Mrs. Frey paused at the doorway to glance back at me, her eyes angry slits and her upper lip drawn into a snarl, as though I had no business asking Iris questions.
“First and last time,” Iris said tersely. She walked to the front door, flipped the sign to CLOSED, then held the door open for me. “Don’t forget your free newspaper.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
W
hen I walked into Down the Hatch, Marco was behind the bar, mixing a drink for a customer who was yammering on about a football game. Marco had on a royal blue T-shirt with the bar’s logo on the front, setting off his dark hair and eyes. His mouth curved up at one corner when he saw me. He pointed to the last booth, then went back to the drink.
Not that I’d ever admit it to Jillian, but he was definitely
disturvable
tonight.
As I made my way past the bar, several of the regulars, whom I had dubbed Moe, Larry, and Curly, began to tease me.
“Hey, Abby, go anywhere interesting last weekend?”
“Got any tan lines, Abby?”
“So, Abby, did you see any interesting sights
outside
your room?”
These were followed by guffaws. Obviously, they’d found out about the trip to Key West. At the risk of sounding like Iris, I stopped to drape my arms across their shoulders and asked, “Know what you guys remind me of?”
“Why don’t you tell us?” Moe said, lifting a beer bottle to his lips.
“Slinkies.”
“Slinkies?” Larry asked, glancing at the other two in puzzlement.
“Yeah, you know those springy toys? They’re not really good for anything, but I still laugh when they tumble down the stairs.”
Being Stooges, they didn’t get it, but everyone around them did. With a satisfied smile, I sashayed over to the last booth and slid in.
“What’ll it be, doll?” Gert asked in her gravelly voice.
“How about two cold beers?” Marco asked, and slid into the booth on the other side. He set two icy mugs down and pushed one toward me.
We gave Gert our dinner orders, then clinked our mugs together. “Who told the Stooges about Key West?” I asked, licking foam off my lips.
“I think Gert let it slip.”
“Gert knows?” I leaned forward to whisper, “How did she find out?”
“I think Chris told her.”
“Your head bartender knows? Does everyone in the bar know?”
“Would you be upset if they did?”
Did I care that people knew we went away together? That we were romantically involved? Marco certainly didn’t. “No, but if my parents find out, it’ll get awkward. They’ll read all kinds of things into it. But, hey, I’m twenty-seven years old. I own a flower shop. I bought my own car. I pay my own bills. I should be able to make my own decisions. Right?”
“Was that a dry run for your parents?”
“How did it sound?”
“Take off the question at the end. It’s more forceful.”
“Duly noted.”
Marco lifted an eyebrow. “Want to go back to Key West next month?”
Just thinking about another weekend with Marco made my spirits soar. Then reality set in and my spirits took a dive. “That depends on what happens with Nikki, I guess.”
Gert brought our food, so I paused to take a bite of juicy turkey burger. “Remember my telling you about Iris Frey, from Frey’s Dry Cleaner—how she was watching Jonas at the speed-dating event and walked out after I told her who Nikki was?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, guess what? Jonas was one of her regular customers, and by the way she talked about him, I think she had a little crush on him.”
“When did you talk to Iris?”
“Just now, when I dropped off some dry cleaning for Grace.”
Marco regarded me skeptically, but let me continue while he ate his sandwich. So I told him how Iris had gushed over Jonas’s suits and gentlemanly behavior, how her mother had reacted when I asked Iris about the speed-dating event, then how Iris rushed me out the door when I started asking more personal questions.
“What I’d like to know is how Iris and Jonas happened to attend that event on the same night. It seems too coincidental, doesn’t it? I’ll bet Carmen Gold might be able to shed some light on that.”
“How about letting me take care of Iris and Carmen,” he said, “and you attend to your shop? Do you have a phone number for Carmen?”
I dug Grace’s note out of my purse. “I wouldn’t neglect my shop, Marco—you know I can’t afford to make that mistake—but we’ll get a lot farther on this case with a team effort. I’m not asking for much, just a reciprocal sharing of information that might help us catch a killer.”
Marco leaned forward, gazing intently into my eyes. “Don’t you trust me to do the job?”
“Yes, but as I tried to explain before, I can’t sit on the sidelines and hope it works out.”
