Fit To Be Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 1) (20 page)

Thirty-Three

Having added Dr. Carmody to the growing list of people who’d like to see me dead, I hopped in my Wagoneer and drove off campus fast. My outburst was partially due to agitation about what I planned to do on Friday morning.

On the drive home, I tried to recall details of what had happened before and after the gas attack. I couldn’t remember what preceded the chaos, except that I was pleased with the celebration, ready to shower and perturbed by the thin partitions protecting us from voyeurs. Once the gas erupted, I panicked and couldn’t remember anything except that I’d heard Harry bellow. I saw Mindy and Knobs, a few instructors, and Sam, Mickey, Ned and Sheldon before techs hurled me into the ambulance.

When I arrived home, I threw my notebook from Dr. Carmody’s class on the sofa, grabbed my Big Chief tablet and thought about Mickey Shannon. I pictured him enjoying Holly’s delicate beauty contrasting with his masculinity. Consorting with Holly would accentuate his height, muscles and strength—everything he cherished. He wouldn’t like it if Holly jilted him, especially when she chose Ned Barclay over him. Mickey would assume he controlled their relationship. I thought about the note in her shoe. I couldn’t imagine Mickey writing he was “sorry to be possessive” or admitting that he “cared.”

Mickey possessed a terrific ego, which was understandable since he was a drop-dead-gorgeous Irish-Greek god. But his ego would get tiresome. One could never seriously discuss anything, or disagree, or joke with him about his idiosyncrasies. His ego would block you like a concrete fullback. I doubted Holly really cared about that. She probably just got bored. When Ned came along, she found him an attractive new challenge.

Women flocked around Mickey. I doubted he’d ever suffered rejection. He was probably the one who decided when a liaison ended. I doodled on the page. Could a jilted Mickey be a dangerous Mickey, furious enough to kill? I ripped off my doodle page to start a fresh sheet.

Mickey Shannon

Pros

Hunk not used to rejection. 

Could not control Holly.

Temper, temper.

Cons

If jailed as a murderer, has to give up women.

I put down the tablet and realized I was getting hungry.

Then I thought about Ned Barclay—dear, considerate, serious Ned. Sarah was probably right. Holly and Ned fell in love, and she became pregnant.

That’s when she stopped going to the health club. It seemed to me Ned Barclay would love someone truly and consistently, forever. If Holly told Ned she was pregnant, he’d be overjoyed at the thought of their having a child. He’d want to marry her immediately to spare her embarrassment.

What if Holly didn’t want to marry? Didn’t want to be a mother? Maybe she was having too good a time, dating all the available men and wondering who she’d missed. Her attitude would have hurt Ned terribly. He might plead with her. What if he became controlling and demanded she marry him and have his child?

I thought about the note again: “Sorry to be possessive. I know you hate restrictions. It’s just that I care.” Those words sounded like something Ned would write.

The memory of what Holly said came back to me. She told me the baby’s father had denied paternity. She thought DNA testing was useless because he was completely disinterested in fatherhood. That didn’t sound like Ned Barclay.

I laid my tablet aside and tromped to the kitchen for a Coke. I popped popcorn in the microwave and put butter in a cup to melt.

The other possibility was that Holly had lied. Her sweetness and vulnerability made me feel sorry for her—sorry enough to convince me she spoke the truth. What if she were merely a flake who played around, a girl who didn’t see any difference between men like Mickey, Sheldon, Ned, Pete or Harry Thorne because she didn’t really care? Suppose deep down, she hated all men, beginning with her father, Billy, and continuing through her conflict with Harry and Arnold. I poured butter over the popcorn, blended it in with both hands and licked my fingers.

Suppose Ned pleaded with Holly, pushing her farther and farther away. I scooped popcorn into my mouth. Suppose she declared she’d never marry him. She’d give away their baby, and he’d never see his child. He might erupt. Pushed to the limit, Ned Barclay might, in a fit of anger and despair, run Holly over. I crunched popcorn, handful after handful, until the bowl was almost empty.

Saving a few juicy kernels, I carried the bowl to the sofa, cleaned my fingers with a napkin and picked up my tablet. Had Ned flipped out? Did he try to kill me because I tried to help Holly? Did he discover, somehow, that I’d also given up my child? Ned’s hatred, like his sadness and embarrassment, ran very deep. I started writing:

Ned Barclay

Pros

Loved Holly but she flew the coop.

