The Dead-End Job Mysteries Box Set 2

by Elaine Viets

  Once again, Paula was oblivious to the line of admiring males sweating on the treadmills. She swept triumphantly down the aisle as if she were at the bikini competition, accepting her trophy.

  CHAPTER 12

  Even the makeup couldn’t hide Debbi’s mustache. It was thick as cake icing. The layers seemed to emphasize the dark hair on her upper lip. The acne lurked underneath, making her look like she was being eaten by a deadly disease.

  Helen shifted her eyes away from Debbi’s damaged face down to her black suit and saw something worse. Round craters appeared at the tops of the bodybuilder’s thighs where they joined her stringy torso. They looked as if someone had peeled back the skin and scooped out the tissue underneath with a melon baller.

  Helen wasn’t sure how to react, so she pretended nothing was wrong. “Hi, Debbi. Eight days until the East Coast Physique competition. Bet you can’t wait.”

  “What are you, stupid?” Debbi asked. “You think I can compete looking like this? Where is that pair of dildos?”

  “Which ones?” Helen asked, and then regretted she’d answered.

  “Tansi and Kristi, my so-called mentors. Their ‘advice’ ”—Debbi sliced the air with angry finger quotes—“helped me right out of the competition.”

  “Uh.” Helen was afraid to say they were upstairs in the freeweight room.

  “Never mind,” Debbi said. “I can see them myself.”

  Helen was relieved when Debbi charged up the steps. Carla, the curly-haired receptionist, said, “Hunker down, girl. Somebody miscalculated her steroid dose. That caused the facial hair and acne outburst. Debbi also depleted her carb and water intake, which made the—well, I can’t say fat because I don’t think she has any—whatever that is under her skin collapse. She won’t be able to compete after all that work and it can’t be fixed in time. Expect an explosion any moment.”

  Debbi’s rage started on cue: “You dipwads,” she shrieked. “I was perfect! Perfect! Look at me now. I can’t compete like this.”

  All activity in the gym stopped. Treadmills no longer ran to nowhere. Bicycles didn’t whirr. No one grunted in the weight room or sweated on the benches. Even the televisions seemed silent. Logan and the other salesmen tiptoed out of their area to see Debbi’s epic fury.

  Debbi had cornered her two trainers upstairs in the weight room. From where Helen stood, she could watch them behind the room’s glass partition, like a giant television. Debbi was standing by the weight rack, rows of weights arrayed like ammunition.

  Her muscle-bound mentors made sure they had a massive weight machine between themselves and Debbi before they started talking. “Calm down,” Tansi said. She looked like a lizard coming out from under a rock. “Getting angry will just make it worse.”

  “Worse! How could I possibly look worse?” Debbi shook with rage.

  Good question. Angry acne mountains pushed their way through the layers of makeup. Rivers of sweat ran between them.

  Debbi lumbered toward the pair, an uncontrollable force deformed by her rocklike outcroppings of muscle. Her screams ripped through the weight room: “Can you make this go away in time for the competition?”

  The trainers stayed silent.

  “I’ll get you! I’ll get you both. Everyone will know what you did. When I finish, you won’t be allowed to train a poodle.”

  Debbi hurled a fifteen-pound metal weight at Tansi as if she were flicking a Q-tip. The reptilian trainer deftly dodged the weight, and it slammed on the floor beside Evie. The small, gray-haired woman had been quietly pumping two-pound weights.

  The mouselike Evie stood up and roared, “Hey! Watch it! I wasn’t bothering you.”

  Helen was stunned by Evie’s sudden display of anger. It was as if a butterfly had grown fangs and attacked.

  Evie drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t much. In her sagging sweats, she looked like an animated ragbag. Debbi pushed her aside, and Evie fell against a black bench.

  The two mentors could have easily subdued Debbi and protected Evie. The overbuilt cowards stayed barricaded behind the weight machines while Debbi focused her rage on Evie. Helen could see the little woman was shaking with outrage and adrenaline, but her burst of courage was spent. Evie was too frightened to run. She was frozen by the bench.

  Debbi looked crazed and ready for another attack.

