A Body to die for

will think you’re a pussy if a girl touches you on the shoulder, but it’s acceptable for two guys to tweak each other’s breasts in admiration?”
    “Don’t be a turd,” he said. “You just don’t understand the code of macho.” Alex bore down, grimaced, and lifted about thirty pounds with his legs. “You should see how much I can lift with my middle leg,” he added.
    “Alex, look. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.” My tone must have convinced him to pay serious attention. He knew my tones.
    “What happened?” he asked gravely.
    Just then a man in sweats ran in, puffing excitedly. He yelled to the whole room, “The cops are here! And an ambulance! I heard them talking in the hallway— some woman got in an accident. She was hurt bad.” The man who’d benched ten thousand pounds said, “An accident? Maybe I can help.”
    The first guy said, “Are you a doctor?”
    “I’m a lawyer.”
    “You’d better come quick.”
    The men ran from the room. The other slabs of beef returned to their preening, grunting and cursing. Alex gripped me by the arms and said, “Where’s Leeza?” I didn’t say, “No touching in the weight room.” Instead, I said, “She got beat up. She’s being taken care of. We can’t help her unless we get out of here right now.”
    “I want to go to her.”
    “She’s unconscious. She won’t even know you’re there.”
    He struggled to decide. I didn’t give him a choice. I snagged a handful of his shiny brown hair and dragged him out of the weight room. I checked the hallway for 5-0. We took the fire stairs down three flights to the ground level. Along the way, I asked Alex if he knew why Leeza went up to Ameleth’s private office suite.
    “I have no clue,” he said, distressed. “The last we spoke—a couple hours ago—she agreed to just do her classes, look and listen, but to do nothing undercover. Maybe she saw or heard something relevant.” I hoped she would remember what it was.
    We exited the stairs on the first floor. After a quick right turn, I told Alex to stop. There was only one safe way out. We ran a few more steps. I peeked through the Slimmy Shack’s glass doors. I needed to have a conversation with Molly Mahoney anyway. I pulled back the dangling strands of Swedish ivy and took a good gander. Alex said, “For God’s sake, Wanda. This is no time for a snack.”
    I waved my hand to get him to shut up. I didn’t see Molly. Maybe she had the day off. I whispered, “The head waiter here just might be the one who forgot to remove her Bjornskinki bread knife after she stabbed Barney to death with it. Jack and I saw her out at the Ikea in Elizabeth ordering another one.”
    Alex considered that. “Is this the woman who gave you the tussle?”
    The tussle. Max gives me tussles. Molly gave me a trouncing. “One and the same,” I said. Just thinking about it made my ribs ache. I was pretty sure Molly hadn’t seen me and Jack at Ikea. But Jack was hardly discreet. I needed to be sure she wasn’t there. I said, “Alex, go into the restaurant and find out if Molly’s around. If she is, restrain her. She’s got long shiny brown hair and skinny runner’s legs.”
    “You think she’s the one who hurt Leeza?” he asked. I had no idea, but after tangling with her myself, I knew she could inflict major damage. “So help me,” Alex sputtered, “if she’s the one responsible, she’s got some bad karma coming her way.” Harsh words from my pacifist friend. “Just find out if she’s around.” The emergency exit in the kitchen was our only way out of the building. I groped my dress to hold onto the notebook and sent Alex off with a pat on the glute.
    Through the cube-glass doors, I could make out the distorted form of Alex moseying toward the counter. I wasn’t sure if the man behind the counter—the one standing next to the giant beet juice circulation machine—was Larry the Jehovah. He was tall like Larry. My attention was diverted when I heard a scream. A tray full of dishes clanged and crashed to the floor. I dipped my hand into my bag and ran inside, Mama palmed and ready.
    What I saw: Alex lying on top of a woman who had brown hair and skinny legs, but who was most decidely not our bird. The ruckus drew the attention of the real Molly, though, who came running out of the kitchen with a smaller version of the now-familiar Bjornskinki bread knife. Following her with a spatula was Larry Black. I supposed he could pray for