CHAPTER FOUR — THE WOMAN WITH THE CASE

The museum’s curator met Daniel at the entrance to the Northbridge Arts Archive on Tuesday morning.
Her name was Priya Nair, and she carried a battered aluminum case against her hip.
“I should probably apologize,” she said.
“For what?”
“We’ve been telling people the tide organ was dismantled permanently.”
“Did Carol tell you that?”
“She submitted an oral history and photographs from the production.”
Priya led him through a gallery filled with stage models.
“We planned to exhibit a reconstruction, not a working artifact.”
“Why does she need my pool empty?”
“I don’t know that she does.

”
Daniel described the contamination and Owen’s account of the calls.
Priya stopped beside a table displaying a brass cylinder.
“That changes things.”
“What is that?”
“A test version of one of Leo Mercer’s sounding chambers.”
Priya opened the aluminum case.
Inside lay twelve small brass reeds mounted in padded slots.
“We bought these through a private collector last year.”
Daniel looked at the curved ends.
“Are they parts of the missing organ?”
“We believed they were discarded prototypes.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“Their measurements don’t match the plans Carol provided.”
Priya closed the lid firmly.
“I’ve requested access to the remaining stage infrastructure several times.

”
“Carol always says it was filled with concrete after the cancellation.”
Daniel thought about the brass fasteners Owen had spotted.
“That is a very specific claim.”
“And a costly one to verify,” Priya replied.
“We can’t ask a homeowner to empty a pool because of a curator’s curiosity.”
Daniel frowned.
“Carol was willing to dump a bucket of filth into mine.”
“That suggests curiosity isn’t her only reason.”
Priya showed him the exhibition schedule.
Its centerpiece was a public demonstration of a reconstructed tide organ, with Carol credited as the surviving director.
A plaque beside the model called Leo’s original mechanism fatally defective.


“Is that true?” Daniel asked.
“We took Carol’s account seriously.”
“What did Celia say?”
“Celia refused to participate.”
Daniel looked at the photograph again.
Leo’s smile seemed impossible to reconcile with the museum’s account of a broken instrument.
“What happens if the original survives?”
“We would have to reconsider the exhibition.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“We could still study it.”
Priya hesitated.
“Carol’s consulting agreement depends on a successful opening.”
“How much money?”
“That’s confidential.”
Daniel felt the familiar irritation of having a stranger’s secrets placed over his own damaged property.
“Then I suppose we both have something we can’t access.

”
Priya opened the case again, but this time she reached beneath the foam.
She removed a folded photograph of the instrument installed in the pool.
“There is something you can access without draining the water,” she said.
“A series of numbered inspection slots was built into the stage face.”
“Where?”
She indicated a narrow band beside the deep end.
“Exactly where your technician saw the fasteners.”

CHAPTER FIVE — CLEAN WATER

Owen returned to Daniel’s house wearing rubber boots and a serious expression.
“The first tests didn’t show sewage,” he said.
“What was in it?”
“Mostly composted leaves, soil, and a concentrated plant dye.

”
“So Carol made a mess rather than creating a medical emergency?”
“That doesn’t make it harmless. We still need proper cleanup and filtration.”
Owen inspected the skimmer baskets and took another sample.
He recommended keeping everyone away from the pool until the lab finished its assessment.
Daniel agreed and locked the side gate.
“Did you find anything about the brass fasteners?” Owen asked.
Daniel showed him Priya’s photograph.
Owen enlarged the image and studied the numbered slots.
“I’ve seen those before,” he said.
“Where?”
“In old exhibition pools. They let technicians remove decorative sections without dismantling the entire structure.”
“Can we open one?”
“Not today.

”
Owen pointed at a seam beneath the diving board.
“We’d need to assess what’s behind the panels and whether they’ve been incorporated into the modern finish.”
“I don’t want someone ripping my pool apart for an art exhibit.”
“Then we don’t do that.”
Daniel appreciated the simple answer.
That evening, Carol appeared on the sidewalk as he carried the sample cooler to Owen’s truck.
“You shouldn’t be inviting strangers to inspect that pool,” she said.
Owen closed the truck’s tailgate.
“I’m his pool technician.”
“You don’t understand what’s back there.”
Daniel turned toward her.
“Then tell me.”
Carol crossed her arms.


“A dangerous machine.”
“One you said was destroyed thirty years ago?”
She stepped back.
“Who told you that?”
“Celia Park remembers quite a lot.”
Carol’s face became very still.
“Celia has never understood the difference between an artist and someone who keeps artists alive.”
“Did Leo build it badly?”
Carol glanced toward Owen.
“My husband built it beautifully.”
She seemed surprised by the warmth in her own voice.
“Then why would you say it was unsafe?” Daniel asked.
“Because something beautiful can still be dangerous.”
Owen opened the driver’s door.
“If you know of a specific hazard, please describe it so we can inspect it safely.

”
Carol looked toward the deep end one last time.
“The danger isn’t what the machine does,” she said.
“It’s what people might remember when they see it.”
She walked away before Daniel could ask another question.

