Fit To Be Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 1) Read online

  I considered stocking doggy treats in case I ever had to entice Muttface off my shoes and lead him back to Grace’s house. If I failed to learn how to re-channel Boffo’s instincts, I’d probably regret it. He licked her and followed her away from my bungalow, waddling happily toward home.

  Exhausted from my eventful day, I showered and prepared for bed, wishing I could make sense of the events. Brushing my teeth, I glanced in the mirror to see how wiped out I looked and saw a tumor in the upper part of my arm. I gaped at the lump, gripped my toothbrush, and it grew!

  That’s when I realized it was a muscle. I’d never had a muscle in my arm. I’d never had a visible muscle, period. I checked my other arm. Sure enough, I had a twin tumor—the glorious result of time spent in the weight room. How long would it take me to resemble Arnold Schwarzenegger? The next time I corralled Mickey and Ned to quiz them about Holly, I’d express my gratitude for their help using weights. I especially wanted to thank Pete Reeves.

  I remembered mail I’d scooped from the floor after Sam left. I grabbed it from my bedside table. Somebody needed help.

  Dear Aggie,

  I finally incorporated cardiac exercise into my life. Now my sadistic (hunky) trainer tells me I need to add weight training. I birthed two children, have a new grandchild and just turned fifty. Why on earth do I need muscles?

  Happily Round in Rochester

  Dear Happily Round,

  Congratulations on being a fit, young grandmother. Unfortunately, you cannot train for heart fitness and skeletal muscle strength at the same time. Muscle mass peaks between ages thirty and thirty-five and then begins a slow decline. What do you care, right? You also lose bone mass after menopause (sorry for using the “m” word) causing you (and the rest of us) to be prone to osteoporosis—weak, thinning bones. If you fall and break a bone, you’ll be laid up recovering and unable to lift your grandchild. Muscle strength helps prevent that. Women ages fifty-five to seventy-two doing weight training twice a week had amazing results: one lost ten pounds without dieting. Another regained eight percent of the bone mass she lost after menopause. The third woman, a golfer, drives the ball thirty yards farther than before. Everybody had fewer bulges, not more. Stay Happy. Add the weights.

  From the weight room,

  Aggie

  Despite having discovered two new muscles, I felt like a mass of sprung rubber bands. Before I crumpled into bed, I cracked the window to get fresh air. Grace was playing the piano and belting out a song like Ella Fitzgerald. Boffo howled accompaniment. I was glad somebody was happy.

  Seventeen

  Thursday morning, I phoned Meredith. “We have to talk.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Big news about Holly. I’ll meet you at the treadmills in fifteen minutes.”

  I drove to the club like a maniac and flew past the check-in desk. I didn’t know I could climb stairs so fast. My heart raced. Halfway up, my left bun went into spasm.

  Meredith had commandeered machines closest to the television. I eased onto the treadmill next to hers and set the contraption to 2.5 mph, hoping my derriere muscles would relax. “I got into Holly’s apartment and looked around.”

  “How’d you get in? Didn’t the police lock it?”

  “Sam was there and let me in.” The lie rolled off my tongue. “I saw a photograph of Holly with Mickey Shannon.”

  “Really? Well, they say opposites attract. She was so delicate and he’s so...indelicate.”

  “I know what you mean, but they seemed pretty chummy in the picture. He’d slapped his hand close to her boob, and she didn’t seem unhappy about it.” Mickey’s words flashed across my brain. “When I saw Mickey on my way to the weight room the day after Holly died, he couldn’t even remember her name.”

  “Unbelievable. Maybe she told him to take a hike. He wouldn’t like that.”

  “No. Or he might have pretended he barely knew her so he wouldn’t be considered a suspect.”

  Meredith increased her speed. “I bet Mickey could get furious if somebody rejected him.”

  I told her about the party photograph of club members and staff, including manager Harry Thorne.

  “Hmm. You know, I didn’t think much about it at the time, but Tuesday morning, around ten-thirty or eleven, I passed by the manager’s office. He had the door closed, but I heard him arguing with some girl. I wonder if it was Holly.”

