by Judy Clemons
“I hope not, because I never can guess what goes on in that head of yours.”
“I’m thinking this would be a good time for you to look around down there.”
Casey made a face. “So we are thinking the same thing, which is scary.”
“Come on. Let’s see what we can find.”
The aerobics room was dark, and just as quiet as it had been the night before. Casey shivered.
“It’s okay,” Death said. “There’s nobody here.”
“In either locker room?”
“Or even the weight room. It’s like people are freaked out and want to stay away.”
“Isn’t it usually the opposite? People want to get an eyeful of the murder scene?”
“Guess they got that earlier. The cops and cleaning crew were done a few hours ago, while you were stuffing your face. Folks had a chance after that to look around. I guess since there was nothing to see they didn’t spend much time gawking.”
Casey left the light off in the aerobics room, not wanting to advertise her presence in case curious people came by. She went into the locker room and stood just inside the door. Here, she did turn on the light, since no one could see her from the outside.
Death had spoken correctly. The room was sparkling.
“Was it the regular cleaning crew who did this?”
“Yup. Sissy didn’t want to spend the money on the special crime scene ones. Couldn’t blame her, really, since it was just the one shower stall that had, well, stuff in it.”
“So there would be nothing left for me to investigate.”
“Not on the surfaces. But that’s the cops’ territory, anyway. It’s not like you’re going to go around collecting fingerprints.”
“True. But I can look in my office.”
“For what?”
“Who knows?”
Casey let herself into the training room. “Did the cops go through here, too?”
“I’m sure they did. The men’s locker room was barred from the outside all day. They figure the killer escaped that way, so he might’ve left something behind.”
“He?”
“Just being grammatically correct. I’m willing to suspect a ‘she’ just as easily.”
“Oh, no.” Casey stared at the shelves of hand weights. She’d forgotten about them, and had assumed the weight that had killed Andrea had come from the weight room across the hall. But it was here, in her office, that there was an empty space where a ten pound weight should be.
“Closer to hand,” Death said. “It makes more sense than if the killer went all the way over to the weight room.”
Casey sagged into her chair. “It does. It just makes it more real, knowing that whoever did it was in here right before it happened.”
Death was squatting by the shelves. “Lots of fingerprint dust. You’re going to have to clean all of these before you use them”
“I never want to use them. I never want to touch them.” Casey turned on the computer and opened the door to the men’s locker room while it booted up. The room was a mirror image of the women’s, except not as sparkly. Apparently the cleaning crew wasn’t given the order to sanitize it to within an inch of its life. Casey walked through to the door that led out to the hallway. “Anyone around yet?”
“Not even a mouse.”
Casey peeked into the hall, and found herself face to face with the weight room door, as she’d expected. The weight room, which was not missing any weights. The hallway, as Death had said, was empty and silent. The security camera hung in the corner, and she went to stand under it, scrutinizing the lens. It looked completely clear of Vaseline, and was probably a new part altogether. She winced, realizing she was giving the security team a nice close-up of her face. Time to go away.
Back in her office, the computer was ready.
Death hitched a hip on the side of the examination table. “What are you looking for on there?”
“Don’t know. I guess I just need to get familiar with what’s here, first.” She explored the desktop, finding old class and training schedules, purchase orders, and individual records of injury care and relief. The Internet was serviced by high-speed wireless, but the search engine’s cache had been completely emptied.
“Guess Brandon didn’t want us knowing what he was looking at,” Death said.
“Or someone else didn’t want us knowing.”
“True.”
There wasn’t a whole lot left to search through, so Casey moved on to the desk itself. There was the usual office-type detritus in the top drawer—paper clips, Post-It notes, rubber bands—a few almost completely-used-up rolls of athletic tape, and some Band-Aids. The second drawer held paper and not much else, and the third drawer, the one big enough to hold files, was locked.
Casey leaned back and looked around. “See a key anywhere?”
“That top drawer, probably.”
But it wasn’t there. Casey got up and opened the wall cupboard. The shelves were filled with first aid equipment, towels, and empty water bottles. But no key.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Death said.
Casey went back to the desk and felt around the bottom of the top drawer, in case the key had been taped there, but it was smooth. There was no rug to hide anything under, and the only thing on the wall was a mirrored medicine chest that held only ibuprofen, Ben-Gay, and a box of tampons. The whirlpool was empty of both water and keys.
“You can just kick the drawer open,” Death said. “You’ve done that before.”
“And about killed my foot.”
“Okay, so a letter opener.”
“That doesn’t work in real life, although it looks like somebody did try. There are scratch marks all over the lock.”
Death swooped down for a better look. “Hmm. You positive no one got in?”
“If so, he was able to lock it after himself.”
“Or herself.”
Casey jiggled the drawer one more time before giving up. She’d have to ask Sissy if she knew what had happened to the key, because if the drawer was locked, that could mean there was worthwhile stuff inside it. Which wouldn’t really make sense, because why would Brandon leave anything valuable behind?
