“Does he look okay to you?” she asked, staring into the pool.
“If looking dead is okay, then yes. If looking dead is not okay, then no,” he said.
“Maybe he’s just resting.”
“I don’t think so. No one can hold heir breath that long and he’s not moving a all.”
“Should we call the police?”
“Probably,” he said. “I mean that’s what they would do in the movies. But the question is, how involved do we want to become? They’ll be a lot of questions and they might want to take us down to the station. Maybe they’ll think we were involved in some way.”
“That’s a good point,” she agreed.
“We should probably just go,” he said. “Someone will find him. Eventually. Besides, his spirit is probably long gone and he’s at a party with all his dead relatives and his dogs.”
“Do you think so?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“What if we get a burner phone and call the police, then throw the phone away.”
“Seems silly,” he said. “I mean we didn’t do anything. We just found a body in a swimming pool.”
“I wonder how he died?”
“Heart attack?” she guessed. “Maybe he slipped and hit his head on the edge of the pool”
“Maybe someone killed him.”
“There’s no blood,” she said.
“The killer could have just held him under water, so there wouldn’t be any blood.”
“True,” she said, moving a bit closer.
“Does anything about him look…familiar?” he muttered.
“No. Why? Do you think you know him?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, but there’s something about…”
“Why don’t you come with me, then you can get out of those wet clothes,” she said.
“Wet clothes?” he asked, looking down at himself. “How did I get wet?”
“I think it was from floating in the pool for such a long time.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, staring at her.
“There’s a black and white dog named Blink who can’t wait to see you.”
“Blink died two years ago,” he said, frowning.
“Yes. I know.”
“Oh,” he said, looking back into the pool. “Familiar.”
“It’ okay,” she said, kindly, slipping a tennis ball into his hand. “Everything’s going to be just fine. Let’s go see Blink.”
Photo: Emilie Farris