“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
The following morning, at 7:46, my phone rang.
Dad.
“Get over here.”
“Where?”
“Richard’s house.”
“What happened?”
“Your boss just found out what was underneath his pool.”
I froze.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not alone.”
“Who’s there?”
Dad gave me a name: Eleanor Marks, an elderly woman who had lived on the street for fifty years.
I grabbed my keys.
When I arrived at Lakeview Drive, two police vehicles were parked outside.
Richard was arguing with an officer.
Melissa stood nearby, pale and shaken.
Dad was beside an elderly woman with silver hair and a folder under her arm.
She approached me.
“Are you Julie?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Eleanor Marks.”
She looked toward the pool.
“I was here when this house was built. I was here before it existed too.”
I had no idea what she meant.
“Your father will explain,” she said.
Then she looked directly at me.
“But before he does, you should know something. What happened here is not his fault.”
I found Dad.
“What is going on?”
He led me toward the driveway.
“Remember that calcium buildup I mentioned?”
