Fitness Witness

by Wendy Meadows

  Jake chased a chocolate around his plate with his index finger, lost in thought. “Interesting.”

  “You look like you’ve got something to add.”

  “Well, I’ve got some inside information from a contact with the police,” Jake said. “I put my feelers out, you see, because something about this case doesn’t quite add up, especially now that Joe’s gone missing. Even more worrying now that you’ve found these pictures.”

  “What’s the information?” Olivia asked, and gave the tables nearest to them another peek. All the customers were embroiled in their chocolates and drinks. In fact, a few had purchased one of Alphonsine’s newest ideas: chocolate éclairs. The young Frenchwoman had a talent with Choux pastry and Olivia loathed to let it go to waste, even if it wasn’t technically ‘pure chocolate.’

  “The fingerprint results came back from the murder weapon.”

  “Oh?” Olivia’s eyes widened. This might be a game changer.

  “Three sets of prints. One was Tina Hobb’s, the other was Joe Kristin’s, and the last was Mike McCobb’s.”

  “Wow,” Olivia said. “But those are all people who might’ve used the weight for exercise purposes.”

  “Exactly,” Jake said. “But they’re also people who might’ve had reason to hurt Tina. After all, she was notoriously tough on her clients, and they were both her clients. And with Fat Joe missing…let’s just say it doesn’t look good for him.”

  Olivia worked the evidence over in her mind, turning it this way and that, trying to fit it together and failing over and over again. It could’ve been any of them.

  “And we also can’t discount the fact that the murderer might’ve been wearing gloves. If they were smart enough to avoid the surveillance cameras, they were probably smart enough not to leave prints behind.”

  “So either that rules out Joe and Mike, or it means it has to be one of the two of them.”

  “Or it tells us nothing at all,” Jake said, and finally popped the chocolate into his mouth. He chewed and sighed. “Brilliant as usual.”

  “You should try one of Alph’s éclairs,” Olivia said, absently. “You know, I think I should pay Mike another visit. He was the one who told me about the fight Christopher and Tina had just before her murder.”

  “And you think he’ll have more to say?”

  “Maybe, maybe. He’s a question mark for me. I mean, it’s not like I can rush off and question Joe.” Olivia nodded. “I think I’ll take Dodger for a walk, in fact. Are you coming?”

  “Me? Not today. I want to go press my contact at the station and see if I can get anything else out of him. I know they’re expecting DNA results back any day now, and that could close the case for good. Unless, you need me to come with you.”

  “No, no, I’ll be fine,” Olivia said, though she was a little disappointed. Jake’s presence always calmed her.

  Olivia shoved that aside and took another sip of her chai. Mike McCobb or Fat Joe or someone else entirely, perhaps even Lulu. Who could it be?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Dodger half-ran, half-walked down the street, tugging at the end of the leash and dragging Olivia along. The doggy dearest couldn't contain his excitement, but Olivia couldn't share it with him.

  No, she was torn between worrying about Fat Joe's disappearance and the intrigue which'd built at the thought of seeing Mike McCobb again. There wasn't enough evidence to indicate who'd done it, but at least Olivia had plenty of avenues to explore.

  They strolled along, Dodgy's paws clicking on the sidewalk, and slowed outside Mike's house. His car was parked in the driveway, but the curtains were closed, and the door too.

  Not that that meant anything. He might've walked to work, or even to the fitness center.

  Olivia started toward the path that led to the front stairs, but Dodger barked once then headed in the opposite direction, toward Christopher Robin's house.

  "Wait, sweetheart," Olivia said, and tried leading him back, but Dodger was insistent. He barked yet again. When Dodgy got in moods like this, it was almost impossible to stop him, and far easier to give him his way, then slowly lead him back once he’d sniffed whatever it was that had peeked his interest.

  Olivia frowned and followed him toward Christopher's house, mumbling under her breath. She sighed at the sight of Christopher’s yard – all brown and overgrown now, as if he’d spent no time on it. The poor guy had to be taking this hard. That or he was too busy planning his escape as the actual murderer.

