“Colleen Caruso?” she asked, guessing correctly because I carried an aura about me that screamed to the physically fit that I didn’t belong anywhere near a place like Body Beautiful.
I dug in my pocketbook for my notepad. “Hi! Yes! I’m Colleen Caruso. I’ll be writing up the story, and my photographer will take a few pictures of the Zumba class. I didn’t see his car in the lot, though. We’ll have to wait until he arrives.”
Belinda came around the desk and guided me to some seats near the huge plate glass window that overlooked the parking lot. “We can get some of your questions out of the way first,” she said, taking the lead. “This way you’ll be free to observe a class in action. Zumba is loads of fun. Lots of moving and music—it really gets the blood pumping! What a workout!”
I wrote down Belinda’s comments, hoping to link them to some good cardio workout health tips.
“I don’t exercise,” I admitted, glancing to my left at a vast area of the gym dedicated to treadmills and elliptical machines. “I used to jog a little, but it always seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Just waking up and putting on running shoes—and then you have shower right after or else …” Not to mention the chaos that had ensued the last time I’d gone for a jog and discovered body number one of the year.
Belinda laughed. “You’re really not into any of this at all, are you?”
I shook my head. “Maybe we can cover a little background about Body Beautiful. How many years has this place been open?”
“Two years in December,” Belinda said. “When Sue and Leona first opened the gym, they thought having a gym specifically geared toward women …”
“Sue?” I asked, looking up from the notepad. “You mean Sue Jeffries?”
“Yes. I thought you knew. She seems so lost without poor Leona. I can’t tell you how much we miss her.”
“Tell me about Sue Jeffries,” I said, though my mind was racing.
“She and Leona were partners in Body Beautiful.”
Sue Jeffries’s name kept turning up like a bad penny. It seemed the blonde bombshell was no slouch. How convenient that she also had a partnership in Body Beautiful. With Leona Barber out of the picture, I wondered if the gym would be solely hers.
“I don’t like to spread rumors, and of course I could be wrong, but I always thought Sue and Leona’s husband had a thing going on,” Belinda whispered.
Inwardly, I smiled. “What makes you think so?”
“Their little jaunts to Atlantic City, for one thing. Either that or they were sneaking away for Gamblers Anonymous meetings, but I doubt it.”
“They went without Leona?” I asked.
“Leona was a quiet girl. She was into health and fitness—and a little on the shy side. She wasn’t the glamorous type—the total opposite of Sue Jeffries. She really couldn’t afford to go half with Sue on this place, but she borrowed some money to add to her own, and managed to buy in.”
“There’s a silent partner?” I asked.
The woman nodded. “Derek Oliver—the Hot Air King’s father.”
Out the window, I spotted Willy Rojas pulling his Jeep into a parking space. He came inside with his camera dangling from a strap and banging against his chest.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, a little out of breath. “There was a big accident on Route 35 in Hazlet—five cars! I got stuck in traffic. Got some great shots, though.”
I introduced the staff photographer to Belinda, who squealed with delight when Willy suggested he take a picture of her at the front desk.
“Now I need to take some shots of that exercise class,” Willy said when he finished with her.
“Zumba!” she told him, like he would know the difference. “Room 3. All the ladies know you’re coming. They’re very excited.”
The music was blasting loud and clear before we even entered the room. Willy smiled broadly. “Merengue.”
“Aren’t you a little young to know what that is?”
“Merengue, mambo, samba—it’s all the music of my people!” he informed me.
We opened the door and stepped inside, where fourteen highly toned contortionists danced an entire day’s worth of calories away. Sue Jeffries, Tranquil Harbor’s answer to Amelia Earhart, led the group at the front of the class. She wore a bright orange, formfitting, stretchy outfit that accentuated her curves and wasp-like waist. Her blond ponytail swung to the rhythm of the energetic Latin music, while the jewelry on her wrists rattled like maracas.
Willy jumped into action, snapping away at the class filled with tight, swaying rumps as they kept in beat with the music exploding from a sound system across the room.
I began to write, with more than a little envy in my heart concerning these rich, sculpted women who were free enough to spend the afternoon dancing instead of working, cleaning, and cooking.
“I must be doing something wrong,” I mumbled, scratching down a few notations about the music and the obvious benefits all that movement had on the cardiovascular system.
The music came to an abrupt stop. I looked up from the notebook.
“Would you like to give it try?” Sue Jeffries called out from the front of her class.
Over a dozen heads turned to look at me. I shook my head no, no way. The instructor took my noncompliance as a personal challenge.
“Come on, Mrs. Caruso. Give it a try!”
Her class of firm, tight beauties in butterfly-bright workout gear began to clap. I didn’t really have a choice. I joined Sue Jeffries at the front of the room. From over in the corner, one of the women started the music—soft and slow at first. I tossed my purse and notebook aside, and mimicked the instructor’s moves with a fair amount of confidence in my dancing abilities. Then the pace quickened, the beat grew stronger, and more intense samba music filled the air. I struggled to keep pace, mimicking Sue Jeffries’s every move. Not bad, Colleen! My left calf muscle chose that moment to cramp up so badly I could have sworn I’d gotten caught in a bear trap.
