Fit To Be Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 1) (5 page)

He pumped iron, gazing around for a lucky woman who needed help, and spotted Patricia Drexel basking in Pete Reeves’s electric eyes. He straightened to the top centimeter of six foot three, clenched his fists and strode toward them with a Neanderthal gait. He stopped with his face three inches from Pete. Blue Eyes shrugged and shuffled away, relinquishing Patricia.

Weight room protocol mimicked the law of the jungle. Health clubs were supposed to enhance everybody’s life, but I sensed that beneath this veneer of healthy living, repressed fury was biding its time.

I hadn’t retrieved a shred of data from Mickey about the club’s investigation. Ned was obviously reluctant to talk about Holly. If Mickey hadn’t chased him off, I might have learned more. Conversing with Patricia did not appear promising.

I had to devise a better way to obtain information.

Seven

On my way out of Machine Mecca, I glanced toward Mr. Pilate’s room to check on the women crouched on mats. They were gone, but two others were flopped over gigantic two-foot-diameter balls. The women looked like enormous bugs that had captured mountains of food too huge to eat. What kind of exercise was that? Hopefully, Mr. Pilates would appear and show them what to do. I wished I had time to watch.

When I reached the third floor, Meredith was already on a treadmill. During our first semester of graduate school, we took Shakespeare’s Tragedies and Abnormal Psychology—courses that intrigued me like accounting never had. I thought Aspects of Aging would prove riveting.

Tall, elegantly slim and blonde, Meredith had sad eyes. Grief over Conrad’s tragedy still plagued her. I tried to acknowledge her loss without naming him.

“How’s everything going?” I climbed on the adjacent machine.

“All right, I guess. Losing Conrad hits me off and on. Keeping busy helps.” She pushed a button to increase her speed.

I thought about Lester the Louse. Although it was painful at the time, sometimes it was better when people parted ways. Some guys weren’t worth the trauma. They left you with a tendency to mistrust men.

I pushed “Slow Start,” 2 mph. “Aspects of Aging looks interesting. How are your classes?”

“I love American and British Lit, but the profs assign a pile of reading.”

I couldn’t hold back my news another second. “You’ll never guess what happened my first day here.” I told her about the pool, Holly, Sarah, the radio and Mickey’s take on the electricity, throwing in his likeness to Tom Selleck.

She seemed excited, but not about Selleck. She walked faster.

“Did Holly intend to electrocute herself? Could she have put the radio in the pool, thinking she’d have a quick, painless death?”

Meredith read too many novels. I increased my speed to 2.5 mph. “She was depressed, but I doubt she was trying to kill herself. She was very grateful when Sarah and I got her out.”

“Thank God you didn’t get in sooner. Was it a dumb accident, or did somebody purposely submerge the radio?”

While I considered what she’d said, I peered over to check the settings on her machine. She’d sped up to 3.5 mph.

Meredith’s logical mind pursued all possibilities, but I couldn’t imagine who could want to kill Holly. She radiated sweetness and seemed too young to have collected many enemies. The question of timing nagged me. I’d overheard somebody say swimmers waited impatiently for water aerobics to end so they could swim laps. Slipping in to submerge a radio during the brief interval between aerobics and lap swimming would be risky, although someone coming through the locker rooms or equipment room could accomplish it.

“Probably an accident.” I tried to ignore my itching feet.

“She’s lucky you arrived when you did.”

I had supported Meredith after her husband disappeared. I could help because I’d just met her and wasn’t emotionally involved in her dilemma. This situation was different: Holly Holmgreen had given up her child.

When I looked over again, Meredith had increased her treadmill speed to 3.7 and started jogging. “Why don’t you call Sam? We could get him a guest pass and tell him what happened. Let him check around.”

I nodded noncommittally. When he came to San Antonio, Sam had to apply to SAPD like a newbie, even though he’d been a Chicago homicide detective. After going through the San Antonio Police Academy, riding with field training officers and working a patrol beat, he scored high enough on the detective investigation test to request a slot on the murder team in the Homicide Division.

He’d led the search for Meredith’s missing husband. That was a whole other story.

Once Meredith’s crisis ended, we rarely saw Sam. Back in Chicago, he and his wife Katy had been my best friends. He was the only man I’d trusted for years. Reconnecting with me in San Antonio probably reminded him of Chicago. He needed time to heal before I could even begin to gauge how he felt about me.

He was the last person I wanted around Holly Holmgreen. Being a detective, he would automatically suspect attempted murder. When he learned Holly had relinquished her child, he’d research the adoption. Having lost his adopted daughter along with his wife, this case would be painful for him to investigate. My right foot slipped off the conveyer belt. I grabbed the rail.

“Are you okay?”