Holly gave up his baby.

Devastated, he flipped out. 

Temper, temper.

Cons

Could he kill girl he loved?

Too sensitive to commit murder?

There was one sure way to find out who killed Holly and wanted me dead. I would confront the men with what I knew. If one of them was the killer, he’d make his move.

I scrounged in the bowl for the last of the popcorn. Sam wouldn’t approve of my plan, but I didn’t intend to tell him about it. When the club opened Friday morning, the regulars would be there including Sheldon, Ned, Mickey and Pete.

Mindy, Doorknobs, Patricia and Sarah might be there, too, although I couldn’t imagine a motive the women would have for killing Holly. I knew Mindy, Doorknobs and Patricia didn’t like me, and I could imagine Patricia Drexel giving me a shove down the stairs. It was harder to picture her as a murderer.

Harry Thorne would definitely be at the club. The other men would probably arrive early on Friday since they hadn’t been able to exercise for days.

Sam said Harry had placed newspaper ads to reassure current and prospective members that Fit and Firm had reopened and was better than before. I’d have to confront the suspects before Sam showed up.

I finished the popcorn and carried my bowl to the kitchen. With the club offering discounts to the first people who signed up, the facility would be bustling with activity Friday. That would make my job easier.

Thirty-Four

By 8:00 a.m. Friday, I’d packed my satchel, a larger version of the gym bag I’d used to pilfer toiletries. Still in my nightclothes, I scurried to the hedges near the street, hid the bag and scooted back to my house. My Garfield sleep shirt fell six inches above my knees. I ruffled up my black hair until I looked thoroughly frowzy and waited for Sam’s police officer snitch to cruise by. Before long, he came creeping along my curb in his patrol car, squinting at my bungalow like he was casing a nest of Columbian drug lords.

I ran out my back door, detoured toward Grace’s property and hissed, “Addison alert, Addison alert,” slurring the words together so they held meaning only for Boffo. I knew he’d burrow under her fence and scurry through the varmint tunnel. I tossed a doggie treat near his escape hole in my yard. He blasted out, grabbed the treat and followed me to the front yard.

I charged toward the officer’s car screaming, “Help! Help! Somebody’s after me!”

The officer screeched on his brakes, bounded from the car and barreled toward me.

“He’s in the back. The perp is trying to get in the back,” I shrieked, wide-eyed. “Addison alert. Addison alert,” I mumbled.

The cop squinted, looking confused by my nonsensical words. Eyes wary, he yanked his pistol from the holster and streaked toward my house. Boffo charged after him, pounced on his shoe and growled up at him, expecting a treat. The cop tried to shake him off. “Damn dog.”

“Don’t shoot him. He’s my neighbor’s pet.” Grace and Elmore were enjoying breakfast at the Sunken Garden.

“I hope the suspect doesn’t escape through the front!” I’d left my front door wide open. “Addison Alert, Addison alert,” I chirped. The officer, staring at me like I was a lunatic, hobbled to my house, struggling to shake Boffo off his shoe while he tried to close my front door.

I’d wrapped green string around the furry toy that happily cohabitated with Addison and had hidden the end of the string in shrubs near my door. While the officer tried to dislodge Boffo, I swooped down, murmuring sympathetic words, and surreptitiously yanked the string. Intoxicated with new vermin smell, Boffo bounced away to attack the furry imposter. While the officer locked my door, keeping one eye on the growling terrier, I flailed my arms and flew around to bolster his view of my dementia, passing close to the front hedges to check my hidden bag while I kept the officer in view.

Racing back toward the house, I swept low, grabbed the twine attached to the stuffed rat and gave it a couple more yanks to stimulate Boffo’s aggressive behavior. Boffo growled so ferociously, the officer jumped six inches. Having secured my door, he was probably calculating whether the intruder would shoot him before Boffo attacked.

Having immobilized his prey, Boffo got bored. When the officer moved away from the door and sprinted around the side of the house, Boffo jumped to the challenge. He was back in the game. He charged after the cop and sprang onto his shoe. Clamping squatty legs around his captured vermin, he chomped his teeth into the cop’s pant leg.