  “What did they say?”

  “I heard only snatches. He sounded angry and did most of the talking, something about dating members and staff—I guess he meant her—something about the club being respectable. The girl fired back, asking how he knew anything about being respectable.”

  Ouch. Harry wouldn’t have appreciated that.

  “I heard her say, ‘Leave me alone.’ He boomed a response. She blasted back she’d made a mistake coming to this club. I heard her push against the door, so I hurried down the hall so they wouldn’t catch me eavesdropping.”

  “Did you see her?”

  “No, I just heard her. Since I only met Holly once at Tofu Temptations Grill, there was no logical reason to connect her with the voice I heard.”

  It wouldn’t have occurred to me either if I hadn’t seen Harry show up near Holly’s apartment. My rear end started feeling pliable, so I maintained my speed.

  If it was Holly who Meredith overheard, when Holly and I talked at Tofu Temptations Grill the day she died, why didn’t she mention seeing Harry Thorne after Sarah’s class before she went to the pool? Did some link exist between her and Harry? If so, why had she concealed it?

  Meredith sped up. “I heard something else about Harry. He left Tuesday with a stomach bug. A staff member had to drive him home.”

  “Tuesday is the day Holly died.”

  “If you’re the club manager,” she panted, “having a murder occur in your place would be devastating. No wonder he went home.”

  Harry would be especially upset if he and Holly had a connection. What kind of association did they have? Was the person who killed Holly also trying to kill Harry? Was that why he was sick? What kind of lunatic was loose at Fit and Firm? I might have to tell Sam everything I knew whether I wanted to or not.

  “Did you see Harry here on Wednesday?” I asked. If Harry went home sick on Tuesday, it was odd I’d spotted him at Las Tapitas the same night. The next afternoon, Wednesday, I saw him drive into Holly’s apartment complex.

  “I don’t remember seeing Harry on Wednesday, but I rarely see him when I’m working out.”

  I didn’t tell her about the note I’d found in Holly’s shoe. I wanted to think about who might have written it. I described the other photographs. “Holly and Sheldon Snodgrass sat together at one party.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  I realized talking too much about Sheldon might hamper my efforts to lure Meredith to his Thursday night bash. I switched to Ned. “I saw several pictures of Holly with Ned Barclay.”

  “Sounds like a better match.”

  “He obviously adored Holly. She seemed fond of him, too.”

  “What did Sam say about the pictures?”

  “That police are questioning the men about their relationships with Holly. One of them could be her baby’s father. And her killer.”

  “She had a baby?”

  “She gave birth a few months ago and placed the child for adoption.”

  Meredith shook her head. “Poor Holly. She must have been miserable the last days of her life. Why would someone want to kill that girl? I’m glad Sam’s on the case.”

  “Yes. I’m glad you asked him to the grill. I enjoyed seeing him. We’ll see him again tonight.”

  “We will?”

  “There’s a gourmet tasting party. Chefs and restaurant owners show off their delicacies. The press even covers it.”

  “Sounds intriguing. Where’s the party?”

  “It’s hosted by Food, Fitness, and Euphoria—the magazine. You know, Sheldon’s magazine.”

  “Not Sheldon.
Sheldon Snodgrass? Oh, please.”

  “Sam’s going. He thought the party might be interesting...said he’d pick us up at seven.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Snodgrass will probably serve eggplant eggnog. Should I come dressed like a pickle?” She scowled.

  I looked at her with basset hound eyes.

  “Oh, all right. I’ll be ready.” She sped up faster and faced forward. She didn’t even laugh at her pickle joke. It was time to end my workout.

  “I’m checking out for today. Thanks for listening. I’ll see you tonight.” I scampered toward the steps before she had time to come to her senses.

  When I entered the locker room, Sarah Savoy was primping at one of the cubicles. Since I needed to cash a check at the bank before going to class, I slipped behind the door of my locker to change into a pantsuit. I left my jacket off to use deodorant. When I went to the primping station next to Sarah, I noticed her beautiful suede suit. I complimented her on the elegant outfit even though it smelled like she’d recently retrieved it from storage. She probably didn’t wear suits very often.

