Daisies for Innocence (18 page)

“When you’re done with that, tuck some of this excelsior into each of the boxes for the bars to sit on.”

“You’ve got it.”

My cell rang. I ducked behind the counter to retrieve it and saw it was Astrid.

“I’ve solved your problem!” she exclaimed by way of greeting.

I went into the office and closed the door partway to get a little privacy. “You know who killed Josie?”

“No, not that problem. The one about how to talk to prissy Missy the ice-skater.”

Leaning against the filing cabinet, I said, “Do tell.”

“I’m sitting here at my desk, calling clients to remind them of their pet’s appointments tomorrow, when I see her go into the gym across the street.”

“And . . .”

“And she’s dressed to work out! She’s going to be there a while, Ellie. You need to get over there and take advantage of that.”

I hated the gym. The very idea of sweating without actually accomplishing anything was almost offensive to me. I would rather work in the garden all day long than hit the treadmill for half an hour. However, Astrid had a point. This might be my only chance. I looked at my watch. It was one fifteen. I had until two thirty before Ritter picked me up.

“I’m not a member of the gym,” I said.

She laughed. “Just go in and ask for a tour. They do that all the time. They’ll let you try out the equipment, hang around for a while. Start up a conversation or two with someone else who’s working out there—like a certain former Olympian. . . .”

“I guess I could do that,” I said.

“You might get a sales pitch, of course.”

“Believe me—I can resist any pitch that tries to get me to go to that place over and over again. Ugh.”

“It’s good for you,” Astrid said.

“Gotta go,” I said. “Thanks for the heads-up.” I hung
up and went back out to where Maggie was working. “I’m going to have to leave you in charge again this afternoon. I’m going over to the gym right now, but I’ll be back—before leaving again.”

“No problem. I don’t know how you managed with help only two days a week, though.”

I shook my head. “I’m starting to wonder that myself.”

Of course, I hadn’t been investigating a murder then, either.

“Well, I’m willing to work as much as you want me to. It’s a joy spending time here.”

I
N
my loft bedroom, I shuffled through drawers searching for something that looked like workout gear. There: yoga pants and a T-shirt. It would have to do. And honestly, I’d been known to actually use the yoga pants for their intended purpose. I changed and went out to Corona Street through the garden gate.

Boomtown Gym, or, since there was only one fitness center in Poppyville, simply “the gym,” was on Cooperhawk Way, a block off the main drag. It was a small classy place housed in a brick building that had originally been a feed store. Located on the corner, it was directly across from Dr. Ericcson’s vet office. Sure enough, I saw Astrid sitting at her desk. When she saw me through the window, she waved.

My phone buzzed in my purse, which I’d brought along, since yoga pants don’t have decent pockets. I pulled it out and saw Astrid had texted.

If you join, I’ll come work out with you!!

I turned and gave her a sarcastic smile from across the street, turned toward the door of the gym, and went inside for the first time in my life.

The air vibrated with a driving dance beat. To the left, a bank of cardiac machines marched down the wall: ellipticals, stationary bikes, treadmills, and stair climbers. About half of them were in use. Straight ahead, two rows of weight machines filled the space to the back wall and locker rooms. To the right, three other rooms opened off the main area. One had ropes and straps and other devices of torture hanging from above. The second contained tiny tables and lots of toys—day care for busy moms.

In the third area a class was in session. A group of women—not a single man from what I could tell—bounced and stepped and swayed and stomped to the beat of the music, waving their arms in synchronicity and having a great time. With a sense of dread, I craned my neck to see if Missy Renault was one of the masochists taking part. If she was, I was out of luck.

I hated classes like that. I hated anything that took a lot of coordination, especially if it was in front of other people. Harris had assured me throughout our marriage that I had two left feet. I couldn’t argue with him. I’d even messed up the first dance at our wedding.

“Can I help you?”

I turned to see an extremely buff guy with a shaved head and eyebrow ring. I recognized him as a clerk at the hardware store.
Lots of moonlighting in Poppyville,
I thought. He’d come into the Roux Grill with his wife on occasion.

“I don’t think you’re a member here, are you?” He had kind eyes.

“No. I was hoping maybe you could show me around.” I took a breath. “Maybe let me try some of the equipment?”

“You’re Ellie, aren’t you? I remember you from the restaurant.”

“That’s me. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your name.”

“Mark Kittery. And I’ll be more than happy to show you around. Here we have the TRX suspension training room. You use your own body weight to work out with these straps, and . . .”

