“My curling iron.”
His bullet-brown eyes pierced mine. If only he weren’t a detective. Stalling for time to devise a more convincing answer, I gazed around the room and inadvertently glanced at my computer. Following my gaze, he snapped his eyes to the screen and marched toward it. The orange and black skull and crossbones were hard to miss.
“Poisons! You’re researching poisons!” He whipped around and glared at me, eyes blazing.
“Your nausea, vomiting, weakness...that wasn’t from Sheldon’s food. You’re being poisoned!” He turned white and stomped back to the sofa.
I was weak with relief that I’d turned Harry’s boxing photo face down by the computer and that Sam hadn’t picked it up. He tried not to jog me when he sat.
He grabbed both my hands. “What have you gotten yourself into, Aggie? You’ve got to tell me what’s going on. Look. I’ve already lost Katy and Lee. We both lost Katy and Lee. I can’t lose you, too.”
He cared for me. He didn’t want to lose me. If my body hadn’t been a solid, suffering mass, I’d have melted right there on the couch. He didn’t want me to die. I didn’t want to die, either. I didn’t even want to get old. Especially now that Sam cared.
My eyes filled. Actually, the large one got moist and the swollen one spilled over. He handed me a Kleenex.
“All right,” I said. “I wasn’t sure what was going on until Friday. Actually, I’m still not sure, but I think someone is putting poison in the club’s toiletries.”
His eyes widened to the edge of his tortoise frames as I proceeded to tell him how many times I’d been sick, where I thought the culprit had placed the poison, how anybody could have accessed the plastic bottles and how Sarah told me Holly had dated every guy at the club, including Mickey, Ned and Sheldon. I explained how I’d managed to infuriate all three of them, plus Patricia Drexel, Pete Reeves and probably Knobs and Mindy.
He seemed confused about Patricia, Pete, Knobs and Mindy. He stopped holding my hands, which was a shame. That was as close to him as I could get in my present condition.
“I need to check your locks.” He sprang up and strode to my front door. “You have a dead bolt. Good. And a peephole. Good. Don’t open the door to anybody you don’t know.”
“I never do.” I followed him around the living-dining room while he checked windows. “Sarah Savoy said Harry got upset whenever she or Holly dated club members and staff. I don’t think Sarah likes Harry very much.”
While he examined windows in my bedrooms and baths, I traipsed behind him and confessed to his back about snitching the club’s toiletries and washcloths and taking them to the San Antonio Testing Laboratory. I didn’t mention the bath crystals.
He inspected the door leading from the garage into the kitchen and my back door. “Your locks are secure, but you should lock your garage door, leave your car out and enter your house only from the front until we catch the bastard who’s trying to poison you.”
He returned to the living room and paced in a circle around the sofas. He paced faster and faster as though he feared being a step too late to prevent catastrophe. “I’ll obtain the results from the lab.” His face was red. “Then I will decide, with the department, what action to take.”
Our conversation had lasted long enough that my egg felt smaller when I touched it. I didn’t think the nasty bump would cause any serious trouble, except to remind me I was almost murdered.
Sam must have decided that scolding me wasn’t productive. Having concluded I was not only lucid but aggravating, he remained in investigative mode, crisp and efficient. I’d never witnessed his aggressive detective personality first hand. Having been single for so long, I was rusty dealing with male pride. Once he announced he’d follow up with the lab, he didn’t discuss poisons further.
He said he was researching Holly’s adoption process to glean clues to who might have killed her. That revelation made my head throb harder.
He also told me that in order to counter bad publicity, Fit and Firm would proceed with plans to celebrate its tenth anniversary on Monday. With extra people milling around the club, the event would be the perfect time for him to investigate without raising suspicion.
I kept quiet and let him talk. If he was going under cover, maybe he’d jettison his garish ties. He finally wound down and sat next to me. “We learned more from Grace’s elderly neighbor, Anna.”
My heart skipped. “The lady who said Charlie Livermore chased her granddaughter?”
“Yes. After Charlie died, Anna still lived next door to Grace when she married George Ball.”
