My throat felt tight and my eyes were starting to sting. I looked around me, at the wide front porch of the inn. There was nobody here, but someone could walk out the front door any time. What would a happy vacationing couple do if they saw a thirty-one-year-old woman sitting out here all alone, crying?
My mind flashed to the time in second grade when Sasha Ellis made fun of me on the playground. Apparently my four-square technique was a disgrace. I cried. She called me a baby.
So I stared at the school building behind her and started counting windows. And just like that, I stopped crying. I walked away from the game and avoided Sasha after that.
I rocked gently in the wooden chair and stared at the tea rose bush in front of me, on the other side of the porch railing. I started counting the peach-colored blossoms. By the time I got to six, the sensation of impending tears was gone.
I needed more of a distraction, so I picked up my phone and started scrolling through local news sites. The only news I found on Harris Myer was just a small, five-paragraph story explaining that no arrests had been made, but the investigation was ongoing.
There was a quote from Felix High, the public relations official from the Austin P.D. He said detectives were focusing on persons known to the victim. “This doesn’t look like a random attack,” High had told the reporter.
Felix would be a good place to start for a suspect list. If Neil was going to be cleared, if he was actually innocent anyway, I’d need to find the real killer. I scooped up my food and started walking around the outside of the inn, back to the cottage. I needed to be sitting down with my laptop, or at least a pen and paper, when I called Felix.
The inn’s cat was sprawled in front of the door to my cottage. He chirped a hello noise at me before I stepped over him.
“Look out, Seymour,” I said before I went inside.
He looked back at me, apparently confused as to why a human wouldn’t stop to pet him, before I closed the door.
I opened the call-recording app on my phone then dialed Felix’s office number. A secretary told me he wasn’t available and took my number. I set my phone down and began pacing the room, but less than two minutes later, my phone rang. It was the number I’d just dialed. Being with Alt News America had lots of perks.
“I didn’t really expect this story to make the national news,” Felix commented after we said our polite hellos and introductions. “May I ask what the interest is? I thought this was a low-profile thing.”
“Yeah, it probably is,” I said. “The thing is, I didn’t mean to get mixed up in this. I’m actually a travel writer and I was working on a feature about the Capital City Wreckers when the murder happened. I mean, I was with the team when they found the body.”
“So you’re not writing a news piece about the murder?”
“For now, no. I’m just looking into it, trying to decide what kind of distraction it’s going to be from my story about the roller derby scene.”
“I see. In that case, can we talk off the record?”
“Yeah, that’s okay.”
“This might become public information eventually, but it can’t get published yet—it would interfere with the investigation.”
“Okay, I can go off the record for now,” I said.
“Okay. Basically, the lead detective does think Myer was targeted. It doesn’t seem to be a random murder.”
“What does that mean as far as suspects?”
“There’s a former business partner from that gym Myer owns. And—given where the murder happened—we had to look at the roller derby people, too.”
“Yeah, I knew about Neil getting questioned.”
“They’re looking at him. That’s all I can say.”
“What about family?”
“They always check out the spouse first. The wife has an alibi. She was with the niece,” Felix said.
“And this guy didn’t have any girlfriends on the side? Nothing like that?”
There was a pause.
“Honestly? I haven’t heard anything about that. I’m not sure if the detectives have gotten that far.”
“Can you give me this business partner’s name?” I asked.
“Can’t. Don’t have it.”
Felix was probably lying about that, but I couldn’t hold it against him. He would have to be really incompetent to go around blabbing about the main suspects.
“I appreciate this, Felix,” I said. “I’ll keep things quiet.”
“Okay. It’s not just to help the detectives, you know? There’s a killer out there. We need to bring ’em in before anyone else gets hurt.”
| Seven
I paced on the front porch of the Bluestem Inn while I waited for Colin. Gripping my phone and keys in my hands, I felt naked without my messenger bag full of reporter’s gear, but today I wasn’t supposed to be a reporter. I was supposed to be one half of a happy couple who was looking to join a gym.
Colin came out of the inn wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. I smiled at him.
“I think we can totally pass for some fitness-minded Austinites,” I said.
I was wearing capri-length tights and a loose tank top. Our plan was to go to SoCo Athletics, pretend to be interested in joining, and see if we noticed anything suspicious—anything that might point to a murder motive. If things went really well, we might get someone to talk to us about Harris.
“Absolutely,” Colin said, smiling at me and spinning the car key ring on his finger.
We drove to the gym and made sure to park a full block away from the entrance. We didn’t want anyone to see us getting out of a car with rental logos on the back. That would blow our cover.
The sun shined hot on us as we walked down the sidewalk. My stomach started to knot.
“I’ve never joined a gym,” I told Colin. “Do they make you do a fitness test like in high school?”
He laughed. “No. Once they get your credit card number, they don’t care. The good ones will show you around, maybe take your blood pressure and some other measurements. It’s easy.”
But would pretending to be someone I’m not be easy? For me, maybe it would.
“They might ask you about your goals,” Colin added.
“Goals?” I wrinkled my nose.