  “Carla, get Derek, quick!” Helen said. “I have to rescue Evie before Debbi kills her.”

  Helen ran upstairs to the weight room, dragged the cowering Evie away from the bench and pushed her toward the door. “Have a soothing glass of water in the lounge,” she said.

  Debbi grabbed another weight, ready to lob it at Helen.

  “Put that weight down,” Helen said. “Evie, go!” She shoved Evie through the door. The escapee scuttled downstairs toward the women’s locker room.

  Helen turned to Debbi. “Don’t take out your anger on Evie. She never hurt you.”

  “Shut up!” Debbi’s voice rose to a siren wail as she repeated, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” She couldn’t stop shouting those words. They turned into a chant.

  Debbi tossed the twenty-five-pound weight back and forth in her hands, enjoying its heft. Then she hurled it at Helen’s head. Helen ducked, and the weight hit the glass wall. The wall broke into pieces, falling outward in one giant section until it shattered on the hard gym floor.

  “Look what you made me do!” Debbi howled.

  “I didn’t make you do anything,” Helen said. “Calm down, Debbi. Please, get your temper under control, for the sake of your career.”

  “What career?” She pointed at her trainers, still huddled behind their metal barricade. “I could have been in the Hall of Fame here. Now I’m ruined. And I’m going to ruin you.”

  She grabbed a monster thirty-pound weight off the rack as if it were made of foam rubber, and charged like a maddened rhino. Helen stepped backward and ran into something solid, warm—and human.

  The darkly handsome Derek pushed Helen out of his way and stepped in front of Debbi.

  “You’re out!” he said. “You’ve attacked gym members. You’ve destroyed property, which you will pay for. Your membership is canceled. Clean out your locker and leave.”

  “But—” Debbi said.

  “Go!” Derek pointed a finger the way God must have when she banished Adam and Eve from Paradise.

  Debbi couldn’t slump her shoulders. The muscle plates wouldn’t permit that. But she slunk toward the women’s locker room. Helen watched her retreat from the top of the stairs.

  Helen thought the trouble was over. Then she saw Heather, the contender in the recent TV-channel battle, bar Debbi’s way. Was Heather going to fight her rival again?

  The red-haired beauty planted herself boldly in the bodybuilder’s path and held out a twenty-ounce go-cup. “I have a present for you,” she said.

  Debbi looked stunned. “Me? Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to exercise at a gym when someone is angry at me,” she said. “The bad vibes disturb my workout. I’ve brought you a protein shake I made myself. All natural, with real strawberries, blueberries, a banana for potassium and organic soy milk.”

  “I can’t drink it,” Debbi said. “I’m not—” Then she realized her circumstances had changed. “No, I can. I’m not competing in this contest. Not this time. I’ve had a setback, but that’s all it is, a setback. Next time I’ll find real trainers, not those two losers.”

  Debbi forgot she was banished from the gym, Helen thought. Or maybe she thought Derek would forgive her. Maybe he would. Everyone said she was a surefire winner.

  Debbi stabbed the plastic cup lid with a straw and drank the shake in three long gulps, not bothering to hide her thirst. The straw made empty sucking sounds.

  “That was so good,” Debbi said.

  “Shake?” Heather asked.

  “Definitely. I have to get the recipe,” Debbi said. “It’s the best protein shake I ever had. What kind of protein did you use: whey
or soy?”

  Heather hesitated. “Vanilla soy,” she said. Her pale skin flushed slightly. “I meant could we shake hands—like friends?”

  “Sure,” Debbi said. “I’m sorry I flew off the handle. I’m trying to control my temper, but I don’t always succeed.”

  Flew off the handle? Helen wondered. Debbi had destroyed the upstairs weight room less than two minutes ago.

  Debbi tossed the empty cup in the trash and shook Heather’s pale hand. “I’m glad we’re on better terms,” she said. “I’m going to change.”

  Helen didn’t know if Debbi meant her attitude or her clothes, but the tension seemed to lighten. Heather waved and walked lightly out the doors, as if a burden had been lifted from her.

  Helen, still shaken by the encounter with Debbi, held on to the stair rail.

