The floor panels were stacked in a machine that rolled them out one after another. As each panel slid out, it locked into the edge of the panel ahead and then pushed out over the pool, dragging the next one behind it, like the slats of a bamboo window blind.
She kicked off and swam furiously toward the shallow end. But her stroke was panicked and ineffective. She was thrashing rather than swimming. She felt the closing edge with her foot as she kicked. The door of the trap was sliding over her. She wasn’t going to make it.
Jane screamed, her voice louder than the rumble of the mechanism. But her cry seemed useless. No one could get to her in time. She planted a foot on the moving edge and pushed off. For a second she was in the open, reaching out to the steps at the end of the pool. She grabbed the ladder and raised herself up out of the water. But there wasn’t time. She would never make it out before the floor reached her, and if she was halfway out, the heavy wooden edge would cut across her like the blade of a guillotine. She had only seconds to save herself, and only one choice to make. Jane let go of the ladder, took a breath, and dropped under the water. She held her breath as the floor closed over her.
Her world went silent, as if she had suddenly gone deaf. She was in an eerie space of water brightly illuminated by the pool lights, sealed in on all sides. Every detail of the pool was clearly visible. She could see the tiles, the water-circulation inlets, and the steps. Over her head she could see the steel bars that reinforced each of the dance-floor panels. She took hold of the ladder and pulled up until she broke the surface. The water was at eye level when her head touched the bottom of the dance floor. Jane tilted her head back until her face was out of the water. She gulped for air and found that she could breathe—but just! The surface was still oscillating so that tiny swells were washing across her mouth and nose. If she wasn’t careful, she could easily swallow water. If she lay perfectly still, she could breathe. But her feet sank and her shoulders rolled. Even the slightest movement created waves, and the waves rolled back over her face. Jane clutched at one of the steel braces. For a few moments she was able to hold herself still. Breathing was easier, but the tension in her shoulders shot pain across her back. She couldn’t last long without letting go.
It would be easier, she decided, to sit on a lower step of the ladder and steady herself with her head bent back and her face in the clear. She tried one step, but it left her at the water level, gurgling with each breath. The next step was too high. Her face was pressed painfully against the wooden plank above. There was no position that would let her relax and breathe calmly.
She tried another scream that sounded deep and resonant in the small space above the water. It didn’t seem loud enough to get anyone’s attention. She banged her fist against the panel. The short stroke she was able to take produced nothing more than a knock. Once again she felt herself sinking, the water licking over her face. Jane knew that she couldn’t hold herself still in the narrow air space for very long. She began to understand that her life was in danger.
There was only a three-inch gap between the water and the wooden ceiling that held her prisoner. She couldn’t hold herself still for more than a few seconds, so she had to time her breaths very carefully. Come up slowly, break the surface, and breathe deeply. Then let herself settle back with just her eyes above the water. Wait patiently until she needed another breath, then tip her head back until her mouth and nose were clear. It was a routine that she knew she could keep up for a while. But for how long? It was the middle of the night. She might not be missed until William woke up in the morning, seven or eight hours from now. Could she stay awake and hold her concentration for that long?
The lights snapped off, a change every bit as dazzling as if they had suddenly flashed on in the darkness. In the glow of the pool lights she had been able to analyze her predicament. Now she was in total blackness, as if lost at the bottom of the sea. She came up too quickly, banged her head, and swallowed water. She was suddenly choking, gasping for air and breathing in more water instead.
Don’t panic, she told herself, but panic was already setting in. She was disoriented, unsure whether her face was in the narrow opening or still underwater. She was short of breath but terrified of taking in more water.
Don’t panic! She felt for the ladder, sweeping her arms under the water. Her hand hit the metal pipe and then she was able to feel the steps. She let the ladder guide her as she rose, her arm raised to feel the rough bottom of the dance floor. Then she brought her face up slowly. She sputtered and threw up the water that had been locked in her throat. She drew a deep breath, taking in air but also more water, and the cycle of choking started all over again.