“Ouch!” I yelled and sat down on the floor.
The music stopped, and the instructor knelt beside me. “Are you okay? My God, we’ve never had that happen—and we have eighty-year-olds in the Zumba gold class. Shall I call an ambulance?”
If I’d had the strength, I would have kicked the blond bombshell in the teeth. As it was, I sat on my butt and massaged my calf until Willy came over and offered his hand to hoist me up.
“That went really well,” he joked. “You showed her.”
“Cut me some slack, Willy,” I muttered.
I held onto Willy’s arm and kicked off my sandals. Though the heels on them were only two inches high, I didn’t think I should chance it with my knotted calf muscle. Willy, ever gallant, reached down and snatched them off of the floor. Sue Jeffries took my other arm, and the three of us walked out. Well, I actually hobbled to the reception area.
Belinda at the front desk came around with a cold gel pack and slammed it on my calf when Sue Jeffries deposited me in a chair. I felt out of shape and decrepit.
“I think we should do the interview out here,” I told Sue Jeffries. “Are you up for that?”
“Are you?” she quipped.
Willy grinned, falling for the woman’s many obvious charms. I shot him what I hoped was a malevolent glare and took out my notebook to write.
“I can manage,” I told her. “Fill me in on Zumba and how it helps maintain a healthy heart.”
As the instructor talked, I managed to steal sideways glances between writing. She had a slight, non-Jersey accent, and she seemed to choose her words carefully. The woman was in unbelievably good shape. I could see why Willy was so enthralled with her. Her body was beautifully toned, her hair was perfect, and her arms were firm and tight. She was, in fact, in such good shape, I thought she’d be capable of tossing her business partner from a plane without too much trouble. Could she have killed Leona to get her half of the Body Beautiful gym? Was it even deeper than that, a murder that would get her t
he business and Leona’s husband? I thought back to my original assessment about the body out in the field. One person flew the plane, while someone else either struggled with or tossed the victim. Sue Jeffries had a pilot’s license. Maybe Hank flew and Sue threw, or vice versa.
“I understand Leona Barber was your partner in this venture, with Derek Oliver as a more-or-less silent partner,” I said, hoping to catch Ms. Jeffries off guard. “What happens now?”
“I haven’t spoken to Leona’s beneficiaries about it yet,” she told me. “I suppose it all depends on what Hank and Derek plan to do with their part of the business.”
“Would you like to keep it going? How is this place doing? Is it lucrative? Would you be able to run it alone?”
Sue Jeffries stood and looked at me like I was a medieval inquisitor. “I’d rather not get into the particulars with you,” she said. “The business end of Body Beautiful is my concern, not yours, and certainly not of any concern to your readers.”
I knew I had to tread lightly. Body Beautiful was, of course, an advertiser. The Crier couldn’t afford a dissatisfied customer while ad sales were down.
I put on my very best schmoozy persona. “Of course it isn’t. I was just hoping you’d be able to keep this place going. After all, from the looks of your class, it certainly seems to be working. And you’re a walking advertisement for Body Beautiful.”
Sue reached down and patted my hand. “Cut the bull, my dear. I left my wading boots at home today.”
I cringed. Another younger woman had just talked to me like I was her grandmother. I let Trina Cranford get away with it. For the sake of the newspaper, I had to let Sue Jeffries get away with it too.
After the interview, Willy helped me out to the parking lot. I couldn’t help but wonder what I had accomplished inside Body Beautiful, except to get the scoop on cardio health, pull a muscle, and alienate Sue Jeffries.
“This is how I’ll walk when I get old,” I said to Willy, limping along.
“And the days are going by faster and faster,” he told me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means none of us are getting any younger.”
That was easy for him to say. Willy was a good-looking kid, twenty-six if he was a day, with no responsibilities and his whole life ahead of him. I was hurtling toward middle age at the speed of light, recovering from an ugly divorce, and facing financial limbo in my future. My writing career wasn’t exactly taking off, and I had arrow-straight hair, thanks to my own stupidity. Yes, my night with Ken Rhodes had been a bright spot. But I couldn’t let myself depend on him to be my salvation. I still wasn’t sure how he felt about me, or how I felt about him, for that matter. It was still too new for any of that. I reminded myself to be careful what I wished for, that it might come to fruition.
My only salvation was the kids, and they were depending on me to keep them fed, clothed, and on the right track so their future wouldn’t be as dismal as my own.
Some role model I had turned out to be.
“Willy, I have to figure out these murders,” I said. “We get two murders in Tranquil Harbor, and somehow everyone involved is connected, but I’m not getting the full picture.”
Willy opened the Nissan’s door for me and I slid behind the wheel. “It’ll come to you,” he said. “Are you able to drive?”
“I pulled my left calf,” I told him. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll meet you back at the paper. Talk it over with the boss, maybe Meredith too. Three heads are better than one.”
I slipped the key in the ignition and started the car. “I don’t think so. I’m hitting the beach. I’ll figure it out down there.”
