Fit To Be Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 1) (16 page)

“It’s Agatha,” I huffed. I marched to the door, walking as straight as I could. It was hard to appear serious wearing a Garfield shirt and lime green warm-ups, barefoot, with wet hair drooping on one side, but I was.

He raised his hands as though he intended to speak but dropped them and backed toward the door. “You’re going to rest now, aren’t you?”

“Sure. I’m going to rest.” I fumed at him while he crossed the threshold. Then I slammed the door, sniffing back angry tears.

Head pounding, I crumpled on the couch, miserable, and tried to collect myself. Sam and I could never be more than friends. We disagreed vehemently about Grace. He didn’t realize that besides him and Meredith, Grace was my only real friend. I had to go back to the club to ferret out the creep who’d tried to poison me and probably killed Holly. He would never understand that. He expected me to tell him everything and let him handle it.

I could never stop being curious, which drove him crazy. The police officer’s pride that shielded him from hurt assured him he was always right. He was angry I didn’t tell him about the poison. He could never stop probing and being officious.

He and I probably had hardening of the arteries. We’d lost too many brain cells to consider people and situations in a new light. After being whacked, my head probably couldn’t even regenerate cells.

Sam was getting close to finding answers about Holly. His obsession with her would spur him to research the adoption of his daughter, Lee. He might contact Katy’s obstetrician or track down the doctor who took over his practice. He might subpoena court records about Lee. Once he did that, odds were good that whatever bond we might have had would be quashed.

If I lived long enough to beat Izumi’s 120-year record, I’d have to go it alone. Sniffling, I searched around for my Big Chief tablet. I cradled the pad in my lap and started to write, ignoring different-sized tears streaking down my face.

“Single white female. Mature graduate student. Curious...”

My words weren’t coming out right. I sounded like an aging pervert. I started over:

“Single white female. Under forty. Avid health club member. Optimistic...”

I sounded like a pathetic physical specimen who was afraid she might die before she could get in shape.

This ad was getting way too personal. I gave up.

Twenty-Five

By Monday morning, the egg on my forehead had receded. When I covered the bruise around my eye with makeup, I looked almost normal. It was exhilarating knowing I could count on a settled stomach. My body pain had subsided to a generalized ache. When my feet began to itch, I knew I was well enough to return to Fit and Firm.

Sam called. “After I left yesterday, I paid Harry Thorne a visit.”

“And?” I replied in a refrigerated voice as I padded into the kitchen.

“It seems Holly Holmgreen was Harry Thorne’s niece. Harry’s younger brother, Billy, was Holly’s father. She was a baby when Billy died in Vietnam. Her mother, Billy’s girlfriend, deposited the child with Harry and his father, Arnold, and cut out.”

“Arnold owned the boxing gym?” I maintained a detached tone.

“Yes.”

“If she was Harry’s niece, why was her last name Holmgreen?” I peered into the refrigerator and retrieved a can of pineapple. The fruit had bromelain in it, a natural anti-inflammatory enzyme that encouraged healing.

“Holmgreen was Arnold’s mother’s maiden name. The men decided since their only choice was to raise the little girl next to a boxing gym, they should at least give her a different name to suggest a more illustrious past.”

“Holly didn’t know she was Harry Thorne’s niece?” I cradled the phone between my neck and shoulder, opened the can and poured pineapple, with its vitamins C and B1, into a bowl.

“Oh, she knew. She hated her parents for deserting her and transferred her contempt to Harry and Arnold. She despised life at the gym even more than they feared.”

I remembered Holly’s little girl clothes and baby-doll apartment. She’d tried to relive her childhood, imagining her life as she wished it had been. I took the bowl to the counter, grabbed a fork, perched on the barstool and stabbed a chunk. “What happened to Holly’s mother?”

“She announced to Harry and Arnold she wanted nothing to do with Billy’s baby. They could keep the child, but they’d never find her. Harry and Arnold looked for the woman for a solid year. Then they quit searching and legally adopted Holly.”

