by Judy Clemons
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Death stood just inside the room, cradling Andrea’s soul. “All that stuff I said about wanting it to be over…I didn’t mean it.”
Casey launched from the chair toward the door, toward Death. “You don’t care! All you care about is yourself, and your job.” She made quotation marks in the air. “You don’t even think about the people themselves. Who they leave behind. Who they were.”
The officer in the doorway paled. “I…I do. I think about them all the time.”
“What?” Casey blinked, her eyes focusing on the man in blue. “No. Not you.”
Gomez held her arm, and Binns got between Casey and the officer in the doorway, looking straight into Casey’s face. “Ms. Gray, I know this has been a shock to you. This whole night has. Maybe you should sit down.” Gomez tried to guide Casey to a chair, but Casey pulled away, her hands on her face.
“Officer,” Binns said to the man in the doorway. “Why don’t you leave us for a bit?”
“But I didn’t—it’s not true what she—”
“Not your fault. She’s obviously not well. Gomez and I have it under control.”
The officer backed out and shut the door.
“I’m sorry,” Casey said from under her hands. “I know it’s not his fault. I didn’t mean to take it out on him.”
“He’ll be all right.”
Casey leaned her forehead against the wall and took several deep breaths. When she’d calmed herself, she turned around, avoiding Gomez’ eyes and backing away from him. “I’m okay. I’m sorry.”
“I need to talk with the doctor,” Binns said. “And you need to go home.”
“There’s nothing else I can do?”
Binns gave a little smile. “The best thing you can do for anybody is rest, and get your head together. I’ll have Officer Gomez here take you back to your place.”
Gomez. Not him. Casey couldn’t take a Reuben look-alike right then. But it wasn’t like they were giving her a choice. Casey averted her eyes from him and walked through the door Binns held open. They went down the little hall to the waiting room, where Krystal perched on the end of the couch, a pillow clutched to her stomach. She sat completely still, except for the tears that ran down her cheeks.
Casey nodded toward her. “Should we take her home, too?”
Binns shook her head. “I need to get her statement. I’ll have an officer bring her home later.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“Sure.”
Binns followed Casey to the sofa, obviously wanting to hear the conversation.
“Krystal?” Casey sat next to her. Krystal didn’t move. “Krystal, I’m so sorry.”
Another tear trickled from Krystal’s eye, but still she didn’t blink.
“The detective wants to talk with you, and then she’ll bring you home, okay?” Casey set her hand on Krystal’s arm, and Krystal started.
She looked at Casey without recognition for a moment, before her eyes widened. “You! You were supposed to save her! All that talk about self defense and being alert and all that crap. Where were you when she was being attacked?”
“I’m sorry, I—”
Krystal slapped Casey’s face. Casey jerked backward, and Binns caught her as she fell off the couch. Officer Gomez placed himself between Krystal and Casey, just as Binns had protected the other officer from Casey.
“Whoa, Ms…” Binns looked at Casey, a question in her eyes.
Casey shook her head. She didn’t know Krystal’s last name.
“It’s her fault!” Krystal shrieked, pointing around Gomez at Casey. “She should’ve saved her! She should’ve been there! Should’ve taught her better…” She dissolved into sobs.
Binns patted Casey’s shoulder, then squeezed past Gomez to take Casey’s place next to Krystal, putting her arm around her shoulders and murmuring something Casey couldn’t hear.
Casey held a hand to her cheek. It stung, but there was no blood. It was a good thing her injuries from the week before had healed, so there was nothing to burst open.
“Are you all right?” Gomez was looking at her with concern, which was the last thing Casey needed.
“Gomez,” Binns said. “Get Ms. Gray out of here.”
Gomez snapped to attention. “Yes, ma’am. This way please, Ms. Gray.”
Casey wanted to say something to Krystal to calm her down, to apologize again, but she would probably only make things worse. She followed Gomez out the emergency room exit and slid into the back seat of the cruiser.