* * *
The municipal lot was completely empty. The beach in Tranquil Harbor stretched a little over two miles, yet there wasn’t another soul in sight. The gulls were there, of course, screeching their odd bird laughter. They flew nearby, hoping to steal a crust of bread or a discarded french fry.
“Sorry, guys,” I called out, showing them my empty hands. “Maybe next time.”
I hobbled on the sand to the water-line, slipped off my sandals, and rolled my pants up above the knee. I waded in, though technically I supposed I could get arrested for doing so. There were no lifeguards and the beach had been closed since Labor Day, the official end of summer in the shore communities.
I could feel my calf muscle loosening. The cold water helped. I thought maybe I should stick my head under the water to help unknot my brain as well. Aside from the obvious reasons, there was something about Sue Jeffries that irked me. Could anyone be that perfect? She had looks, money, and ambition—not to mention a glamorous lifestyle. What would a woman like that see in a guy like Hank Barber?
And two murders! In Tranquil Harbor? It would be laughable if it hadn’t actually happened. The only connection between the two victims was that their respective husbands were friends. I knew I had to get home and write it out, get something down on paper to focus on. There had to be a common denominator, whatever that was.
I walked back onto the sand very slowly, hoping the cold water had been enough to ease at least some of the pain in my calf. A small ache lingered, but it was better than the white-hot throbbing I’d felt on the floor in the Zumba class. When I finally reached the parking lot, I was greeted by a Tranquil Harbor squad car. My young friend, Officer O’Reilly, stuck his head out the open driver’s side window.
“What’s going on, Mrs. Caruso?”
“Am I under arrest?” I asked.
“Were you swimming or just wading in the bay?”
“Wading. I thought the cold water would help my calf. I pulled it in a Zumba class.”
O’Reilly smirked. “No offense, but you don’t look like the Zumba type.”
“Apparently I’m not,” I told him, reaching down to massage the muscle.
“Why are you taking Zumba classes? You’re not fat!”
I was on the verge of loving the kid. “Thank you, but I was covering a story. I’m not into self-torture.”
“You met Sue Jeffries?” he asked. He opened the door and stepped out of the black and white. “I heard she’s taking over for Leona Barber. She’s part owner of that workout place. Did you know?”
“I just learned about it today,” I said, settling against the squad car for support. “Any thoughts about it?”
“I’ve got plenty of thoughts.”
“Like, what kind of thoughts?”
“Like, is this off the record?” he asked me. “I’d hate to lose my job because I talked to you.”
“Yes, of course. I won’t mention your name. I won’t even mention there’s such a thing as a source in my column. I just need something to go on. A little something. A snippet.”
“Okay. Well, it’s about the widowers. You know, Hank Barber and Matthew Oliver?” Officer O’Reilly came beside me and leaned against the car. He looked straight ahead as he spoke. “It seems both guys were having some financial difficulties.”
I could understand Hank Barber being on shaky financial ground because of his gambling losses, but Matthew Oliver, the Hot Air King? It didn’t seem possible.
“Those Olivers have more money than God,” I told him. “Why on earth would Matthew be feeling the pinch? His business makes money hand over fist!”
“He loses money hand over fist too. Both of them do. They gamble, Mrs. Caruso, and I’m not talking a hundred here and a hundred there. They’ve lost thousands and thousands. Ron Haver sure seemed interested in their finances.”
“Did Ron get a court order to go over their business records?” I asked.
James O’Reilly shook his head. “Insufficient cause for a search warrant. He’s working on it, though. What that man needs is an assistant prosecutor who’s friendly with a big-hearted judge to sign it for him,” he told me. “Off the record.”
I wanted to hug him but didn’t dare. “Off the record,” I agreed.
“There’s something else,” he began. “I
heard you were interested in Dizzie Oliver’s jewelry. She was wearing bracelets on her wrist when you found her body.”
“I didn’t know for sure until Ron Haver told me he returned all of Dizzie’s jewelry to her husband.”
“Yeah, but did you know that the really expensive bracelet you’re so interested in wasn’t listed as one of her personal effects?”
I wanted to reach out and kiss him. “You are such a sweetheart,” I told him.
“Sweetheart or not, if you mention my name in your column, I’ll have to shoot you,” he warned me.
“I won’t tell a soul,” I promised.
He got back in his squad car and quickly closed the door. “By the way, if we ever run into each other on a dark, stormy night again, you don’t have to wait to make sure I’m okay before you leave.”
I nodded.
“I’m an officer of the law, you know. I have a gun and everything.”
“I realize that,” I said.
“But thanks, Mrs. Caruso. I appreciate you looking out for me just the same.” He stuck his arm out the window and high-fived me, then started his car and drove off into the sunset.
17
I drove straight home from the waterfront and turned on my computer, keeping my little chat with Officer O’Reilly in mind. I went straight for Craigslist and searched the jewelry listings that were posted over the past several weeks. Nothing even remotely similar to Dizzie’s gorgeous bangle bracelet turned up. I made a mental note to check out the few area pawn shops and antique businesses, though I doubted anyone would be stupid enough to bring in such an easily traceable piece of jewelry.
Hide nor Hair (A Jersey Girl Cozy Mystery Book 2) Page 14
