by Judy Clemons
Tamille took a step forward, throwing a one-two punch toward Casey’s face, right arm, then left. Casey blocked both hits and circled around, snapping her right foot at Tamille’s stomach. Tamille spun away, then responded immediately, sending a left-handed roundhouse toward the side of Casey’s head.
Casey ducked, then swung her left foot at Tamille’s ankle. Casey’s foot made contact and Tamille tripped, falling to one knee. She rebounded right back to standing. “Your point,” she said.
She came at Casey again, fists up. Casey stood her ground, took her weight on her right leg, and kicked toward Tamille’s right hip. Tamille swiveled away, and Casey used the opportunity to get in a quick second kick, just missing Tamille’s thigh.
Tamille’s face set in more serious lines, and she put her hands up again.
Casey stood back, waiting, hands loose, knees bent. The sounds of the room faded away, until all she could hear was her own breathing, and her heartbeat pulsing in her throat. Tamille’s eyes were probing and strong, and Casey’s could read the determination there. Tamille came suddenly pushing forward, right jab, left jab, right uppercut, left roundhouse. Casey dodged and weaved, throwing up blocks as necessary, taking backward steps. At Tamille’s final swing of the set, Casey ducked again and circled left, coming up with a left snap with her foot. She connected with Tamille’s stomach, and Tamille grunted. “Your point.”
Casey backed up again, gaining her balance, not taking her eyes from Tamille’s. It was a friendly match, at least as friendly as sparring could be, but she could see in the other woman’s stance that she wasn’t going to give anything away.
Casey waited, wanting Tamille to make the next move. Tamille seemed to be waiting, too, but Casey wasn’t bothered. She could wait all day. Until Sissy came and told her to get her butt in gear, anyway.
Tamille didn’t want to wait, and came at Casey, punching right-left, and following up with a front kick. Casey backed up so quickly she bumped into one of the other women. She stumbled, and Tamille took advantage, jabbing Casey in the side.
“My point,” she said. “Back off, ladies, you’re cramping our style.”
Two points to two points.
Sparring matches went only to three.
Tamille backed off, that smile tickling her mouth. Casey went over her options. Tamille was too tall for Casey to hit effectively. She would block anything Casey threw at her. Casey had already gotten her with kicks twice, so Tamille would be expecting that again. And Tamille, with her arms and legs way longer than Casey’s, had the upper hand when it came to distance.
But one thing Casey had that Tamille didn’t? Grappling skills. Probably. Most karate fighters used their arms first, legs second, and never learned the art of grappling.
Hapkido fighters did.
Casey returned Tamille’s smile, and Tamille’s eyebrows rose a fraction.
Casey took a large step forward, put her weight on her left leg, and kicked toward Tamille’s right thigh. Tamille blocked it easily, but Casey followed with a right-footed kick toward Tamille’s left thigh, making Tamille block again. Casey circled around quickly and came at Tamille from behind. She grabbed Tamille’s left wrist, pulled it back straight, hooked Tamille’s ankle with her right foot, and drove her to the ground, knee on Tamille’s back, heel of her hand on Tamille’s outstretched elbow. Tamille struggled only minimally before tapping the floor.
Casey knelt over Tamille, chest heaving, sweat dripping from her face. She let go of Tamille’s arm and stood, still ready. Tamille rolled over, sat up, and held out a hand. “Okay. Your point.” Casey took her hand, aware it could be a trap, but Tamille just got up, squeezed Casey’s hand, and let go. She put her hands together and bowed, keeping her eyes on Casey. Casey returned the bow.
Tamille gave Casey that same half-smile, and rolled her shoulders. “Now I’m ready for class.”
One person in the class began clapping slowly. Soon all of the women were clapping and cheering, and smacking Tamille on the back.
None of them came close to Casey, except for one, who picked up the portable mic and held it out. Casey thanked her, and hooked the mouthpiece over her ear.
“What style?” Tamille said, following Casey to the front of the class.
“Hapkido. You’re karate?”
She nodded. “Shotokan.”
“You have a good teacher.”
“My dad started me out. He believed his little girl should be able to protect herself, so he decided to make sure. Now I have a teacher here in Raceda.”
“Your father did a thorough job.”
Tamille shrugged. “Nobody’s ever challenged me outside the ring, so I don’t know if it works in the real world.”
Casey looked her up and down. “One look at you and they run.”
Tamille smiled, a full-on one this time. “That’s my problem. It’s why I’m still single.”
Casey laughed and clapped her hands, focusing on the rest of the class. “Okay, ladies, time for you to stop observing and get to work.” She turned the music up loud and worked them hard, barking at them like a drill sergeant. These ladies could take it. They wanted it. They were here for serious, hard work.
Death sat this one out, alternately watching the women and scanning the titles on the spines of the CDs. By the time class was over, Death had gone off somewhere. Casey wasn’t complaining.
This class didn’t seem to have the same revulsion of the locker room as the earlier classes, and went right in to shower and change.
Tamille came up to Casey, sucking on her water bottle. “What’s your schedule this evening?”
“I work till four-thirty, then I’m off until eight.”
“Want to do dinner?”
