Grammar was not required with mammarian displays. “Yes.”
“Too bad, Harry was a good guy.”
“Then you knew him.”
“Sure, but him and me didn’t work out together or nothin’.” She stood on tiptoes, itself awesome, and looked around. “See that girl over there on the treadmill? She and Harry-well, I see them together often. Her name’s Kay Shelley.”
Lupe knew all eyes watched her walk across the room, literally sizing her up. She considered herself athletic. Softball and volleyball had kept her from quitting high school for a time. But she was too much a loner to make the gym scene. To her mind it was a place to be seen, sort of a muscle beach under roof.
Sweat glistened on the face and arms of Kay Shelley. She panted from her exertions, yet she was hardly muscular, indeed too thin. Could her workout be part of anorexia, suffer anything to lose weight? “Kay, I’d like a word with you when you finish your reps.”
She stopped at once. “Anything to avoid this torture. What can I do for you?”
The sweat was most noticeable about Kay Shelley. Everything else, hair, eyes, attitude, looked drab. Mousy could be her middle name. “I’m Lupe Hernandez with the city police. The girl at the desk tells me you knew Harry Gould.”
“I did, yes.” Her lips quivered and she looked away, then she snatched up a towel. “I’m…sorry he’s dead. I…miss him.”
“I gather you and Harry did more than workout together.”
“No, nothing like that. We never even dated, although we did have coffee once, after a workout.” She applied the towel to her arms. “I liked Harry and I had hopes…” She smiled wanly.
“I’m sorry.” She got out her notepad. “How often did you see Harry, here I mean?”
“Oh, two or three times a week, I suppose. We’d look for each other and work out together. But not always. Sometimes Harry came in with guys and worked out with them.”
“Do you remember any of their names?
“There was one guy, older, nice looking. ‘Course he may just have looked older because he had white hair. Harry never mentioned his name and I never asked. But I think he was a lawyer, like Harry. I figured they had business to discuss and didn’t bother them.”
Lupe scribbled. “When did you last see Harry?”
“The night he…died.”
“Do you remember the time?”
“Not exactly, I don’t wear a watch when working out. But we usually met about this time of day, five-thirty or so, maybe six, after work. I’m a paralegal, but not with Harry’s firm.”
“Was he alone, that last night?”
“Yes, he and I worked on weights, then came over here to the treadmill.”
“Did anything unusual happen?” Kay Shelley shook her head. “Did he say anything different or act strangely in any way.”
“No, Harry was his usual self, you know, kind of quiet, intense. That’s why he came here. Working out relaxed him.”
“Did he leave alone?”
“Yes.”
“What time was that?”
She looked at the clock on the wall, as though it could reveal time in the past. “Now that I think of it, he left early. He got a phone call-I guess you might say that was unusual.”
“He used a cell phone?”
“He didn’t have it with him, working out and all. I think he wanted to get away from the phone while here. I remember he was annoyed by the interruption.”
“Where did he go to take the call?”
“Over there at the desk, where Margo is.” She pointed. “It didn’t take long. When he came back he said he had to go back to his office.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“I don’t think so, he just went to the locker room and left.”
“Kay, this is important, did Harry happen to say who was on the phone?”
She shook her head. “No, but Margo did. Lots of people heard her. She hollered, ‘Harry, you got a phone call from somebody named Vic. Do you want to take it?’ Harry groaned, I remember, but went to the phone.”
Lupe had trouble suppressing her glee.
“What I really regret, Detective Hernandez, is that I had no idea Harry was going to kill himself. I should’ve seen it, said something, gone with him-anything.”
She touched her shoulder. “There was nothing you could have done, Kay. Harry was murdered.”
20: Domestics
The next morning DeeDee tried on her maid’s uniform. It was gray and formless and she felt like bawling. Walter’s laughter didn’t help. “God, I look like a frump!”
“And you so wanted to be a saucy French maid.”
“At least something better than this.” In the bedroom mirror she cinched the belt at her waist. “I look like a sack of potatoes. No, two sacks of potatoes.”
He laughed again, then put his arms around her. “I doubt if the Dragon Lady wants the sort of competition you provide.”
“I refuse to let you make me feel better.” She sighed. “The worst is yet to come.” She pulled on a black, curly wig, stuffing her red locks inside. “Do I have to wear this? I’m not me.”
“That’s the idea, love. The Ninjas may not recognize you, but they surely will remember your hair.”
“Are you going to wear a wig?”
“I’ll keep my cap on. A dark mustache should help. And what can they do to me if it doesn’t, kick me off the property?”
They drove to Elite Placements in separate cars and entered the van to be driven to the castle. She professed not to know Susan or what happened to her. Fortunately no one was awake enough to be talkative.
When she first glimpsed the castle fear gripped her. She expected something out of a Disney film, not this dark gray, low to the ground edifice, all roof, no apparent windows. And the stone tower was not at all as she envisioned, but broad and squat, not much higher than the roof with a pointed steeple of gray tile. It looked forbidding and utterly impregnable. Tower of evil, yes.
She shivered and Walter patted her arm. “You can always change your mind,” he whispered.
“Be still, we don’t know each other.”
The van drove through light woods and stopped at a wrought iron gate. “Elite here,” the driver said.
In a moment an unfriendly voice said, “Okay, you know where to go.”
The gate opened and the van turned off to the right and drove around to the back. “Okay, folks, happy slaving,” the driver said, “see you at seven.”
She was the last to alight. Walter was already shuffling off behind the other male toward a greenhouse. She braced herself and entered the steaming kitchen. It was large and quite modern.
“Who are you?”
Hildegard Uberreich was masculine to say the least, built like a bouncer, even deep-voiced. All the woman needed was a swastika. Imperious was a word coined just for her. Her black uniform fitted her, too. Oh well. “Irene, ma’am.”
“Where’s Susan?”
“I believe she’s sick, ma’am.”
The woman looked her up and down. “Elite sure is dragging the bottom of the barrel. How old are you?”
“Forty-seven, ma’am.” It had been a very good year. William had entered college.
“You sure do look every day of it. Oh well. Can you serve food?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Get rid of your things over there, and I’ll show you how we serve breakfast. People will be coming down shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You may call me Mrs. Uberreich.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She followed the woman into a baronial dining room, with a high, beamed ceiling, heavy oak furniture and a groaning board surely once used in Ivanhoe. She was to arrange trays of food on the sideboard. Guests would eat buffet style. She was to pour coffee and make herself available.
“How many guests are there?”
“You’ll see. Miss Fielding will eat later in her suite.”
They came in twos and threes, some singly, several minutes apart, and DeeDee discovered what it was like to be invisible. No one greeted her or even glanced at her. Even when they asked her about the food or wanted tea instead of coffee, she might have been R2D2.
She didn’t mind. The three Ninjas were sullen and paid no attention to her. She had worried needlessly. As for the others, she picked up a few names and got an idea of who they were. Some were secretaries, helping Dr. Joy with her column. Others were associated with her radio and TV shows. A couple did make-up and wardrobe, but she simply could not figure what three others did. Could be houseguests. Joy Fielding, a.k.a. Mrs. Kinkaid, certainly had an entourage, mostly young. But Walter was right. None had the plumage of the head peacock.