“Like, some people want stronger abs, or to run a 5K, something like that,” he said.
I was still confused. My only goal related to exercise was usually to get it over with.
“Just say ‘conditioning’ if they ask you,” he said.
“How do you know about all this?”
“Easy, you’re going to hurt my feelings,” he said, laughing. “Is it really that hard to believe I’ve been to a gym before?”
“No!” I shook my head and looked down at the sidewalk. “Of course not.” I decided to stop talking before I put my foot in my mouth again.
Colin held the door open for me. The air inside was cool and rap music was playing. A man wearing a SoCo Athletics T-shirt was sitting on a stool behind the counter and looking at his phone. He smiled and put his phone down when he saw us.
“Hi. Been here before?” he asked.
Colin introduced us as Mike and Jennifer, telling him we’re new in town.
“Well, I’m glad you found us. I’m Kevin. Want me to show you around, and then we can talk about the membership packages?”
“Sounds great!” Colin said in a completely out-of-character, go-getter voice.
He really had enthusiasm for the role.
Kevin started by showing us the cardio equipment—treadmills and ellipticals and stationary bikes.
“We have all these machines inspected and calibrated every month,” Kevin said.
Colin put an arm around my shoulders.
“Oh, that’s cool, isn’t it, babe?” he said casually. “A lot of places don’t do that.”
Kevin nodded along seriously. “Exactly. These machines get a lot of wear and tear. If you don’t keep up with the maintenance, all your readings—
distance, watts, kilocalories—will be way off.”
When Kevin turned his back to us, leading us toward the free weights area, I looked at Colin and mouthed, Babe? while wrinkling my nose.
He pressed his lips tightly together. He was holding in a laugh.
But when Kevin launched into a fifteen-minute explanation of the free weights area, safety policies, and how important weights are to a fitness program, Colin’s expression glazed over. I stifled a yawn.
This long-winded introduction to the gym was exactly what we needed. I realized I could step away, and Colin wouldn’t have any trouble keeping Kevin occupied while I did a little snooping.
“Um, sorry to interrupt,” I said. “Would it be okay if I go check out the women’s locker room?”
“Sure. It’s that way,” Kevin said. “But I hope you don’t make the same mistake I see a lot of women make—forgetting all about resistance training and doing only cardio. Weights are great for your metabolism.”
“Oh, no. I totally love lifting weights,” I said, looking to Colin desperately. I wanted to get away.
“Yeah. She can actually deadlift one-fifty,” Colin said. “What can you tell me about these kettle bells?”
Kevin’s eyes seemed to light up. “Pound for pound, these things are the most versatile pieces of equipment we have in here…”
Kevin’s enthusiastic voice faded as I walked away quickly. I risked a “thank you” glance back at Colin. His eyes met mine, knowing.
I walked in the direction Kevin had pointed. It was mid-morning and the gym wasn’t very busy. Evenings in this place were probably a different story.
I found the entrance to the women’s locker room. It was right beside an unmarked door. I turned the knob on the unmarked door. It was unlocked.
This was perfect. If I got caught snooping, I could just say I was lost and looking for the bathroom.
The door led to a hallway that had a completely different atmosphere than the gym. Instead of bright lights, colorful equipment, and loud music, there was shaky incandescent lighting and a powerful odor of mildew combined with lemon-scented cleaner.
Shelves at the end of the short hallway were stuffed with old, ripped yoga mats, half-deflated balance balls, and other misfit equipment. Stenciled letters on a door to my left read H. Myer. A door across the hall from that one had two wide strips of duct tape in the same spot as the lettering on Myer’s door.
I walked up to Myer’s door. I couldn’t hear any noises coming from inside that office—only bass thumping from the gym’s sound system. There was no light coming from the gap beneath the office door.
I stepped closer to the other office door and began gently peeling the duct tape back. It made a crackling noise as the adhesive released from the door’s painted surface. I could see the same style of stenciled, spray-painted lettering. It read T. Minter.
Maybe T. Minter was the former business partner Felix had mentioned—a possible suspect in Myer’s murder.
I smoothed the tape back across the painted letters, but the end didn’t stick. It kept curling away from the door. I pressed my palm against it, hoping it would stay, and wondering if I had time to take a look in Minter’s office.
I tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. I slipped inside and gently pushed the door closed behind me. Even after I stood still for a minute, waiting for my eyes to adjust, it was too dark to see anything. I turned my phone on to the flashlight function and swept the white light around the room.
The room looked like it hadn’t been used as an actual office in a long time. It seemed more like a storage closet for random gym and roller derby stuff. Boxes were stacked against one wall. I opened the top box and took out a T-shirt that said SoCo Turkey Trot 5K. It was dated two years ago.
I looked through a few more boxes and stacks of paper. There were no gambling ledgers, no drug paraphernalia—there wasn’t anything here that told me who T. Minter was or anything interesting about Harris.
A dusty wooden desk sat in one corner. When I pulled the center drawer open, it made a loud creaking noise. I stood motionless for a second, but nothing happened—no one seemed to hear the noise. I could still hear the dull thumping of the music in the gym.