“Sure. Where?”
“There’s a Japanese place just down the block. Kyoto’s. Meet me there at six?”
“Do I have to eat raw fish?”
Tamille laughed. “I can’t see anyone forcing you to.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
“Great. Now I gotta hustle back to work. See you later!”
Casey had to hustle, too, and went into the locker room so she could change into her swimsuit. The women from the class were talking and laughing, and one was even using the shower where Andrea had been found.
Short attention spans? Or an inherent toughness? Casey wasn’t sure. She ducked into her office and made sure both doors were locked.
“Try the key!” Death perched on the edge of the desk like a vulture, draping over the side.
Casey knelt beside the drawer and slid in the key. It turned. She opened the drawer.
“What is it?” Death leaned over so far Casey had to scoot to the side so she wouldn’t get chilled.
The drawer was empty.
“Oh, man,” Death said. “What a letdown.”
Casey tried to take the drawer out of the desk, but it wouldn’t come all the way out. She felt all around the sides, under the lip of the front, and up on the top. Her neck was just starting to complain about the awkward position when her fingernail snagged something in the very top, front corner.
She pulled it out.
Death groaned. “Another key?”
“Yeah, but look at it. This one belongs in a bank.”
“Ah. Safety deposit box.”
“I wondered why nobody had just forced this lock. Now we know they probably did, but couldn’t find anything. The only other place they could think of, if Brandon had left anything behind, would be in my apartment.”
“But they came up empty?”
“I guess. Because they don’t have this.”
Death clapped. “And we’re going to the bank later, right?”
“You got it. As soon as we can after class lets out this afternoon. But now I have to get to work.” So Casey slid yet another key onto her key ring, and headed for the pool.
Water aerobics was a different sort of class, comprised of women who never set foot in the regular aerobics room, except perhaps to use
the lockers. They cheerfully talked amongst themselves, and followed Casey’s directions the best they could. When class was over some of them stayed to swim laps, while others hung out in the shallow end to talk. Casey climbed out of the pool and dried herself off as she walked toward the locker room.
“Daisy?” Laurie was sitting on a chair at the side of the room. Her hair was flat, and her skin blotchy. She clutched the edge of the chair like she would fall off, otherwise.
Casey stopped beside her. “Hey. You doing okay?”
“Not really. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“You can come with me to the locker room. I need to change and get ready for some personal training appointments in fifteen minutes.”
Laurie chewed her lip. “I don’t…is the locker room…did they clean it up?”
“Yes. The last class used it.”
She hugged herself. “I don’t think I can go in there yet.”
“Okay. Give me a few minutes, and you can meet me in the weight room while I wait for my next client. Will that be all right?”
Laurie nodded.
Casey changed as quickly as she could, and hustled to meet Laurie in the weight room. Laurie wasn’t there.
Rosa was back again, folding towels, and smiled at Casey.
“Ola,” Casey said. “Have you seen Laurie?”
Rosa shook her head, but Casey thought it was because she didn’t understand what Casey was asking.
“Laurie?” Casey held her hand up to about Laurie’s height, and Laurie’s hair length. “Teaches classes?”
Rosa shook her head again.
“Okay. Thanks.” Casey looked around at all of the stations in the room, and back out in the hallway. Maria was waiting at the elevator, a stack of papers in her arms.
“You seen Laurie?” Casey asked her.
Maria shook her head. “Not since this morning. I need to talk to her, actually. She’s been skipping her classes, and we need to get back on schedule.” The elevator came and she got on.
Casey walked around the corner, toward the aerobics room, but Laurie wasn’t there. She opened the door “Laurie?” But there was no answer. She knew Laurie wasn’t in the locker room, because besides Laurie’s aversion to it, Casey had just come from there. Laurie must have decided not to talk with her, after all, or else she was just late. Well, she was going to be too late, since it was time for Casey’s next appointment. She went back into the weight room.
“You Daisy?” A stick-like girl, mid-teens, stood beside her, one ear plugged with an earbud. She held the other earbud in her hand, with her iPod strapped to her upper arm.
“That’s me.”
“I’m only doing this because Grandma said I have to, and because…well, never mind.”
“Because your Grandma wanted you to see what all the fuss was about over here?”
The girl made a face. “It’s all dumb, anyway.”
“I agree. So are you down here visiting your grandma, or do you live here?”
The girl rolled her heavily outlined eyes. “Do you really care?”
No. Not really.
Casey got the girl going on the treadmill, and was able to convince her to work half-heartedly on the weight machines, having to pull out an earbud every so often to make sure the girl could hear what she was saying. When she finally delivered the girl to her final cardio, she shook her head and looked around for client number two. He was the exact opposite of the girl in every way—huge, talkative, and determined to do every exercise imaginable. Casey pulled him back to a realistic routine, all the while marveling that a guy with thighs that big could walk around without wearing holes in the legs of his pants.
When four-thirty came she dragged herself up to her apartment, where she drank a Gatorade in about three swallows and took a long, hot shower.
Afterward, Death was standing in the hallway, dressed in a kimono.
Casey took a deep breath. “What are you doing?”