My head pulsated. I didn’t want him to talk about Grace. It was pointless and cruel for SAPD to dig into her sad tragedies years after they happened. Couldn’t he just put his arm around me? After all, I had crashed down the stairs. I sidled closer and tried to listen.
“Anna was still helping to raise her granddaughters, Martha and Lettie. When Grace married George, Lettie was twenty, a college junior. Martha, eighteen, had finished high school.”
His eyes were liquid brown and luscious.
“Anna said that after Charlie Livermore tried to molest Martha, she developed problems. During her senior year in high school, she got pregnant.”
“How sad.” I removed my ice bag, sighed and leaned against him.
“Are you all right?” He put his arm around me, like a brother would sling an arm around a pesky sibling. Then he looked down and drew me closer.
“Um-hmm.” I leaned my side under his shoulder and looked up. I trusted him; I knew so much about him. He knew so little about me.
We were close enough to kiss. I tossed the ice bag to the coffee table so it wouldn’t drip on him, snuggled into the crevice of his arm and gazed up, inches from his face. “Does this information have something to do with my dear friend Grace?”
He shifted his position to accommodate the dead weight sagging against him. “That’s why I’m telling you about it. The two families were close, so when Martha’s baby arrived, Grace’s daughters couldn’t wait to babysit. Linda was a student at San Antonio Community College and Kim was a high school junior. They took care of Martha’s baby every chance they got.”
“Grace told me that.”
“Anna and her husband were getting old, and their son was weary of being a single parent for so long. So young Martha decided to place her baby for adoption.”
“I know.” I listened to his voice rumble in his chest. The soothing sound made me sleepy. If he’d just finish his long-winded story, he might kiss me.
“Martha made arrangements with a private adoption agency, but Linda and Kim begged their mother and George to adopt Martha’s child. Grace and George almost agreed to it. Then George reneged. He wasn’t the most energetic guy in the world, his health wasn’t great and his boys were nearly grown. He didn’t want to make new commitments. So, as she had originally planned, Martha placed her baby with Methodist Mission Home. Everybody was depressed over losing the infant. Shortly after that, George Ball suffered his fatal heart attack and everyone was devastated.
“Kim married her high school sweetheart and moved to Oklahoma. Linda shelved her pharmacy school plans, moved to California and opened a health food store near Patrick and Michael Ball’s university.”
I sat upright and stared. “Are you saying that because George Ball didn’t want to adopt the neighbor’s baby, Grace killed him?”
“No. That’s a stretch. But lots of people were angry with George before he died. Suddenly. At age forty-eight.”
I backed away from him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. George Ball didn’t have any obligation to adopt Martha’s baby. He was too old. Would you adopt a baby now?”
“Probably not.”
“Well, see? This whole idea SAPD conceived about Grace Livermore being a killer is preposterous.”
“Maybe it’s preposterous, maybe not. Moseley will find out.”
I stiffened ramrod straight. “Moseley? Elmore Moseley?”
�
��Yes. The man dating Grace. He’s about to retire, but the captain talked him into taking one final case.”
I jumped up and stared at him with both eyes bulging and my head about to explode. “You mean Elmore Moseley is dating Grace just to get information? That’s despicable. The worst part is, she likes him. Grace actually likes him!”
He stood and reached for my arms. “He likes Grace, too. He said so. He’s not going to hurt her. He’s a perfect gentleman. If Grace had nothing to do with her husbands’ deaths, she has nothing to worry about. Moseley will retire, and she’ll never realize how they happened to meet.”
My hands flew up. “Of course she’ll know. Grace isn’t a fool. She’ll eventually find out. I’m not a fool, either.” I yanked my chin up, which rattled my head. “It’s time for you to leave.” I backed away.
He looked stunned. “I never said you were a fool. Or Grace, either. Moseley’s just doing his job. Like I’m doing mine.”
“Oh. Is that what I am? Your job?”
“No, I didn’t mean...You’re not my job. You’re...well, you’re Aggie.”