I blinked back tears. “My muscles are tight from walking yesterday. I’ve had enough of this treadmill. Let’s try lunch at Tofu Temptations Grill. Maybe you’ll meet the people I told you about.”

We showered and dressed, me for afternoon class and Meredith for Conrad’s office, where she would help his ex-patients find other doctors. With the morning rush over, I secured my favorite primping station in the dressing area where the angle of triple mirrors provided privacy. I felt pampered using the club’s luxurious facilities. My station was stocked with a hair dryer, curling iron, Q-tips, and cotton balls. Deodorant, hair spray and body lotion filled the club’s signature opaque pump bottles. Tiny elegant script labeled each bottle’s contents. I inhaled the lemony scent. Showers and toilets were located in a secluded alcove with lockers standing off to one side. A plush place.

“Yuck,” Meredith blurted. “I almost sprayed hair spray under my arms.” We pondered how many women had confused the bottles and spent the rest of the day with their arms stuck to their sides.

On our way to Tofu Temptations, Meredith said she’d asked Sam to join us. Sure enough, he sat at a chrome table on a red and orange vinyl chair, frowning at the sandwich on his plate. He looked up and grinned. Tufts of hair bounced toward his glasses. We motioned for him to stay seated and got in line to order.

Behind me, a lanky fellow with a ruddy face and bug eyes peered over me at the oversized menu on the wall. “Vegetable Sauté,” he read reverently, “served over brown rice...” He gazed down at us. “I’m an anti-fat, anti-sugar vegetarian,” he announced, as though his revelation ranked right up there with a call to the priesthood. Meredith flashed him a definitely-not-interested glance, so he concentrated on me. “I’m Sheldon Snodgrass.”

Gad. His name was worse than mine. “Aggie Mundeen. Pleased to meet you.” That was apparently enough chitchat for Sheldon.

“They sauté vegetables in soy sauce, mustard vinaigrette, olive oil or water.” He eyed me expectantly, waiting to see which delicacy I’d choose.

If they ruined vegetables by nesting them in brown rice, I didn’t think any kind of liquid would help. If I wanted soy sauce, I’d find a Chinese restaurant. I felt obliged to make a healthy choice and scoured the menu for something edible.

“How about the Garden Vegetable Sandwich?” Underneath, he read, “Vegan,” which seemed to please him immensely.

Wasn’t that some character in Star Wars? The description of the sandwich read “with carrots, red onion, sprouts, avocado and a peanut butter miso spread on whole wheat bread.” What a horrible way to ruin peanut butter. I kept searching until I found a chicken salad sandwich with actual mustard and mayonnaise. “Sandwiches look good.”

“Yes. I’m going for the tofu eggless salad sandwich on whole wheat with sprouts.” He looked ecstatic.

I ordered tuna and cheese with light mayonnaise on Parmesan bread and chose fruit instead of fries. Their fries were probably brown rice spliced with tofu. Sheldon didn’t appear impressed with my selection, but he padded behind me toward our table. We introduced him to Sam, who had a ham and cheese sandwich on his plate. He wore civvies, his usual khaki pants and shirt, and a brown tie splotched with a Rorschach orange-and-purple pattern. For undercover work, I hoped he stashed it.

In the midst of vigorous chewing, Sheldon issued an invitation. “I’m having a little get-together at my house Thursday night. Light refreshments...you know, healthy gourmet fare. If you’re not busy, I’d love for you all to come.”

We were noncommittal. Sheldon seemed awfully eager. Sam scratched his cheek and scrutinized him as if he’d recently beamed down from a distant planet. When Sarah and Holly pulled up chairs, Sam gave them his detective’s perusal, then kicked back, stretched his legs and eyed Sarah’s thick hair and great figure. I almost blurted out that Holly was the one who deserved his attention, having nearly drowned.

Ned Barclay entered the grill, and I waved him over. He produced his beautiful shy smile, saw me flanked by Sam and Sheldon, turned beet red and carried his food to the other side of the room.

When I glanced over later, he snapped his gaze away, stone-faced. I supposed I embarrassed him by calling to him while I sat between two men. Ned Barclay seemed easily hurt.

Sheldon and Sarah did most of the talking. She was into health and nutrition, which sent Sheldon into an orbit of statistical revelations. When they progressed to exotic cuisine, I felt queasy.

I had little to say about anything outside of institutional settings like banks and colleges. Socializing for its own sake was a new experience for me, but I enjoyed listening and felt cozy and warm sitting with Sam and Meredith. We had each suffered loss and survived.

“Meredith, how are your courses going?” Sam asked. Having watched her lose her husband, he appeared to be measuring her psychological condition.

“They’re good. I’m taking Twentieth Century American Lit, beginning with Hemingway and Fitzgerald.”

