seen in Uncle Nestor. While I tried to figure out what to say about that, Aunt Yolanda turned away and looked out through the doors, staring into the night, her back stiff, her chin high, but that only made me more convinced that she was hiding something. But we’d been going nonstop since the minute they arrived, so she could have just been tired. I’d ask again tomorrow, when we were both rested.
I held back, thinking I should give her a moment alone, but she called out to me only a heartbeat later.
“ Rita? Oh my God. Rita! Come here. Quickly!” She sounded frantic. Frightened, even.
“What is it?” I asked, hurrying toward her. “What’s wrong?”
With trembling hands—so unlike my unflappable aunt—she pointed at something on the ground below us. “There’s someone in the pool. I think he’s in trouble.” Before I could reach her, she darted across the balcony and started down the steps to the ground level.
“Who is it?” I called after her, but she was already gone.
It seemed to take forever to reach the other end of that long balcony, and by the time I got there, she was racing down the stone steps toward the swimming pool.
It took only one glance to figure out what had upset her. Someone was floating in the pool, facedown and unmoving. With my heart in my throat, I bolted down the steps. Even in the dim lighting from the tiki torches and twinkling white lights, I recognized who it was:
Big Daddy Boudreaux.
“Call nine-one-one!” Aunt Yolanda shouted as she knelt down beside the water. “I think he’s dead.”
The gentle hum of the pool’s filtration system and the soft lap of water against the sides of the pool were deceptively soothing sounds, especially since my pulse was racing frantically as the reality of the situation sank in.
Ignoring the logic that told me that nobody could breathe in that position, I stepped around a small statue that lay near the pool and plunged down the concrete steps into the water. It was only waist deep, but it dragged heavily on me as I made my way toward him.
Big Daddy bobbed gently on the waves I created. He didn’t stir, but in spite of a massive, bloody wound on the back of his head, I held on to the frantic hope that he might only be injured. “I need your help,” I called to Aunt Yolanda. “We need to turn him over.”
She stayed right where she was, shaking her head sadly. “It’s too late, mija .”
“You don’t know that.” My voice came out high-pitched and sharp-edged. “We need to turn him over and check for a pulse.”
“Rita—”
“Please, Aunt Yolanda. We have to at least check.”
Reluctantly, she followed me into the water and together we rolled Big Daddy onto his back. But as his swollen and bruised face emerged from the water, I realized that Aunt Yolanda was right.
Just a little while ago he’d been larger than life. Now Big Daddy Boudreaux stared sightlessly up at the sky, his mouth slightly open and his eyes bulging. In horror, I backed a step away, creating a wave that rolled over him and submerged his face again. An angry wound marred his forehead, probably where he hit his head as he fell in. I didn’t need to check for a pulse. I could tell just by looking.
He was dead.
Eleven
“Okay, Rita. Let’s go over this again. What time did Mr. Boudreaux arrive at the party?”
Two long hours had gone by since I’d placed the 911 call, and I’d told my story in detail at least three times. Half an hour ago, I’d been deposited in one corner of the ballroom and told to wait. Now I was sitting across the table from Detective Liam Sullivan, who apparently wanted me to tell the story again.
Sullivan and I had met last summer, during the investigation into Philippe’s murder. He’s tall, dark-haired, and yes, handsome. I’d fallen a little bit in love with him when he saved my life, though I’d never confessed that to anyone.
I didn’t mind answering his questions, but I wished I could have changed clothes
I held back, thinking I should give her a moment alone, but she called out to me only a heartbeat later.
“ Rita? Oh my God. Rita! Come here. Quickly!” She sounded frantic. Frightened, even.
“What is it?” I asked, hurrying toward her. “What’s wrong?”
With trembling hands—so unlike my unflappable aunt—she pointed at something on the ground below us. “There’s someone in the pool. I think he’s in trouble.” Before I could reach her, she darted across the balcony and started down the steps to the ground level.
“Who is it?” I called after her, but she was already gone.
It seemed to take forever to reach the other end of that long balcony, and by the time I got there, she was racing down the stone steps toward the swimming pool.
It took only one glance to figure out what had upset her. Someone was floating in the pool, facedown and unmoving. With my heart in my throat, I bolted down the steps. Even in the dim lighting from the tiki torches and twinkling white lights, I recognized who it was:
Big Daddy Boudreaux.
“Call nine-one-one!” Aunt Yolanda shouted as she knelt down beside the water. “I think he’s dead.”
The gentle hum of the pool’s filtration system and the soft lap of water against the sides of the pool were deceptively soothing sounds, especially since my pulse was racing frantically as the reality of the situation sank in.
Ignoring the logic that told me that nobody could breathe in that position, I stepped around a small statue that lay near the pool and plunged down the concrete steps into the water. It was only waist deep, but it dragged heavily on me as I made my way toward him.
Big Daddy bobbed gently on the waves I created. He didn’t stir, but in spite of a massive, bloody wound on the back of his head, I held on to the frantic hope that he might only be injured. “I need your help,” I called to Aunt Yolanda. “We need to turn him over.”
She stayed right where she was, shaking her head sadly. “It’s too late, mija .”
“You don’t know that.” My voice came out high-pitched and sharp-edged. “We need to turn him over and check for a pulse.”
“Rita—”
“Please, Aunt Yolanda. We have to at least check.”
Reluctantly, she followed me into the water and together we rolled Big Daddy onto his back. But as his swollen and bruised face emerged from the water, I realized that Aunt Yolanda was right.
Just a little while ago he’d been larger than life. Now Big Daddy Boudreaux stared sightlessly up at the sky, his mouth slightly open and his eyes bulging. In horror, I backed a step away, creating a wave that rolled over him and submerged his face again. An angry wound marred his forehead, probably where he hit his head as he fell in. I didn’t need to check for a pulse. I could tell just by looking.
He was dead.
Eleven
“Okay, Rita. Let’s go over this again. What time did Mr. Boudreaux arrive at the party?”
Two long hours had gone by since I’d placed the 911 call, and I’d told my story in detail at least three times. Half an hour ago, I’d been deposited in one corner of the ballroom and told to wait. Now I was sitting across the table from Detective Liam Sullivan, who apparently wanted me to tell the story again.
Sullivan and I had met last summer, during the investigation into Philippe’s murder. He’s tall, dark-haired, and yes, handsome. I’d fallen a little bit in love with him when he saved my life, though I’d never confessed that to anyone.
I didn’t mind answering his questions, but I wished I could have changed clothes
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