“Most people would be grateful they took her in.” I squeezed a bite of pineapple between my teeth and let the juice float in my mouth.

“Yes, but Holly loathed her environment and blamed Harry and Arnold. She looked demure, but Harry said she evolved into a wild child, especially during her teenage years. She seemed to improve once she lived in her own apartment, which Harry paid for. Harry talked her into joining the health club, where she could meet nice people and he could keep an eye on her. She agreed to join the club with the stipulation that nobody would know she was related to Harry.”

“Poor Harry.” My voice thawed before I could stop it.

“He only wanted to protect her.”

I thought about the note I’d found in Holly’s shoe. Harry probably wrote it. An expert in handwriting analysis could match the script against the scribbles on the back of Harry’s boxing photo. I could ask Sam to take the notes to an SAPD expert, but I wasn’t feeling cooperative. I concentrated on capturing another piece of pineapple.

Sam said Holly reviled Harry for being overprotective. “A couple of years ago, she started dating every man at the club, right under Harry’s nose. He thought she did it to spite him.”

That fit with what Sarah told me. I wondered if Holly got pregnant just to gall Harry. I paused before asking the next question. “Did Harry know Holly got pregnant and gave up her baby?”

“I don’t know. He was in such torment over her death, I didn’t have the heart to ask him.”

Holly’s baby was Harry’s last chance to have a child as close as possible to his own offspring. What would he do when he discovered she’d relinquished the child? Explode and kill the ungrateful girl he tried to raise? I carried my bowl and spoon to the sink, suddenly feeling full. Continuous trauma had shrunk my stomach.

Holly had apparently changed so much that Harry hardly recognized the girl he adopted. She taunted and rejected him. Holly was probably the woman Meredith overheard arguing with Harry. Sarah had called Harry a control freak.

There was another possibility to consider. Maybe whoever killed Holly also tried to kill her uncle Harry. Was the “bug” that put Harry in the hospital the same poison that made me sick? Maybe somebody knew about Harry’s and Holly’s kinship and thought I’d discovered it. Who would care enough to murder me, as well as Holly and Harry?

I poured a glass of milk to soothe my stomach. I didn’t discuss my thoughts with Sam. On information overload, I still percolated with anger over SAPD’s sending Elmore to spy on Grace. I sipped.

“I’ll question Harry more later,” he said. “Right now, I just feel sorry for the poor guy. He’s too miserable to go anywhere. He’s got the club’s ten year celebration scheduled on top of everything else.”

I set my glass down. “When is it?”

“It’s today. I’m not sure Harry can handle it. He said he might put his assistant in charge. I suggested to the assistant manager, a nervous fellow, that he remove the club’s toiletries during the celebration.”

“Are you going?” I tried to keep excitement out of my voice.

“Sometime during the day. By the way, I do have news I think you’ll be glad to hear.”

“What?” I wasn’t eager for more of Sam’s “good” news.

“Grace’s third husband, Ray Peters, died of natural causes. He developed metastatic cancer and died at age sixty-two, six months after his diagnosis. His and Grace’s children gathered at his bedside. He wanted them all there and was apparently content.”

“Grace wasn’t able to tell me about Ray’s death. How did you find out?”

“She told Elmore.”

Heat rose up the back of my neck. “Well, at least you know Grace isn’t a murderer. Now you can leave her alone.” Talking loud made my head throb.

He ignored the frost in my voice. “I’ll call you with results from the testing lab when I get them. You’re going to stay home and rest, right?”

“That’s probably the best idea.”

I clicked the phone off, set my glass in the sink and paced to the living room. I was glad Sam wasn’t standing in front of me to witness my eager face. I rubbed my itching feet against the sofa. With Fit and Firm about to celebrate its ten year anniversary, and me full of pineapple with manganese and my enzymes producing energy at full throttle, staying home was out of the question.

Twenty-Six

I felt so much better that I longed to escape my habitat. The bump on my head had receded. With my bangs pulled down and makeup around my eye, I looked normal. The sun was shining on this mild Monday in January. The day was perfect to satisfy my curiosity with a little sleuthing.

