “You wouldn’t let anyone come between you and your sister, would you?”
    I shook my head. “Not if I could help it.” Who did she mean specifically? Hank? Or Byron? Or both?
    To my amazement, a genuine smile broke across Amelia’s face. “You’re a scrapper, aren’t you?”
    I didn’t know how to answer. Was I? And if I was, should I admit it?
    “I like that about you, Jenna. A lot of people think you’ve settled, giving up on the Olympics, then quitting teaching. Moving back home to work here.” She waved a well-manicured hand at the pool area. “But I have a feeling about you. You’re just preparing. Regrouping. When the time comes for you to decide your future, you’ll know what to do.”
    I nodded. Had Obi-Wan Kenobi disguised himself as Amelia Stanton? Her words sounded like a fortune-cookie message, but oddly enough, I was touched. “Thanks, Amelia.”
    “Don’t thank me. I know all about regrouping.”
    Discreet. “Really?”
    “Yes.” She slipped off the rim of the pool and into the water, then swam to the other side. I had little choice but to go back to swimming myself. Apparently along with discretion came baby steps and patience.
    I was alone in the locker room, tying my shoelaces when she came in. Faced with now or never, I kicked my newfound diplomacy out the door. “I understand you and Byron have an alibi for Hank’s murder.”
    Her laughter trilled through the air and she pointed at me. “I was right about you. I knew I was.” She whirled the combination lock on her locker. “What difference does it make? Everybody knows Brendan Stiles was the killer. Even though he wasn’t your boyfriend, that was still a shock, wasn’t it?”
    “Um-hum.”
    She looked at me. “You don’t think he did it?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    “Byron and I have already given our alibis to John.”
    “Oh?”
    Her smile faded and her eyebrows knitted together. “Leave it alone, Jenna.”
    “I’m a scrapper, remember?”
    “That’s good. To an extent. But you need to learn to mind your own business, before you get hurt. . .or worse.” She snatched up her clothes and her towel and sashayed toward the shower without