A Real Basket Case

by Beth Groundwater

  “Sometimes you wield your honesty like a tomahawk, Deb.”

  She laughed. “Sorry about that.”

  “Okay, here’s a harder question. What about the call to Roger’s office? I didn’t tell anyone at the gym where my husband works, not even Enrique. Only Ellen and Jill knew.”

  “You didn’t have to tell anyone. Remember that charity photo of you two in the paper?”

  “That was after Enrique—”

  “Think back to the original article. Didn’t you tell me Roger’s company bought a table for that event?”

  Claire closed her eyes and pictured the original group photo of the people at their table. “The caption. Yes, the photo caption named Roger’s company. But—”

  “Back issues of newspapers can be searched on-line. I do it all the time. I lay odds Enrique compared his class roster against the society pages, too.”

  “Ouch.” Claire grimaced. Is that why he came on to me? “You mean, to select his next seduction target.”

  “All right, I’m tucking away my tomahawk. Let’s get back to the gym ladies. Is today your regular class?”

  “No. Enrique’s class was Monday and Wednesday mornings.”

  “Would any of his class members be at the gym today?”

  “Brenda would. She’s the one who bought cocaine from him.”

  “Start with her.”

  Claire tried to roll onto her side, but her aching body resisted. “I’m exhausted.”

  “You need to find out something by tomorrow, right?”

  “I know, I know. You’ve put my brain in gear, but the bod’s still got the brakes on.” With a groan, Claire pushed herself up into a sitting position. “I’ll drag myself over there. But how do I talk to these women? I can’t just ask them outright if they killed Enrique.”

  Deb laughed. “You’ve discovered investigating isn’t easy. Here’s what you do. Take advantage of women’s natural tendency to gossip. Even better, if you find out one is mad at another, or dislikes her, you can feed off that.”

  “As far as I know, Brenda isn’t involved enough with anyone in the class to have made enemies.”

  “But she was steamed at you for lying to her about needing to buy cocaine. Therefore, she has the potential to lose her cool. Get her emotional, so she doesn’t think through what she’s telling you. Same goes for the others. I should finish my testimony today, so I can drive down to help you tomorrow. In the meantime, here’s some hints for what you need to do today.”

  Claire listened intently. After hanging up, she eased her stiff body out of bed. She adjusted the shower water as hot as she could tolerate and let the spray beat on her head and shoulders until she could rotate her neck without wincing. Maybe going to the gym would be good. She could work out the kinks in her sore muscles.

  She peered in the mirror at the scrape on her cheek. She covered it with two small flesh-colored bandages, in place of the large gauze pad she had taped on the night before. As she dressed, she tried out and rejected a dozen stories for how she’d gotten the injury. She’d just have to gloss over it.

  She arrived at the gym right after the ten o’clock aerobics class ended, and found Brenda dressing in the locker room—a red pantsuit this time, with red and gold matching jewelry. Claire looked down at her own jean shirt, khakis, and scuffed tennis shoes, and stifled a sigh.

  “What happened to your cheek?” Brenda stared at Claire.

  “It’s just a little scrape.” Claire plastered what she hoped was a disarming grin on her face. “Nothing important. I need to talk to you again. Can I buy you lunch?”

  Brenda hesitated, looking ill at ease. “What’s this about?”

  “Don’t worry. Not what we talked about last time. Do you want to eat in the health-food bar here or somewhere else?”

  “Here.” Brenda slung her gym bag over her shoulder. “I don’t have much time.”

  Claire considered asking if Brenda had another appointment with Travis, then thought better of it. She led the way to a booth at the rear of the snack bar so they would have some privacy.

  After they placed their orders, Brenda said, “Did you find out if Travis killed Enrique?”

  Claire hesitated, not sure she should divulge what she knew.

  “I helped you, Claire. Turnabout is fair play. I need to know what kind of person I’m dealing with.”

  She’s right. I owe her. “I know for a fact that Travis didn’t kill Enrique. I can’t tell you how I know, but I think some woman who had an affair with Enrique in the past might have killed him. You know, a woman scorned . . .” Pausing for effect, Claire sipped her spring water.

