stood off to one side behind all that gleaming black granite. She smiled a professional smile when I walked in.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
I smiled back. “I’m not sure I have the right place,” I said. “But there’s a car in the parking lot with its lights on. If it belongs to one of your members, I wouldn’t want them to get done with their workout only to find a dead battery.”
The woman’s smile dimmed just a fraction. “Someone actually left their lights on?”
I didn’t blame her for being skeptical. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but the headlights story was the best idea I could come up with. There was no way this woman would mistake me for someone who worked out at the gym, or even someone who’d want a day pass just to give the gym a try. I wasn’t out of shape exactly, but I got most of my exercise doing housework.
“I know,” I said. “It seems silly to me, too, but maybe they were on the freeway and just forgot to turn them off when they got to town.”
I-80 was only a couple of blocks away. It was feasible, right? Lots of people I knew drove with their headlights on whenever they got on the freeway, night or day.
“Ah. You’re right,” the woman said. “I suppose I can have the instructors ask around. Did you get the license plate number?”
I handed her the information for the white SUV I’d jotted down on a scrap of paper out in the parking lot. “Hope you find whoever it is,” I said.
A door at the far side of the room opened about the same time I turned away from the front counter. Another fashion-model thin woman walked through, this one with a thin sheen of sweat on her face and a towel draped over one shoulder. She wore a black Lycra workout suit with hot pink accents that fit like a second skin and left pretty much nothing to the imagination.
For a moment I thought Ms. Lycra was Melody and I figured I was busted, but then I realized I was hearing Melody’s voice through the open doorway.
I glanced that way just in time to see her engaged in a rather intense conversation with a man in a white tank top and shoulder-length dirty-blond hair. I couldn’t see his face, but I caught enough of a look to know that the guy was no stranger to some sort of workout routine. His shoulder muscles weren’t exactly bulging, but he wasn’t a ninety-pound weakling either.
I shouldn’t have lingered, but I’m curious by nature. Norton Greenburger says that’s what makes me such a good investigator. In another era, I might have been the neighborhood busybody. This particular investigation had taken an unexpected turn, and I wanted to find out as much as I could about Melody. So I stayed a moment too long, trying to listen in on what she and this man were talking about, and she spotted me.
Crap.
Well, the best defense is a good offense.
“Hi!” I said, summoning up my best smile. “I didn’t realize you worked out here.”
She gave an annoyed glance at the man, then put on a smile as fake as my own and followed Ms. Lycra into the foyer. The guy followed along, hanging back a few steps.
“I work here,” she said. “Thinking about joining? I think we have a special right now for new members, don’t we, Stacy?”
The fashion model I’d given the license plate number to shot Melody a surprised look, then recovered enough to smile at me. “We do,” she said. “But—”
“I wasn’t thinking of joining,” I said. “I stopped off for gas and noticed someone had left their lights on in the parking lot.”
Stacy held up my note. “She thought it might be one of our guests.”
Melody gave me a look that said she didn’t believe me for a minute, but she took the note from Stacy. The note where I’d jotted the make, model, and color of the SUV along with the license plate.
“Oh, look,” Melody said to the guy in the white tank top and the well-defined muscles. “Isn’t this your car?”
Now that I had a good look at his face, I could see that Mr.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
I smiled back. “I’m not sure I have the right place,” I said. “But there’s a car in the parking lot with its lights on. If it belongs to one of your members, I wouldn’t want them to get done with their workout only to find a dead battery.”
The woman’s smile dimmed just a fraction. “Someone actually left their lights on?”
I didn’t blame her for being skeptical. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but the headlights story was the best idea I could come up with. There was no way this woman would mistake me for someone who worked out at the gym, or even someone who’d want a day pass just to give the gym a try. I wasn’t out of shape exactly, but I got most of my exercise doing housework.
“I know,” I said. “It seems silly to me, too, but maybe they were on the freeway and just forgot to turn them off when they got to town.”
I-80 was only a couple of blocks away. It was feasible, right? Lots of people I knew drove with their headlights on whenever they got on the freeway, night or day.
“Ah. You’re right,” the woman said. “I suppose I can have the instructors ask around. Did you get the license plate number?”
I handed her the information for the white SUV I’d jotted down on a scrap of paper out in the parking lot. “Hope you find whoever it is,” I said.
A door at the far side of the room opened about the same time I turned away from the front counter. Another fashion-model thin woman walked through, this one with a thin sheen of sweat on her face and a towel draped over one shoulder. She wore a black Lycra workout suit with hot pink accents that fit like a second skin and left pretty much nothing to the imagination.
For a moment I thought Ms. Lycra was Melody and I figured I was busted, but then I realized I was hearing Melody’s voice through the open doorway.
I glanced that way just in time to see her engaged in a rather intense conversation with a man in a white tank top and shoulder-length dirty-blond hair. I couldn’t see his face, but I caught enough of a look to know that the guy was no stranger to some sort of workout routine. His shoulder muscles weren’t exactly bulging, but he wasn’t a ninety-pound weakling either.
I shouldn’t have lingered, but I’m curious by nature. Norton Greenburger says that’s what makes me such a good investigator. In another era, I might have been the neighborhood busybody. This particular investigation had taken an unexpected turn, and I wanted to find out as much as I could about Melody. So I stayed a moment too long, trying to listen in on what she and this man were talking about, and she spotted me.
Crap.
Well, the best defense is a good offense.
“Hi!” I said, summoning up my best smile. “I didn’t realize you worked out here.”
She gave an annoyed glance at the man, then put on a smile as fake as my own and followed Ms. Lycra into the foyer. The guy followed along, hanging back a few steps.
“I work here,” she said. “Thinking about joining? I think we have a special right now for new members, don’t we, Stacy?”
The fashion model I’d given the license plate number to shot Melody a surprised look, then recovered enough to smile at me. “We do,” she said. “But—”
“I wasn’t thinking of joining,” I said. “I stopped off for gas and noticed someone had left their lights on in the parking lot.”
Stacy held up my note. “She thought it might be one of our guests.”
Melody gave me a look that said she didn’t believe me for a minute, but she took the note from Stacy. The note where I’d jotted the make, model, and color of the SUV along with the license plate.
“Oh, look,” Melody said to the guy in the white tank top and the well-defined muscles. “Isn’t this your car?”
Now that I had a good look at his face, I could see that Mr.
Similar Books