My attention wandered, as did my eyes, searching for Missy Renault. Finally, I saw her toward the back of the room, running on a treadmill. And on the other side of a stair stepper, Inga Fowler spun away on a stationary bike. They were chatting to each other over the empty stair stepper like old buddies.

Which, perhaps, they were. I hoped so, because Inga might be my way into a conversation with Missy.

Mark showed me the class schedule, invited me to check out the women’s locker room on my own, and led me to the day care room I’d already noticed. Inside, I found Inga’s two children putting together an oversize puzzle. I waved to them, and they waved back. The
teenager who was watching them looked up and waved at me, too.

Friendly place.

“Are you familiar with pin-loaded weight machines?” my guide asked.

My blank look must have been answer enough, because he beckoned me over to a contraption that consisted of a series of pulleys and weights. I could tell right away it was going to kick my behind.

“Come sit here,” Mark said.

“Oh, I think I’ve seen enough,” I said. “Maybe I could just look around a little more on my own?”

“It’s no trouble,” he assured me. “Grab this bar.”

Suppressing a sigh, I did as I was told, watching Missy and Inga out of the corner of my eye.

“Pull it down,” Mark said.

I pulled.

“Wow! You’re strong for such a little thing. Here.” He added more weight.

I pulled the bar down again. Inga had slowed and was punching buttons on the console of the exercise bike.

“Jeez. That’s amazing!” he said, moving the bolt down in the pile of weights on the machine. “Try this.”

I stood up. “Do you mind if I go talk to my friend over there? Maybe she can tell me how she likes it here.”

He looked disappointed, then saw I was pointing toward Missy and brightened. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll get a good review from her.”

Thanking him, I made my way through the machines toward the two women. Then I realized my new friend had decided to come with me.

Dang it. How am I going to get him to leave me alone?

Someone came in and stood by the front counter. Mark saw them, and with a moue of apology said, “Sorry, Ellie. I’m on the desk right now. I’ll check in with you when I can.”

“Okeydoke,” I said, trying to keep the relief out of my voice. “Hi, Inga!” I interrupted their conversation.

Missy scowled, but Inga looked over at me. I saw that she had thirty minutes left on her virtual ride. She looked exhausted and too thin in her racer-back tank. I wondered what she’d eaten that day.

“Well, hi, Ellie. I didn’t know you were a member here,” Inga said.

“I’m not. Just checking it out. You know. Not getting any younger and all that.”

She made a face, and I sensed her familiar anxiety. Because I’d made a crack about age? Inga had to still be in her twenties—unless she’d had work done.

I smiled a big smile at Missy, who had been watching us from her treadmill with a sour expression. “Hi. I’ve seen you at the salon, but don’t think we’ve actually met. I’m Ellie.” The music suddenly stopped as I spoke, so my name echoed throughout the room. I ducked my head and tried to will myself to stop blushing.

“Missy,” she said. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her forehead was shiny with sweat. She was a substantial woman—not overweight, but seriously muscled. Still, she ran easily along the treadmill, her rapid footfalls light and silent.

I climbed onto the stair stepper between them and peered at the control pad. I could feel their eyes on me,
so I took a chance and punched a button at random. The steps began moving under my feet, and I had to start climbing to keep from being dumped backward onto the floor. Within seconds, I was panting and sweating.

Great.

I plodded on, thighs burning. Inga and Missy had stopped talking once I’d unceremoniously elbowed my way in between them. How was I going to start a conversation about Josie when Missy didn’t seem to want to talk to me at all?

Artlessly, that was how. “So Missy, Josie Overland told me she used to clean for you. She was such a sweetheart. What happened is so terrible.”

Inga shot me a surprised look.

Missy’s lip curled. “Used to, is right. I fired her.”

My jaw slackened in surprise. Then the stair stepper got away from me, and I had to scramble to keep up.

What button did I push, anyway?
I squinted at the control panel, but all I saw was a series of lines that looked as if they belonged on an EKG.

I’m going to need an EKG by the time I’m done here.

“You fired her?” I panted. “She worked for me, too. Bartending and also in my retail store. I thought she did a good job.”

“She was a snoop,” Missy said flatly. “And I think she stole some of my jewelry.”

I flat out gaped at her. I punched the
STOP
button, and the stairs mercifully ceased their movement. “Stole? Holy cow.” I looked at Inga. “Did you have any problem like that with Josie?”

Inga shook her head.

Now that I wasn’t trying to climb the Eiffel Tower, I could sense something beyond the bitterness Missy Renault projected. I took in her defiant expression, the determined set of her jaw. Despite all that, this woman was deeply lonely.