  With pursed lips, Brenda drew back. “You don’t think I killed him!”

  Claire shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Not only no, but hell no. I never slept with the man.” Eyes blazing, Brenda crossed her arms.

  “So you didn’t like him?”

  “I don’t like what you’re insinuating. It was only business between us, nothing more.”

  Claire decided she’d better back down before Brenda left in a huff. “Okay, I believe you. But since you had a business relationship with Enrique, maybe you know which women from the gym have had liaisons with him.”

  “What do you plan to do with the names?”

  “I’ll ask each of them what they know about the others and what they thought of Enrique, to see if anyone showed jealousy toward his other women or excessive anger at him.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I’ll take my findings to the police. Try to get them to investigate someone other than my husband.”

  Brenda snorted. “Good luck.”

  “I know Roger didn’t kill Enrique.” Claire leaned forward. “That means a murderer is running around loose, maybe to kill again. If I were you, I’d be scared. You might know something that would make you a target.”

  The waitress brought their lunch order.

  Brenda took a forkful of teriyaki chicken salad. She chewed slowly then swallowed. “I never thought of it that way.”

  Slicing her grilled eggplant, Claire said, “Whoever shot Enrique should pay for the crime and needs to be taken off the streets. My innocent husband shouldn’t go to jail in the killer’s place.”

  Brenda raised a skeptical brow. “You’re sure your husband didn’t kill him?”

  “A hundred percent sure. I have evidence to back up Roger’s story that he was framed, but it’s not enough for the police.”

  Brenda studied Claire for a moment, then laid down her fork. “I’ll tell you right off the bat that Enrique didn’t discuss his affairs with me, so I can only tell you what I saw.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere. “I understand. What did you see?”

  “First, your friend Jill. She stopped Enrique to talk to him a few times after class, once making him late for an appointment with me. It looked as though she was flirting with him.”

  “Jill told me he turned her down.”

  “I can’t say whether they actually got together or not. But if he turned her down, wouldn’t she have a reason to be ticked off?” Brenda peered at Claire, then scooped another bite of salad into her mouth.

  “You’re right. She has to be on the list.” Claire didn’t believe Jill could kill anyone, but who knew who might be capable of murder deep down inside? “Anyone else?”

  “About a year ago I saw Enrique leave the gym with a woman from the class, but she dropped out a few months ago. Someone said she moved. I don’t remember her name.” Brenda shrugged. “Then there’s Karla Deavers.”

  “Karla?”

  “The short, curly-haired redhead who stands in the front.”

  “I remember her.” Finally a useful name. “She had an affair with Enrique?”

  “I think so. A few months ago. I saw them talking and he had his arm around her, you know, possessive-like. Then I saw them walk into the gym together one morning.”

  “I’ll try to catch Karla tomorrow after class.”
r />   “You can catch her today if you want.” Brenda glanced at her watch. “She takes the eleven o’clock yoga class on Thursdays. That class will be over in a few minutes.”

  “Great. Do you know of anyone else?”

  Brenda thought for a moment. “Not with any certainty.”

  Claire signaled the waitress and asked for the bill, then said to Brenda, “Thanks, I really appreciate your help.”

  “You haven’t said anything to the police about . . . you know?”

  Claire looked directly into her companion’s fearful eyes. “No, I haven’t. And I don’t intend to.”

  Relief flooded Brenda’s face. “Thanks.”

  Claire glanced at the bill and pulled a twenty out of her purse. She studied Brenda. “Do you ever think of quitting?”

  “Every day, Claire. Every day.” Brenda drank the rest of her iced tea and stood. “Thanks for the lunch.”

  While she finished her grilled vegetables, Claire watched Brenda walk away. On the outside the successful-looking architect with the carefully coordinated outfits epitomized self-confidence and poise. But on the inside, she fought her desire for cocaine every day. Claire no longer envied her.

  Could Brenda have killed Enrique? Brenda had sounded believable when she said she hadn’t slept with Enrique. She was not a woman scorned. But did the tormented young architect have another motive?

