Pumped for Murder (21 page)

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Bobby said. He escorted Helen back to the bar, then took a seat next to his date, Tiffany.

“Where’s Danny Boy?” Helen asked Phil.

“He went for another keg.”

“I saw Tansi in the back room,” Helen said. “A bunch of bodybuilders are in the back. Bobby steered me away from there.”

“Think Bobby’s up to something?” Phil asked.

“Definitely,” Helen said. “None of those bodybuilders are buying drinks.”

“I’m guessing they’re buying something else,” Phil said.

“I’m back, Phil,” Danny announced, lugging an aluminum beer keg. He put it behind the bar and hooked it up to the beer lines. “Damn kegs are getting heavier. Either that, or I’m getting old.”

“Not a chance, buddy,” Phil said.

“Aw, don’t lie,” Danny Boy said. “I got a mirror. You know the one good thing about being this old? My sister Linda finally got off my back. She’s a bigwig in Sunset Palms government. My sister the big shot. Got her photo taken with Jeb Bush when he was governor. Keeps it in her office. Sis is always after me to be somebody like she is. Too late now.”

His face collapsed suddenly. Danny Boy put his head on the bar top. His drunken laughter turned into tears—the harsh, hard sobs that men make. “It’s too late for me, and it’s too late for Mark.

“Too late,” he cried.

“Hey, there,” Phil said. “You okay?”

Bobby stood up and lurched behind the bar, his yellow-haired girlfriend following. “He gets like that sometimes,” Bobby said. “He’ll snap out of it, won’t you, Danny?”

Bobby put his arm around Danny Boy and said, “You’re tired, Danny. Go home and take a nap. Tiffany and I will watch the bar for you while you rest. You can close out the register in the morning when you feel better.”

“Go home,” Danny Boy mumbled. “Good idea. I’ll go home.” He untied his apron and reached under the bar for his keys.

“Give me your car keys. I’ll drive you,” Phil said.

Danny Boy refused to surrender them. “No way,” he said. “I’m in charge here. I’m giving myself the night off. Bobby said it was okay.”

Phil tried to wrestle the keys away from Danny Boy, but Bobby stopped him. “He drives home like that every night,” Bobby said. “He only lives two blocks away. He can’t get into any trouble in that little distance.”

Helen and Phil watched Danny Boy crunch his way across the gravel parking lot toward a beat-up pickup, crying drunkenly, “Too late. Too late. It’s all too late.”

H
elen counted sixteen people lined up outside Fantastic Fitness at five thirty the morning it reopened after Helen found Debbi Dhosset’s body. Sixteen surly people, judging by their body language.

Helen shivered at that chilling memory, though the thick air felt like lukewarm soup. She parked the Igloo near a white Crown Victoria that screamed “unmarked police car.”

Was Homicide Detective Evarts Redding on the scene? She might need him if the crowd turned unruly.

Bullet Head, the club member who’d slammed his fist against the door five days ago, planted himself in her path. His beefy sidekick blocked the rest of the sidewalk. The pair made Helen walk around them. She noted with satisfaction that the knuckles on Bullet Head’s right hand were scabbed.

The gym blazed with light. Odd. Usually the lights weren’t on inside until Fantastic Fitness opened. Bullet Head and his friend crowded behind her as she unlocked the front door and punched in the access code.

They started to push inside, but Detective Ever Ready confronted them at the door. “Back up,” he said. “Gym doesn’t open for another half hour.”

Bullet Head and his pal stopped shoving but didn’t move.

“I said back up,” Ever Ready said, “or I’ll slap the cuffs on you. Give the cleaners room to leave.”

Five brown-skinned men and women in navy uniforms, clutching buckets and mops, hurried to a pale van. Helen slipped in after the cleaners, and the detective locked the door.

“You’re here early,” Helen said.

“I’ve been waiting to talk to you,” Ever Ready said. “Sit down in that cubicle.” It was not a friendly invitation.

Helen sat. The desk was polished and the room smelled of lemon wax. Helen didn’t see any of the fingerprint powder the crime scene workers had been using the day she discovered Debbi. The suffocatingly clean room could barely contain Helen, plus Ever Ready’s pillowy gut and towering outrage.

“I asked you for Evie Roddick’s address,” he said. “I’m still trying to get hold of her. I can’t find her. Her husband says he hasn’t heard from her, either.”

