A towel still draped over the handlebars. No water bottle. I couldn’t remember if I’d seen Jim holding one either. It would have been perilous to enter a class without one. Staying low to the floor, I looked around. There were a bunch of water bottles on the floor. Since any one of them could have been Jim’s, I collected all seven and bagged them. I left the small stack of evidence next to the doors so as not to forget it upon my exit.
Returning to Jim’s bike, I knelt down beside it. I started my examination with the stationary wheel and the mechanism. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Next the frame. Again, all seemed normal. The saddle was dry and I looked under it too. Nothing concealed. Finally I moved to the handlebars, which were set out in racing and normal riding formation. The towel was draped across the bars, concealing them, and since I’d already photographed it, I scooped it up and dropped it into another evidence bag. Turning back, I saw the strangest little thing. If I’d been standing over the bike, I would have missed it. But kneeling down, with the bike on its side, I had a clear view beneath the bars. I blinked and leaned forwards. Yes, on each bar were two thumbtacks, attached to the underside with the tiniest amount of tape, and almost impossible to see.
I reached for my camera and snapped a half dozen shots from the underside. Both bars together, then separately. Standing, I repeated the photo sequence from the top perspective.
When I was done, I set down the camera and stared at the bike. How would I get this piece of evidence back to the agency for analysis without destroying it? Knowing I was stuck, I reached for my cell phone and called Solomon.
“Sweetheart,” he said, upon answering the phone, and I knew he was alone.
“Darling,” I replied, smiling to myself, and restraining a giggle.
“What can I do for you?”
“Many, many things,” I replied in a husky voice.
“Any of these pertaining to the job?” asked Solomon, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“The current request is…” Oh, how I wanted to play with him, but there was a job to be done. I had something unexplainable, which made me doubt the natural death theory even more. “I found something odd,” I told him, quickly describing what it was.
“Any of the other bikes have something similar?”
“I haven’t checked them yet, but I will. I’m guessing, no. I’ve never seen anything like it. The thumbtacks look like they’re embedded into the handlebars; and if I pull the tape, I’m worried I could make a mess of the whole thing. Plus, I think I see a little smear of blood. And remember, Jim had a little cut on his thumb.”
“Hmmm.” Solomon paused and I waited for a genius idea. “Take off the handlebars,” he said finally. “I’ll get my forensics guy to go over it at his lab.”
“What? All of it? How?”
“Yep. Unscrew the lot and bring it in. You’re wearing gloves?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Make sure you don’t touch the bars themselves. I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have a large evidence bag?”
“A couple are in my kit.”
“Use them both and tape them shut. Catch you later.”
My breath caught. “Does that involve you chasing me?” I whispered, though I don’t know why because I was the only one in the studio.
“Is there a prize if I catch you?” Solomon asked, his voice smooth and inviting.
“Yes, but you’ll have to catch me to find out what it is.” Saying that, I hung up, leaving him to wonder what I might possibly do with him, which was just as well, since I hadn’t worked it out yet either.
Retrieving a screwdriver from my kit, with a confident, happy smile on my face, I set about removing the handlebars. I found two large plastic bags to store them in and slipped one bag over each side before taping the middle closed. Just to make certain these were an anomaly, I checked the handlebars of every single other bike. Not one showed signs of a thumbtack or tape.
If Michael thought it was weird when he saw me taking the whole rack of handlebars, he didn’t say. Instead, seeing my armful of evidence, he simply nodded as he added another bag on top. Inside was a blue water bottle with liquid that sloshed back and forth. A sticker on the outside read “Property of Karen Doyle.”
“Is it okay if I get this studio cleaned up now?” he asked.
“Sure. There’s no reason that you can’t. There’s nothing more for me to do and if MPD say it isn’t a crime scene, then legally, it isn’t. I did find something strange though.” I showed Michael the handlebars, being careful not to let the thumbtacks stick me, and his forehead furrowed into deep frowns. “Do you know what these are?” I asked.
“No. Nothing like that should be on a spin bike. Ever! It’s not safe.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“You think this has something to do with Jim’s death?”
“It seems rather odd,” I said non-committally. “I’ll take it to the agency and we’ll send it to the lab for tests. These too.” I held up the large, translucent bag holding the individual baggies of water bottles and Jim’s towel. “It smells bad in there,” I warned Michael.
“Of death?” He shuddered.
“I was referring more along the lines of pee.”
“Great. Just great. Three dead clients and a pee odor. Sometimes I hate my job.”
For once, I couldn’t agree with him. I loved my job! Sure, it had its downsides, not the least of which were the endless hours of surveillance, random corpses, and bodily assaults I occasionally had to endure, but it had a whole bunch of positives too. I got to use my brain to solve baffling crimes, barely had to do any filing, and got to look forward to something different every day. As a double whammy bonus, my whole family was proud I’d finally found my calling, and it didn’t fall too far from the family crime-solving tree.