  “Are you hurt?” Derek asked.

  Helen was trembling now that the danger was over. “No.” Her wobbling voice betrayed her.

  “You did a good thing when you stepped in and saved Evie,” he said. “You look shaken. Go home. Take the day off. Watch that broken glass.”

  As she stepped carefully across the crunchy glass, she heard Derek chastising the two would-be trainers. “You were using steroids, weren’t you? I turned a blind eye to that. Now I’m giving you fair warning. Any hint—and I mean any—that you two freaks are shooting up on this property and you’re permanently barred. And that includes those little trips to Tansi’s Neon. If you get anyone here hooked on steroids, I’ll call the cops.”

  “We just did what any trainers would,” Kristi said.

  “No, you didn’t,” Derek said. “You took a promising bodybuilder and ruined her. Debbi is so out of control, she could have murdered someone. Do you want a list of everyone at this gym she’s started a fight with?”

  More silence.

  “Good,” Derek said. “Because I don’t have time to name them all. Debbi even picked a fight with little Evie, the most harmless person here.

  “Get out of my sight. Both of you. You disgust me.”

  Helen left before the two trainers, eager to be away from the gym. She dreaded coming back tomorrow morning.

  CHAPTER 13

  At five forty-five, the morning air felt like warm soup. Helen kissed Phil good-bye in the parking lot at Fantastic Fitness and slid out of his Jeep, gym keys in her hand. Even the sun isn’t up yet, she thought as she made her way to the front door.

  But the gym members were. The door was blocked by bodies. Some were thick with muscle, others larded with fat. The fat ones wanted to punish themselves for their excesses. The fit ones were anxious to keep their glow of sweaty grace.

  “Excuse me,” Helen said, pushing her way through the spandexed throng. “The gym will open in fifteen minutes. Give me fifteen minutes, please.”

  She tapped in the security code on the pad and turned the key in the lock, then opened the doors just wide enough to slide in. Disappointed gym members pounded on the doors, their paradise denied.

  Helen flipped on the lights and savored the cool, still air, then turned on the pounding workout music. That made her move faster. To the relentless techno-beat, she booted up the reception desk computers and took the phones off the automatic answering system.

  She opened the men’s locker room. All the showers were clean, their white curtains uniformly pushed back. Not so much as a damp towel marred the dressing room benches. She refilled the water dispensers and sliced lemons for the garnish and crossed toward the women’s locker room.

  Helen checked the clock. Two minutes to go. She refilled the water pitchers in the women’s lounge and set out a new stack of plastic cups and another plate of sliced lemons. Then she checked the women’s locker room.

  All of the shower curtains were pushed back, except the curtain on the shower in the far corner. It hung oddly. Derek must have been in a hurry last night and missed it when he checked the gym. Helen went into the locker room to push it back. There was a black gym shoe on the floor near the showers. Someone must have forgotten her shoe. Helen moved closer and saw the shoe was still on a foot. Which was attached to a leg. A muscular leg that ended in cratered skin where it joined a ripped body. A body where every muscle was stripped of fat. Debbi, now gray-green under the acne bumps, lay faceup inside the shower.

  “Oh, no! Oh, please, no. Don’t be dead,” Helen begged.

  But she knew this prayer would not be answered.

  The gym’s most promising bodybuilder would not be competing anymore.

  CHAPTER 14

  Helen fumbled with the gym phone for almost a full minute before she could dial 911.

  “Help!” she cried when the 911 operator answered. Her shrill, scared voice seemed to belong to someone else. “There’s a dead woman here. At Fantastic Fitness. In West Hills. In the locker room. No, I don’t think the paramedics can help her. But you can send them. I’m not a doctor.”

  She knew she was babbling. As she talked, Helen began to absorb the 911 operator’s calm strength and speak more slowly.

  She sat down at the registration desk, took a deep breath and said, “Yes, ma’am, I’m here alone. There’s no one else in the building with me. I don’t think so, anyway. I don’t know if the woman was killed. There’s no blood or bruises. I can’t step outside to wait for the police. There’s a crowd by the door, and they want to kill me.”

