by Amanda Lee
An older, scraggly-bearded gentleman who was watching the sparring match bellowed, “Mark!”
Mark immediately poked his head out of a doorway to the far left of the gym. “Hey, Marcy, come on back. Guys, you can put your eyes back in your head and close your mouths now.”
I walked past the boxing ring and punching bags where Mark waited to usher me into his office. The room was large and sparsely furnished. In one corner was a black metal desk with an uncomfortable-looking chair and a gray filing cabinet. A calculator and a laptop sat on the desk. In the other corner was a pyramid of free weights. The only other items in the room were a leather sofa and a flat-screen television, which were on opposite sides of the room. The rest of the office was wide-open space.
Mark pushed the door closed behind me. “As you can probably tell, we don’t have many female members. Because of that, I couldn’t find any dumbbells around here lighter than ten pounds.” He reached into a deep drawer of the desk and brought out two water bottles. “For today, these will have to suffice as your weights.”
I was glad to see that Mark had dropped the condescending attitude he’d adopted over the phone. Apparently, he’d decided my interest in him was professional after all.
I smiled and picked up the water bottles. “These are going to make me stronger?”
“No. After you leave here, I want you to go to a sporting goods store and buy two three-pound dumbbells,” he said. “When those stop being a challenge, I want you to go up to five-pound weights.”
“Okay.” This man was serious about his job. And given his good looks, women would likely beat a path to his door for personal training if they knew about him. “Why don’t you advertise? I’d never even have known about this place if I hadn’t met you Friday night.”
“I enjoy doing what I’m doing. Contrary to what anyone else thinks, I don’t feel the need to expand my business.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, surprised by the sharpness of his tone. “I wasn’t suggesting that at all.”
“I know,” he said. “And I apologize for being rude. I’ve just heard that spiel about growing my business a lot lately, and it’s become a touchy subject.”
“I understand. I don’t think you’re the only one who feels bigger isn’t necessarily better,” I said. “If I’m not mistaken, Blake had to make that clear to Graham Stott on Friday.”
Mark frowned. “Graham wanted Blake to expand?”
“From what I understand, he wanted Blake to begin franchising.” I shook my head. “Which is kinda goofy, if you ask me. How could a small, independent coffeehouse compete with Starbucks?”
“And why would Blake want to try to compete and lose the charm of MacKenzies’ Mochas?” Mark asked. “I don’t know why Graham thought we should all become business tycoons.”
“Maybe it was because he cared about all of you and that’s how he showed it—by trying to make sure you were financially secure,” I said.
“Graham might’ve been financially secure, but he was one of the most unhappy people I’ve ever known.”
I frowned. “How come?”
“Who knows? It always seemed to me like he had everything from a material standpoint but nothing that really mattered,” said Mark. “He was rather sad in that respect.” He took a deep breath. “But you aren’t here to chitchat. Let’s get down to business.”
Using the two water bottles as dumbbells, Mark showed me how to do biceps curls, rotational dumbbell arm curls, triceps overhead extensions, and triceps kickbacks.
“I want you to start out with three sets of twelve repetitions,” he said. “Did you tell me your shop is across the street from the Brew Crew?”
I nodded.
“Is it all right if I stop in within the next day or so to see how you’re doing? I’d like to check your form with your actual dumbbells.”
“That sounds great, Mark. Thanks.” As I was writing him a check for our session, I asked if he’d known Blake and Todd before they went to college together.
“I’m afraid I’ve known those two clowns pretty much all my life,” he said with a laugh. “We started kindergarten together.”
“Do you think it’s possible that either of them shot Graham?” I asked.
He sighed. “It’s hard for me to believe that one of them did, but I’ve come to realize over the years that people snap sometimes and do things they could never have imagined doing in a normal situation.” He accepted my check and placed it in the top desk drawer. “Do you need a receipt, Marcy?”
“No,” I said. “I get what you’re saying about people snapping, but murder? That’s a pretty extreme snap.”
“It was an extreme night,” Mark said. “And Todd and Blake can both be quick-tempered when provoked. Once, at a high school dance, some guy poured punch all down the front of Blake’s cousin’s dress.”
“On purpose?” I asked.
“Yeah. The cousin—Missy—had been dating the guy, but she broke things off with him. So he decided to humiliate her in front of everybody.”
“That’s terrible! What a jerk,” I said.
“Blake wasn’t able to get to the front of the gym in time to prevent the guy from upending the punch bowl on Missy, but he did break the guy’s nose. He might’ve done worse if the principal hadn’t pulled him off the guy.” Mark went over and opened the door for me, effectively indicating that our time was up. “All I’m saying is that you never know anybody as well as you think you do. For instance, a few months ago, my wife took off.” He shook his head slowly as though still in disbelief. “And I thought we were solid, you know? I was attentive, I listened to her, I gave her presents, I picked up after myself.…I don’t know where I went wrong.”
“One day, she’ll realize what she gave up,” I said. “And she’ll be sorry.”
He smiled slightly. “I think she might be sorry already.”
