A Real Basket Case

by Beth Groundwater

  Roger shook his head. “You have suspicions, Claire, not evidence.”

  “Then I’ll dig up more information today.” She faced him with her hands on her hips, trying to sound more positive than she felt. “Don’t go into the office until after I get home.”

  “I don’t think what you’re doing is going to make a whit of—”

  “Just wait until I get home.” She glanced at the clock. “I’ve got to hurry if I’m going to make it to class.”

  She headed for the kitchen door then whirled to face Roger. “Promise?”

  Morosely, he shrugged. “Unless Ned calls—”

  “No, promise.”

  “Okay, okay. Go get dressed.”

  ___

  When Claire arrived at Graham’s Gym, she caught a glimpse of a young Hispanic woman who looked like Condoleza from the back. The woman was towing a mop bucket into the pool area. As she disappeared through the door, Claire shook her head. I’m getting paranoid. Condoleza couldn’t work at the gym. Enrique wouldn’t have wanted her around.

  Claire entered her usual row of lockers and found Ellen and Jill preparing for class. They glanced at her and then averted their eyes. Ellen slammed her locker door shut and scooted out of the row, heading for the toilet stalls.

  Frowning, Claire stuffed her gym bag into a locker. “Ellen’s still miffed at me, I suppose.”

  With a wounded look in her eyes, Jill peered at Claire. “She told me you think one of the women in the class killed Enrique. She said you even included the two of us on your list. Is that true?”

  Claire placed her hand on Jill’s arm. “As I told Ellen, the more women I have on the list, the better case I can make to Detective Wilson. He needs to investigate Enrique’s life. Then maybe he can find the person who really killed Enrique.”

  “I can understand you wanting to defend Roger,” Jill whispered, with a glance around the crowded locker room, “but how can you accuse Ellen and me of murder? We’re your best friends.”

  Claire sat on the bench and pulled Jill down beside her. She knew what she was about to say was lame, but she hoped her friend would buy it. “I’m not accusing you two of murder. I’m compiling a list of people who had a reason to want Enrique dead. You told me yourself that you didn’t miss him.”

  Jill drew back, her eyes flashing with anger. “That’s a long way from wanting to kill him.”

  “I know. Maybe no one on my list killed him. Maybe it’s someone totally different. But the list will show that Enrique had enemies, and those enemies should be checked out.”

  “Did you even think about the consequences of your actions? Karla’s told most everyone what you’ve been doing. If you thought you were persona non grata before, just see how these women treat you now.”

  Having to find another gym was a minor sacrifice, thought Claire. “I’ll deal with whatever comes,” she said. “I’m determined to take this information to the police, no matter what anyone else thinks or whose feelings get hurt. Sorry, Jill, but that’s how I feel.”

  Claire glanced at the clock. She stood. “Class starts in a few minutes. You coming?”

  Her expression dark and brooding, Jill bent down to lace her shoes. “You go ahead.”

  Claire went alone to class and stood in the last row. The room fell silent as the others studiously avoided her gaze or glared at her. The woman next to her wrinkled her nose in distaste and moved to the other end. When Brenda entered, she nodded solemnly at Claire but took a position in the first row.

  A moment later, Ellen and Jill walked in and stood beside Claire. Grateful they didn’t avoid her, Claire smiled at them. Neither returned the smile. Claire felt like the lowest chicken in the barnyard’s pecking order.

  During the class, a couple of women bumped her at different times, one almost knocking her off her feet, but neither offered an apology. Claire felt sure the actions were deliberate, but chose not to make an issue of it.

  Toward the end of the class, as they stretched their legs, Jill whispered, “What’s your next move?”

  “I need to talk to Patti, the one with the limp.” Claire spied the woman at the other end of the second row. “I want to catch her after class. Do you know anything about her?”

  Jill followed Claire’s gaze. “No. Why do you need to talk to her? She didn’t have an affair with Enrique.”

  “But she was a customer.”

  “Customer? What do you mean?”

