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to him about some—”
    â€œWhat I meant by focus was, have you picked up any useful intel?” I interrupted.
    â€œNot yet. Except Kit seems really jealous of Ripley and really needs money to stay in L.A. and keep doing the acting thing,” Joe answered.
    â€œI got that too. And not much else yet.” We caught up to the others as Veronica led the way outside.
    â€œNo,” Joe burst out when he saw the pool.
    What they’d done to it was horrible. It had been refilled with . . . slime is the only word for it. Gray, oily, somewhat sudsy goop.
    â€œThere’s your sink,” Veronica told us. Do I have to say she was smiling?
    One of the production assistants began handing out goggles. I appreciated that. The sludge would probably sear off your corneas. And you definitely couldn’t see through it.
    â€œThe dishes are at the bottom. You have to bring them up and wash them off over there.” She gestured toward the row of kiddie pools that had been arranged on a stretch of lawn. They were full of clean water and sponges. One of them had been assigned to each of us. “Your fifteen minutes starts now.”
    Bobby T bolted for the pool and dove in. James cannonballed after him, landing almost on his head. I shoved on my goggles and went after them. I tried to ignore the feel of the slime sliding into my ears and nose and trying to slip through my clenched lips.
    Strategy. I needed strategy. To get the most clean plates, you needed the most plates, period. I decided I’d focus on getting plates first. I’d just dump them into my kiddie pool and go get more. Then I’d wash them all at once. I didn’t want all the plates to get grabbed by my competitors.
    I kicked hard, my hands stretched out, groping for the bottom of the pool. Even now that I was down in the “water,” I couldn’t see the bottom. My fingers brushed against something smooth. A plate. I snatched it up and felt for more. I found a glass next.
    But plates should be easier to carry. With luck, I could get a stack of them before I had to surface for air. My lungs were already starting to burn a little. I did some more feeling around. Got another plate. Yeah!
    Just a couple more, then air, I told my lungs. I held my plates close to my body with one hand, and swept the other hand in a wide arc. I wanted to cover area fast. My forearm hit something. It wasn’t as hard as a plate or a glass, though.
    I moved my hand back and took another feel. Now I found a hard part. But small. Way too small. And surrounded by softness.
    My lungs were on fire. But I had to see if I was right. I didn’t want to be right.
    I pulled myself closer to the thing at the bottom of the pool.
    It was a body.

No Siren
    A s soon as I surfaced, I heard a girl scream. I let my plates go and scrambled out of the pool. I yanked off my goggles. They were so coated with gray sludge I couldn’t see anything.
    I had to blink a few times for my vision to clear. Then I started to run. Frank was hauling a body out of the water. I reached his side in seconds and helped him pull the man out onto the stone walkway.
    Frank grabbed a towel from the nearest deck chair and wiped off the man’s face. He used his fingers to clean the man’s mouth, getting ready to start CPR. I think we both knew it was too late, but that’s not a call you’re supposed to make. That’s for the professionals
    â€œCall 911,” I ordered, and I saw one of the PAs pull out a cell. I moved into place to start the chest compressions.
    â€œIt’s that guy—Leo, the one who gave us the lists of deprivations this morning, right?” someone else—I wasn’t sure who—asked.
    I let the voices behind me fade out as I concentrated on the cycles of compressions. Frank and I kept at it until the EMTs arrived. They confirmed that Leo was dead.
    We all watched in silence as they loaded Leo onto a gurney, covered him from head