As I stepped into the hallway, I realized I’d forgotten to ask Mark about Tawny Milligan. But he’d already closed the door behind me, and it would seem odd to go back just to ask him if he remembered her. Besides, I could ask about her when he came by the shop to check out my dumbbell form.
Before starting the drive to McMinnville, I called Reggie. She answered on the first ring, and I put my phone on speaker before backing out of the gym’s parking lot.
“Ted told me Manu is coming home at the end of the week,” I said. “What great news.”
“Thanks. I’m thrilled,” she said. “I’ve missed him like crazy. By the way, have you seen Riley’s baby yet?”
“I have. I went by the hospital Saturday. Have you?”
“Yeah. I stopped in yesterday. Isn’t she precious?” Reggie asked.
“Adorable. Were you at the arraignment this morning?” I hadn’t seen Reggie there, but the courtroom had been fairly packed, so it was possible I’d overlooked her.
“No, I had to be at the library at eight thirty. I heard that the boys made bail, though, so that’s good,” she said.
“Reggie, why won’t they talk about what occurred on the night Graham was shot? They won’t tell me anything…none of them—not even Sadie. They won’t even give me a clue as to what happened. Why don’t they trust me?”
“Mitra, you can’t take it personally,” she said gently. “Many attorneys instruct their clients not to divulge details about a case to anyone, including their closest friends.”
“I know, but it sure feels like a slight.” I hoped that didn’t sound immature.
“Look at it this way: If you know something and are called to testify, you have to tell what you know,” said Reggie. “Spouses are different because of the marital communications privilege, which would explain why Sadie hasn’t told you what Blake might’ve confided to her.”
“I guess that makes sense. Let me ask you one other thing before I let you go.” I told her about Tawny Milligan, her sullied reputation, and her possible name change.
“And you feel this woman could be important to Graham’s mur
der investigation?” she asked.
“Well, I think she could at least speak with the defense attorneys about the dynamics at play among the men and possibly provide them with another viable suspect.”
“All right. I know a few folks at OSU,” she said. “I’ll give them a call tomorrow and see what I can do about helping you track down Miss Milligan.”
“Thank you, Reggie. I appreciate that.”
I was glad the restaurant bar where Charles and I had agreed to meet wasn’t crowded. Of course, it was Monday evening, but it was nice not to have to search through a throng of people to find him. He was sitting at the end of the bar watching a basketball game and drinking from a longneck.
Charles wasn’t the best-looking guy I’d ever seen, but he wasn’t unattractive either. He just didn’t seem to care much about his appearance. His shirttail was half in and half out of his pants, there was a large mustard stain on his tie, and he looked as if he might’ve forgotten to comb his hair this morning…and possibly yesterday morning as well.
“Hi.” I took a seat on the stool beside him.
“Hey, there. Want a beer?” he asked. “It’s dollar longneck night.”
“No, thanks,” I said with a smile. “I’d love a water, though.”
“How about a limeade?” He took a swig of his beer. “They make great ones here.”
“Okay. A limeade it is.”
Charles signaled the bartender and ordered my drink and another longneck. “You’ll like the limeade,” he told me. “Not too tart, not too sweet.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to be so familiar with this place,” I said. “It’s quite a drive from Portland.”
“It is, but it’s a nice halfway spot between Portland and the coast…among other areas. I sometimes meet sources here,” he said. “So, did you attend the arraignment?”
“I did.” I gave Charles the details of the hearing.
“I’m surprised the judge granted bail.” He didn’t look up from the notes he was scribbling. “Who sat the bench?”
“It was Judge Street. Both defense attorneys spoke about the men’s ties to the community, their businesses, and the financial hardships they’d suffer if denied bail,” I said.
“Very good.” He finally put down his nubby, chewed-on pencil and looked at me. “Anything else you can tell me?”
“I’m afraid not. I’d hoped to dig up more background information on Graham and any enemies he might have had, but I’ve not had much luck doing so.” I sighed. “It seems the woman in the best position to provide that information has disappeared.”
“Really? Who’s that?” he asked.
“Tawny Milligan,” I said.
Charles’s expression froze. Before he could speak, the bartender placed my drink in front of me and put another beer in front of Charles.
“Thank you,” I said, handing the man a five-dollar bill. I turned back to Charles, who was downing the rest of his first longneck with a trembling hand. “So, did you know her?”
“I knew her,” he said. “She was a sweet girl. She didn’t deserve to have her name dragged through the mud the way it was. That—” He broke off, staring at some point in the distance, his head turned toward but looking beyond me, his eyes seeing nothing except maybe a memory of Tawny Milligan.
I wondered if she’d had Charles fooled the way Keira was apparently able to trick or manipulate Todd. What did this Tawny chick have over all these fraternity guys? Was she the most gorgeous woman they’d ever seen? Was she like Snow White, and the fraternity brothers were the seven dopes? I suddenly imagined the fairy-tale princess in denim cutoffs and a halter top, singing while she and forest creatures cleaned the frat house and did the laundry.
“What happened to Tawny after graduation?” I asked.
With some effort, Charles shook off his haze and gave me his attention. “It’s like you said. She disappeared. It’s the way she wanted it. She wanted a fresh start.” He smiled faintly. “We all want that sometimes, don’t we?”