  “My cousin is here from Dallas. We’re going to dinner at La Mansion and a play at the Majestic Theatre...girls’ night out.” She reached into her purse for Chanel moisturizer and makeup and patted them on. Her eyes were as startlingly blue as Pete Reeves’. Those two blonds would make the perfect pair for a beach commercial.

  “Did the police question you about Holly?” I asked.

  She lined her eyes. “Yep. I can’t believe they didn’t know about her boyfriends. When she joined the club a couple of years ago, she started dating every guy in sight...even Sheldon Snodgrass. That didn’t last long.” She brushed on mascara. “When Holly dated guys from the club, it really chapped Harry Thorne.”

  “Really? Why should that bother him?”

  “Harry’s a control freak.” She thinned her lips to apply liner. “I’m surprised he didn’t drive her crazy. Who Holly or I dated was none of his business.”

  “What did he do when she dated them?” Sarah probably knew more than anybody about club members and staff.

  “He’d sashay by and make snide remarks. Harry used to hassle me the same way when I dated a member. What a creep.”

  “What did Holly do?”

  “Ignored him like he didn’t exist.” She filled in her liner with lipstick.

  I grabbed an opaque bottle, smoothed the club’s moisturizer on my face and neck and waited for everything to dry before putting on my jacket. “Did you work here when Holly dated Mickey Shannon?”

  “Sure did. Mickey dated everybody, including me. He’s one gorgeous specimen, but I got tired of his stupid jokes. I became gradually unavailable—said I needed to prepare for classes—that kind of stuff.” She smirked at me. “He wouldn’t have liked being flipped off. He’s got a terrible temper.”

  “How long did Holly date him?” I hoped my questions sounded like casual gossip, not an interrogation. To prolong dressing, I sprayed more deodorant and blew at my armpits.

  “A couple of months.” She set her makeup with powder. “They got pretty cozy before Ned Barclay showed up.” Sarah apparently liked to gossip.

  “Can you imagine preferring Ned over Mickey Shannon?” she said. “Well, Holly did. Mickey didn’t appreciate it one bit, but I guess he concluded he didn’t have much choice.”

  No wonder Mickey enjoyed intimidating Ned in the weight room. He was getting even. “Did Holly date Ned for a long time?” I began applying makeup.

  “Yes. I thought they might get married, but they never did. Holly disappeared for a few months. I didn’t know whether they broke up or what.” Sarah finished her makeup and started brushing her hair. “Ned still came to work out, wearing that sad, sweet face of his.”

  Did she know about Holly’s pregnancy and adoption? I applied more mascara. “How long was Holly back at the club before we saw her at the pool?”

  “Two or three days. She came to my aerobics class the morning of the pool accident looking weak and demoralized. I could tell she was struggling, so I stayed afterward to talk to her.”

  Sarah’s aerobics class met from 9:00 to 10:00 a.m. Even though Holly lingered after class to talk, she still had time to stop by Harry’s office before going to swim. Between 11:30 and noon, I spotted her floating in the pool. Maybe Sarah was the girl Meredith overheard arguing with Harry. If it was Sarah, she chose not to mention it.

  “Holly told me she’d delivered a baby,” she said. “She took Valium because she was depressed over giving up the child.” She repacked her purse, looking despondent. Most women had trouble imagining how another woman could relinquish her baby. The pain of my own guilt soured my stomach. I felt the urge to defend Holly.

  “Sometimes it’s the only thing a person knows to do.” I’d applied so much mascara, I couldn’t afford to fog up. I blinked and swallowed.

  She watched me. “Yes. Poor Holly.” Sympathy softened her face. “Well, at least she’s out of her misery.”

  I gathered my things. “I’ll be getting in the pool for your water classes pretty soon. I’m sick of those treadmills.” My buns felt like rocks.

  “Great. I’ll watch for you.” She bustled out of the locker room, strutting like a fashion model.

