The Dark and Deadly Pool Read Online Free Page B

my daughter, Rosa, wanted to go to law school instead of becoming mother to a beautiful little daughter, who was I to tell her what a mistake she was making?”
    My legs were suddenly splattered with cold water, and I jumped back. Climbing out of the pool was the boy who’d been cannonballing. “Listen, you—” I began.
    But Mrs. Bandini interrupted me. “Mary Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet my youngest grandson, Paul Canelli.He’s ten years old and getting straight A’s in school, and you should hear him play the piano. Pauly’s teacher says he has exceptional talent. Shake hands with Mary Elizabeth, Pauly.”
    She was so proud of him I ignored Pauly’s smirk. I held out my hand, hoping he wouldn’t bite it.
    He shook my hand as quickly as possible, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around himself. He flopped into a chair and said, “Could I have a hamburger, Grandma?”
    “You’ll spoil your dinner,” Mrs. Bandini said.
    “But I’m hungry. Please, Grandma?”
    “Well …” Mrs. Bandini hesitated only a second. “If you promise to eat all your dinner tonight, you may phone for room service.”
    Room service. I thought about Fran. He was a funny little guy, but I hoped I’d see him again today. Maybe I should look him up. I’d like to thank him for escorting me home last night. I’d like him to see that I wasn’t always as weird as I must have seemed last night.
    Pauly ran over to the phone. Mr. Kamara was just putting the receiver on its hook. Pauly ducked in to grab it, and Mr. Kamara nearly fell over him. He caught his balance and snapped something at Pauly in a language I didn’t understand. It was probably just as well.
    Mrs. Bandini was speaking to me, so I made myself pay attention.
    “… my other grandson, Eric,” she said. “All the girls like Eric. He’s very handsome. Very tall too. I told him about you, Mary Elizabeth.”
    She stopped and seemed to be waiting for an answer. I stammered the first thing that came to mind. “He must be wonderful.”
    “Oh, he is,” she said. “I’m going to make sure that the two of you meet each other.”
    “Great,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. The last thing I wanted to do was meet Mrs. Bandini’s other grandson. One was more than enough.
    I went toward the office as Floyd Parmlee came into the room with a covered tray. I had met Floyd on Monday. He was as bland on the inside as he was on the outside. He reminded me of yellow wax beans. I hate yellow wax beans.
    Mr. Kamara had picked a table off to the side, behind a large potted plant, where he couldn’t be seen by the people at the pool. But as I neared the office door I saw Floyd put the tray on the table next to Mr. Kamara, who signed for whatever it was he ordered. Then I saw something strange. It took only a second, but through the fronds of the potted plant I know I saw Mr. Kamara shove some money into Floyd’s hand. It looked like a lot of money. Wow! Talk about big tippers!
    I was seated at the desk, getting ready to start writing my daily report, when Floyd poked his head in the door. He shoved a gold-foil-covered box at me.
    “What’s that?” I asked.
    “From Mr. Kamara,” Floyd said. “It’s chocolates from the gift shop.”
    “I don’t want them.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I can’t accept them. I can’t have Mr. Kamara giving me presents. Will you tell him that, Floyd?”
    “Tell him yourself,” Floyd said. “It’s no skin off my nose.” He disappeared.
    I picked up the box of chocolates as though it were a bomb and carried it out to where Mr. Kamara was sitting, eating a dish of strawberry ice cream.
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Kamara,” I said, knowing that Mrs. Bandini and Mrs. Larabee were as intent on what I wassaying as Mr. Kamara was, “but I can’t accept your presents.”
    “Yes,” Mr. Kamara said. His broad smile was decorated with a strand of crushed strawberry. “I want you to take.”
    “I can’t take. I mean, it’s not proper for an