Stay calm! She rolled on her side so that half her face was pressed against the dance floor and she was able to spit up more water. But she couldn’t control the gasp for air that drew still more water into her lungs. And that set her thrashing again.
There was plenty of air lying in a layer across the top of the water, and more seeping in from the outside. If she could just develop a rhythm—press her face against the wooden ceiling, breathe, and then let herself relax. Even if she sank a bit, she would still be safe as long as she could rise up gently for the next breath. But the choking and gasping were exhausting, and with the fatigue came even greater disorientation. Jane couldn’t make her body work the way she knew it had to.
She began bobbing slowly, trying not to disturb the water surface and make waves. She got into a rhythm that seemed to work: surface to draw a breath, let herself sink a bit, and then surface for the next breath. She began counting the seconds to keep her mind occupied so that she wouldn’t panic. But the process became hypnotic. She felt herself choking and realized that she had drawn a breath underwater. Later she felt herself sinking, exhaling a trail of bubbles. How long had she been trapped in the swimming pool? It seemed like hours, but it was probably no more than fifteen minutes. How much longer could she hold on?
The lights flashed on, snapping her back to her senses. She had not heard footsteps or the click of the switch that had turned the pool lights back on. But someone must be there. Jane took a deep breath and screamed at the tiny opening where a connection between two floor panels rested on the edge of the pool. She listened carefully. Nothing! She called again. No one was there.
“Christ, help me!” she yelled. There was another terrifying moment of silence. Then a click and the whir of a motor. And then a rumble as the panel above her face began moving back toward the deep end of the pool. As soon as the floor slid past her. Jane exploded out of the water. In two rapid strokes she was holding on to the edge at the shallow end. Then she began to cry hysterically.
Bill Andrews reached down to her. She caught his hands and then threw her arm around his neck. For an instant, he tottered, fighting to avoid being dragged in. Then he pulled back and got his hands under her arms. He hauled her up until her torso was lying on the deck, her legs still dangling in the water.
“You’re okay!” he shouted at her. “It’s all right!” He pulled her up into his arms and dragged her knees up onto the edge. Then he lifted her until she was standing, her weight leaning against him. “You’re okay,” he repeated. He led her toward the cabana, and she walked with faltering steps.
“Thank God you came up,” she said when he eased her down onto a deck chair.
“Leavitt just left. I thought I’d come up and dry you off,” he explained. “When I saw the pool covered, I thought you must have finished your swim. I damn near went back down to find you.”
“Jesus, I was drowning. The pool cover closed over my head.”
He draped a towel over her shoulders and found another one so that he could begin drying her hair. “You’re freezing,” he warned her. “Can you walk to the steps? You should get downstairs and into something dry.”
He led her straight to his bedroom and slipped into the bed next to her so that he could warm her in his arms.
When she came down in the morning, Bill was at the breakfast table with Cassie and Craig. He rose and seated her. “Feeling better?” he asked.
“Much better!”
Craig stopped chewing long enough to ask, “Did you really get caught under the pool cover last night?” Then he turned to Cassie with a conspiratorial grin.
Jane nodded and then smiled, determined not to be overly dramatic. “I did get myself trapped,” she answered.
“That’s not supposed to happen,” Craig said. “There are electric eyes and stuff to keep it from closing if anyone is in the pool.”
Jane answered, “They must have burned out.” But then she asked how the motor could have started. “Who could possibly have thrown the switch?”
“A mechanical failure,” William said. “No one could have thrown the switch. It’s right next to the pool. You’d have seen anyone who came up.”
“But it worked for you,” Jane remembered. “You pushed the button and everything worked normally. So nothing was broken. Somebody must have pushed the switch.”
Cassie and Craig ignored the discussion as they finished their pancakes. But Bill persisted in his view that it was some sort of mechanical failure. “There’s no way to get on the roof except through the apartment. And no one let anyone in. Everyone was asleep until Robert got here.”