  All I had to look forward to was facing Dr. Carmody.

  Eighteen

  I didn’t feel like eating lunch. I stopped by the bank, which made me late for Professor Carmody’s class. He scowled at me as I tiptoed to an empty front row seat nearest the door and eased down on my concrete biscuits.

  Wishing I’d wiped off excess makeup, I produced the most dazzling smile I could muster. He’d apparently never experienced having a student return after missing his first two classes. He raised his knifelike nose, sniffed the atmosphere and dissected me through thick bifocals as though weighing the significance of the event.

  I checked him out. He appeared to be in his fifties. Since he was doughy above and below the belt and lacked upper body musculature, I surmised he valued eating over exercise. I wondered whether, after teaching Aspects of Aging, he’d change his lifestyle. I settled back to hear what he had to offer.

  “We’ve discussed the elements of normal aging in the absence of disease and how the average lifespan increased due to improved medical care, antibiotics, sanitation and healthier lifestyles. The average life span is different from the maximum life span of approximately one hundred twenty years, which hasn’t increased, so far as we know, over centuries.” Students lounged over desks and peered at him from under droopy lids.

  My hand shot up. “According to The National Center for Health Statistics, ‘if major forms of cardiovascular disease were eliminated, human life expectancy could increase by almost ten years.’ So, in addition to extending average life span, couldn’t scientists extend maximum life span by eliminating the major disease that kills people?”

  Carmody opened his mouth but apparently couldn’t get it in gear.

  I continued. “We know the primary risk factors for heart disease: smoking, obesity, physical inactivity, high cholesterol, diabetes, high blood pressure...” His face got redder with each item I ticked off. He probably had three or four risk factors. Students waited for his response. When there was none, they flipped their heads toward me.

  “We already reduce cardiovascular disease through diet and lifestyle changes. We control cholesterol, high blood pressure and diabetes with medication.” Hopefully, Carmody’s ruddy glow didn’t indicate skyrocketing blood pressure. I was merely making observations. Students switched their attention to him.

  “What you say is true, Miss...Miss...”

  “Mundeen. Aggie Mundeen.”

  “Ah, yes. Agatha.” He snorted. “I’m afraid your comments are simplistic.”

  I didn’t care for his choice of words.

  “You’re not considering Programmed Theories,” he droned. “Mr. Izumi died at one hundred twenty because his immune system failed. His hormones could have failed,
or his cells could have stopped dividing. Error Theorists think external forces damaged his cells and organs so they could no longer function adequately, like wear and tear, and...” Students slumped while he babbled repetitive information.

  While he blah-blahed through theories, I had another thought. When he stopped to breathe, I expressed it. “How can gerontologists separate Program Theories from Error Theories? Even if ‘clocks’ that determine aging and death are genetically predisposed, can’t they be altered by good diet and exercise, or thrown off course by disease or error?” Carmody’s bird face expanded like somebody had attached it to a bicycle pump. My classmates perked up.

  “Which reminds me,” I chirped. “What about those biomarkers? Have geneticists pinpointed what they are? Why don’t scientists determine how genetics, disease and ‘errors’ affect biomarkers?” I eagerly awaited his response.

  He pursed his lips and blew out a lot of air. “Scientists are trying to identify biomarkers in cells, tissues and organs but haven’t pinpointed them yet. They only recently finished mapping human genes.”

  He didn’t have to shout. I merely expressed questions triggered by the reading material. Weren’t students supposed to be inquisitive?

  One girl giggled, intensifying Carmody’s exasperation. Since I hadn’t achieved perfect attendance, I opted to become silent. Besides, I felt weirdly lightheaded. My stomach rumbled. I grew dizzy. I couldn’t concentrate. Some disturbance had invaded my brain.

  He started blubbering about fruit flies. He said scientists had found evidence of genes in fruit flies that appeared to be related to aging. How strange was that? I pictured aging fruit flies with gray wings flitting around. I snickered. They buzzed around in slow motion, bumping into each other. I giggled and slapped my hand over my mouth.