The Haunting of Bregoli Estate by Alexandria Clarke

Author:Alexandria Clarke [Clarke, Alexandria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-02T05:00:00+00:00

10

My writers weren’t the only ones struggling to complete a simple outline. That afternoon, I joined the other mentors by the pool, where we gossiped in hushed tones about our mentees. The writers splashed around, tossing wet footballs at each other and acting like children. Gloria, Abner, Paige, and I shared a table in the shade, far from our students, to avoid eavesdropping.

“You’d think they’d be writing,” Gloria said dryly. Her enormous red-rimmed sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat made her look like a giant bug. “God knows they need the practice.”

“Mine can’t spell,” Paige said. As always, she was eating. The cooks favored her, maybe because her vegan diet gave them a fun challenge. So far, no one had served me a personalized fruit plate. Then again, I hadn’t asked. “Can yours spell?”

Abner rotated Paige’s fruit plate to help himself to her grapes. “Mine can spell, but they have no idea what a comma splice is. It’s preposterous.”

“I beat you both,” I told them. “My first mentee plagiarized my book, and the second one-handed in a few verses of poetry.”

“You win,” my friends chorused.

I lowered my sunglasses to scan the pool deck. “Where’s Dean? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Dealing with his own mentees,” Gloria replied. “They’re as atrocious as ours.”

“What happened to natural talent?” Abner grunted as he fished his tobacco pipe and a lighter from his front pocket. I might have objected, but he made sure to blow the smoke upward, where the wind lifted it away from us and the pool-goers. “Everyone wants to be a writer, but no one has the stones.”

“They need more than stones,” Paige commented.

Squinting, I checked Dean’s balcony for signs of him. On bright, breezy days, I often found him sunbathing and smoking on his private terrace. When I didn’t spot him, worry grew like a vine around my lungs. When Dean retreated from the sun, it usually meant he was drunk and upset about something.

A loud shout drew our attention to the pool. Amid the splashing, a familiar woman shrieked and thrashed. If she was using real words, they were unintelligible. She clasped her arms across her chest and grabbed blindly through the water around her. Whenever possible, she purposely swept water into the face of a nearby man.

“Stop doing that!” the woman ordered. I recognized her—Allison—from Apollo’s morning tour the other day.

“I didn’t do anything,” the man said back, lifting his hands in innocence. The annoying smirk on his face wasn’t as convincing.

“Give me back my top!”

“I don’t have it.”

Another woman swam up behind Allison. “Here, I found it,” she said, holding up a purple bikini top. “I’ll help you tie it.”

Allison glared at the offensive guy as he kicked off. Once he met his buddies in the far corner, he shook the excess water from his golden hair and grinned widely. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think of who. Regardless, he seemed like a sleaze.

Once Allison’s bikini top had been refastened, the drama settled, and everyone went back to their own business.

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