Leaving Michael the unenviable job of setting the spin studio to rights, I took the stairs down to the first floor and exited the building. I carefully stowed my crime treasures in the trunk of my VW. Checking my watch, I saw there was still thirty minutes before my shift began, giving me just enough time to drop the evidence at the agency and return. I left the lot, looking back at the gym in my rear mirror. Did I made the right choice by taking an undercover assignment here? I didn’t know the answer to that, but I did know there were three healthy people whose lives were cut short; and maybe, if there was such a thing as an afterlife, they needed me to find out what happened to them.
~
I arrived back at the gym with minutes to spare. The first cars of eager gym bunnies were already pulling into the lot as Michael guided me from the entrance to the office.
“Meet Fairmount Gym’s newest fitness instructor,” said Michael, flapping a pink t-shirt with the gym’s name emblazoned across the front, at me. Unlike the men’s version, it did indeed have a deep v-cut and I winced. Lily was right about how distracting my assets might become.
He spun me around to see my reflection in the full-length mirror in his office and wrapped the t-shirt across my front. It wasn’t quite waist-length and I made a mental note to thank Lily profusely for all the times she motivated slash dragged me to the gym to firm up my abs. “It looks great!” he exclaimed. “You’ll fit right in!”
Personally, I wouldn’t consider it quite my shade, but who was I to argue? All I had to do was blend in and try to listen to all the members’ conversations to learn anything that people weren’t telling the cops. Someone here, I figured, had to know something about what happened, first to Jim Schwarz, and then Karen Doyle, not to mention Lorena’s brutal murder in her own home. Someone must have seen something, however innocuous it might seem now, right before their deaths. My aim was to glean every last bit of information for Michael in order to prove that the gym was not negligent. Not only that but I desperately wanted to know who had killed my friend.
“You are aware that I know nothing about fitness, right?” I asked, taking the t-shirt and f
olding it over my arm.
“I know you come to the gym a lot with your cute friend,” replied Michael. He moved around to his side of the desk and rifled through the mound of paperwork until he pulled out one sheet, which he passed to me. “This is your schedule. You don’t have to stick to it exactly,” he said, “you can come and go as you please. I’ll find cover when you can’t make it, so just let me know when you plan to be here. I need to square it with the permanent staff so they don’t think you’re getting preferential treatment. I’ll tell them I have you for my personal assistant too. That means I can cover for you if you are somewhere they don't expect you to be. I can just say you're running an errand.”
“And just to confirm, I don’t have to take any classes?”
“That’s right. I’ve told everyone you’re a freelance fitness instructor, but you haven’t taught in a while and you’re just helping us out with some cover until Anton returns. If he returns,” Michael muttered.
“You think he won’t?” I asked, glancing up from the schedule. It didn’t look too strenuous.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen a man appear so white.”
“He’s black.”
“Exactly.”
“I might need to interview him. He had a really good view of the room.”
“Sure.” Michael turned around and pulled open a filing cabinet. He plucked a slim file from it, opened it on his desk and grabbed the sticky notes by his desk phone. “Here’s his address and phone number,” he said, scrawling on the note before passing it to me. He hesitated. “What reason will you give for why you’re asking? You’ve taken his class for a long time. He knows you’re not a fitness instructor.”
I tucked the address into my pocket. “It's unlikely I'll call but, if I do, I’ll think of something.”
“Great.” Michael relaxed slightly in his chair. “You need to get changed. The gym is officially open for business. Are you ready for this?”
“Never more ready,” I assured him. “How hard can it be?”
Michael grinned. “You’ve clearly never worked in a gym.”
~
Never in all the time I have lived in Montgomery — which means my entire life barring a brief stint in Army boot camp, an ill-considered decision of badly dressed proportions — could I imagine just how many fitness fanatics this town contained. The gym was half full only minutes after the doors opened; the treadmills and cross trainers, rowers and steppers, all whirring to life while Lycra-clad people sweated and powered their way to the land of toned bodies. For the first couple of hours, I simply tucked myself away at the instructors’ station on the gym floor. I waited for them to get on with their programs, and barely had to answer a single question. Even when I made the occasional rounds, tidying weights here and there, stacking mats next to people, and pausing to chat or eavesdrop, I didn’t learn anything useful. By the time Lily came in, it was already noon. My shift was nearly over and my stomach was trying to eat itself.
“Cafe?” I asked Lily when she arrived at the station, clad in cute gray capris and a pristine white, form-fitted top. Headphones slung around her neck completed the look. She might not have worked out today, but her shapely arms and hourglass shape proved she’d been regularly paying her dues.
“Treadmill.”
“Cafe,” I said again, barely holding back a whimper. “If I don’t eat soon, I’m going to bite the head off the next person who asks me to wipe ‘em down with a towel.”
Lily wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. Someone asked you to do that?”
“Three people. Why? For the love of anybody’s deity, Lily, why would anyone ask me to do that?”
“Maybe they can’t reach? Did you have to touch anything nasty?”
“No, but I accidentally whipped one guy across the butt with his towel, and he left me his phone number.”
“Shame you’re taken. Was he cute?”
“If you find age seventy cute. I have a newfound respect for fitness instructors. Plus, can you hear that?”
Lily cocked her head to one side. After a moment, she shook it. “No. What?”
“Huffing. Wheezing. Air con. More huffing. Oh God, the huffing never ends,” I wailed.