He put his hand over mine. “Listen to me, Sunshine. I don’t mind sharing information with you, but you’re not a trained investigator, and this case is too important to screw up.”
I pulled my hand away. “You think I’ll screw it up?”
“Do you think I will?” he retorted.
It was a stalemate, a no-win situation, but for the sake of our relationship—and for Nikki’s sake, as well—I had to step around my ego and face facts. I very well could screw it up. I’d nearly done that on several other occasions, but fortunately luck—and Marco—had been on my side.
This time I reached for
his
hand. “I know I’m not a trained PI, Marco, and I’m well aware of the importance of the investigation, so I’ll try not to interfere. But if an opportunity arises, shouldn’t I make the most of it?”
“If the opportunity arises, of course you should make the most of it. And I didn’t mean to imply that you would screw up. Just be very careful. Don’t make anyone nervous. Someone killed Jonas in cold blood and may not hesitate to kill again.” Marco brought my hand to his lips. “Above all else, I don’t want you to be the next victim.”
I gazed into those soulful eyes and smiled all the way down to my toes. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Feeling as though we’d crossed a major obstacle, I told Marco about my meeting with Iris. “Her hostility toward Robin Lennox stunned me. She actually referred to Robin as a witch, which seemed way too personal for someone who claimed to not know her. That and the way Iris gushed over Jonas’s gentlemanly behavior are the reasons I suspect she had a crush on him. But the only thing she said about Hank Miller was that there was bad blood between him and Jonas. Did you learn anything helpful from Jonas’s construction crew?”
“Not really. I spent the whole afternoon talking to various employees, which is why I didn’t make it out to see Robin, but none of them had any major complaints or insights about who might have killed him.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Jonas may have been a jerk on the social scale, but when it came to business, he understood that getting things done meant keeping his workers happy. The proof is in the subdivision. It went up in record time. But here’s something interesting, and maybe this is why Iris heard there was bad blood between them. Hank Miller paid Jonas a visit at the sales office on the Wednesday before Jonas was killed, and the two almost came to blows. I haven’t found out what the dispute was about, but I got a phone number for Miller. I’ll give him a call this evening and see what he says about it.”
Marco stopped for a sip of beer. “Tomorrow morning I’ll call Carmen Gold, pay a visit to Robin Lennox, and hit the boxing gym to talk to Kessler. We’ve got to get this case moving.”
The boxing gym?
Hmm.
That gave me an idea. “Could you go to the gym around one o’clock?”
“Probably. Why?”
“That’s usually a slow time at Bloomers, and I’d like to tag along with you to check out the men—”
That was the moment Gert chose to stop at the table to see if we needed anything. It was also the moment when Marco lifted his mug to take another drink of beer. Both of them froze.
“—for Nikki,” I quickly finished. “I’d like to find her a date.”
Gert let out a wheezy sigh as she distributed the plates, clearly relieved I wasn’t scouting for myself.
Marco leaned toward me. “Abby, Nikki is a suspect in a murder investigation.”
As if that had slipped my mind. “That’s exactly why she needs a date, Marco. Nikki is as low as I’ve ever seen her. She’s always been upbeat and fun, and now she can barely drag herself out of bed. It breaks my heart to see her like that. What harm would it do to have a nice guy take her out to dinner? Think how it would raise her spirits. Besides, she hasn’t been charged with anything. She’s attractive, smart—why shouldn’t someone want to take her out?”
He gave me an incredulous look. “You’re joking, right?”
“No one has to know she’s a suspect.”
At his scowl, I gave up. I wasn’t too keen on keeping something like that from a potential date anyway. “Fine. I’ll tell them, if it comes up.”
“I don’t know why you won’t let Nikki find her own date. Her happiness isn’t your responsibility. Keeping Bloomers from going under
is.
”
Instead of arguing, I stuck a french fry in the mound of ketchup on my plate. Marco just didn’t get it. I couldn’t live in the same apartment and pretend like I didn’t see how Nikki was hurting. If Marco didn’t want me to go to the gym with him, I’d go alone. In fact, he wouldn’t even have to know I’d been there.
