He breathed a sigh of relief when they reached The Jumble’s main house, rode around to the back, and dismounted. Vicki and Ineke came out of the house to greet them. Ineke looked confident, which was nothing new. Vicki looked nervy, but not meltdown anxious about putting on this shindig.

“Would everyone like to go down to the lake for a bit to cool off, or would you like some lunch first?” Vicki asked.

“Lake,” Julian said, smiling.

“I vote for the lake,” Paige said.

When Hector nodded, Grimshaw made it unanimous. He wanted to see the beach here, to say nothing of spending a little time in cool water.

Vicki led the men to the communal showers on one side of the kitchen. Four showerheads, no dividers. Reminded him of a locker room except it was decorated in blues and greens and soft grays. Plants provided lush greenery, giving the whole area an outdoor feel. But there were racks of folded towels and a long wooden bench where people could sit. There were pegs for clothes and little baskets for personal items. A good place for guests to rinse off and dress after an afternoon on the beach.

He didn’t pay attention to Julian as he stripped off his own clothes and pulled on swimming trunks, but he saw Hector’s face when the Simple Life man slipped into the room and looked at Julian.

There were scars. More than he’d expected from what he’d heard about the attack that had ended Julian’s career as a cop. He’d expected those scars to be deep and significant, but there were others that looked like they had been acquired in other life-threatening situations—and some that didn’t look old enough to have been acquired during Julian’s years on the force.

Julian met his eyes and shrugged into a white threadbare shirt to wear over the swim trunks, saying nothing. What was there to say? The scars spoke quite eloquently, and Grimshaw had a better understanding of why Julian Farrow had been looking for a quiet place to live.

Not wanting to make his friend self-conscious, Grimshaw looked away—and smiled when he saw Hector’s swim attire. The trunks snugly covered the man from waist to knees, and the tank top was long enough to cover the crotch, probably for additional modesty.

“Is that traditional?” he asked.

“It is,” Hector replied.

They took the provided beach towels and went outside to find the three women studying a small white pony who was grazing on the lawn.

“Where did he come from?” Grimshaw asked.

“I haven’t seen him before,” Hector replied.

Ineke moved closer to the pony, who stopped grazing to watch her. She pulled one of the sapphire streaks in her hair forward. She studied it, then studied the pony’s greenish blue mane and tail before turning to Paige and Vicki. “What do you think about that color on me?”

“Gods,” Julian muttered.

The women ignored him.

“I don’t think aquamarine would work for you,” Vicki said. “But on Paige . . . ?”

Paige pulled her braid over her shoulder and held it out for study. It was a soft red that had a glint of gold in sunlight.

“Yes,” Ineke said. “That color would look better on Paige.”

The men, and the pony, watched the women head for the water. Then Ineke turned and looked at them. “Are you guys coming?”

A man could get into all kinds of trouble answering a question that was phrased that way, but those tattoos on her thighs were intimidating enough to discourage any smart-ass remarks.

“On our way,” Grimshaw said.

Julian blew out a breath. “I’m so glad I didn’t know about those tattoos when I lived at the boardinghouse.”

“Told you.” Grimshaw headed for the water, looking forward to cooling off. Then he noticed the women had gone in up to their ankles and stopped—and seemed to be having an intense, whispered discussion. It was easier to figure out what the terra indigene were thinking than a human female, but he had the impression the discussion was about the knee-length cover-up Vicki was still wearing.

“You divorced him,” Ineke said, sounding sharp, “which proves you have some sense. So forget what he said. What’s a little cellulite among friends?”

Grimshaw saw Vicki’s face flush, and he figured she was going to bolt and lock herself in the house, pretty much ending what might have been a pleasant afternoon.

Then Julian stepped forward and looked at Vicki. “We are among friends who don’t judge us by how we look but by who we are, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He shrugged out of the shirt, tossed it toward blankets spread out on the sand, and walked into the water—knees, thighs, waist. Then he dove under.

Ineke looked at Vicki. No question everyone had seen Julian’s scars. Vicki hesitated a moment longer, then pulled off the cover-up and went into the water with Ineke and Paige.

Hector eased up next to him and whispered, “What’s cellulite?”

Grimshaw shrugged. “A female obsession?” He eyed the other man. “But not among the Simple Life women?”

“If it is, it is not spoken of in the presence of men.”

Lucky men.

Watching Julian swimming parallel to the beach, Grimshaw struck out in the same direction, angling to eventually meet up with his friend. They swam together for several minutes before Julian stopped to tread water.

Grimshaw looked around. Another beach but not sand. Stones and shale?

“This is a boundary,” Julian said.

“For what?”

“Don’t know. But I have the feeling we’ve crossed a line and are now in a part of the lake where we shouldn’t be without permission.”

Grimshaw scanned the shore. Was something hiding among the trees, unseen?

“Wayne,” Julian breathed.

He turned and noticed Julian was looking at the water farther out from shore. Ripples, as if a large fish had broken the surface. “You see something?”

“I’m not sure, but I think we should join Vicki and the rest of her guests.”

Something broke the surface. Maybe a large fish catching a meal, or was it something else coming up for air—or for a look at him and Julian? The arch of a back. A glimpse of a delicate, translucent dorsal fin. And at the last moment . . . “Was that a tail?” By all the gods, what had he just seen?

“We need to get back to the beach,” Julian said.

He didn’t argue. And if it felt more like they were racing on the way back, he thought they had good reason.

* * *

• • •

Ineke had brought a beach ball along with the blankets and towels. When Grimshaw and Julian reached them, Vicki and Paige were on one team and Ineke and Hector were on the other, playing water volleyball—except the idea seemed to be how long they could keep passing the ball between the teams before someone slipped and went under. Since Julian joined Vicki and Paige, Grimshaw went over to Ineke’s team.

He wasn’t sure how long they played—couldn’t have been more than a few minutes—when Vicki and Ineke excused themselves and went up to the house to set out the lunch. A couple of minutes after that, Paige caught the ball and said, laughing, “We should go up now.”

They got out of the water and dried off, but Grimshaw lingered, looking toward the lake. So did Julian. That was why they were the only ones who watched the white pony with the weird-colored mane and tail trot into the water and disappear. That was why they were the only ones who saw the water begin to swirl, a small circle at first but getting wider and wider—and deeper and deeper.

He didn’t ask Julian, didn’t really want confirmation that someone else could see a powerfully built yet insubstantial horse with that same coloring galloping round and round the edge of the whirlpool before the horse vanished and the lake rushed into the funnel shaped by the swirling water. A moment later, water lapped the sand and there wasn’t any sign that anything had happened.

Grimshaw looked at Julian. Julian looked at him.

“This isn’t new,” he said quietly.

“No, this isn’t new,” Julian agreed. “But I think someone has decided to allow us to see it . . . and live.”

CHAPTER 42

Vicki

Firesday, Juin 30

The guest suites in the main house were ready, and the renovated cabins were clean. I dithered about putting a vase of fresh flowers in each room along with a welcome basket, but I didn’t have three vases. Well, I did, but they were old, chipped ones I’d found haphazardly packed away in the attic—all right for my use but not something you put out for guests.