A loud bang sounded in the men’s locker room. Casey jumped, then glared at Death. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“I’ll see who it is.” Death was gone, then back in an instant. “It’s your infant loverboy from personal training earlier today.”
“Dylan?”
“And he’s not alone.”
“Weight training friend?”
Death laughed. “Hardly.”
Casey waited for details, but they weren’t forthcoming. “Well?” she finally said.
“You’re not going to liiiiiike it.” Death’s voice had gone all sing-songy.
“Will you just tell me?”
Death smirked, and walked around the room, hips swaying.
“Oh, no. He’s got a girl in there?”
“And not just any old girl.” Death looked at her meaningfully. “This one’s hotter than hot.”
“It’s Krystal?”
“Ding, ding. You win a new car!”
“I don’t want a new car. I want people to use locker rooms for…locker room stuff.”
Death patted her shoulder. “You really have lived a sheltered life, haven’t you? Have you not seen Bull Durham?”
“But Andrea just died today. And her best friend is doing that?”
“Need I remind you once again of your little assignation in the back of the theater just two weeks ago?”
“No. And it wasn’t an assignation. It was…panic.”
“Um-hmm.”
“And Reuben hadn’t died that day.”
“Right.”
“And Krystal wasn’t married to Andrea.”
Another loud bang, like something hitting lockers, practically made the walls shake. Death giggled and pushed through the door, leaving Casey with only a back and legs to look at.
“Uh-oh,” Death said, and pulled out of the wall.
“What?”
The doorknob rattled, and something thumped against the door itself. She could hear the mumble of voices, and the sound of a key in the lock.
“Oh, no,” Casey said. “They’re not coming in—”
The door flew open, and Dylan and Krystal practically fell into the room, clothes half off, hands and mouths all over the place.
Casey sent a panicked glance toward Death, who was having a grand time.
Casey took a deep breath and put on her teacher voice. “Okay, people! Freeze!”
Dylan and Krystal jerked apart, showing Casey more than she ever wanted to see, so she grabbed a couple of towels and threw them at the couple. Krystal caught one and held it up to her chest. Dylan let his fall, and hastily zipped up his pants. His upper body told the story of his workouts, and Casey couldn’t help but appreciate the view.
“What are you doing in here?” Krystal screeched.
“Well,” Casey said, “last time I heard, this was my office.”
“Not for long.”
“Oh, I don’t know. From what Sissy told me this afternoon your petition wasn’t really catching on.”
Krystal’s eyes sparked. “Sissy. What does she know?” She grabbed Dylan’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere with a little more class.”
“Like one of their condos, perhaps?” Death snickered. “Or somewhere a little more private, like the lobby?”
“Wait.” Dylan looked at Casey. “What petition?”
“Ask your girlfriend here.”
“She’s not my—”
“I’m not his—”
Casey held up her hand. “Whatever she is. Ask her about the petition.”
He turned to Krystal, and she pointed at Casey. “That…that woman killed Andrea!”
Dylan blinked. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Why else do you think she came to the Flamingo? She knows about fighting, and is stronger than any of us, and—”
“You know about fighting?” Dylan looked at Casey.
Casey shrugged. “I taught the women a self-defense class last night. Maybe that’s what she’s referring to.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Krystal spat. “I saw you.”
“You saw me what?”
“Doing some kind of martial arts workout last night. Late. Just before you ‘found’ Andrea.”
“You were on the fitness floor right then? I wonder if Detective Binns knows that.” And if that was the noise Casey had heard, rather than the door in the locker room. That would make more sense, time-wise.
Krystal inhaled sharply. “Of course she knows. She has the security footage. She could see me plain as day. I’d just gone down to check on Andrea, but figured since you were there, Andrea would be safe.”
“Right. And you know, Binns could also see me on the security footage. And knows I didn’t do it.”
Krystal’s mouth went up and down before clamping shut. “You can say whatever you like. I know you killed Andrea, and I’m going to prove it.”
“By making up evidence? Because that’s what you’re going to have to do.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find something. And you’ll be sorry you ever came to Florida.”
“Believe me, I already am.”
Krystal spun around and stalked out of the office, back through the men’s locker room. The office door stayed wide open behind her.
“Sorry about that,” Dylan said.
“Not your fault.”
“Well, I mean about barging in on you and…well…”
“Yeah, that is your fault. You’d better get after her or your date’s going to be over.”
Dylan shook his head. “It wasn’t a date. She just…she was stalking through the lobby, all mad about something, and ordered me to follow her. I haven’t gone out with her for almost three weeks. How could I say no?”
How about by saying the word? N. O. “Whatever it was, date or not, you’d better hustle if you want to catch her.”
“She’s long gone already. Tonight is way over.” A thoughtful look came over his face. “But maybe if I send her flowers tomorrow she’ll consider seeing me again.” He turned toward the door.
“Sure. You do that. Send her flowers. But you know what might up your chances even more?”
He hesitated in the doorway. “You got ideas, I’m listening.”