When I shined the light in the drawer, I saw a scuffed black plastic rectangle. I picked it up. It was an old cell phone—the kind that’s sold at discount stores and is activated when people buy cards with codes on them for minutes. Police call these phones “throwaways.”
If a person used cash to pay for the phone and the minutes, it would be possible to use the phone anonymously. These types of phones were popular with criminals. And with people who had bad credit.
The phone was probably just lost and abandoned by one of the gym members years ago. I thought about putting it back, but finally decided I could sneak it out in my waistband. I knew it was pointless—I probably wouldn’t even be able to find a charger for it.
I shuffled through the other desk drawers. There were envelopes, pencils and notepads. The last drawer I checked was full of signed paper membership contracts. I leafed through them, but of course didn’t see any names I recognized.
By now, I thought, Kevin might be wondering where I was. I listened at the door for a second and tried to open it, but something caught.
I twisted the knob and pulled harder, but the door still wouldn’t open. It was stuck at the top. I shined my light at the upper corner of the door and saw a crude bar latch—like the type in a bathroom stall—had been attached to the door.
When I had closed the door, the bar had slipped into the metal loop attached to the door frame. I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach it and open the lock. Then I held my ear to the edge of the door. It sounded like the hallway on the other side would still be empty.
I was starting to sweat now, wondering what Colin was telling Kevin about my long absence. Hopefully nobody was looking for me. I slipped back out into the hallway, closing Minter’s office door gently.
“Um. Hello?” a raspy voice said from behind me. The word hello had been stretched into what sounded like two separate words—two accusatory words.
I turned to see Rita Myer standing in the hallway. She was between me and the exit. She had plastic shopping bags in one hand and a stack of file folders cradled in her other arm. There were deep circles under her eyes.
“Oh, um, I’m sorry,” I said before clearing my throat. “I thought the women’s locker room was this way?”
“You must have been having quite a workout, honey. You’re all red,” she said. She didn’t move out of my way.
I fanned my face and tried to smile. “Yeah. You know.” I was fighting the instinct to put my hand on the phone I’d hidden in my pants to make sure it was still there and hadn’t fallen out.
“So. Which way to the locker room?”
“Next door over,” Rita said. Her eyes were narrowed and she was still blocking my way.
“Ok. Thanks.” I stepped toward the door and she finally moved out of my way.
I wanted to feel sorry for Rita—she’d just lost her husband—but she didn’t make it easy. Nothing about the Myer family inspired much sympathy in me—or in anyone, probably.
I ducked into the women’s locker room just in case Rita was still watching me. I washed my hands and went back into the gym.
Kevin and Colin were in the same room where I’d left them. But now, Colin was on the floor and Kevin was standing over him, looking at his watch. He had his feet positioned over the toes of Colin’s shoes while Colin did sit-ups.
Colin’s skin looked shiny and washed-out except for a strawberry-shaped red patch on each cheek. Seeing him down on the ground like that—straining—was simultaneously uncomfortable and impressive, but only until Kevin said, “Time,” and reached to help Colin up.
Kevin looked mildly impressed. I gave Colin a scolding look. He’d assured me there wouldn’t be any actual sweating today. And if either of them thought I would get on the ground and start hammering out sit-up
s, they were mistaken.
Colin responded with a shrug. After all, he had to do something to keep Kevin occupied while I was gone all that time.
“Did you like the locker rooms?” Kevin asked me. “We had them remodeled when the roller derby team started working out here.”
“Yeah. Definitely… nice,” I said.
I didn’t have much experience in locker rooms and had no idea that some could be nicer than others.
“We try to have it set up so you can get dressed, dry your hair and everything really fast—for people who come work out on their lunch breaks,” Kevin said. “So do you guys work in this neighborhood? What do you do?”
What did we do? Colin and I tried to get our story straight before we came in here as “Mike and Jennifer,” but we didn’t take it that far. I felt a little panicky and looked to Colin.
“Freelancing,” he said. “You know, web design, stuff like that.”
Kevin nodded.
Freelancing—I would have to remember that. It was a perfectly vague pretend occupation. Colin was good. Working as a photographer all over the country, he must have had lots of practice smooth-talking himself through tricky situations like this.
Kevin led us back to the front desk and started to set some forms and brochures in front of us. We needed to get out of there before he asked to see our credit cards and IDs.
I started concocting a story. Maybe I would receive a pretend urgent text requiring us to leave.
But I didn’t need to do that. When Kevin started to set pens in front of us, Colin reached out to shake his hand.
“I don’t think we’re ready to sign up just yet,” he said. “Thanks for showing us around. We’ve just got one other place we’re going to check out before we decide.”
A flash of surprise crossed Kevin’s face, then he gave Colin an easy smile.
“Absolutely. No problem,” Kevin said. He handed Colin and me each a brochure. “If you decide to go ahead with us, you can always stop back in or you can just sign up online. All the information’s on the last page.”
Assignment Austin Page 5