“I thought he said she moved out,” Helen said.

“He did, but one little lady doesn’t disappear off the face of the earth.”

“Maybe she’s in danger,” Helen offered.

“Maybe
she’s
the danger,” Ever Ready said. “Maybe Evie Roddick wanted to kill Miss Dhosset.”

“Evie couldn’t hurt anyone,” Helen said. “She’s too small.”

“Exactly why she’d want the victim dead. She’s small and sneaky. Evie Roddick didn’t need muscles to kill Miss Dhosset. The medical examiner says the victim died of a fatal overdose of steroids, oxycodone and fat burners.”

“So Debbi’s death was an accident. Or suicide,” Helen said hopefully. “Suicide would make the most sense. She was upset when she couldn’t compete in the bodybuilding contest.”

“Bull,” Ever Ready said. “Miss Dhosset was in her twenties. Plenty of time to compete again.”

Debbi had said the same thing, Helen thought. Am I actually agreeing with him? Not for long.

“Evie Roddick murdered her,” the detective continued. “The fact that she ran away after Miss Dhosset died tells me your Evie killed her.”

My Evie? Helen wondered. How did Evie get to be mine? “I haven’t seen Evie since I left the gym.”

“Exactly,” Ever Ready said, as if she’d proved his point.

“We don’t live near each other,” Helen said. “I’ve never seen Evie anywhere but at Fantastic Fitness.”

“Then you call me, missy, the minute Evie Roddick shows her face here again. She’s guilty. I know it. And I know you and that manager Deter—”

“Derek,” Helen corrected.

“Whatever his name is. You’re covering up for her. Find her, or I’ll lock you both up.”

He marched out of the cubicle, massive gut vibrating with each step. It wasn’t six in the morning yet, but Helen was shaken by the homicide detective’s threats. He seemed determined to railroad Evie, and if he couldn’t get Evie, he’d go after Helen and Derek.

The righteously ripped Derek was waiting for Helen at the reception desk. The early morning light gilded his muscles.

“Is Detective Redding gone?” Helen asked.

“At last,” Derek said and sighed. “He said he wanted to give you what he called ‘a piece of his mind.’ That man doesn’t have any pieces to spare. He’s after your hide.”

“Yours, too,” Helen said.

“I know it,” Derek said. “He made that clear. Be glad you weren’t here these last few days. He terrorized the staff and the customers.”

“I thought the gym was closed,” Helen said.

“He tracked the customers down at their homes and offices,” Derek said. “He made the staff come in for questioning. I’ll be lucky if we don’t lose all our staff and our members by the time his investigation is over.”

His coffee skin had a gray tinge. Derek looked weary. “He let me bring the cleaning crew in at midnight last night. They just finished.”

“Place looks good,” Helen said. “You got the broken glass repaired in the weight room, too.”

Derek looked uncomfortable. “Helen, before we open, I want to talk to you.You need to work out more if you want to keep this job. Everyone at Fantastic Fitness has to be fit. You look good, don’t get me wrong, but you have to take off a pound or two around the middle.”

Helen glanced down guiltily at her gut. One piece of gooey butter cake and a couple of fries shouldn’t have made that much difference. She conveniently forgot last night’s beer, burger and fries.

“I had to make a quick trip home to St. Louis,” Helen said. “It’s hard to lose weight when you travel.”

“I understand, but I need to see results soon. I’ll help you work out, okay? End of lecture.” Derek flipped on the pounding music. “Turn on the TVs, please.”

“Which channel?” Helen asked, then realized it wouldn’t make any difference. Debbi, the only person who cared, was dead. Helen turned on CNN. Might as well please the living Heather.

“Battle stations,” Derek said. Helen took her place behind the reception desk and pasted on a smile.

The fitness fanatics pushed through the doors, eager to mortify their flesh in fat church. Soon the weights were clanking, the bikes were whirring and the treadmills were turning. Basketballs bounced off the floors and racquetballs off the walls. Watching that rampant energy made Helen feel tired, and her night at Granddaddy’s Bar didn’t help.

At six ten, Bryan, Shelby’s sizzling-hot husband, walked in with “What a Waste” Will. The two men were so deep in conversation that they handed over their cards without a nod to Helen. She checked them in, and they continued their intense conversation all the way to the men’s locker room. Their faces were chiseled and their bodies were breathing sculptures.