  On the other side of Jill, behind her back, Ellen caught Claire’s attention. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

  Jill didn’t know about Enrique’s drug dealing and Ellen didn’t want her to know, Claire realized. Maybe Ellen believed that Jill would feel even worse if she knew that Enrique had dealt drugs, too.

  Claire glanced at Jill, who waited for an answer. “Enrique was a massage therapist remember?” Awkwardly, Claire looked away as she lifted her arms overhead, avoiding Jill’s puzzled gaze.

  At the end of class, Claire hurried toward the locker room but got stuck behind two wide, slow-moving chatters. She darted from side to side until she could move around them. She wanted to shower and dress quickly so she could invite Patti to lunch. Claire only hoped she could penetrate the fog of hostility in the class and convince Patti to talk to her.

  Once Claire arrived at her locker, she shucked off her shoes and reached for her lock. A sheet of paper folded like an accordion stuck out from one of the vents in the top of the door, as if it had been pushed through.

  Claire glanced around the locker room.

  Karla stood watching, her eyes narrowed in speculation. When Claire caught her gaze, the redhead turned away and grabbed a towel from her locker.

  Claire extracted the paper and opened it.

  In large type, the note read: STOP SNOOPING AND DON’T TELL THE COPS ABOUT THIS NOTE OR YOU WILL DIE NEXT. I’M WATCHING YOU.

  Oh, God. Claire’s hands shook. She stared in horror as the sheet dropped to the ground. The room swayed, and she felt as if she was losing her grip on reality, tumbling to her doom like the climber in the Garden of the Gods.

  Ellen rounded the corner of the lockers, saw Claire, and stopped. “What?”

  Jill peeked around Ellen’s shoulder.

  “Read that.” Claire put her hand against a locker to steady herself and pointed at the note.

  Ellen picked up the paper and held it where Jill could see it, too. “Sweet Jesus.”

  Jill gasped and held a hand to her mouth.

  “Where’d this come from?” Ellen asked.

  “It was stuck in the top of the door.” Claire nodded at her locker. She looked for Karla, but the woman was gone.

  Glancing around the locker room, Ellen whispered, “Some woman from the class left this note.”

  Claire gulped and nodded.

  “Not necessarily.” Jill crowded in close. “It could have been a staff person who snuck in while we were in class.”

  A scary thought popped into Claire’s mind. Oh, God. What if that woman I saw was Condoleza?

  “Or someone in Leon’s gang,” Claire managed to add.

  “What are you going to do?” Jill asked.

  “Take it to the police, I guess.”

  A look of horror crossed Jill’s face. “You can’t do that! Read the note. You’ll be killed.” She snatched the paper from Ellen and shoved it in front of Claire’s nose.

  Claire grabbed the note. “But this is proof that Roger’s not the killer.” And that she was getting close to ferreting out the real murderer.

  “And whoever the real murderer is, she or he is after you.” Ellen glanced over her shoulder toward the rest of the locker room. “Someone could be watching. If you head for the police, you may not make it.”

  Jill nodded solemnly. “The risk is very real, Claire.”

  Claire stared at the paper clutched in her hand. The sounds of women showering, blow-drying their hair, and gossiping swirled around her. Any of them could be the murderer, including one of the two
women standing before her, waiting for her decision.

  A locker door slammed, the bang not unlike a gunshot.

  Claire flinched. Then she shoved the note and the contents of her locker into her gym bag. “I have to think about what I want to do.”

  As she shrugged on her coat and looped the strap of the gym bag over her shoulder, she pushed from her mind all thoughts of talking to Patti. Survival was paramount now. She grabbed her purse and keys. “I’m leaving.”

  Ellen and Jill stared at her, then each other.

  Jill was the first to recover. “Are you just going to go home?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll drive around and think a while, but first I’ve got to get out of here.”

  With her mouth set in a grim line, Ellen grabbed her coat. “C’mon, Jill. We’ll escort her out. You get behind her on the left, and I’ll take the right. Stay close.”

  Jill hesitated, then threw on her coat and moved next to Claire. “Ready.”