Whenever I engaged in a life-changing event, I held my good-luck charm. I’d held the talisman before I turned in my first Dear Aggie column, before I left Chicago, before I bought my house, before I enrolled in graduate school and before I joined Fit and Firm. I kept the amulet in a fake, hollowed-out book in my bedroom bookcase. The tome, titled
An In-Depth History of the World
, looked like it had a thousand pages. Nobody ever picked up a book like that.

My good-luck charm was safe. The talisman wasn’t actually a charm; it was my baby Lee’s bracelet, the one they put on her arm in the hospital. “Lee Mary Mundeen. Girl. 7 lbs. 4 oz. 16 inches. Mother: Agatha Emory Mundeen.” I’d clipped off the bracelet as soon as we left the hospital. I knew I had to give her up, but the bracelet would help to keep her near me.

I scurried to the bookcase, grabbed the book and opened it. Lee’s bracelet was gone. How was that possible? Nobody knew about it. Nobody came in my bedroom. I crawled around the floor searching behind the bookcase and under the bed, groping behind furniture legs. Where could it be? I hadn’t moved that bracelet. I never moved it.

Flying around the house, I rechecked windows and doors even though Sam had already inspected the locks. Everything was secure. Nobody could get in without leaving marks. I remembered the hairpin method I’d read about, sped to the front door and stared at the lock. The mechanism appeared normal. Had somebody picked it with a credit card?

A normal person would call Sam and have SAPD dust for prints, but then I’d have to tell him about Lee’s bracelet, which was not an option. If I refused to tell him what was missing, he’d stake out my home, admonish me never to return to Fit and Firm and banish me to boredom land. Also out of the question.

Returning to the club was now urgent. Whoever took my baby’s bracelet knew about my past. I suspected the murderer knew, which apparently made me a target.

Resigned, I put on my best workout clothes, a pink T-shirt and black Lycra-snug tights, fluffed my hair and headed for Fit and Firm. With the club full of people during the celebration, I’d blend with the crowd.

I drove past Fort Sam Houston, veered left on Dover Road and snaked through Terrell Hills, wondering when the murderer had entered my house. Anybody who saw me enter the club to exercise knew they had an hour, minimum, to search my bungalow before I returned.

Cruising through manicured neighborhoods, I admired various sized lots and homes. Small houses were costly and taxes were high, but residents happily paid them because of the Alamo Heights schools. One reason I’d chosen Burr Road was because the neighborhood was safe. Or so I thought.

Nobody besides me possessed a key to my house. I’d hidden an emergency key in the bushes by my front porch and told Grace about it. Although Sam had made me paranoid, I knew Grace would never enter my house without asking.

The club provided locker keys attached to safety pins. When members put valuables in lockers, they pinned the locker key to their shorts or swimsuits. I took the key with me to exercise, but somebody could have broken into my locker and pilfered my house keys.

I wound around Dover to Garraty and veered right, then left onto Vandiver Road. After a few blocks, I reached the old Austin Highway, not far from Fit and Firm. I parked in the club’s garage and strode toward the entrance, determined to find the crazy psychopathic killer who’d swiped my baby’s bracelet. Adrenaline pumped through me. When I saw the huge sign draped across the front of the building, my excitement mushroomed:

FIT AND FIRM HEALTH CLUB’S TEN-YEAR ANNIVERSARY!

NEW SPECIAL RATES!

The anniversary celebration was well timed. After Holly’s death, Harry had told Sam the club lost members pretty fast. Someone had draped balloons around the entrance and on the check-in desk and tied them to chair backs in Tofu Temptations Grill. The staff had even decorated doors to the men and women’s locker rooms and left them ajar so prospective members could tour the entire facility.

I was excited enough to think I could operate every machine in the place. I didn’t see anybody I knew, but I smiled encouragingly at new people milling around. Getting in shape made you feel like everybody else should get with it. I was almost brave enough to scale the steps on the mountain climber. Instead, I walked forty minutes on the treadmill to ease my itching feet and tamp my zeal down to a manageable level.