“Look,” Jane said with a hint of temper. “The pool and deck were serviced yesterday. Everything was in working order. So why would it suddenly decide to close ….” Her voice drifted off as she realized the import of what she was saying. If there was no way to get to the pool except through the apartment, then whoever pushed the button must have been in the apartment. If it wasn’t a mechanical failure, then someone in the family had tried to kill her. “I guess we’ll have to talk to the service people,” she mumbled, seeming to concede the point.
Mrs. McCarty stepped into the breakfast room with another plate of eggs. “What happened?” she asked, looking from face to face. William responded, explaining the previous night’s accident. “She had a close call,” he concluded.
Eileen helped herself to the coffee and eggs. “I’ll call the company,” she promised. “There must be something that needs to be fixed. Machines don’t turn themselves on, and no one would want to hurt you.”
Jane could think of people who might want to hurt her. Cassie or Craig could have decided that they didn’t want their father to have a new wife. Bill’s secretary and his office staff might resent a new figure in the chain of command. And someone very close to Bill, such as someone who was at that unusual business meeting eight years ago, might want to stop her snooping into the death of Kay Parker.
Maybe no one wanted to kill her. Maybe it was to frighten her and warn her not to insert herself into the affairs of the family or dig into its secrets. Was it possible that she was the problem Andrews had to discuss with Leavitt?
Or was it possible that she was becoming paranoid? Maybe it was just the damn switch or a short circuit. But still, she shouldn’t let her guard down until she found out.
Jane made sure she was on the roof when the serviceman came. With Mrs. McCarty looking over her shoulder, she explained exactly how she had turned on the light and then slipped into the pool. She had never been near the switch for the cover; in fact, she hadn’t known where it was located. She had swum a few laps, but she wasn’t absorbed in exercise. If someone had come out onto the deck and stopped next to the dance floor housing, she most likely would have noticed.
The switch was working perfectly, the repairman decided, and he demonstrated the internal sequence of its operation. She didn’t completely follow his explanation, but he was plainly convinced.
“How else could the motor have started?” she wondered.
He thought. “Well, if you ran the power line to the motor and bypassed the switch …”
That didn’t seem likely unless there was a fledgling electrician in the household.
“Or if you killed the power and flipped the switch,” the man speculated. “Then it would close when you turned your circuit breaker back on.”
That didn’t seem very likely, either. But it was possible. She wondered if Bill could remember whether he found the switch turned on or off. If it had been set on CLOSED, then someone would have had to set it before she reached the pool. She was certain that she had been nowhere near the switch.
As she was going down the stairs, Robert Leavitt was letting himself into the apartment, carrying a thick briefcase. He peeled off his jacket and went into the breakfast room, where he poured himself a cup of coffee. Jane slipped into a chair across from him.
“I’m glad last night’s meeting broke up early,” she said.
He seemed puzzled.
“Didn’t you hear what happened to me?”
He put down his cup and gave his full attention to her shortened version of her struggle in the swimming pool. “If Bill had been five minutes longer, I wouldn’t have made it,” she concluded, “so I’m lucky your conversation didn’t drag on a bit longer.”
Then she got into the problem of the switch and the fact that nobody had touched it. She explained the serviceman’s theory that if the switch had been set in advance, the pool cover could have been closed by switching the circuit breaker back on. Was that really possible?
He laughed. “I’m not your man. Switches and relays and cutoffs … they’re all a mystery to me. Changing a lightbulb is my scientific highlight.”
She reminded him of the break-in that had occurred her first night in the apartment. Didn’t it seem likely that there might be a connection between the two events? Someone had come into the apartment and left without leaving a trace. And now someone turns on the pool cover without ever being near the switch. He answered that he didn’t see how there could be any connection other than the apparent failure of electrical systems in both cases.
Then she asked if he knew of anyone who might want to keep William Andrews from marrying her. “Someone trying to give me second thoughts or scare me off?”
“Jane,” he answered, “Bill has a lot of enemies. And there are any number of people who would love to control him. Why don’t you ask me something easy?”
“Okay,” Jane dared. “Who is Selina Royce?”