“It’s Agatha,” I huffed. I marched to the door, walking as straight as I could. It was hard to appear serious wearing a Garfield shirt and lime green warm-ups, barefoot, with wet hair drooping on one side, but I was.
He raised his hands as though he intended to speak but dropped them and backed toward the door. “You’re going to rest now, aren’t you?”
“Sure. I’m going to rest.” I fumed at him while he crossed the threshold. Then I slammed the door, sniffing back angry tears.
Head pounding, I crumpled on the couch, miserable, and tried to collect myself. Sam and I could never be more than friends. We disagreed vehemently about Grace. He didn’t realize that besides him and Meredith, Grace was my only real friend. I had to go back to the club to ferret out the creep who’d tried to poison me and probably killed Holly. He would never understand that. He expected me to tell him everything and let him handle it.
I could never stop being curious, which drove him crazy. The police officer’s pride that shielded him from hurt assured him he was always right. He was angry I didn’t tell him about the poison. He could never stop probing and being officious.
He and I probably had hardening of the arteries. We’d lost too many brain cells to consider people and situations in a new light. After being whacked, my head probably couldn’t even regenerate cells.
Sam was getting close to finding answers about Holly. His obsession with her would spur him to research the adoption of his daughter, Lee. He might contact Katy’s obstetrician or track down the doctor who took over his practice. He might subpoena court records about Lee. Once he did that, odds were good that whatever bond we might have had would be quashed.
If I lived long enough to beat Izumi’s 120-year record, I’d have to go it alone. Sniffling, I searched around for my Big Chief tablet. I cradled the pad in my lap and started to write, ignoring different-sized tears streaking down my face.
“Single white female. Mature graduate student. Curious...”
My words weren’t coming out right. I sounded like an aging pervert. I started over:
“Single white female. Under forty. Avid health club member. Optimistic...”
I sounded like a pathetic physical specimen who was afraid she might die before she could get in shape.
This ad was getting way too personal. I gave up.
Twenty-Five
By Monday morning, the egg on my forehead had receded. When I covered the bruise around my eye with makeup, I looked almost normal. It was exhilarating knowing I could count on a settled stomach. My body pain had subsided to a generalized ache. When my feet began to itch, I knew I was well enough to return to Fit and Firm.
Sam called. “After I left yesterday, I paid Harry Thorne a visit.”
“And?” I replied in a refrigerated voice as I padded into the kitchen.
“It seems Holly Holmgreen was Harry Thorne’s niece. Harry’s younger brother, Billy, was Holly’s father. She was a baby when Billy died in Vietnam. Her mother, Billy’s girlfriend, deposited the child with Harry and his father, Arnold, and cut out.”
“Arnold owned the boxing gym?” I maintained a detached tone.
“Yes.”
“If she was Harry’s niece, why was her last name Holmgreen?” I peered into the refrigerator and retrieved a can of pineapple. The fruit had bromelain in it, a natural anti-inflammatory enzyme that encouraged healing.
“Holmgreen was Arnold’s mother’s maiden name. The men decided since their only choice was to raise the little girl next to a boxing gym, they should at least give her a different name to suggest a more illustrious past.”
“Holly didn’t know she was Harry Thorne’s niece?” I cradled the phone between my neck and shoulder, opened the can and poured pineapple, with its vitamins C and B1, into a bowl.
“Oh, she knew. She hated her parents for deserting her and transferred her contempt to Harry and Arnold. She despised life at the gym even more than they feared.”
I remembered Holly’s little girl clothes and baby-doll apartment. She’d tried to relive her childhood, imagining her life as she wished it had been. I took the bowl to the counter, grabbed a fork, perched on the barstool and stabbed a chunk. “What happened to Holly’s mother?”
“She announced to Harry and Arnold she wanted nothing to do with Billy’s baby. They could keep the child, but they’d never find her. Harry and Arnold looked for the woman for a solid year. Then they quit searching and legally adopted Holly.”
“Most people would be grateful they took her in.” I squeezed a bite of pineapple between my teeth and let the juice float in my mouth.
