The Pool Boy

by Julie Hastrup

About the Author: Julie Hastrup has been published by Shotgun Honey, and professional memberships include Sisters in Crime, ITW, Short Mystery Fiction Society, and Mystery Writers of America.

Excerpt

I squinted and tried to sit up straighter, but the rising sun still bored into my eyes. Why didn’t Uncle Richie fix his sun visor? I put the ancient truck in park while I waited for the drawbridge to lower and rooted around in the glove box for a pair of shades. They were grimy and lopsided, but the relief was instant when his Ray-Ban knockoffs slid onto my face.

7:10 a.m. Too early for sane people to be working. But given the traffic around me—electricians, gardeners, A/C repairmen, and my competition in their shiny pool maintenance vans—the Palm Beachers expected their staff to arrive with the sun. And to these point one percenters, the wealthiest of the wealthy, I numbered among their legion of personnel. Never mind the temporary nature of my pool boy status.

Bells clanged and brake lights lit up as us worker bees prepared to move. The bridge spans settled into place. Exercise junkies on the sidewalk tucked their phones back into their Spandex shorts and resumed their jog across the Royal Park Bridge. Given the temperature—eighty degrees with an equal helping of humidity—I expected at least one of them to collapse by the time they made it to the wealthy side of the Intracoastal. The flood of commercial vehicles got the green light to move on, and we split into three smaller trickles of trucks and vans at the next intersection.

Uncle Richie’s Thursday roster had me heading north on the island to an area he’d nicknamed, “Snobs and Swindlers.” He only ever used the term with me. When we were alone.

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