“Aggh!” He should have brought doggie treats. Cursing and stumbling, the police officer lurched around the side of my house with Boffo attached. He was making so much noise, an intruder could have taken off for the next county.

Boffo made me proud. Growling viciously, he wasn’t about to relinquish his prey. He had mastered cage training and tunnel training and clung stubbornly to his captive. I thought he was ready for AKC’s official Earthdog Test.

I smiled at the satisfying sight of pooch attached to the officer’s leg, but I couldn’t hang around for the finale. I scrambled back to the front yard, dove into my bag, grabbed Grace’s frumpy oversized jacket and wrestled it over my head to cover my Garfield shirt. Crouching down, I wriggled the skirt Grace gave me up over the bottom of my nightshirt. Plastering the snood over my hair, I pushed stragglers inside and wrenched Aunt Justa’s homely wide-brimmed hat over the top.

When the Ford Taurus approached and slowed near the police vehicle, I was digging for Charlie’s boots. Clutching my bag with the boots still inside, I sprinted for the Ford and leaped in. Meredith stomped the gas pedal.

“Don’t screech the tires,” I yelled. “He’ll hear you.”

She backed off the pedal, drove thirty-four miles per hour to New Braunfels and turned right before either one of us exhaled.

Her black long-sleeved dress buttoned down the front to the calf-length hem. She wore thick hose and wide-heeled witchy shoes. A pillbox hat over a droopy black wig covered her light hair.

I started to laugh. “Where did you find that get-up?”

“I told Mom I was going to a costume party. She rummaged through my grandmother’s trunk.”

“I recognized your Taurus, but for a second after I jumped in, I thought I’d gotten in the wrong car.”

“You look absolutely awful,” she said. “Like a bag lady.”

“I know. Check these brogans.” I tugged on Charlie’s heavy boots. I hoped I wouldn’t have to run.

“They’re gross.”

“Did you get fake drivers’ licenses,” I asked, “in case the officer catches us? I’d hate for SAPD to find out who we are.”

“No, I couldn’t figure out how to pilfer licenses from senior citizens.”

“That’s okay. If another cop stops us before we make it to the club, you can say you left your license in another purse. He’ll give you a ticket, but when you take your actual driver’s license to court, you can say you were dressing for a costume party and forgot to put it in your purse. I’ll tell him I don’t drive. They really hate to pick on old people.”

She exploded with laughter. “Agatha, I am amazed at the extent of your devious mind.”

Frankly, I was, too. Sometimes you had to get creative. People put too much emphasis on aging. We’d outfoxed a young police officer, could probably outrun him and were having more fun than a couple of twelve-year-olds.

We made it to Fit and Firm and glided into a parking spot in the garage. Under our disguises, and under my Garfield sleep shirt, we wore workout clothes. My rolled-up leggings were killing me. We stripped down to T-shirts and rolled down our leggings. Underneath everything else, I had on a new swimsuit.

We pulled off the weird garb, dabbed on makeup and bustled toward the entrance. It was time to get serious. The frustrated officer had probably notified Sam, who would go to my house and tromp through every square inch of it to make sure I wasn’t there and hadn’t been abducted. Then he’d think about where I was and start fuming like a bull. I figured I had two hours, max, to confront the suspects before Sam showed up and spoiled everything.

Thirty-Five

When we approached the club’s entrance, I saw somebody had removed the sign advertising the club’s ten-year anniversary. In its place, they’d taped a sheet of paper to the glass door:

ATTENTION NEW AND RETURNING MEMBERS: Six Months FIT AND FIRM Memberships

Half-Price for the first 200 people who sign up.

Meredith looked pleased. When we stepped inside, a dozen people stood in line. Waiting around could ruin my scheme. Fortunately, an employee behind the check-in desk broke everyone into two lines, one for new members and one for returnees. Eleven people moved to the other line, leaving only one person ahead of us. The club had our paperwork on file, and we already possessed club ID cards. Registering for the discount wouldn’t take long.