“I think we better get you a protein shake.” Lily grabbed me by the elbow and steered me towards the doors. “I’m worried you’re starting to hallucinate.”
I wasn’t hallucinating but I probably was a little low on blood sugar. From the instructor-shirted side of the biz, I saw the gym in a whole new light. Far from a place to work out, hopping happily onto machines, then staggering off them, lifting a few dumbbells, and taking a few classes, all to keep looking good, now all I could see was sweat dripping onto the machines, a discarded water bottle rolling across the floor, and death at every turn. And someone even had the gall to put my neatly organized dumbbell stack into disarray.
“You do look pale,” said Lily, pushing me into a chair at the small cafe before handing me a bottle of pale colored liquid. Next to us were two older ladies in pink sweats, who were deep in conversation. Otherwise, the cafe was empty. “Drink this.”
“I thought I was getting a protein shake. What is it?”
“Vitamin water.”
“Ugh… Oh! This actually tastes nice.” I glugged some more of the vitamin water. “I guess I’m pale because I’m just waiting for someone else to die,” I added. It could happen anywhere. Electrical outlet fault. Malfunctioning deathtrap machine. Air duct poisoning. Ugh, I hoped not to catch Legionnaire’s disease.
“Awesome. Count me in.”
“What?”
“I said ‘count me in.’ I only got to see two corpses. I want to find another!”
I leaned forwards, the cold bottle in my hand as I lowered my voice. “I’m supposed to be figuring out if there’s a killer in here, not enabling another potential murder.”
Lily leaned in too. She looked from left to right, before meeting my eyes. “I. Want. In.”
“Ugh.”
“You can’t be everywhere,” Lily continued. “Plus, I know, like, millions of people here and they all talk to me. I come here way more often than you do.”
“Maybe you should ask Solomon for a job,” I sniffed. She was right though. Not that there were millions of people, but she came religiously every day, paying homage to every machine and praising her body in the mirror, and it showed. Plus, she did know a lot of the members.
“I run a bar,” Lily pointed out, missing my sarcasm. “I’m very busy.”
“But with enough free time to go hunting for another body?”
“Do you want my help or not, hotshot?”
“I want your help,” I said grudgingly, taking another sip. It tasted funny, but it was okay. It was… Just at that moment, a light bulb went off in my head. It didn’t taste funny enough not to drink. Karen took a sip of her bottle right before she collapsed. “Poison,” I said. “It’s poison.”
The women at the table next to us turned around. Their eyes fixed on my bottle. One of them got up and returned her unopened vitamin water to the counter. Her friend hurried over to the water fountain and emptied her vitamin water bottle.
“It’s not poisoned,” said Lily, smiling at them. It was a good move. Reassuring. How could anyone not trust a face like that? “Lexi is just thinking out loud. She got a new house. Rat problem.”
“Big rats,” I agreed, but my mind was whirring. Karen could easily have ingested something that harmed her. I trusted the labeling on the bottle even though it tasted a little odd. Karen could have done the same. Could she have ingested a fast acting poison? Then there was the tiny bead of blood on Jim’s thumb, and the strange tacks taped to the underside of the bike. Was it conceivable that something entered his bloodstream too? Something powerful enough to kill him?
Could the two of them have been dosed with the same poison?
The problem with all my questions, was the biggest question of all. The three lettered question. The one my nieces and nephews used to dr
ive me nuts… Why? Why would anyone want to poison Jim Schwarz and Karen Doyle?
And if they were poisoned, why was Lorena stabbed?
Was this one big plot? Or three individual, unrelated cases? Did someone murder all three, or were we looking for a trio of murderers? Right now, I had more questions than answers.
“You’ve got that look on your face like you discovered something,” said Lily, raising her voice a little louder for the benefit of our eavesdropping companions. “Like you discovered a really big rat.”
“A really big one,” I agreed. “Or three little, evil ones.”
Lily frowned. “Nope, you lost me.”
“I need to call…” I stopped and looked at the eavesdroppers. I couldn’t say “my boss” given that I was wearing a staff t-shirt, or Solomon, because I shouldn’t have mentioned him under any circumstances. After all, I was undercover. I had no connection to the agency. The eavesdroppers smiled encouragingly. One of them leaned over. “You need pest control, honey.” She handed me a card, which she fished out from the oversized purse she held in her lap. “My son is the best rat-catcher in Montgomery.”
“You must be so proud. Thank you,” I said, taking the card and laying it on the table. The image of the dead rat printed on the card didn’t do a lot for my appetite, but it didn’t kill it either.
“He’s single,” the lady continued.
“A real catch,” said her companion and they both giggled.
“Lexi already has a boyfriend,” said Lily, “and she’s very dedicated to her new job. She just started here. Relief cover for Anton.”
“We love Anton,” said Mother Rat-catcher. “He’s the best.”
“We heard what happened,” her companion confided. “Such a tragedy. And that nice, young lady too. You know, I was in the gym that day. I actually saw her going into the gym. She looked so healthy with her towel and water bottle. To think she would be dead that same day. Tragedy.”
Weapons of Mass Distraction (Lexi Graves Mysteries) Page 6