After exercising, I went to the locker room to shower. With the suspicious bottles gone, I felt safe. The staff had done a good job of roping off bathrooms and changing areas to provide members with privacy. After folding my clothes in a locker, I wrapped myself in a club towel and headed through the passageway partitioned off for members’ access to showers, nodding at a few women along the way. Outside the barrier, I heard visitors’ voices.

When I reached the showers, I saw somebody had even tied balloons to shower curtain rods. The area looked festive. I stepped into the shower, anticipating feeling fresh and invigorated, and turned on the water. Glancing down, I noticed a balloon on the floor. Was it leaking liquid or was water dripping from the shower?

My curtain cracked open. Somebody heaved in another balloon. When it hit the floor near the first balloon and burst, my feet started to burn. A horrible stench rose from the tile floor. My eyes stung. I gasped. Unable to breathe, I leaped from the shower, grabbed my towel and crashed into a woman careening out of the adjacent shower. With the asphyxiating odor engulfing me, I charged for the exit door. As people screamed and ran from the locker room, I thought I heard Harry Thorne bellowing orders.

We charged in a nude herd past the reception desk—women and men, in various sizes and stages of undress, barreling out the front door and crawling upward onto the sloping, grassy knoll next to the club. We got as far away as we could from the building and stopped to pant, sputter and cough...a wretched sound. Some people vomited. Others grabbed their throats or pressed hands against their eyes while they tried to cover their bodies.

Mindy stood a few feet away trying to hold a towel across her chest and another one in front of her pelvis while she coughed violently and shook, poor thing. Knobs quivered several feet from me. Bent over, she rubbed her eyes and held her throat without bothering to cover anything. Most of the women struggled to cover some part of their anatomy. I had grabbed only one towel, so every time I coughed, I had to readjust it.

Harry, Pete, Sarah and the other trainers tried to help people however they could. Staff members stood out from the rest of the herd, being fully clothed. I guessed they’d been too far from the stench to suffer symptoms. Male clients jumped up and down, holding their throats. They looked like huge naked grasshoppers.

We were quite a group: sixty to a hundred naked or nearly naked people, spread out over the grassy knoll within reading distance of the huge sign on the front of the building,

FIT AND FIRM HEALTH CLUB’S TEN-YEAR ANNIVERSARY!

We looked like a Roman orgy. Tires screeched on the freeway. I guessed motorists thought Fit and Firm was definitely a club to investigate.

I heard sirens and saw two fire trucks pull up. Firefighters reduced power on their hoses as much as they could and sprayed us. The spatter helped clear the noxious odor and washed the burning substance off our skin. We stuck our tongues out and let water run down our throats. Onlookers probably thought the San Antonio Fire Department was breaking up a nudist riot.

Sam ran up to me. “Oh, migod.” He raced down the hill toward the EMS truck, yelling at technicians to haul up a stretcher. I realized the last time he’d seen me appear normal was in Tofu Temptations Grill three days earlier.

Two emergency technicians raced up with a stretcher. I crumpled on it, as thankful for the covering sheet as for a place to lie down. While I coughed and clutched the stretcher’s sides, techs jostled me down the knoll toward the ambulance. I felt like I was galloping on the Body Trek. I bounced through a sea of inadequately covered bodies and flew past Mickey Shannon, naked as Adam, jumping up and down without a fig leaf. I would always remember him that way. From all his weight lifting, he probably looked better than Adam. He saw me and snarled.

We jounced past Ned Barclay clutching a towel in front of his groin. He saw me fly past and turned tomato red.

The technicians stopped to catch their breath before they hurled me into the ambulance. At that moment, I saw Sheldon Snodgrass wearing club towels wrapped around him like a toga. Engrossed in some sort of yoga move, he was oblivious to his surroundings. He seemed deep in meditation but karma made him aware of my presence. He spotted me, raised his arms and screeched. Fortunately, the techs shoved me into the truck before Sheldon’s towels fell off.