While we waited, I peered across the lobby into Tofu Temptations Grill. The place opened for breakfast, but few people ate there. The room was empty except for one man who sat alone at a table studying the menu: Sheldon Snodgrass. If I could get past the grill without his seeing me, I could start exercising with Meredith, slip back downstairs before he left and corner him.

We checked in and registered for six month, half-price memberships.

“Isn’t this great?” I asked Meredith.

As we passed Tofu Temptations Grill, I edged to Meredith’s right side, putting her between Sheldon and me in case he glanced up. We climbed the steps to the third floor and picked two treadmills with the best view of the TV. I allowed time for us to program the machines and settle in before I announced I had to use the bathroom.

“Don’t go to the ladies’ locker room. Use the one on this floor.”

We could see the door to the restroom by turning partway around. “Good idea. I’ll wait until somebody else goes in so I won’t be in there alone.”

I knocked on the bathroom door, acted like I was talking to somebody inside, and entered. I stayed a few minutes, peeped out to make sure Meredith was engrossed in TV and sneaked down the stairs.

Sheldon still inhabited the grill. I walked slowly over to him and smiled sweetly. “Hi, Sheldon.”

He lifted his fork and glared at me, eyes bulging. “What are you doing in this grill?” I heard a growl in his throat. “Did you decide to come ruin my breakfast?”

I didn’t like the menacing way he held his fork. “I just wanted to say hello. The last time I saw you was...unfortunate.”

“That’s an understatement. Did you decide to come destroy a public eating place, too?”

This was apt to get ugly. I tried not to focus on what he devoured.

“I came to apologize for the way I acted at your party...you know, when I got sick.” He growled again.

“I wanted to tell you the reporter from
La Prensa
told me later what a fabulous party you gave. You must have cleaned up quickly because she found the event awesome...the food...the people...everything!” His buggy eyes relaxed back into his head. He put his fork down.

Putting a finger to my lips, I rolled my eyes up. “Or was it the girl from
Flash-News?
Anyway, two different reporters raved to me about the party. Maybe they’ll both write it up.”

Sheldon licked his lips. “By the way, how are you feeling?”

“Better. Much better.” I hung my head. “Sometimes I get depressed about Holly.”

“Hmmm.” He stuffed a mystery clump in his mouth.

“What’s that you’re eating? It looks really good.”

“Soy and tofu pancakes drizzled with roasted honey,” he mumbled, chomping.

“You have unique taste in food.” Thank goodness I wasn’t nauseated.

He nodded and continued ruminating.

“I guess Holly loved to eat exotic things, too?”

“Not really. She went for ordinary protein and salad...totally without imagination.”

“After you dated her a while, surely you introduced her to some of the delicacies you love.”

“I tried, but she just wanted to dance and party. She loved to be in the middle of lots of people. The only reason she ate at all was so she could keep moving.”

“That must have disappointed you.”

“Well, I’ve dealt with a lot of carnivores. They eat the same disgusting animal products...never branch out. That’s why, in addition to vegetarian dishes, I highlight exotic meats for the misguided omnivores who attend my
Euphoria
parties.”

I tried not to think about the hog.

“Holly did seem sort of rigid, uptight, like maybe she needed tranquilizers.”

“I gave her some once so she’d relax, but she didn’t like the feeling they gave her. Pills didn’t change her eating habits, anyway.”

“Then I guess she didn’t use other drugs.”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t allow it.”

He apparently thought he’d controlled Holly. Temporarily.

“Why work out and eat healthy food,” he masticated half a pancake, “if you’re going to put junk in your body? I have two uncles who come over all the time, and I have to keep a whole stock of medicines for them. That’s bad enough.”

I molded my face into an image of sympathy. He concentrated on chewing.

“It’s good to see you,” I lied, backing away.

“Don’t forget to remind the reporters about my party.” He waved his fork with his mouth full of food.

I smiled encouragingly. He’d probably scour two publications for two months before he called the editors or confronted me.

He didn’t appear to be sufficiently emotionally involved with Holly to have a motive to kill her. Either that or he was an accomplished liar. He was definitely more interested in food than people—a real cold fish. Of course, he could be acting nonchalant and biding his time while he hated me to the depths of his purified colon.

Even if Sheldon had tried to kill me, I knew I was safe from him for a while. He had to preserve me as his media contact.