“The Flamingo?” Gomez looked at her in the rearview mirror.
Casey nodded, and let her head fall back against the seat.
“I wouldn’t rest my head there, if I were you.” Death now wore a police outfit, complete with gun and baton. This time the nametag said Officer Azrael. “You don’t know how many people—criminals—have laid their greasy heads there.”
Casey closed her eyes and rolled her head the opposite direction.
“Fine. But don’t blame me when you end up with lice. Or dandruff. Or dreadlocks.” Death sighed. “Look, sweetie, I know you’re tired, but you can’t let people like Krystal make you feel bad. She’s tired, too. And completely freaked out.”
“I know.”
“Pardon?” Gomez said.
“Nothing. Sorry.” She glared at Death.
“Not my fault.” Death gave her a look of innocence. “Anyhow, as I was saying, I know Binns isn’t putting you on the suspect list, but you have to realize that most people will, once they think about it. You’re brand new, you’re teaching self-defense, they don’t know you from Eve—who, by the way, looks an awful lot like Krystal. Except darker-skinned, with longer hair.”
Casey opened her eyes to watch the lights go by. Already the sky was brightening. Dawn was coming, and it would soon be time for the six-o’clock class. The Land of the Dead. Suddenly, that name wasn’t nearly so cute. There was no way they’d be exercising that day. The cops would have the area cordoned off, for sure. And Casey was in no shape to be leading it.
Gomez parked the car at the front of the Flamingo. He got out and came around to Casey’s door, opening it and offering her his hand.
She climbed out on her own, not wanting to touch him. “Thank you, Officer.”
“You’re not rid of me quite yet, Ms. Gray. I’m to wait and collect your clothes.”
Casey looked down at her blood-stained outfit. She’d just bought it the day before. She’d never wear it again. She never wanted to see it again.
“Sure,” she said. “Come on in.”
The guard was one Casey hadn’t seen before, a young, impossibly good-looking blond thing, probably a college student making money by moonlighting as a security guard. She showed him her ID and signed in. Officer Gomez had only to nod, and he was through.
Casey led Gomez across the empty lobby—not even Jack was there this time—to her apartment, and he waited in the living room while she changed. She brought everything out, including her underclothes and her shoes, and put it in a bag.
“Nice view you’ve got here.” Gomez stood at the window, gazing down at the pool, which shimmered in the dim light. Several apartments in the other two buildings had lights on, but most were dark.
Casey stared at Gomez’s back with a knot in her stomach. If she didn’t know better, it really could be Reuben standing there. The height, the build, the coloring, the accent. “Here you go.” She held out the bag, then dropped it to her side.
Gomez left the window and crossed to her. He hesitated after taking the bag. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
Casey stared into his dark eyes, wanting him to fold her into his arms, to whisper in her ear that everything was going to be fine. Wanting him to take care of her. To be Reuben.
“I’m fine. Thank you, Officer Gomez.”
“Manny,” he said. “You can call me Manny.”
She took a shuddering breath. Calling him by his first name would help absolutely no
thing. It made him…even more real. Like a man, in addition to being a cop.
“We’ll be typing up your statement,” Gomez said. “And then we’ll need you to sign it. But I know Detective Binns wants you to get some rest first.”
Rest. Right.
“We’ll be in touch.” He touched his finger to his forehead and left.
Casey closed the door behind him, and leaned against it.
Coming to Florida was a bad idea, after all. A very, very bad idea.
Chapter Twelve
Forty-five minutes later, close to six, Casey went downstairs, having used that time to sit at her little dining table and stare into space. Already a crowd had formed in the hallway by the aerobics door, stopped from entering by the crime scene tape. The hum of curiosity cut off as Casey approached.
“I’m sorry.” Casey felt like she’d been apologizing for the past six hours. “We won’t be having class this morning.”
“Why? What happened?” A chorus of voices assaulted her, and she winced at the volume.