  Tears sprang to Claire’s eyes. Like the climber’s buddies who broke his fall, these two were here to support her. “Thanks, guys, but I hate to put you in danger, too.”

  “We’re not the target.” Ellen whispered as she pulled Claire toward the locker room door. “You are. Hopefully, having all these witnesses will make the killer think twice. He or she can’t shoot everyone in the gym.”

  “But when we get outside—”

  “You have the two of us.”

  Claire hurried down the hallway, with Ellen and Jill forming a human wall behind her. As they burst through the gym doors into the parking lot at a half trot, Claire’s skin crawled. She chided herself for overreacting, but she kept envisioning an unseen gun sight following her progress.

  Ellen and Jill each looped an arm in hers and zigzagged through the cars to her BMW, with frequent glances over their shoulders. A stiff winter breeze ruffled their sweat-dampened hair and blasted through their open coats, but neither complained.

  By the time they reached her car, Claire’s teeth were chattering, from both fear and the February cold.

  Ellen looked around as Claire unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat. “No one followed us.”

  Jill reached in and squeezed Claire’s hand. “Let us know what you decide, please.” Her pinched face indicated great concern.

  Mutely, Claire nodded.

  Ellen peered at her. “And watch your back.” She stepped away and closed the car door.

  As Claire drove off, she glanced in her rearview mirror. Ellen and Jill stood side by side, their expressions grim as they clutched their coats closed.

  ___

  Claire put some distance between herself and the gym, switching between I-25 and the city streets. Frequent checks in the rearview mirror assured her that no car followed. Finally, she stopped at a gas station to fill up and call Deb Burch. Deb didn’t answer her office phone, so Claire tried Deb’s cell phone number.

  “I’m glad you called, Claire. I’m on my way down from Denver. I just crested Monument Hill and should see the Air Force Academy soon.”

  Claire told Deb about the death threat and her dash out of the gym. “I’m scared, but I think I should go to the police. Do you agree?”

  “Definitely. You’ve got to take the note to Detective Wilson right away. This is direct evidence that someone other than Roger is involved. Plus, the CSPD might be able to pull prints off it.”

  “Oh, no. Ellen, Jill, and I all touched it.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “In my gym bag.”

  “Okay. Don’t touch it again. Take your bag to Wilson and let him remove the note.”

  Claire huddled against the car with her back toward the ding-ing gas pump. The chill wind blowing against her damp leggings made her teeth chatter. “What then? I can’t keep driving around the city in my sweaty gym clothes.”

  “The note could be an empty threat. I’m sure those women at the gym don’t want the police finding out they bought drugs from Enrique, or slept with him. The note may not even be from the killer.”

  “But what if it is?”

  “We’ll ask the police if they can provide you with some protection.”

  “Oh, God. Roger’s home. The killer may go there looking for me and find him instead.”

  “Roger’s okay. The killer wants to frame him, not kill him. But just in case, tell him to leave the house and meet us downtown at the police station. I should be there in twenty minutes. We can talk to Detective Wilson together. Are you sure no one followed you?”

  Claire glanced around the gas station. “I see only one car here, a young mother with two kids in the back seat.”

  “Good. Sit tight for a few minutes, then head for the station. We should arrive about the same time.”

  After Claire hung up, she called home. Roger didn’t answer. She left a message asking him to call her cell phone.

  Apprehensive, she called his work number. “Has Roger come into the office today?” she asked his secretary.

  “Not yet. Mr. Peters told me he wanted to see him, though, so I called your house.”

  “When?”

  “About an hour ago. Roger said he’d come right in.”

  “He must be on his way,” Claire said calmly, hiding her dismay. “When he arrives, tell him to call my cell phone before he talks to Mr. Peters. It’s vital that I talk to Roger right away.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  Claire paced beside the car as she debated whether to drive to Roger’s office and stop him at the door. But if the killer had lost her, he or she could be following Roger’s car after watching him leave the house. She halted her pacing mid-turn.

  She had to warn him! No. Whoever wrote the death threat was after her, not Roger. He’d call her when the secretary gave him the message, wouldn’t he? She tried his cell phone but got the message that indicated the phone was turned off.