When I finally wrapped up my work at Bloomers around eight thirty that evening, my back and neck were stiff from bending over the worktable. I hadn’t been able to squeeze in my morning walk at the track in quite a while, and I was starting to feel it. What I needed was a good workout . . . hmm . . . like on a treadmill at a gym, especially since I wanted to look good in my bathing suit when we returned to Key West.
I left Bloomers and headed for Put Up Your Dukes Boxing Gym, located at one end of a strip mall on the north side of town. The brightly lit gym was visible through the huge plate-glass windows along the front and side walls, where I saw all kinds of exercise equipment, free weights, boxing bags, a boxing ring, and, most important, guys.
As I walked toward the door I took the precaution of shutting off my cell phone, in case Marco decided to call while I was working the room. Inside, I was assailed by heat and the strong odor of sweaty bodies and dirty socks, though the building itself appeared clean and modern.
In the center of the vast room was their small boxing ring, where two guys in leather headgear and boxing gloves were sparring. Beyond the ring, a group of mommies-to-be was engaged in a yoga session. Through a wide doorway in the center of the opposite wall, I saw a kickboxing class in progress. To my right was a reception counter, with a door behind it labeled OFFICE.
A well-built guy in a sleeveless T-shirt, standing behind the reception counter, said, “Need some help?” He sported a good head of hair, so clearly he wasn’t the bald Borax Marco had met. I eyed his left hand as I walked toward him. No ring. Clean fingernails. He was going on the date list. “I’d like some information, please.”
Smiling, he put his hands on the glass countertop and leaned into them, flexing his biceps for me. Then he said in a husky voice, “Tell me what kind of info you need, sweetcakes, and I’ll do my best to get it for you. Name is Link, by the way, as in, ‘Wanna link up with me?’ And you are . . . ?”
Definitely not a sweetcakes. It looked like Link wasn’t going on the date list after all. “I’m Abby, and I was thinking about joining your gym, so I stopped by to check out your equipment.” I blushed hotly. “Well, not
your
equipment . . .”
He leered at me. “It’s okay by me, sweetcakes.”
“I really don’t like that nickname, Link. Could you call me Abby, please?”
He raised his eyebrow. “Spicy. I like that.”
Link walked me over to the other side of the gym, where three guys were running on treadmills facing the windows. Because it was dark outside, all they could see was their own reflection, but they didn’t seem to have a problem with that. I walked around with Link as he explained the benefits of being a member; then I asked if I could have a guest pass for the evening. He was happy to oblige, and I was happy he stopped calling me sweetcakes.
Since I hadn’t brought my workout clothes, I had to make do with my tan khakis and lime green long-sleeved T-shirt with the Bloomers logo on the back. Luckily, I had an old pair of running shoes in the trunk of my car. I locked up my boots, coat, and purse in the women’s locker room, then headed straight for the treadmills, where only two guys were now working out. Since both were nice-looking and weren’t wearing wedding bands, maybe two was enough.
I stepped onto one of the machines, figured out how to start it up, then, walking at a pace that allowed me to converse, I introduced myself to the guy on my right, who said his name was Ted. After making small talk for a few minutes I said, “So, Ted, I noticed you’re not wearing a ring. Are you seeing anyone special? Because I have a gorgeous roommate who—”
“Sorry, hon, I have to stop you right there. Unless your roommate is a guy, you’re out of luck.” He said out of the side of his mouth, “If you’re wanting to hook your friend up, try the adorable boy on your left. He’s been salivating over every woman to walk in tonight.”
I glanced left to find the alleged adorable boy staring unabashedly at my breasts, which made him less than adorable in my book. Since I was already self-conscious about my natural endowments, I hunched my shoulders and gave him a scowl.
“You’re hot,” the so-called adorable one said with a lop-sided grin. I noticed then that he had peach fuzz on his chin and above his lip. I doubted he was out of high school. No wonder Ted had called him a boy.
“Shouldn’t you be home doing your homework?” I asked.
“Already did it.”
This wasn’t working out the way I’d hoped.
Across the room, the office door opened and out walked a man I recognized instantly from his television ads—Duke Kessler. Although he had shed the royal purple robe as well as a few pounds around his middle, he still had a powerful charisma that made me feel like I was in the presence of genuine royalty. Kessler was a tall, distinguished man in his early sixties, white at the temples, but fit, tanned, and bright-eyed, with a smile that was infectious.