Those men were too beautiful in a city known for hunks. Was Bryan having an affair with Will? That could be why he left an open condom packet in his car. But everyone knew Will was faithful to his partner. He was just friendly.

How friendly? whispered an ugly little voice. Everyone finds Will irresistible. Maybe Bryan strayed to the other side of the fence.

“Helen! How have you been?” Carla asked. The brown-eyed receptionist hopped behind the desk and checked the computer. “I’m ready to work. Looks like a full house. How pissed are the members?”

“They’ll get over it,” Helen said. “Wow. Look at you. Did you spend the last five days at a spa?”

“Hah! That fat, stupid detective put me through the wringer for hours. When I started to cry, he finally sent me home. I spent the rest of the time by the pool, recovering.”

The sun gave Carla’s tanned skin rosy overtones. Her curly hair snapped with energy. Tight black shorts and a red top showed off her toned figure. I should hate her, Helen thought. She makes me look bad. But Helen couldn’t help liking the bubbly Carla.

“Wish I looked that good when old Ever Ready finished with me,” she said.

“Are you coming to the East Coast Physique Championships to see Paula compete?” Carla asked. “She’s going out for the Women’s Bikini competition. The whole gym is going to cheer her. Derek will be there, and Jan, Bryan, Will, me and all Paula’s little pets on the treadmills.”

“You mean the suckers,” Helen said. “I like to watch them try to hold in their guts when she passes.”

Carla laughed. “If they worked that hard the rest of the time here, those dudes might actually impress her. We want to show our support for Paula. I have an extra ticket. It’s at the Lauderdale City Auditorium. Please come.You’ll have a blast.”

I can watch Bryan and Will together, Helen thought. Maybe I’ll catch them off guard and in each other’s arms.

The gym doors parted, and Paula paraded through, a blinding vision in white spandex and shimmering pale hair. She presented her card at the desk.

“Are you wearing that suit for the competition Saturday night?” Helen asked.

“This isn’t a competition suit,” Paula said. “It’s a plain old workout suit. I’m wearing white with crystals. Sparkly suits look better for evening competitions. One more coat of tan and I’m ready to go.”

“We’ll be there Saturday night to cheer for you,” Carla said. “You’re going to win.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Helen watched the overweight men on the treadmills. Already they were struggling to hold in their guts and making subtle shifts in their gym clothes to look better. Paula strolled by on her way to the women’s locker room, blissfully unaware of the havoc she caused to their hearts and abdominal muscles.

The treadmill men had just let their fat flop back when Paula came hurrying out of the locker room. The guys nearly herniated themselves trying to suck their guts back in. Once again, Paula didn’t notice.

“Excuse me,” she said to Helen and Carla. “We’re out of towels in the women’s locker room.”

“I’ll get them,” Helen said.

She opened the towel closet, flipped on the light and saw a pale leg hanging out of the overhead vent.

“N
o!” Helen screamed. “No!”

The body fell out of the overhead duct and landed on a pile of towels. The small, rumpled form of Evie Roddick sat up. She blinked in the bright overhead lights and shook her gray hair.

Helen’s high-pitched screams carried over the televisions, the gym equipment, the ball games and the music. Evie didn’t seem to hear. She pulled the legs of her gray sweatpants down to her ankles, then dug her socks and gym shoes out from under a pile of towels and put them on.

Helen didn’t stop screaming until Evie stood up and brushed off her dust-streaked sweats. “Helen, there’s no reason to be upset,” Evie said, as if gym members fell out of air ducts all the time. “I’m sorry I scared you, but I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not,” Helen said. She flopped down on a stack of white towels as if a puppeteer had cut her strings.

By that time, Derek and Carla were in the doorway of the towel closet.

“Where have you been, Evie?” Derek asked, sounding like an angry parent. “The police have been looking for you.”

“Home,” Evie said in a small voice.

“Oh, no,” Derek said. “Don’t lie to me. For the last five days, the police have stopped by your house almost hourly. When the cops weren’t at your house, they called and harassed your husband.”

“Good!” Evie said. “Peter deserves it.”

“Well, I sure as hell don’t,” Derek said. “We’ve been trying to find you.”