underneath the TV was a DVD. Written on the case in pen was “Dorothy and the Ruby Red Nipples.”
She slipped it out of the case and put it in a DVD player that was attached to the TV.
She took up the remote and fast-forwarded through the credits and into the opening scenes. She hit the Play button and the film slowed to normal speed. It took about three minutes before she saw her.
Mary Pringle stepped in front of the camera. She was dressed in the same sort of outfit that Judy Garland had worn in The Wizard of Oz, complete with ruby red slippers, although it was far more revealing than Garland’s. The doorbell rang. She opened it and there were three men there dressed as the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion. Within two minutes, and after limited stilted dialogue, they had no clothes on and were going at it full-bore right there on the couch, three on one. Mary was groaning and moaning on cue, but Pine doubted the woman had really enjoyed a minute of it. The act looked painful and debasing.
Pine hit the Reverse button and went back to the opening credits. Dorothy was played by Desiree Debauchery, obviously Mary’s stage name.
She turned the film off and put down the remote.
In the same drawer with the DVD was a faded news clipping from a paper in Florida.
She picked it up, unfolded it, and read the headline.
“Porn Actress Overdoses.”
The news article was brief, but it did say that the person who had discovered the body was Joey Pringle.
And then Joey Pringle died from a gunshot wound shortly thereafter.
Suicide?
Pine took pictures of everything with her phone, including some of the film footage.
She was putting the things away when she heard it.
A splash.
She pocketed the DVD and news article, closed up the bureau, and hurried down the stairs. She walked quickly across the room and looked out the window facing the pool.
There was a red hand truck perched next to the pool. The surface of the water was rippling.
She pulled her pistol and stepped outside.
She looked around but saw no one. She slipped over to the side of the pool and looked down into its depths. As the water stopped moving and cleared, she saw something.
It was Myron Pringle staring back up at her. He was barechested and in his swim trunks. A yellow float was nudging one side of the pool.
Pine laid her gun down, took out her phone, the DVD, and the news article, and put them on a lounge chair, then dove into the water. She quickly reached the bottom, gripped Myron under the shoulders, and kicked off the bottom. She struggled to bring him to the surface, but finally managed to break the top of the water. She drew in a long breath before going under again. She kicked her feet and started moving to the side of the pool. She finally managed it and reached the steps. She tugged Myron up them and onto the side of the pool.
She checked his pulse and found none. His eyes were closed, his chest still.
She started performing CPR, pushing down on his chest, silently counting as she did so.
Come on, come on. Don’t die on me.
She kept pounding away, willing his heart to start breathing and his lungs to fill with air and push out the water there.
Finally, with a long gasp and his body lurching upward, he started breathing again.
She turned him on his side and manipulated his diaphragm until he vomited up the water he’d swallowed. Pine laid him back down and checked his pulse. It was weak, but his heart was still beating. If the splash had been him going into the water, she thought she might have pulled him out in time to avoid any brain damage.
Now she had to get him to a hospital as fast as possible. She turned to reach for her phone.
And that was the last thing she remembered as the stunning blow landed against her head.
Chapter 71
PINE SLOWLY CAME TO and looked around. She had a searing pain in her head and her wet clothes felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds.
She discovered she was back inside the Cape Cod.
Pine focused on the woman sitting across from her and pointing her own Glock at her.
Britta looked remarkably composed. Her hair was perfectly styled, and her cream slacks held not a single wrinkle. Her light blue blouse and white sweater over it were immaculate. She could