“It’s supposed to be hard.”
“You actually enjoy this?”
“I love it,” said Chase as he took a sip from his own bottle of water. “You can’t beat the high you get from a fantastic workout. Well, maybe sex comes close, but nothing else.”
“The high… from a… fantastic… workout,” he panted as he shifted that weight stack for the twelfth and final time. “That’s it,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m officially done.”
“You did great, buddy,” said Chase. “Next time will be a lot easier. You’ll see.”
“Oh, no, it won’t. I’m never setting foot in this torture chamber again. Ever!”
They walked over to the treadmill and Alec got on one as Chase punched a couple of buttons. The treadmill started moving and Alec started walking. Chase was right. It wasn’t too demanding, and soon he was actually feeling almost human again.
Next to him, his friend and second-in-command had also mounted a similar treadmill and was now running full tilt, his feet pounding the rubber as if he’d never done anything else. Amazing, Alec thought as he watched Chase punish that machine.
“So have you heard from Odelia yet?” he asked, now that he had some oxygen to spare and suddenly felt predisposed to chat.
“Yeah, there was another attempt on Opal’s life this afternoon,” said Chase, grim-faced.
“No way! What happened?”
“Someone tried to kill her by dropping one of those big studio lights on top of her. By some miracle she escaped without a scratch.”
“My God. Did she call the cops this time?”
“Nope. Still doesn’t want to get the police involved.”
“That’s not very smart,” Alec said, who was a big proponent of always getting the police involved. Just then, his phone chimed and he took it from his shirt pocket. “Speak of the devil,” he said, and picked up. “Hey, honey. I just heard about what happened. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Odelia said. “Pretty spooked, though.”
“I can imagine. How is my mother?”
“Oh, she’s all right. Anxious to get the bastard. Say, listen, I need a big favor. There’s a guy I need checked out. His name is Serge Brimley. He’s got a criminal record. Do you know anyone in the LAPD who could run a check? Pull his file and see what he’s done?”
“Sure. I’ll get right on it.”
“No, you won’t,” said Chase next to him. “He’s on the treadmill, babe, and he still has twenty minutes to go!”
“I can do my twenty minutes later,” said Alec.
“No way, José. You’ll do your twenty minutes now.”
“See what I’m dealing with here?” he spoke into the phone.
“Do your twenty minutes, Uncle Alec,” said Odelia laughingly, “and get back to me as soon as you know more, all right?”
“He’s torturing me, Odelia,” he lamented. “Your boyfriend is making me do things that aren’t natural. Pulling things and pushing things and walking on strange machines.”
“I’m sure he means well,” said Odelia, a smile in her voice.
“No, he doesn’t! He’s trying to kill me!”
“Nineteen minutes!” Chase yelled. “Hoppity hoppity hop!”
“I hate you, Chase Kingsley.”
“Keep this up and you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”
Alec merely grunted something, and disconnected. He hated this fitness thing. Whoever invented these machines probably worked as a professional torturer before they’d gotten into the fitness racket. There was simply no other explanation.
Chapter 18
We’d finally come up with a plan of campaign. It was now obvious that Prunella was a lost cause when it came to divulging the location of the cloning clinic, and that we needed to pursue other options. It was actually Dooley who came up with the idea to search Opal’s study instead. A woman like her probably kept records of everything, not just about her business affairs but her private affairs, too, and so there was bound to be some document or bill with the name of the clinic on it hidden somewhere in her study.
So having decided this was our next port of call, we ventured in search of it. And we’d traversed the halls of the big house Opal built when the man Kurtz came walking out of one of the rooms.
“That must be it,” said Harriet. “He’s Opal’s PA, and must have been in a meeting with Opal.”
Kurtz came traipsing down the hallway, and when he saw us gave us a goofy grin. “Oh, hey there, cats,” he said. “I didn’t know Opal had gotten a new batch of cats in.”
“We’re not Opal’s cats,” said Harriet a little prissily. “We’re Odelia’s cats.”
But of course he couldn’t understand her. He gave us a little wave.
“Well, toodle pip,” he said, and then he was off with bouncy step.
“What’s a toodle pip?” asked Dooley.
“Probably some Hollywood jargon,” said Harriet. “Come on. Let’s go!”
The door to the room we now presumed to be Opal’s study was ajar, so we snuck in, and much to our surprise we found it occupied not by Opal but by… Odelia and Gran!
They were discussing the case, clearly having decided to go ahead with the investigation without our presence.
“They didn’t even invite us to sit in on the interview!” Harriet cried, clearly annoyed.
“I guess they figure they don’t need us,” Brutus grumbled.
“They probably forgot,” I said.
“Or couldn’t find us, as we were hiding underneath the rhododendrons,” Dooley said, quite sensibly, I thought.
“Well, I don’t care,” said Harriet. “If they think they can do without us, we’ll show them we can do very well without them, too.” She made a beeline for the big mahogany desk and hid underneath is. And since I didn’t want to appear disloyal—or get into a big argument with Harriet—I quickly followed suit, and so did Brutus and Dooley.
There was a knock on the door and a man came in, followed by a woman. I recognized them as Hector and Helga, and they didn’t look happy to be there.
“It’s the evil Hector!” Dooley whispered. “Here to confess his crimes!”
“Or simply to be interrogated by Odelia,” I said.
“Hector and Helga?” asked Odelia in a kindly voice.
The twosome confirmed that they were, indeed, Hector and Helga.
“Take a seat,” said Gran in a much harsher tone.
The two did as they were told, and meekly sat down in the spot indicated. From underneath the desk we had a first-row seat where we could follow the proceedings.
“It has come to our attention,” said Gran, once more playing bad cop to Odelia’s good cop, “that you’ve been plotting something. And we would like to know what it is.”
“Plotting something?” said Helga. “Oh, no, ma’am. I’m not into plotting.”
“Me neither,” Hector confirmed.
“You were overheard talking to Helga in the kitchen yesterday,” said Gran. “You said—and this is a direct quote—‘Don’t tell them a damn thing, you hear. Not a single word.’”
Hector had turned a lighter shade of pale, and Helga a darker tinge of crimson.
“Odd,” said Dooley, “how humans can change color like that. Like chameleons. Look, she’s gone completely red, and he’s white as a sheet.”
“It’s something to do with the blood flow to the face,” I said. “Some people’s faces drain of blood, while others get flushed with blood when they’re nervous or upset.”
“How do you—” Helga began, but Hector gave her a prod and she quickly shut up.
“You also told Helga to tell that boyfriend of hers to keep his big trap shut. And you said you’d know if he blabbed,” Gran continued the prosecution’s opening statement.
Helga produced a loud gulp, then cried, “I’m so sorry!”
“Shut up!” Hector said between clenched teeth.
“I know I shouldn’t have done it!”
“Shut. Up!”
“I couldn’t help myself. I told him where he could find it, I did. This is all my fault!”