“I’m afraid there was…” What should she say? Telling them Andrea had been assaulted could cause mass panic. But anything else would be a lie. “I’m afraid your classmate, Andrea Parker, died over the night.”
Several of the women gasped, and one immediately burst into tears. They peppered Casey with questions, but she held up her hand. “Andrea was in the locker room, so the police need to finish their investigation here before we can use it again.”
“But why were the police here?” someone asked. “Was she murdered?”
Casey took a deep breath through her nose and let it out in a slow exhale. “They don’t know what exactly happened yet. That’s why they need the room.”
“But—”
Casey held up her hand. “I don’t have anything else to tell you. I’m sorry.”
“What about Krystal?” someone said. “Where’s she?”
“The last I knew she was at the hospital. She’ll be back soon.”
“Was she hurt, too?”
“No. She went to be with Andrea.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Too bad she didn’t die,” someone muttered, but when Casey tried to see who’d said it, there was no way to tell. All of the women looked everywhere but at Casey, making the entire group seem guilty.
“Well, she’s alive,” Casey said, her voice hard. “And I would think you’d want all of your classmates to stay that way. Now go back to your apartments, or wherever. We’ll be in touch when classes can start again.” She spun on her heel and marched away, back up the stairs to her own place. She slammed the door and stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do with herself.
“Can’t blame them,” Death said from the sofa. “The woman does sort of suck all of the attention out of a room. You experienced it yourself, at the hospital.”
“But I didn’t wish her dead.”
“Not like you wish for yourself, anyway.”
Casey turned away and stomped to her bedroom, where she discarded her old shoes and dropped backward onto the bed, putting her arm over her eyes. “Good grief, it’s like high school all over again. Let’s all hate the pretty girl instead of focusing on our own screwed up lives.”
“Hmm,” Death said. “What if Andrea wasn’t the one who was supposed to die?”
Casey lifted up her arm. “What?”
“You just said it. Everybody hates Krystal, and they looked a lot alike. Andrea and Krystal, I mean. Same hair color, skin color, basic size. It was just the…well, you know…that was a bit different.” Death sketched an hourglass shape in the air.
“I thought it was Krystal lying there in the shower. It wasn’t until I moved her hair and saw Andrea’s face that I realized it wasn’t.”
“So even you think Krystal deserves killing more than Andrea.”
“I didn’t say that! I just thought if anyone would be attacked, it would be Krystal. Jealous women. Boyfriends. Who knows? How many people said things about her yesterday, and they hardly even know me? Sissy. Laurie. Even Del. Krystal was hard to ignore, and Andrea had that chummy feeling, rather than the…” She waved her hand.
“Sex goddess-y feeling?”
“Exactly.” Casey dropped her arm back over her face.
“You do realize you have personal training in less than an hour, right?”
Casey groaned. “I have to sleep.”
“Go ahead. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”
“You won’t let me oversleep?”
“I promise.”
Fifty minutes later, Casey felt a cold breeze on her face.
“Rise and shine,” Death said, grinning from an inch away.
Casey shut her eyes again. “A little space, please.”
“What, no thank you? No appreciation for getting you going?”
“Fine. Thank you. Did you make coffee?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
Casey eased herself up, her head fuzzy. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it.”
“Two sessions, then you can come up for another nap during the time you would be teaching aerobics.”
Casey chugged a Gatorade and put on her shoes. “If I faint, don’t think I’m dead and carry me away.”
“But I thought you wanted to come over.”
“I do. I just want to actually be dead when I do it.”
Casey grabbed her personal training schedule and stumbled down the steps to the weight room, where she purposely did not look to see if there was an obvious spot where the missing weight—the one that had killed Andrea—should be resting. She couldn’t keep her eyes from the entire area, however, and the first person she saw was the tall, dark woman from the lobby and pool. She lay on a bench, pumping a massive amount of iron. Sweat rolled from her face, and muscles bulged in her shoulders and arms. Casey caught her eye in the mirror and was about to walk over when a young man stepped in front of her.