  Helen could see an angry mob of gym members, shouting and smacking the locked doors.

  “Get off the phone and open up!” screamed a bullet-headed man. Bullet Head slammed a meaty fist against the metal doorframe. Helen hoped he’d bruise his hand.

  “It’s six twelve,” his beefy sidekick yelled. He kicked the door so hard the glass rattled, but it didn’t break. The gym building was stronger than the members—so far.

  “No, I’m not in that kind of danger,” Helen tried to explain over the cries of the furious rabble. “The members are angry because I didn’t open the gym on time. Wait! The police are here. I see their car in the parking lot. I’m going to hang up and unlock the doors for them. No, I won’t open until the officers are at the doors.”

  Helen was relieved when two muscular West Hills cops in their mid-twenties climbed out of a patrol car in front of the building. The woman officer looked strong enough to rescue an entire orphanage. She was so close that Helen could read her name tag—M. DORSEY.

  “Get the yellow tape,” Officer Dorsey told the other cop. His name tag said N. PICKARD. He jogged back to the patrol car, elbowing protestors out of his way.

  “I got a right!” shrieked a well-toned woman in navy shorts.

  “This is my gym,” a man in baggy orange shorts yelled.

  “This is my crime scene,” Officer Dorsey said. The sturdy woman cop grabbed Baggy Shorts by his stretched-out shirt and said, “Get out of here, you idiot.”

  “Get your hands off me,” he shouted. “I’m a lawyer. I’ll sue.”

  “I love lawyers,” Officer Dorsey said. “How much do you make an hour?”

  “Five hundred dollars.” He puffed out his narrow chest, proud of his earning prowess.

  “How about if I slap the cuffs on you and arrest you for failure to obey the lawful order of a police officer? That could take several thousand dollars of your valuable time.”

  The lawyer slunk off, trailed by Ms. Toned. The rest of the throng refused to move.

  “Crime scene?” a man in green Nike shorts asked. “Was there a murder?”

  The word “murder” bounced through the crowd like a loose balloon on a windy day. A man in a faded black T-shirt shouted, “Who died?” The crowd was growing larger.

  “Is Carla safe?” a man called out. That was Bryan Minars, hunky husband of Coronado Investigations’ client Shelby. When did he join the party? Helen wondered. And why was he asking about the curly-haired receptionist?

  “Is Carla safe? She’s such a sweetie.” “What a Waste” Will stood next to Bryan, a frown creasing his smooth brow.

  Log
an pushed his way to the front. “It’s not Heather? Is Heather dead?” Since when was the salesman worried about the cute, creamy redhead?

  “Please tell me it wasn’t pretty Paula,” one of her suckers begged. Helen recognized him as one of the treadmill runners fixated on her fabulous body. Helen wondered if the chubby older man would bother holding in his gut for anyone else.

  She saw several women gym members in the crowd. Why weren’t they asking about Derek? Didn’t they care about the men? What about the less spectacular women? Did only the beautiful deserve to live?

  “We aren’t telling you anything until we know something,” the fearless Officer Dorsey said.

  “Even if somebody was killed, you wouldn’t have to close the whole gym,” Logan said. “They didn’t die in the sales area, did they? I can still sell memberships. Look at this crowd.” The gym’s number one salesman was prowling for prospects. Even death didn’t stop him.

  “Out!” the woman cop commanded. “Leave. All of you.”

  Camera phones flashed and photographed the police officer shooing away the crowd. This time, they scattered like spandexed chickens. Helen heard engines start as the stragglers trickled across the parking lot.

  Officer Pickard, the male cop with the burred blond head, ran back with a roll of yellow tape.

  “What took you so long?” Officer Dorsey asked.

  “You can open that door now,” she told Helen.

  Helen flipped the door lock open for the two West Hills cops and discovered that at least two gym members had stayed behind. Bullet Head and his beefy friend tried to shove Helen aside and enter the gym.

  “You should have opened at six,” Bullet Head said as he pushed Helen against the doorframe. His faded red shirt stank of old sweat. Helen couldn’t breathe.

  “Move!” she gasped.

  He didn’t budge.