  “Well, that’s a horrible thought,” she muttered.

  Dodger padded toward the house and Olivia hesitated. It was one thing to let him sniff a tree or a fire hydrant, but what if her doggy love had decided to, uh, go to the bathroom in someone else’s yard?

  A clang rang out, and Olivia froze. "What was that?"

  Dodger barked again, and this time, she let him guide her down the path that led past the side of Christopher's house and into his back garden. She blinked and sucked in a breath.

  A man bent over the trash cans at the back of the house, a gym bag slung over one shoulder. He dug through the trash, dumped boxes and plastic bags out on the ground beside him, muttering under his breath.

  “Hey!” Olivia said. “What on earth are you doing?” Dodger barked to back her up.

  The man snapped upright and stumbled back a couple steps, arms pin wheeling. “What the –?” He spun on the spot and the gym bag flapped against his pale yellow Polo shirt. “What are you doing here?” Mike McCobb flushed bright red.

  Dodger growled and pressed himself flat to the concrete that wound around the side of the house.

  “I could ask you the same question,” Olivia said. “We heard a noise during our walk and came to investigate since Christopher clearly isn’t home.”

  “Yeah, he’s probably run away,” Mike replied, and ruffled his hair. Sweat streaked his face, and the red spots on his cheeks hadn’t dwindled yet. “On the run, at least. I bet he’s the one who’s responsible for Fat Joe’s disappearance.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Olivia said. “What are you doing back here?”

  “Look, there’s no need to get freaked out about it.” Mike brushed off his palms, and adjusted the gym bag. “I was on my way to the fitness center and it just, well, it bothers me that Christopher is still here in Chester when Tina’s dead, and poor Joe is missing. I just don’t get why the police haven’t arrested him yet.”

  “Okay?” How did that equate to rifling through the man’s trash.

  “So, I thought I’d come check this place out. Maybe it’s time I do a little investigating of my own, you know?” Mike sniffed. “I don’t like living next door to a murderer. I’m sure you can understand.”

  “There’s no conclusive evidence which says he’s the murderer,” Olivia said. And Christopher’s prints hadn’t been on the murder weapon. Not that that proved anything, what with the possibility that he’d worn gloves if he had done the deed.

  “Yeah, but just the thought of it gives me the creeps. I figure if there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll do it. The cops certainly aren’t doing anything. Not that they can with all the drama going on over at the station. I – look, it’s pretty clear that Christopher did it. He had the motivation. I think their relationship was on the rocks.”

  “I thought they’d just moved in together.”

  “They had,” Mike said. “But they fought a lot. I told you that, right? They fought a lot.”

  Dodger hadn’t risen from his position on the ground, and his ears were still pressed flat against his head. “You don’t look like you’re going to the gym.”

  Mike glanced down at his shirt and jeans. “That’s what this is for.” He patted his bag. “I’d better get going.” He bent and swept the trash back into the can, grimacing. “Messy work this investigating. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “I’m not an investigator.”

  “Right.” He gave her an exaggerated wink, then placed the lid back
on the trash can. “So, I’ll get going then. You have a nice day.”

  “Wait, we’ll walk with you.” Olivia tugged on Dodger’s leash and he finally got up, his collar clinking as he did. He snuffled in Mike’s direction and let out a muted bark.

  “No, that’s fine,” Mike said. “I don’t think your dog likes me.”

  “He doesn’t bite.”

  “I’m not a big fan of dogs anyway. I’ll just head off. Got to go lift some weights and work those muscles, am I right? I’m not getting any younger. I promised myself I’d be good looking by the time I hit thirty five.” Mike chuckled, then waved. “Have a good day, Miss Cloud.”

  He rushed off without another word.

  “Curious,” Olivia whispered, and narrowed her eyes at his retreating back. She’d done her fair share of odd things in the name of investigation – breaking and entering among them – so she could hardly judge.

  She led Dodgy toward the sidewalk. “I guess that’s it for today, boy,” she said.