  Walking into the locker room to find Karla, Claire’s thoughts turned to the redhead. Claire remembered the woman as being a talker, annoying her classmates with her constant prattle, usually juicy gossip about someone else. Maybe Claire could use that trait to her advantage.

  Karla stood alone at the third row of lockers. The green sweater she wore complemented her bouncy red curls. Awkwardly, she straddled the bench with her short legs as she applied makeup in front of a small mirror on the wall.

  Claire smiled. She’d often had to do the same thing when the space in front of the large, lighted mirror over the sinks became crowded. “They don’t make it easy for you, do they?”

  Karla glanced at her in the mirror. “The lighting sucks, too.”

  “Yeah, the shadows make me look even scarier than I usually do without makeup.”

  Karla snapped the cap on her lipstick and faced Claire. “What brings you here today? Aren’t you in the Monday, Wednesday class?”

  “Yes, but I’m here today because I need your help.”

  Karla’s eyes went wide. “My help? Whatever for?”

  “You know who I am, right? Claire Hanover.”

  “I know. Your husband shot—”

  Holding up her hand to silence Karla, Claire glanced around, then whispered, “I’m convinced my husband didn’t kill Enrique, and I’m looking for clues as to who might have.”

  Frowning, Karla stiffened.

  Claire rushed on before Karla had a chance to refuse to help. “I’m new to the gym and haven’t met many people. Since you seem to know everyone, I thought you might know some things about the other women in the class that could help me.”

  Karla raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Why should I help you?”

  Claire realized she would have to play on Karla’s love of gossip. “I hoped I could appeal to your sense of justice. I have proof that someone tried to frame Roger. And there’s more.”

  Karla stopped piling things in her gym bag. “More?”

  “Yes, more.” Claire had set the hook. She leaned in close, winked, and whispered, “More than the police know, more than anyone here knows.”

  Karla’s eyes narrowed. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lower lip. “Interesting.”

  “I’ll tell you all about it over lunch, my treat. All I ask is that you be willing to tell me what you know.”

  As Karla wavered, Claire threw out a clincher. “Let’s go someplace where we can talk in private. How about the Cliff House in Manitou Springs? Do you like Continental food?”

  “I never turn down a meal at the Cliff House.”

  Karla’s eyes glittered, either from anticipating a luxurious meal at one of the most exclusive restaurants in town or a sumptuous serving of gossip. Claire couldn’t tell which and didn’t care.

  Half an hour later, Claire sipped a glass of Chardonnay and surveyed the elegant dining room. Waiters glided between tables covered with cream-colored damask linens that matched the walls, on which hung oil paintings of local scenes—the Garden of the Gods, Manitou Springs, the Rocky Mountains. The clink of silver on china and ice in crystal goblets punctuated quiet conversations at other tables.

  She leaned across the table to speak softly to Karla, as if sharing a monumental secret. Claire described the phone call from a mysterious woman to Roger’s office, leaving out the Hispanic accent.

  Karla’s eyes grew wider as she gulped her wine.

  “I’m looking for the woman who made that call. From another source, I got the impression that many of the women at the gym either bought cocaine from Enrique or”—Claire raised an eyebrow—“had affairs with him.”

  “I didn’t realize someone already took over Enrique’s coke dealings. I’ll have to check out the auto shop.”

  Surprised, Claire said, “Were you one of Enrique’s customers?”

  “Heavens, no. I wouldn’t touch the stuff. I just like to know who’s buying.”

  To hide her disgust at Karla’s malicious curiosity, Claire patted her mouth with her napkin. “Do you know who used to buy from Enrique?”

  Karla speared a chunk of bleu cheese out of her salad. “I know Brenda did, and Patti, that woman with a limp, who usually stands in the third row.”

  “I know who you mean. Isn’t she Hispanic?” Maybe this Patti was the one who called Roger. Claire refilled Karla’s wine glass and splashed a few drops into her own.

  “Yeah.” Karla grinned slyly. “I bet you didn’t know this. Brenda owed Enrique a boatload of money.”

