Murder on the First Day of Christmas (Chloe Carstairs Mysteries) (13 page)

    
“So who else had a motive?” I asked.

    
“Take your pick. My money’s on dear, devoted Angela. Did you see that dress she had on at the Browleys? Talk about death warmed over.”

    
“Angela? No way. Much too mousey.” I checked her form. The girl knew what she was doing.

    
“Don’t be fooled by her bland exterior. Inside, that chick’s pure piranha. Saul knew it, too. Said it made her invaluable as a researcher.”

    
“But she’s kind of goody-goody, don’t you think? A crusader for justice?” I didn’t let on what I knew about Angela and her seething passions.

    
“Professionally, yeah, she’s got it together,” Robin admitted, stretching while I set her up to do chest presses. “But in her personal life, a real whack job. Completely in love with Saul, pathetically so. Real smug about it, too, like the two of them shared something I couldn’t understand.”

    
“Did Saul return her affections?”

    
Robin settled in on the weight bench. “Saul kept her where he wanted her - on his payroll, in his shadow. It didn’t take much, I assure you.”

    
“So their relationship wasn’t physical?” I wondered if Angela had learned her lesson or lost her touch.

    
“Hardly. That’s where Saul was so brilliant. He got to her heart through her head. Had her thinking they were like Sartre and de Beauvoir, their love flowing onto the page, pouring into the work. Angela saw love letters where everyone else saw stories of child molesters and love triangles gone wrong. See what I mean? Whack job.”

    
Was that good or bad? The spurned lover or the spurned wanna-be lover – either way cops called it motive. I let Robin see I was unconvinced. “But why kill Saul if she loved him, and why kill Oscar?”

    
She sat up. “Her ambitions. Saul was never going to help her get published on her own. Why should he? She realized what an idiot she had been and snapped. Maybe Oscar figured it out, and she had to silence him.”

    
She slid onto the leg extension machine. “Did I hear you’re doing some decorating these days? I’m thinking about redoing my guest bedroom.”

    
I couldn’t help being pleased. “Yeah, I’ve been at it for several months now. I could show you my portfolio.”

    
“Is it weird following in your mom’s footsteps like that?”

    
“Not really. She has her own style, I have mine. She’s been great about helping me.”

    
“Y’all do get along pretty well.”

    
Nothing like the holidays and homicide to bring people together.

    
“What about the hand?” I asked, back on task.

    
“What about it?”

    
“Did Saul have any theories about who left it for him?”

    
“Not that he shared. He loved it, though. Wanted to know if he could have it back when the cops finished their investigation.”

    
“Nice.”

    
“What about that Detective McGowan? Slightly dishy in a blue-collar kind of way, don’t you think?”

    
I kept making notations on her chart.

    
“Maybe he’ll ask you out.” She stretched again.

    
“I’ll pass, thanks.”

    
“You never know.”

    
We continued alternating upper and lower body, occasionally mixing in cardio. I was impressed at how hard she worked, how good she looked drenched in sweat and how willing she was to gossip.

    
On the treadmill again, I confided about Nancy’s interest in Saul’s locked study door.

    
“No surprise there,” she gasped, trying to keep up with the pace and incline. “And she was right to be worried.”

    
“How so?”

    
Robin shook her head indicating conversation wasn’t possible, and I waited patiently till her interval was up.

    
“You’re good,” she gasped. “Just what I needed.”

    
I smiled. “Flattery won’t get you out of another set of lunges.”

    
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

    
In the back hallway, I asked again why Nancy should be worried.

    
“Affair. With Lance. Pilates guy. Saul knew all about it.”

    
“And Nancy knew he knew?”

    
“He told her. To her face.”

    
We both grimaced at how immature the male of the species can be.

    
She dropped her weights at the end of the hall and leaned against the wall to catch her breath.

    
“How did Saul find out? Angela?”

    
She dabbed off sweat with a towel. “I told him, although Nancy hasn’t put it together. I was just making idle gossip. I didn’t know Saul would hold it over her head like that. He was kind of a jerk that way, you know?”

    
I noticed Robin had attracted the attention of several men working out nearby. Tank-Top-Boy murmured something to Oversized-Shorts-Guy, and they nodded appreciatively in her direction.

    
Robin bent one leg behind her in a deep quad stretch and they were even more impressed. She picked up her enormous weights to do more walking lunges, and they were humbled. Good for her.

    
Which brought up an interesting point. Robin was independently wealthy, twice widowed and unemployed. How did she fill her days?

    
“Travel, shopping, working out,” she answered, “and movies. I’m really big on movies.”

    
“Me, too.” I laughed, surprised we had that in common. “If I don’t see at least one flick a week, I get all out of sorts.”

    
“And don’t even get me started on movie popcorn.”

    
“More addictive than heroin.”

    
“You can go alone, right?” She turned serious. “I can’t respect a woman who can’t go to the movies by herself.”

    
“Are you kidding? Sometimes, I actually prefer it.”

    
“I’ll see anything, too. Schlep across town for the art flicks. Hit the mall for something with no nutritional value.”