“Sign her little petition to have me kicked out. That should gain you some brownie points.”
“Yeah, but then I’d feel bad.”
“Because you don’t think I did it?”
“Because I like you.”
“I’m not going to bed with you Dylan.”
He grinned. “Not yet.”
“Get out of here.”
He laughed, and closed the door behind him.
“Krystal was down here watching me,” Casey said. “Right before I found Andrea. What was she doing here? And where did she go?”
Death looked thoughtful. “Came back to check on Andrea, like she said? Forgot something she left behind?”
“I wonder. I’ll have to check with Binns to make sure she knows Krystal was here. And to see if maybe I’d heard Krystal in the hallway instead of someone in here.”
Casey turned out the light and headed back into the women’s locker room. She paused at the shower stall where she’d found Andrea. “I wish I’d been just a few minutes earlier, L’Ankou. I could’ve…” She raised her hands toward the curtain, then let them drop.
“You don’t know that, hon. A few minutes earlier and it might’ve been you getting killed, too.”
“Maybe so. Maybe I used up all my luck the last couple of weeks in Ohio and Kansas. All those cuts and bruises were just foreplay.”
“Well, you’ve been wanting to go home with me. I suppose this could have been your chance.”
Casey pictured the blood on the floor, and the fear Andrea must have felt as she lay on the cold tile, her attacker standing above her, beating her, ripping her skin, crushing her insides.
“It could have been my chance,” she finally said. “But I don’t think I want a chance like that.”
Chapter Sixteen
Someone had been in Casey’s apartment. She could feel it. She held out her arm, as if she could stop Death from entering.
“Nothing’s out of place,” Death said after a quick sweep of the rooms.
“You’re sure?” Casey immediately ran to the air conditioning vent where she’d hidden her duffel bag. The vent itself looked undisturbed, and a quick check of her stash convinced her it hadn’t been found. But just the idea that someone could have found her ID—that someone was even looking in her apartment—turned her cold. She rubbed her arms, trying to rid herself of goosebumps. “What do you think the person wanted?”
“Whatever you’ve gotten hidden there. Proof you aren’t who you say you are. Proof that you killed Andrea.”
Casey strode through the rest of the apartment, her unease growing. Nothing was damaged or stolen. But things were just a little off. Her toothpaste at a different part of the sink, a drawer that wasn’t quite closed.
“You going to tell the cops?”
Casey sank onto her bed. “I tell the cops, I’m going to have them digging into things that aren’t relevant to Andrea’s death. I’d have to hide my duffel bag somewhere else, and they might get a little too curious about where I came from, and why I don’t have a history.”
“So you’re stuck.”
“Completely.”
A doorbell tone sounded in Casey’s pocket, and she yanked out her phone. Who would be calling her? She hadn’t told anyone her number.
It was the phone company, texting her to suggest she back up her contact list.
Death snickered. “Like you have any contacts to back up.”
&nbs
p; “I will. Someday. Maybe.”
“Right.” She looked at her phone, longing to punch in Ricky’s number and hear his voice.
“Go ahead,” Death said. “What could it hurt? He won’t know this number.”
“Is your head full of rocks? As soon as I call him this number will be stored in his phone.”
“So? You can ask him not to tell anyone. He can put it in his phone under an alias.”
“And then if I lose my phone, or someone just glances at it, they’ll get his number and my new identity is blown. You know, sometimes I think you’re brain really isn’t up to the task.”
“Fine. You want to be alone and miserable? You got it.” And Death was gone.
Casey clutched the phone, fighting the urge to call her brother. Her mother. Her lawyer, Don. Finally, she shoved the phone under her mattress, where she wouldn’t hear if the phone company called to suggest anything else.
She was able to grab a few hours of dream-filled sleep before her alarm went off at five-thirty. She rolled out of bed, thought about and decided against breakfast—she wasn’t even close to hungry, after Del’s gourmet spread the night before—and was down in the aerobics room before anyone else arrived. By the time women began trickling in she had picked out music and set up her cordless mic. The group was quieter today than it had been the last time, but that gradually changed as people arrived. The class was also a lot smaller than it had been two days before, and Casey figured a lot of them weren’t sure how to act. Do they go against Krystal and attend class? Or do they take another look at Casey for themselves before they made a decision? Casey knew they were talking about Andrea, and about the fact that Casey had found her during her first day on the job, and she could sense the surreptitious glances sent her way. She stood quietly at the front of the room, trying to look both innocent and confident.
Casey waited for Krystal to make a grand appearance, waving around her petition and her outrage, but by start time, she still hadn’t shown. In a way, Casey was disappointed. It might’ve cleared the air to have a confrontation in front of the group. Instead, Casey would just have to go on as if she were free of both guilt and suspicion.
The women followed her instructions faithfully, and at the end of the hour were less hesitant to look her in the eye. A few of them even thanked her, and said they’d look forward to class the next morning. None of them stayed to chat, and none of them went anywhere close to the locker room door.