“Of course we do, but we know we can’t have it,” I said. “Do you have any idea where she went?”
Charles frowned and looked down at his thumbnail.
“Did she change her name?” I asked, determined to get some sort of answer, even if it was an I don’t know.
Unfortunately, before Charles could—or would—say anything, his phone rang. And I swear he looked relieved. “Excuse me.” He answered the call. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?” He grinned as he listened to the caller’s response. “I’m finishing up my meeting right now, and I’ll be home in a little over an hour. Do you need me to bring you anything?” He winked at me, as if I were somehow a party to the call or in cahoots with him on something. “All right, then. I love you, son. See you in a bit.” He ended the call.
“How old is he?” I asked.
“Nine…almost ten. He’s a handful, but he’s my life,” he said. “You got any kids?”
“No. Is he your only child?”
Charles nodded. “His mother and I discussed having another one…but she isn’t with us anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
“My sister is at my house with him now, and I really need to get home,” he said. “Thank you for meeting with me and keeping me posted on this murder investigation. It’s kind of hard to swallow, hitting so close to home and all.…But that’s another reason I want to keep up with it—not only for the paper, but for myself.”
“I understand completely.”
He pursed his lips as he put his nubby pencil into his shirt pocket. “I gotta ask again, though, Marcy, what are you hoping to get out of this? And don’t give me the song and dance about wanting to help your friends. You want me to give you credit in the article? Do you want to share the byline? What’s your angle?”
“I don’t know that I’d call it an angle,” I said, deciding to ask for something in return rather than telling him I was only after the truth and that it wasn’t a song and dance. A man who’d already decided everyone had an angle had already proved he wouldn’t buy that story. “I sure would love it if you could mention the Seven-Year Stitch in any articles your paper does on places of interest on the coast or in Tallulah Falls.”
“That’s it? That’s all you want?” he asked incredulously.
“That’s it.” I smiled. “My shop is fairly new, and I could use the publicity. I don’t have a large advertising budget, so this could be huge for me.”
“Fair enough! I’ll even do a story designed to showcase the shop in the big Memorial Day issue,” he said. “How’s that?”
“That would be fantastic.” It really would. Sadie had told me that during the summer—starting with Memorial Day weekend—the shopping complex would get a lot of tourists from up north as people traveled to the coast or on to California on vacation.
“Great.” He slid off the bar stool and patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”
When Charles left, I finished drinking my limeade and wondered how weird it was that two of the fraternity brothers’ marriages had apparently crumbled. And I’d talked with both men tonight. Was it merely statistics or was there more to it? I also thought about the reactions I got every time I brought up the name Tawny Milligan. It was time to throw that name out to Blake and Todd and watch their reactions.
Chapter Twelve
On my way home from McMinnville the night before, I’d stopped at a twenty-four-hour supercenter and bought a set of three-pound dumbbells. They were purple with a swirly design painted on them in silver. They were cute and chic, which made it more likely that I’d actually use them.
I let Angus into the shop and then ran back out to the Jeep to get the tote containing my dumbbells and the Mountmellick project. Since Angus was quick to settle in with a chew treat, I decided to put my things in my office and go through a few of my arm exercises.
I’d finished my biceps curls and was into my second set of triceps kickbacks when the bells over the door jing
led. “Welcome to the Seven-Year Stitch,” I called. “I’ll be right out.”
“Take your time,” Reggie shouted back.
I could hear her playing with Angus, so I hurried through the rest of the set before stepping out of my office.
Reggie whirled around as I entered the shop, her pale green tunic floating around her waist prettily. Her dark eyes narrowed behind her round wire-rimmed glasses. “You look flushed. What were you doing back there?”
“Arm exercises. I’m tired of being such a noodle-armed weakling.”
“Okay,” she said with a grin. “I’ll keep my noodle arms. I came by to tell you I heard from my friend at OSU.”
“Did she know anything about Tawny?” I asked, sitting on the sofa facing the window.
Reggie sat on the other sofa so we could look at each other while we were talking. “She remembered Tawny well because Tawny had worked for her. You see, my friend is a division secretary, and every year a couple of students assist her as part of a work-study-type program. It’s part of a financial aid package.”
“And Tawny was part of this work-study program?” I asked.
Reggie nodded. “Carol said Tawny was a real hardship case but a capable and determined young woman. Not only was she part of the school’s work-study program, Tawny cleaned, did odd jobs—including tutoring—for other students, and held down a part-time job at a restaurant on campus.”
“When did she have time to study…much less get a bad reputation?”
“I have no idea,” Reggie said. “But Carol told me Tawny graduated with honors.”
“What field was she going into?” I asked.
“She got her bachelor’s degree in human resources.”
I frowned. “It doesn’t make sense that she’d change her name. Wouldn’t she want all those accolades and employer references to follow her into her career?”
“A name change wouldn’t cause her to lose any of that,” said Reggie. “When a woman marries, she usually takes her husband’s surname. Then when the woman gets her transcripts or when she requests letters of recommendation, she simply reminds whomever she’s speaking with of the name she previously used.”