Well, no wonder. She probably drove everyone around her away. I tried to dig up some compassion, but the last few days had tapped many of my resources. Maybe I could try to help her another time.

If she even wanted help. That, I felt, was probably the crux.

Concentrate, Ellie. You’re here about Josie.

Inga’s anxiety was rising, too. Standing between the two of them, I felt buffeted by emotion.

“I guess maybe I didn’t know Josie that well.” I reached for one of the antibacterial towelettes available in containers all over the gym, and swept it over the stair stepper as an excuse to stay where I was. “I wouldn’t have thought she was a thief, though. How long did she work for you?”

Missy shrugged. “A year, maybe.”

I looked at Inga.

“Same,” she said. “It wasn’t my idea to hire her, though. I didn’t like having a maid.”

I remembered the computer file labeled
HOUSEFAIRY
.
Josie hadn’t exactly considered herself a maid. But all I said was, “Why not?”

Inga shrugged. “I just don’t like having people I don’t know in my home. It’s one of the reasons I don’t have a nanny. I like being a mom.”

“But no one likes to clean,” Missy pointed out as her treadmill slowed and she began to walk.

“Maybe,” the other woman said. “But I love my home. I like taking care of it. I didn’t grow up rich, you know. It feels wrong to ask someone to scrub my floors. My husband insisted, though. He’s the one who hired Josie.”

I smiled at her. “I saw your kids are over in the day care. They’re terrific.”

Inga’s face brightened, and a calmness took over. “They’re sweethearts. I’m so lucky. I love my life,” she said.

“With all that money?” Missy asked with a laugh. “I bet you do.”

“That helps,” Inga admitted, turning off her bike with twenty minutes still left on the timer. She looked at her children through the open door of the day care. “But mostly, it’s about them.”

She got off the bike and gathered her water bottle and a towel. “I’ll see you two later. Ellie, maybe I’ll run into you here again?”

“Maybe,” I said brightly.
Not on your life.

She turned, and that’s when I saw the tattoo of a tiny daisy on her shoulder. A normal tank top would have covered it, but the racer back left it exposed.

“Wait up,” Missy said. “I’m coming with.” She
followed Inga back to the locker room without so much as a toodle-oo to me.

I took one last look around the room, my thoughts racing. Then my eyes found the digital clock on the wall.

It read two fifteen.

Darn it! Ritter was going to be at Scents & Nonsense in fifteen minutes, and thanks to my foray into the world of fitness, I smelled like a goat.

I jogged to the door and called to a puzzled-looking Mark, “Thanks for the tour. I’ll let you know!”

Thankfully, Astrid wasn’t at her desk by the window anymore, so she didn’t see me jog by—or all the way home. On the way, I kept trying to remember what the woman in the photo with Josie had looked like at the Trace’s. Black hair, red lips, white teeth—and that daisy tattoo. That was all I could come up with. So why would Inga have the same tattoo? Had she seen Josie’s and wanted to copy it? I had to admit, it was pretty cute.

When I got to the store, I was sweatier than ever—and a mint green truck was parked right in front.

I tried to sneak around back, but Ritter stepped out to the back patio of Scents & Nonsense right as I hurried by. I nearly bumped into him, then backpedaled away.

“Hey!” I said in a cheerful tone. “You’re early! And I was just at the gym. I’m going to grab a quick shower, okay?”

“Sure,” he said easily. He grinned and sat down on a rocking chair. “I’ll wait here.”

I scurried down the path to my house. He hadn’t blinked an eye when I said I’d been to the gym, and I had to look a sight. As I dashed through the shower and threw
on a pair of shorts and the first shirt that came to hand, I wondered if I seemed like the sort of woman who worked out. Giving myself a once-over in the mirror with an assessing eye, I had to admit I was in pretty good shape. I could hardly avoid it.
Gardening is the best exercise—for the body and the soul,
I thought, reaching for the blow dryer.

Then I put it back on its hook.
No time for that.

No time for makeup, either. But Ritter still gave me an appreciative look when I came back to find him playing fetch with Dash and a ratty old tennis ball.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “Hope I didn’t make us late.”

“Nah,” he said in a mellow tone. “I like your hair all wet and wild like that.”

“No time to dry it,” I said, blushing.

“It’ll dry on the way,” he said.

I checked in with Maggie and set her to unmolding the now-cooled lotion bars. Out on the boardwalk, I eyed the truck.

“Are you planning to get your own car, or just keep borrowing your sister’s ride?”