  Mike had reached the road ahead of them and halted beside a silver Volvo, fiddled with the zipper on his bag, searching for his car keys?

  A crash made all three of them jump, and Dodgy bark. Olivia’s stomach clenched tight – the noise had come from Christopher Robin’s house.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  O livia spun toward the source of the noise – Christopher’s front door – with Dodger barking his head off at her knees. Movement caught the corner of her eye. Mike had turned around too, keys jingling in his hand.

  “You!” The grieving boyfriend himself stood on the front porch of the house, one hand holding open the storm door, the other clutching a pistol. He raised it and Olivia ducked down in front of Dodger.

  “You!” Christopher yelled again, but he didn’t point the gun at Olivia this time. No, he swung his arm to the side and trained the pistol on the Polo-shirted snooper. “What are you doing on my property?”

  Mike trembled in his faded jeans and raised both palms. “Take it easy, man. Just take it easy.”

  “I won’t take it easy! What were you doing snooping around on my property?” He cocked the pistol.

  “Mr. Robin,” Olivia said, and swallowed to get rid of the dryness that’d taken her mouth and transformed it into a desert. “Mr. Robin, please calm down. There’s no need to do anything hasty.”

  “You stay out of this!” Christopher snapped. “You don’t understand the half of anything, old woman.”

  Old? Really? Olivia set aside her indignation at the comment and wrapped her arms around Dodger’s furry chest instead. She had to protect her doggy from the maniac with the gun – though, was he a maniac, or was he simply distraught after Tina’s death? Or maybe he’s actually the murderer. Aiming a weapon at a relative innocent is surely unhinged behavior.

  “Look, guy, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Mike said, and patted the air in front of him. “I really didn’t. I was just – uh, I was just –”

  “Just what?”

  “I wanted to make sure that you weren’t in any trouble, that’s all.”

  That didn’t make a lick of sense.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Christopher replied, as if he’d read Olivia’s mind. “You’re up to something, I know it. Ever since I moved into this neighborhood you’ve been in my face, day and night.”

  “I’m just making sure you stick to the rules,” Mike replied, evenly, still patting the air as if it’d somehow get Chris to put the gun down. It seemed highly unlikely, given the circumstances. “We have a very strict community around here. It’s important that you respect the aesthetic of this place. Look at your yard, Mr. Robin.”

  “Don’t call me Mr. Robin. Don’t call me anything, and you keep your nose out of my yard.”

  “You need to water the plants,” Mike continued, undeterred. “The council won’t stand for much more of this. You’re bringing down the value of the neighborhood and driving off potential investors.”

  Brave words for a man whose knees had knocked together about twenty times in the last forty seconds.

  “The council?” Olivia hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

  “Yes! Arlington is a good suburb and we need to maintain it. No noise, no weapons,” Mike said, and darted a glance at Olivia, then back to the pistol in Christopher’s hand, “and no disorderliness. As you can see, Mr. Robin has partaken in all three of the above.”

  “Is it wise to talk to him like that?” Olivia whispered, and Dodger barked again. Once, twice, three times. He broke into a flurry of barks in support of Olivia’s point, and both men grimaced.

  “Can you shut that mutt up?” Chris yelled.

  “He’s not a mutt,” Olivia replied, but nudged Dodger anyway. She whispered in his velvety soft ear, but the dog had lost his good humor. The tension of finding Mike digging in the trash – sacrilege, that kind of behavior was reserved for dogs, after all – and Christopher’s clear anger had pushed the doggy to the brink.

  “Please, Mr. Robin,” Olivia said. “Please, lower the weapon. I think it’s upsetting him.”

  “How about I don’t lower the weapon and you both get off my property?” Chris asked. “Now! Before I call the cops.” He swung the pistol around, wildly, and both Mike and Olivia flinched again.

  It did nothing to stop Dodger’s barking.

  “You’ve got ten seconds to get out of here,” Chris yelled.