  Where is he?

  She climbed in the car, fired up the heater, and pulled out of the gas station.

  When her cell phone rang a few minutes later, she grabbed for it, knocking it onto the car floor. Hastily, she pulled over to the side of the road and scooped up the phone. “Hello.”

  “Claire, it’s Deb. I’m at the police station.”

  “I’m almost there, but I’m worried about Roger. I’m sure he’s on his way into the office to talk to his boss. I’ve left messages everywhere, asking him to call me, but—”

  “Leave your cell phone on, but get down here.”

  “Maybe I should go to Roger’s office first.”

  “Claire, the best way for you to help him is to show the note to the police.”

  NINETEEN:

  TEAMWORK

  As Claire approached the police station, Deb waved from the corner. Her coal-black ponytail tossed in the wind, and her ski jacket was zipped up tight. She walked over as Claire parked her car in the lot across from the station. After Claire had climbed out of the car, Deb gave her a big bear hug, engulfing Claire in the padded jacket.

  She reveled in Deb’s hug, then stood back to get a good look at her friend. “God, I’m glad to see you. It’s been too long.”

  Deb gazed at her with merry eyes, outlined with laugh lines. “Yes it has. I wish I could’ve come down earlier, but I’m amazed at the progress you’ve made without me. You go, girl.” Playfully, she punched Claire in the arm.

  Flashes of light blue on Deb’s hand caught Claire’s eye. “Any new rings?”

  Deb pointed to a twisted silver ring inlaid with turquoise stones on her middle finger, one of four on that hand. “This one from my sister. And these are from my aunt.” She flipped one of the blue beaded earrings dangling from her ears. “Wish I could make ’em myself, but I don’t have the patience.”

  “Your sleuthing talents more than compensate.” Claire patted her gym bag. “I’ve got the note in here.”

  “Let’s move.” Deb linked arms with Claire and escorted her across the street.

  A
fter they had checked in at the front desk, Claire said to Deb, “I’m not sure what kind of reception we’ll get from Detective Wilson. The last time I saw him, he said he hoped he’d never see me or hear from me again. And he doesn’t like private investigators mucking around in his cases, as he put it.”

  Deb patted Claire’s arm. “You let me handle Detective Wilson.”

  As Claire and Deb entered the detectives’ bullpen, Wilson stood and glowered at them from behind his desk. Then he forced a polite smile. “Why, if it isn’t Mrs. Hanover again. Who did you bring with you?”

  Deb stuck out her hand. “Deb Burch, Detective Wilson. I’m a friend of Claire’s. She has some important new evidence in her husband’s case. Understandably, she felt unsure about your reaction, so I came along to provide moral support.”

  “I hope this evidence wasn’t obtained illegally.” Wilson glared down his nose at Claire.

  “No.” Claire unzipped her gym bag and pointed to the death-threat note inside with a shaky hand. “I found this in my locker at the gym when I left class this morning.”

  Wilson raised a skeptical eyebrow at Claire, but opened his desk drawer and took out a pair of overlarge tweezers. He extracted the note from the gym bag and sat down to read it.

  Deb glanced at Claire and pointed to Wilson’s visitor’s chair. While Claire sat, Deb pulled over a chair for herself. “Claire’s been investigating women at the gym who had affairs or business dealings with Enrique Romero. She thinks this note may have come from one of them.”

  “Or from Mrs. Hanover herself.” He dropped the paper on his desk and stared at Claire. “The basement door story wasn’t good enough, so you produced this.”

  “I did not!”

  Deb laid a restraining hand on Claire’s arm and craned her neck to look at the death threat. She wet her finger and dabbed her spit on the last word, smearing the ink. “This was printed on an inexpensive ink-jet printer.”

  Wilson narrowed his eyes. “So?”

  Deb turned to Claire. “What kind of printer do you have on your home computer?”

  “Laser.”

  “You can’t get the ink to smear like that from a laser printer.” Deb crossed her arms and grinned at Wilson.