CHAPTER SIX — THE DANCERS

June brought three former performers to Daniel’s living room on Wednesday afternoon.
Celia introduced Walter Finch, a retired percussionist, and Irene Soto, who had once been the youngest dancer in Marianne’s troupe.
A fourth chair remained empty.
“We invited Theo Bell,” Celia said.
“Marianne’s brother?” Daniel asked.
“He didn’t want to come.”
Walter placed a small metronome on the coffee table.


“This is how we practiced the opening sequence after the organ vanished.”
He wound it and set it clicking.
Irene closed her eyes.
“The underwater pulse was slower,” she said.
“It moved through your ankles before your ears heard anything.”
Walter stopped the metronome.
“Carol insisted that we were imagining the difference.”
“Why did she cancel the performance?” Daniel asked.
Celia looked at Irene.
Irene clasped her hands tightly.
“Because I nearly drowned during the rehearsal.”
The room went silent.
“I got caught against the decorative panel and couldn’t find my way around it.”
“Leo went into the pool and pulled me out.

”
“Carol said the chamber sucked me toward the wall, but that’s not what I remember.”
Daniel waited.
“What do you remember?”
“Someone had shifted the lower platform.”
Walter leaned forward.
“That platform was supposed to lock before anyone entered the water.”
“Who was responsible for locking it?”
Irene looked down.
“Carol.”
Celia touched her shoulder.
“We were young, and she was the director.”
“I didn’t accuse her,” Irene said.
“I told Marianne I must have kicked the latch myself.”
Daniel felt the story changing shape beneath his hands.
“Did Carol believe she was protecting you by hiding the machine?”
“At first,

perhaps,” Irene said.
“But after Marianne died, Carol began saying Leo had warned us about a manufacturing defect.”
“And Leo?”
Walter watched the metronome’s pendulum settle.
“He was injured in a car accident several years later and died after a long recovery.”
Irene wiped her eyes.
“He never agreed with her account.”
“Then why didn’t he say something?”
“He did,” Walter replied.
“He told us the machine had been locked correctly when he built it.”
“But once it disappeared, he couldn’t demonstrate that.”
June looked at Daniel.
“Where does Theo fit into this?”
“Theo managed the property after Marianne’s death,

” Celia said.
“He supervised the pool renovation before it was sold.”
“So he might know what was sealed behind the tiles.”
“He knows more than he has ever said.”
Outside, a car door slammed.
Daniel glanced through the curtain and saw Carol standing beside a compact van.
A young man unloaded what looked like a portable suction pump onto her driveway.
The van bore the logo of a restoration company Daniel did not recognize.
He quietly took a photograph of the truck from inside his own house.
He did not approach.

CHAPTER SEVEN — THE COMPANY THAT DIDN’T EXIST

The restoration company’s number was printed on the side of the van.
Daniel called from his kitchen while June watched Carol’s driveway.
A receptionist answered with the name Shoreline Art Recovery.
“I need information about a service call at Carol Mercer’s address,” Daniel said.
“I’m sorry, we don’t release client details.”
“I’m not asking about her appointment. I’m asking if your company works on swimming pools.”
“We recover artifacts from flooded interiors.”
“Would you drain a residential pool?”
“Only with permission from the registered owner and a licensed contractor.”
Daniel explained that someone had pretended to own his house.
The receptionist put him on hold.
A man returned to the line and introduced himself as Omar Voss, the company’s founder.
“Mr. Reed, we were given a job description involving a sealed stage component,” Omar said.
“Who gave it to you?”
“A client who said she had authority from the artistic estate.”
“Does an artistic estate give her authority to enter my yard?”
“No, sir.”
“Then please don’t come here without speaking to me first.”
“Understood.”
Omar hesitated.
“She also told us the property had already been drained.”
Daniel looked out at the brown pool.
“She was optimistic.”
After he hung up, June laughed without amusement.
“That wasn’t an accident.”
“No,” Daniel agreed.
“She had the recovery crew booked before she knew whether she could empty the pool.”
A message arrived from Priya at the archive.
The museum’s opening had been moved forward by four days because a donor was traveling overseas.
Carol had insisted on unveiling a full-scale replica at the opening ceremony.
Daniel called Priya.
“Does the donor own the missing organ?”
“No. The donor owns the company that fabricated our replacement.”
“Did Carol approve the fabrication?”
“She provided the historical specifications.”
“And if a working original turns up, what happens to the replica?”
Priya paused.
“It becomes a reconstruction based on incomplete evidence.”
“Would that embarrass the museum?”
“Yes.”
“Would it embarrass Carol?”
“That depends on what the original shows.”
Daniel heard movement outside.
The restoration van was leaving Carol’s driveway.
At the intersection, its driver stopped and turned toward Daniel’s house as if memorizing the address.
Daniel closed the curtains.
For the first time, he wondered how many people were counting on the deep end remaining hidden.