“Coming to Kyoto’s. Does this make me look fat?”
“It makes you look stupid.”
“I’m getting into the spirit of—”
“You’re not invited.”
“Of course I am.”
“Tamille didn’t invite you.”
“Only because she couldn’t see me. If she could see me, she would definitely have asked me to dinner. That girl and I, we would be like this.” Death held up crossed fingers.
“Anyway, we’re going to the bank first. Don’t you think you’re a little…overdressed?” Casey went back to her bedroom, where she chose some dark jeans, a light blue shirt, and a pair of sandals she’d picked out at the store. For once, she let her hair fall to her shoulders, instead of putting it back. She was about to leave when she remembered her phone. No point in having one if she left it hidden in her apartment all the time. She reached under her mattress to get it, then keyed in Binns’ phone number from her business card. She texted simply, “Here’s my number.”
There. Now Binns could find her any time, day or night. Just what Casey liked.
Death blinked when Casey went out to the living room. “Wow, who are you? I mean, look at you. You combed your hair and everything.”
“Will you shut up?” Casey grabbed her purse, yanked open the door, and froze. A shadow fell across the hallway, elongated by the light coming through the window at the end of the hallway. The shadow of a man. And at the end of his arm, the shadow of his hand held something long and thin, that looked exactly like a knife.
Chapter Nineteen
Casey swung into the hallway, grabbed the man’s arm, and twisted it back, bending him forward so he would drop what was in his hand.
“Who are you?” Casey said in his ear. “What do you want?”
“Casey,” Death said. “Stop. It’s—”
“It’s me. Dylan. Ouch.” Dylan waved his free hand frantically.
Casey let him go and took a quick step back.
Dylan straightened, rubbing his shoulder. “Is that part of our new fitness routine? Because wow, that hurt. A lot.”
“Sorry. I’m a little jumpy.” Jumpy? Maybe she should say, completely paranoid.
He winced, windmilled his arm, and rolled his neck. “Lesson learned. Always stay as far away from you as possible.”
“Why were you loitering in my hallway?”
“I was waiting.”
“For…?”
“Well, you, actually. I was getting up my nerve to knock on your door.”
“Told you he would be jumping your bones sooner or later,” Death said. “He needs an older woman to show him the ropes.”
“What do you want?”
“Well, I was going to ask if I could take you to dinner.” He knelt and picked up what he’d been holding. A single rose.
Casey shook her head. He’d brought her a flower, and she’d assumed it had been a deadly weapon. She’d misjudged the situation in a whole new way. Now that she took the time to look, she saw also that he was wearing khakis and a dress shirt, and smelled like a fresh dose of cologne. Maybe a whole quart of it.
“Dylan, I don’t think Krystal would like it very much if you were wining and dining the enemy.”
“Screw Krystal.” He blushed. “I mean, forget about her. She’s sort of, well, gone off the deep end. She’s outside Sissy’s office right now, hoping to convince the family that you killed Andrea.”
“The family’s here already?”
“No. Krystal’s just waiting. She wants to get to them first. Maria’s trying to make her go away, and even threatened to call security. I only know this because they were making quite a scene when I got home from work. Everybody was sort of all jammed up in the lobby, watching.”
“So you thought you’d get me out of the way by taking me out to dinner, in case Krystal got to the Parkers?”
“Well, kind of. They might be crazy enough to believe her.” He shifted uneasily. “But I also thought going out might be…fun.” He grinned sheepishly, his cheeks and
throat going an even deeper pink.
“Aww,” Death said. “Look at that puppy dog face.”
“It would be nice,” Casey said. “But I’ve already got plans.”
His face fell. “Really? Who is he?”
“Not a he.”
“Then a she?”
“What else would it be?”
“A supernatural?” Death said.
Dylan brightened. “Can I come?”
“No.”
He drooped again. “Why not?”
“Because I think Tamille would eat you alive.”
He blanched. “That huge Amazon woman? She just about did one time.”
“Really? What happened?”
“She…” He looked away. “It was nothing. I was using the weights and she wanted them. No big deal. I just try to stay out of her way, now, so she can’t capture me and grind my balls into tiny little pieces.”
Casey laughed. “Another time, okay, Dylan? And thanks.”
“Tomorrow?”
“What about tomorrow? Our next personal training session?”
“It’s Friday. And yeah, we have another session in the morning. But what I meant was that in the evening I’ll take you to this really nice Cuban restaurant on the other side of town. It’s a hole in the wall, but it’s authentic. They make killer tamales.”
Casey shook her head. “Okay.”
He pumped his fist.
“But listen, Dylan. It’s just dinner, okay? And I’ll pay my own way.”
“But—”
“Dinner. Dutch. Or I don’t go.”
His shoulders slumped. “Fine. I suppose you want to just meet me there, too?”
“You already know where I live, Dylan. Meeting someone at a restaurant is a way to keep them away from home before you know them.”
“So we can go together?”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby. What time?”
“Do you have to get back for class?”
“Nope. Friday night is off. So I’m all—” She was going to say, ‘all yours,’ but stopped herself, before she confused the poor boy any further. “I’m free for the evening.”