“I’ll bet they’re a relief after the flowery prose of earlier writers.” Sam had majored in English before he went to law school. When he and Katy married, he joined the FBI. After his family died in the automobile accident, he switched to police work. He said he preferred catching criminals to yapping about them in court. I surmised that, somehow, he found police work less stressful than work for the FBI.

“In British Lit, we’re reading Shakespeare’s plays,” Meredith said.

The three of us loved Shakespeare’s work. Apparently satisfied that Meredith was recovering, Sam leaned companionably toward me. “What are you taking, Agatha?”

Holly and Sarah jerked their heads up. Sheldon looked puzzled. To them, I was “Aggie,” which sounded like a person closer to their age.

“Aspects of Aging.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth turned up as though he found my choice amusing.

“My first class met yesterday, but I missed it. Some sort of stomach bug.”

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, sure. I’m fine.” Actually, my stomach felt unsettled, but I was glad to see Sam and ignored my discomfort. Since Meredith had enticed him to the club, I considered getting him another guest pass to take advantage of his investigative knowledge. Katy used to brag about cases he’d solved in Chicago. He could determine whether I’d witnessed an accident or an attempted murder.

I concluded it was better to keep things casual. “How’s your work going?” I asked him.

“Everything’s pretty quiet right now, which is good since several guys are on vacation.”

I felt my face relax. “I’m glad to hear it.” With Sam’s division understaffed, the department would dispatch officers from another team if word about the pool incident leaked out. Nestled in my brain was the notion that if I managed to successfully solve a crime, Sam would be impressed.

After lunch, Sam returned to headquarters. Meredith left to disperse medical records from Conrad’s empty office. Sarah, who taught land and water aerobics, needed to tape music for her classes.

Sheldon, having wound down from discussing the content of our food, went to his office to lay out feature articles for
Food, Fitness, and Euphoria
, the magazine he edited. I didn’t ask if I could subscribe. Holly and I were the only two left.

As the others filed out, Pete Reeves strolled in for a late lunch and dazzled us with a smile before turning sea blue eyes toward the oversized menu behind the counter. I tried not to gawk. Holly lingered at our table, apparently wanting to talk. I wasn’t sure I could stand up anyway. My legs had turned to stone. I hope they’d revive in time to carry me to my afternoon class.

“My stomach’s a little queasy.” My revelation didn’t seem to faze Holly.

“Yesterday at the pool, I felt like you understood. About the baby, I mean.” She planted her elbows on the table. “Can we talk about it?”

Sometimes, one had to listen. I ignored my stomach.

“The baby’s father denied paternity. With him totally disinterested in being a father, DNA testing seemed useless.” She clouded up. “I chose to give up the baby without ever knowing where the infant went or who would raise the child. I made a terrible mistake.” Her tears spilled over. “He gave me...I took lots of Valium before I got in the pool.”

Despite increasing nausea, I managed to pat her hand. I checked the foyer to estimate how fast I could jet to the locker room on fossilized legs. The housekeeper was pushing a double-decker tray of toiletries and cleaning supplies from the men’s locker room to ours. I didn’t want to charge into the bathroom, sick, with her there.

I forced my attention on Holly and tried to comfort her. “Try not to blame yourself. You did what you thought was best at the time.” I stretched my back against the chair to give my stomach room to expand.

My heart ached for Holly, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to delve into events the day of the accident. “What happened before you came to the pool?”

“I tried Sarah’s aerobics class. By the time class ended, I was pretty despondent, having just signed final adoption papers. With Valium slowing me down, aerobics was just too hard. Sarah was sympathetic, but I didn’t want to give up exercise completely, so I went to the pool.” Her eyes were moist.

“Water aerobics was over,” she said. “Nobody was swimming laps. The pool was deserted, and I got in. You know the rest.”

Holly looked emotionally whipped, but I didn’t think she’d attempted suicide.

“I’m ready to go home,” she said. “My car’s parked in the garage. Are you leaving? Walk over with me.”

Sheldon was right about the hazards of greasy food. Either that or Tofu Temptations’ food was contaminated. I felt terrible.

Having stashed my curling iron in a locker—a better curler than the club provided—I wanted to retrieve it before somebody else did. “You go ahead. I need to stop by the locker room. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I barely reached the bathroom. The janitor had abandoned her cart and left. After losing my breakfast and lunch, I debated whether I was too shaky to drive home. I should have heeded Sheldon’s advice and gone for the (gag) tofu eggless sandwich.

At 2:00 p.m., Fit and Firm was deserted. Contrasted with the feverish bustle of the morning, the facility was ominously still. The cleaning lady had supplied new spray bottles for primping stations and had tossed empties to the bottom of her cart. I wanted to leave before she returned.