  Olivia sprang up and tugged Dodger toward the sidewalk. “We’re going,” she said, loudly. “We didn’t mean to disturb you. We were just – we’re going.”

  Mike dropped his keys, bent and swept them up again, then rammed them home into the driver’s side door.

  Olivia didn’t allow herself the time to watch him leave or check which direction he was headed. She jogged down the sidewalk, huffing and puffing, with angry Dodger in tow.

  A gun. Why on earth did he bring a gun out of the house? It’d sure seemed like Mike had given his neighbor trouble before, but what did it have to do with the murder? Perhaps, nothing. Perhaps, everything.

  As usual, the information she’d gleaned hadn’t cast a light on the case.

  Dodger ran, barked, then ran some more. Finally, they turned the corner and headed toward the Block-a-Choc Shoppe together, and Olivia slowed the pace. Dodger’s tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth, and he’d finally quit barking.

  She ruffled his ears and took him into the back alley that led up to her apartment. If she’d make any sense of what’d happened today, she’d do it after a shower and a cup of coffee.

  Boy, life in Chester sure was eventful.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A nother successful afternoon in the store had passed. Chocolates had been devoured, coffees slurped back, and éclairs taken away in Block-A-Choc Shoppe boxes. Business had boomed and Olivia couldn’t complain about being kept busy all day long. It was better than the alternative: thinking about Mike and Christopher, Tina and Fat Joe.

  She stifled a yawn and traipsed through to her living room, carrying a mug of hot chocolate with Dodger stepping on the heels of her slippers.

  Alphonsine’s bedroom light was already off. She didn’t blame the Frenchwoman – chocolate making started at the crack of dawn, and sleeping early meant getting out of bed without the dreaded hungover feeling which stalled Olivia most mornings.

  But no matter how much Olivia yawned, she couldn’t bring herself to lie down. Her pillows were comfy, her sheets clean and soft, and she had a bottle of Tylenol in her bedside table, but none of it would help.

  The case chased away any hope of sleep.

  She’d have to settle for binge watching some late night reality TV shows to distract herself from the inexorable draw of curiosity.

  Olivia sat down in front of the TV and Dodger flopped down on top of her slippers, then let out an almighty sigh which flapped his lips.

  “All right,” she said, “let’s distract ourselves.”

  She flicked through the channels and kept the volu
me low, sipping cocoa in between yawns. “Nope. Not that. Nope. Ugh,” she said, and shook her head. Nothing really took her fancy, and there wasn’t a show interesting enough to keep her mind from the case.

  Tina was dead.

  Christopher had a gun, and had apparently had a fight with her right before it’d happened.

  Mike was…strange. Why would anyone rifle through the trash?

  And Joe still hadn’t turned up. The cops had surely started searching for him. That had to resolve itself soon, right?

  Olivia sighed and put down the remote. It didn’t matter what she watched. The case had taken up all her concentration.

  “Why would he rummage through the trash?” She wondered out loud. Dodger perked up and whined. “What could he have possibly hoped to find?”

  She shook her head. None of this made sense. Lulu had had an obsession with Tina, perhaps she’d believed that Joe and Tina were embroiled in an affair, and that could be motivation to murder her.

  But then, both Joe and Mike had motivation, as well. Except Joe had disappeared. And that could mean that he’d run off for fear of being caught as the actual murderer. Unless the actual murderer had gotten his hands on him too – but why? Why kill Fat Joe?

  “Oh heavens,” Olivia said, and put down her mug of hot chocolate. “This isn’t helping one bit.” She massaged her temples.

  What good did it do to worry over this when there were too many suspects and too little evidence to work with?

  “No good,” she muttered. “It does no good.” But that determination wouldn’t dislodge from her chest. She wanted to solve this! She wanted to make sure that it didn’t happen again, but that was a vain hope.

  Olivia’s phone tinged with a text message and she sighed. She grabbed the cell from the coffee table, then unlocked the screen and tapped through to her messages. She’d never been good with technology, but Alvira had sure helped her get used to it.