  Claire almost dropped the wine bottle. “How do you know?”

  “I overheard them talking in the health bar, week before last. I’m short enough that they must not have seen me in the booth behind them. Enrique told Brenda she had to increase her weekly payments.” Karla leaned forward. “He was talking thousands of dollars.”

  Shocked, Claire gaped. “Thousands?”

  “Yep, and he said he’d only give her a gram a week until her debt was wiped out.”

  “Do drug dealers make a habit of lending buyers money?”

  Karla shrugged. “How the hell should I know?”

  Claire shook her head in disbelief. “What did Brenda say?”

  “She got mad, said she couldn’t hide payments that big from her husband. She begged Enrique to accept less.”

  “Did he?”

  “No. He said her husband was her problem.”

  “Wow.” This revelation changed Claire’s whole perception of Brenda. And Enrique.

  The waiter brought their entrees.

  Claire gave the waiter her salad even though she’d only eaten two bites. She hoped Karla was too interested in gossip to notice. Still full from lunch with Brenda, Claire nibbled a bit of her tilapia fillet, then pushed the rest under the rice pilaf.

  Karla dug into her raspberry-glazed duck and closed her eyes in rapture. “This is delicious.”

  “I’m glad you like it. Now, which women have had affairs with Enrique that you know about?”

  “Patti, who I mentioned before, and . . .”

  “And who?”

  With a tilt of her head, Karla studied Claire. “I’m surprised you don’t know.”

  Still puzzled, Claire shook her head.

  “Your friend, Ellen.”

  Claire’s mouth fell open. “Ellen?”

  “I know for a fact that she and Enrique got it on. It started about a year ago and lasted a few months. I saw them leave the gym together lots of times and even saw him lean over and kiss her when they were in her car.” Karla stabbed her fork in the air. “And it was not a casual peck on the cheek.”

 
; Claire’s mind raced. If Ellen had been seeing Enrique, why would she push Claire into getting a massage? “You said their affair lasted a few months. They broke it off?”

  “Enrique moved on to someone else.”

  “Who?”

  Karla drank some wine then smiled over the top of the glass. “Me.”

  So, Claire had confirmation of Brenda’s story. “You?”

  “The affair was fun while it lasted, but I had no illusions.” Karla waved her hand dismissively. “When I got tired of him, I ended it. Then he moved on to you.”

  “Well, yes.” Embarrassed, Claire shifted in her chair. “But we never, you know, made love. He was giving me a massage when he was killed. That’s all.”

  Karla winked. “Whatever you say.”

  SIXTEEN:

  UNHAPPY DIVORCE

  On the way to Ellen’s house, Claire drove through slush puddles steaming in the glittering winter sunshine. Claire steamed inside. Karla’s wink hinted that she was spreading rumors. Did you hear that Enrique was making love to Claire when he was killed? What a malicious gossipmonger! Claire could imagine what people thought. She hated being viewed as a sordid adulteress, but her denials would only fuel the rumors.

  She had to squelch her anger and focus. Questions whirled. The list of suspects included Brenda, Patti, Karla, Jill, and now Ellen. But Claire couldn’t believe Jill or Ellen would hurt her like this. It had to be one of the others. How could she narrow down the list? First she had to quiz Ellen.

  After dropping off Karla at her car, Claire had called Ellen and said they needed to talk. Like the good friend she was, Ellen had told her to come right over. Or was she a good friend? Did a good friend murder a man in your bed and frame your husband?

  Realizing her hands were clamped tight on the steering wheel, Claire flexed her fingers to release the tension. She considered the other women. She knew nothing about Patti and would have to talk to her. Claire could confirm Brenda’s debt to Enrique by calling Leon. She could also ask him about other women who bought drugs from Enrique. Did she dare? She clenched her teeth. I must.

  Time was running out. Tomorrow was Friday. She had nothing solid to offer Detective Wilson or Roger’s boss. Roger’s whole self-image was wrapped up in his career. If he lost his job, Claire had no idea what he’d do. Hate her? Of course. Sink so far into depression he’d consider suicide? She refused to face the possibility.