A Body to die for

“Let’s tell them about the... I need to get this off my chest.”
    “To the river,” Molly said abruptly. Alex and I followed her along Columbia Heights. I’d been down the street before, en route to the River Cafe, Brooklyn’s best and most expensive restaurant. Max and I went there to celebrate his agreeing to move to Brooklyn. The dining room floats on the East River. The view of the Manhattan skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows is as choice as the food. Only problem: on windy days, the waves in the river cause the restaurant to rock slightly and people have been known to throw up in their pâté de foie gras.
    We passed the restaurant. It was a calm day. We marched toward the massive warehouses that lined the riverbank. Farther down the road—past Atlantic Avenue—you can find the piers where the tall ships from Russia and the Orient park on the Fourth of July. For a buck, you can take a tour of a former Soviet vessel. For two grand, you can sign up to join the crew to sail the ship back home to the motherland. The journey lasts about a month. The people who sign up are mostly wealthy suits who get off on the idea of pretending to be working-class adventuremen for a while. I’ve never had this fantasy; my life ambition is to do as little work as possible. Also, I look horrible in bell-bottoms.
    Molly slowed as we approached a chain-link fence in front of the third blue-metal warehouse. My breathing had settled to hyperventilation. Signs on the fence read: BEWARE OF PIT BULL. Larry said, “This is Jehovah property. We store dry goods and Bibles here for the flock. Before I joined the gym, my job—after completing my chemical engineer training at NYU—was to be guardian of the warehouse. Some lifting, some inventory taking. Some patroling. Mainly lifting.”
    “That’s where he got all those shoulder muscles,” Molly pointed out matter-of-factly.
    “It took a while before I could lift a hundred-pound bag of dried com by myself, but before long, I could carry one under each arm,” Larry bragged. Remembering that he existed to serve, he said, “Anyway, I’ve set up a personal space in the back of the warehouse. The only person who knows about it is the new guardian. And Molly.”
    “How come the new guardian doesn’t squeal on you?” I asked.
    Larry pondered this. “I bribe him with drugs.” He looked heavenward and then said, “Lord forgive me—you know it’s for the greater good.” Larry’s eyes fell back to earth. “I’m a sinner.”
    “Get over it,” Molly said.
    “That’s a bit harsh,” Alex observed.
    “I meant the fence. Start climbing.”
    Was she serious? It was ten feet high. I was in a dress. I said, “Do you bribe the pit bull with drugs, too?”
    Molly said, “The dog isn’t let out until after dark.”
    Alex said, “Perhaps I can help give you a push, Wanda?” He started to hoist me by the butt up the fence.
    “I’ll do without help, thank you.” I put the notebook inside my bag and grabbed the chain link with both hands. To my right, Larry and Molly scampered up the fence and jumped down from the top like they’d done it a thousand times. Which they probably had. Alex set out at the same time I did. I tried to remember climbing trees when I was a kid. But I didn’t spend much of my childhood in nature. I was busy shoplifting lip gloss at the mall.
    Alex made it up and over fairly easily. Once steady on the other side, he practically fell over from slapping himself on the back. I was halfway up the fence when my arms began to tremble from exertion. I dug deep, and managed to vault myself up. I threw one leg over the top. I wasn’t sure what to do next. For a hard guy, I can be such a girl.
    Larry could reach my ankle. He encircled it with his fingers. “Just kick your other leg over and I’ll catch you.”
    “A likely ploy. You just want the notebook.”
    Alex said, “Your vanity never ceases to amaze me, Wanda. You’re not even willing to accept help when your physical limitations couldn’t be more obvious.”
    I quickly reminded myself that I was Supersleuth. I laughed in the face of fear. I swallowed hard and kicked my other leg over the fence. I took a few steps down, and then jumped off. I didn’t land as gracefully as Molly had. But after a slight wobble in my platforms, I stood up straight, triumphant. I must have smiled broadly because Alex said, “You look like the cat who ate the peacock.”
    “Tasty,” I agreed.
    Molly and