Death on a Deadline

golf ball in the dark.”
    We laughed. “Thanks for putting up with our questions. You’re a good sport,” I said.
    “Well, that’s my alibi then. Normally, murderers are not good sports.”
    As we walked to the door, Elliott cleared his throat. “Carly?”
    We turned.
    “I don’t see any need to mention this little visit to Zac, do you?”
    Her smile was a little teary. “Thanks, Elliott.”
    “Anytime.”

Ten

    Friday, right after lunch, my boss walked in wearing a Hawaiian print shirt and khaki shorts. “Bob!”
    “Jenna! Baby doll! It’s good to see you.” He held his arms out.
    I gave him a side squeeze and smiled. “Good to see you, too. When did you get home?”
    “Just drove in from the airport. Dropped Wilma and the luggage off at home and came over here to see what was going on.” He released me and looked around the health club with a toothy grin. “Good to be home. Anything exciting happen while we were gone?”
    Um, no, other than a violent murder, not a thing. But surely Wilma’s sister had already told him all about that. She wasn’t one to leave news left untold.
    His gaze settled back on me. “That was sure too bad about old Hank, wasn’t it?”
    “Yes, it was.” In so many ways.
    “They have any idea who did it?” He walked over to the watercooler and filled the little paper cone with water, then turned back to me. “Or why?”
    “I’m not sure.” I leaned against the U-shaped counter. If he hadn’t already heard about Zac, I wasn’t about to tell him. And if he had and was fishing for more information, I certainly wasn’t going to satisfy his curiosity. I pretended to be absorbed in the stretch exercise chart posted on the outside of the workstation.
    “Doesn’t surprise me, him getting killed. Guess he finally took a story too far, you think?” He walked around to the inside of the U and started flipping through the sign-in registry.
    “I suppose that’s what the police are trying to find out.” No need to mention my own investigation, which, so far, wasn’t doing anything but opening up more questions.
    “You sent flowers from the club, right?”
    “Yes, I figured you’d want me to out of sympathy for Marge and Theo.” Hank had been on the zoning committee a long time. Thanks to him and a few others, Bob’s dream of building his athletic club in the heart of Lake View’s historic district had been squashed like a bug. He wouldn’t have sent Hank flowers for his own sake.
    “Well, Marge anyway. I always heard Hank and Theo didn’t get along too good.”
    “Really? I hadn’t heard that.” Okay, maybe I was getting carried away. Every seemingly innocuous statement struck me as significant.
    “Yeah, I figure Hank wanted his boy to stay around here instead of gallivanting off all over the world.” He held up the sheets. “So, how’s the club? Things pretty slow?”
    What did he think? That everyone would suddenly stop working out because he was gone on a cruise?
    “No, everything’s been going great.” Actually, if anything, we were busier than usual, but his ego was just big enough to be hurt by that coincidence, so I didn’t elaborate.
    “Nobody’s gotten hurt or anything?” Bob always worried that someone was going to get injured at the health club and sue him. As far as I know, no one had ever even threatened him. But go figure. Sometimes we worry the most about the things least likely to happen. And vice versa. When I started teaching, I never worried for a second that a student would die during one of my classes. But that didn’t stop it from happening.
    “Not so far, but you know the odds increase every year that someone will.” Ooh, that was mean, playing on his fear like that. Still, he had promised me an option to purchase and I was tired of him avoiding me. “So the sooner you sell the place to me, the less likely you’ll get sued.”
    He dropped the sign-in registry like it was a subpoena to court. “Well, I’d better go on home, hon. Wilma will be wondering where I’ve been. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walked out before I could say another word. That man was seriously starting to annoy me. He avoided every mention of selling, and with nothing in writing there was no way I could force his hand.
    I slammed my fist on the granite countertop just as Byron Stanton strolled through the double glass doors. Perfect. A little casual interrogation of the mayor should use up the adrenaline left over from my nonconfrontation