    
“And the chick flicks?”

    
“Good mindless entertainment. We should go together sometime.”

    
Back to business – ab work. I questioned Robin about Trianos. She didn’t know anything about the book Saul was working on, if it was about Trianos or if Trianos was just a source.

    
“I got the feeling you two knew each other, seeing y’all talk at the party,” I ventured.

    
She shook her head, not easy when you’re in the crunch position. “Just through Saul.”

    
“He looked quite taken with you.”

    
“Sequins have that effect on men. Ask your mom. Trianos looked taken with her, too.” She sent me a wicked little smile.

    
Just for that, I made her do an extra set of bicycle crunches before sending her to convalesce.

    
As I completed her session notes, I realized I had a new respect level for Robin. On the one hand, I felt pretty smug about how hard I had worked her out. On the other hand, though, she had taken everything I had thrown at her without uttering a single complaint.

    
Her motivation shamed me into seeking a killer workout of my own before heading home. Checking the schedule, I noted that there was an advanced step class starting in ten minutes - just enough time for me to find Lance, the Pilates guy, and see what he could tell me about Nancy Browley.

CHAPTER
14

     Lance Martin was strutting in from the pool like an over-tanned god in his tiny Stars-and-Stripes Speedo. Apparently, he was the only one who hadn’t noticed that the unheated water had him flying at half-mast. Ignoring two girls giggling by the smoothie machine, I approached him, my eyes fixed squarely on his.

    
“Hey, Chloe-Jo. Whattaya know?” He gave a satisfied nod, as if he had known this moment would come and I was right on schedule.

    
“Not much. Just wanted to ask you a couple of quick questions.”

    
He smiled indulgently. Questions. Yeah, that’s what they all say.

    
“It’s about Nancy Browley. One of your clients?”

    
He nodded, fixing me with an intense look that probably made dozens of bored housewives slide the passenger seat of their SUV’s into the recline position. “I hear you,” the look said, “and I think what you’re saying is important.”

    
Trying not to be completely grossed out as Lance toweled off his sinewy muscles in a suggestive manner, I pushed on. “It’s just that some people are saying you and she have more than a client-trainer relationship.”

    
His intense gaze never wavered as he nodded thoughtfully.

    
“I mean, I don’t care if it’s true. I’m certainly not some big stickler for the rules. I was just wondering if, you know, it was.” He was really weirding me out with that stare.

    
“Was what?” he asked finally.

    
“Was true.”

    
“What’s true?”

    
“That you and Nancy have a relationship.”

    
“Nancy who?”

    
I managed to hide my frustration, but really. That Speedo must’ve been tighter than it looked.

    
“Nancy Browley. Are you guys…um…dating?”

    
He smiled broadly, his towel now covered in the bronzer that enhanced his golden tan. God, I hate being single.

    
“I’m not seeing anyone exclusively, if that’s what you’re asking,” he volunteered.

    
“It’s not. I’m asking if you’re seeing Nancy.”

    
“Because there’s a little room on my social calendar, if you’d like me to squeeze you in.”

    
“I’m good, thanks.” I quickly adopted his oily tone. “But if I flipped through that big ol’ social calendar of yours, would I find Nancy’s name penciled in?”

    
“You’d find lots of names. I’m a busy boy.”

    
“That’s what I hear.” I winked. “Any chance you’ve been getting busy with Nancy lately?”

    
“There’s always a chance.”

    
Grrr. I was about ready to rip out his professionally highlighted hair. Instead, I kept the smarmy note in my voice. “Because, Nancy’s quite a handful, right?”

    
“Right on the money.” He winked.

    
“Likes to be in control.”

    
“Likes to call all the shots,” he agreed.

    
“Bet she even made the first move.”

    
“And the second and the third. The woman’s a tiger.”

    
Almost confirmation, but not quite. I tried again. “Is quite the contortionist, from what I hear.”

    
“That’s yoga,” he said seriously. “Yoga’s very different.”

    
I raised an eyebrow, which got him right back on track. “She likes it every which way, let me tell you.”

    
I dropped the bantering tone. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

    
“Don’t run off. Maybe you’d like a free session or two. Help you loosen up a little.”

    
“Can’t. Gotta run.” I sailed off without a backward glance. First a workout, then a shower - a long, cleansing shower.

    
In the aerobics room, I was glad to see Ted Markris was teaching. The man has a gift. Instead of making up routines, he calls out rapid-fire combos that require complete concentration in order not to fall on your face – the perfect antidote for those of us with murder on our minds.

    
I set my bench in the middle of four guys, so I could watch myself in the mirror and pretend I had backup dancers. It’s a little thing I do, and it worked. With Ted yelling and my heart pounding, my mind completely emptied of suspicion, infidelity and murder. At least, until I saw Robin in the back row, completely focused on her workout as if this was the first exercise she had done all day. So much for smoking her.

    
In the locker room, I wrestled out of a wet sports bra, amused by all the Save the Whales and Preserve the Rainforest T-shirts that had suddenly appeared ever since a gorgeous guy, known as Stairmaster-Dude had begun workouts.