But a place where the father and daughter could remember her without feeling that every memory had to end in sadness.
Sometimes they swam laps.
Sometimes they played games.
Sometimes they simply sat on the shallow shelf and talked.
When his daughter turned twelve, she asked whether she could invite two friends for a small birthday swim.
He agreed.
They ate pizza.
Played music at a reasonable volume.
Took turns jumping into the water while an adult supervised.
And ended the evening with cupcakes beneath the patio lights.
It was one of the happiest birthdays his daughter had experienced since losing her mother.
The homeowner remembered watching her laugh.
He remembered feeling grateful that the backyard was still a place she loved.
And that was why the first signs of unauthorized entry disturbed him so deeply.
He was not simply protecting an expensive pool.
He was protecting the place where his daughter had learned how to feel safe again.
The first clue appeared on a Tuesday morning in early spring.
The engineer stepped outside shortly after seven to inspect the pool before leaving for work.
A white towel lay crumpled beneath one of the lounge chairs.
He stared.
It was not his.
His family used dark-blue towels, purchased in matching sets.
This towel was white, embroidered with a small gold letter near one corner.
He picked it up.
The fabric smelled faintly of expensive perfume and sunscreen.
For several seconds, he considered.
Perhaps the towel belonged to one of his daughter's friends.
But the birthday gathering had happened weeks earlier.
And he had cleaned the entire patio afterward.
He placed the towel in a clean plastic bag.
Then checked the pool equipment.
The water level was slightly lower than expected.
The skimmer basket contained a disposable drink lid.
A strand of long blonde hair was caught near the edge.
He frowned.
The backyard was surrounded by high block walls.