“Dylan,” he said, tossing a towel over his shoulder. He appeared to be in his early twenties, and couldn’t hide the smirk from his face. “You’re the trainer?”
“That’s me. Daisy. I know I look like hell, but I had a bad night.”
He went suddenly serious. “I heard. You found Andrea?”
“Yes. Did you know her?”
“Sure. Know her friend better, though.”
Casey wanted to smack the smug look from his face, but figured that probably wasn’t the best way to start their training. “Come on. Let’s begin at the cardio equipment. How about you hop on the treadmill?”
“I like the elliptical better.”
“We’ll get to that later. You can tell me about your present routine while you’re warming up.”
With no further argument, he stepped onto the machine and began walking. Casey took another look toward the free weights. The woman was gone. Disappointed, Casey turned her attention back to Dylan, and they got lost in the talk of goals and repetitions and exercises. After five minutes of warm-up, she led him to the free weights. It took only a little time for her to assess his fitness and make some changes to his routine. In-between sets she tried to sound casual as she asked him questions.
“So, how long did you know Andrea?”
He swiped his towel over his head. “I don’t know. Six months or so. That’s when I moved here. But like I said, I didn’t really know her all that well. Just from hanging around Krystal.” He got back on the bench and Casey stood over him, her hands out to spot the weights, should he falter doing his presses.
“What do you know about her? Boyfriends? Family? Anything?”
Dylan grunted as he lifted the bar. “She’s from the west coast somewhere. Washington, maybe?”
“I think Sissy said Oregon.”
“Yeah. That sounds right.” He pushed the bar up again, veins popping out on his neck.
“Ever see her hang out with anybody?”
“Just Krystal. No regular guys. You know, Krystal’s really the on
e to ask about Andrea.”
Except right now she hated Casey’s guts. “You still dating Krystal?”
Dylan let out a laugh as he strained to lift the bar upward. “You don’t date Krystal.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have the privilege of going out with her when she says yes. If she likes what happens, you might get to do it again. But you have to expect she’ll be doing it with other guys in-between.”
“Doing what, exactly? Sex?”
He grimaced, and set the bar on the stand. He swung his legs so he was sitting on the bench, and ran his towel around his neck. “Could be. But it could also be that you’re spending way too much money buying her jewelry. Or taking her rock climbing. Or doing whatever else she’s convinced you to do.”
“She’s got power,” Casey said.
Dylan gestured to the heavy weights he’d just used. “You think these are hard work? Nothing compared to Krystal.” He shrugged, stretching his back. “But she’s worth it.”
The door opened and an older man came into the room. He scanned the area, and caught Casey’s eye. She held up a finger to say she’d be right with him. “Okay, Dylan, cardio of your choice.”
“Elliptical,” they said together.
“At least twenty minutes.”
“I usually go thirty.”
“Good. Check in with me before you head out, okay?”
He held up a fist, and she studied it for a second before bumping it with her own.
“You’re okay,” Dylan said.
“Gee, thanks.”
He grinned, and headed toward his machine.
Casey watched him go, shook her head, and went to meet her next client.
“From the cradle to the grave,” Death said.
She gave Death a startled glance. Death wore a weight belt, gloves, shorts, and a muscle shirt, along with a nice pair of Chuck Taylors. “What are you talking about?”
“Dylan. He’s a mere babe, and your next guy, not so much.”
Death was right. Her next client was eighty-two, and rather than talk about Andrea—and certainly not Krystal, for fear of a heart attack—Casey spent all of her energy trying to keep him from doing more than he should. She felt a surge of sympathy toward Richie, the fitness instructor two before her. If he hadn’t stayed firm with people like her present client, it was no wonder people were getting injured. By the time her guy was on the recumbent bike Casey thought she was going to collapse from the strain.