“Yes, but Holly loathed her environment and blamed Harry and Arnold. She looked demure, but Harry said she evolved into a wild child, especially during her teenage years. She seemed to improve once she lived in her own apartment, which Harry paid for. Harry talked her into joining the health club, where she could meet nice people and he could keep an eye on her. She agreed to join the club with the stipulation that nobody would know she was related to Harry.”
“Poor Harry.” My voice thawed before I could stop it.
“He only wanted to protect her.”
I thought about the note I’d found in Holly’s shoe. Harry probably wrote it. An expert in handwriting analysis could match the script against the scribbles on the back of Harry’s boxing photo. I could ask Sam to take the notes to an SAPD expert, but I wasn’t feeling cooperative. I concentrated on capturing another piece of pineapple.
Sam said Holly reviled Harry for being overprotective. “A couple of years ago, she started dating every man at the club, right under Harry’s nose. He thought she did it to spite him.”
That fit with what Sarah told me. I wondered if Holly got pregnant just to gall Harry. I paused before asking the next question. “Did Harry know Holly got pregnant and gave up her baby?”
“I don’t know. He was in such torment over her death, I didn’t have the heart to ask him.”
Holly’s baby was Harry’s last chance to have a child as close as possible to his own offspring. What would he do when he discovered she’d relinquished the child? Explode and kill the ungrateful girl he tried to raise? I carried my bowl and spoon to the sink, suddenly feeling full. Continuous trauma had shrunk my stomach.
Holly had apparently changed so much that Harry hardly recognized the girl he adopted. She taunted and rejected him. Holly was probably the woman Meredith overheard arguing with Harry. Sarah had called Harry a control freak.
There was another possibility to consider. Maybe whoever killed Holly also tried to kill her uncle Harry. Was the “bug” that put Harry in the hospital the same poison that made me sick? Maybe somebody knew about Harry’s and Holly’s kinship and thought I’d discovered it. Who would care enough to murder me, as well as Holly and Harry?
I poured a glass of milk to soothe my stomach. I didn’t discuss my thoughts with Sam.
On information overload, I still percolated with anger over SAPD’s sending Elmore to spy on Grace. I sipped.
“I’ll question Harry more later,” he said. “Right now, I just feel sorry for the poor guy. He’s too miserable to go anywhere. He’s got the club’s ten year celebration scheduled on top of everything else.”
I set my glass down. “When is it?”
“It’s today. I’m not sure Harry can handle it. He said he might put his assistant in charge. I suggested to the assistant manager, a nervous fellow, that he remove the club’s toiletries during the celebration.”
“Are you going?” I tried to keep excitement out of my voice.
“Sometime during the day. By the way, I do have news I think you’ll be glad to hear.”
“What?” I wasn’t eager for more of Sam’s “good” news.
“Grace’s third husband, Ray Peters, died of natural causes. He developed metastatic cancer and died at age sixty-two, six months after his diagnosis. His and Grace’s children gathered at his bedside. He wanted them all there and was apparently content.”
“Grace wasn’t able to tell me about Ray’s death. How did you find out?”
“She told Elmore.”
Heat rose up the back of my neck. “Well, at least you know Grace isn’t a murderer. Now you can leave her alone.” Talking loud made my head throb.
He ignored the frost in my voice. “I’ll call you with results from the testing lab when I get them. You’re going to stay home and rest, right?”
“That’s probably the best idea.”
I clicked the phone off, set my glass in the sink and paced to the living room. I was glad Sam wasn’t standing in front of me to witness my eager face. I rubbed my itching feet against the sofa. With Fit and Firm about to celebrate its ten year anniversary, and me full of pineapple with manganese and my enzymes producing energy at full throttle, staying home was out of the question.
Twenty-Six
I felt so much better that I longed to escape my habitat. The bump on my head had receded. With my bangs pulled down and makeup around my eye, I looked normal. The sun was shining on this mild Monday in January. The day was perfect to satisfy my curiosity with a little sleuthing.
Fit To Be Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 1) Page 15