“A client of mine died,” Jo announced, her eyes trained on Harriett. “Rosamund Harding.”
Harriett shook her head, disappointed. “I guess she didn’t get to her husband first.”
“I guess not,” Jo confirmed. “Now the police want access to her gym locker.”
“What a tragedy. Go do what you need to do,” Art told his wife. “I’ll hose off the kid and take over from here.”
Harriett gave Jo a slight nod. She’d made Spencer Harding a promise, and she intended to keep it.
When Jo arrived at Furious Fitness, Tony Perretta and his young partner were waiting for her at the front desk. The younger man held a pair of bolt cutters in his hands. They were going to get what they were after one way or another.
“It’s been years since I’ve seen you in a dress.” Tony gave Jo a once-over. “You look good as a girl.”
“Dress or no dress, we both know I could take you out in ten seconds tops,” Jo said.
“Is no dress an option?” Tony asked. They’d gone out a few times in high school, which Tony seemed to feel gave him license to say whatever he liked.
Jo gritted her teeth and let the comment slide. She needed something from him. “Listen, Tony, could I have a quick word with you in my office?” she asked.
She led the older cop around the corner and held a door open for him.
“That isn’t an office,” he said. “It’s a supply closet.”
“Wow,” Jo marveled with big eyes. “Sherlock Holmes has nothing on you, Tony.” Then she gestured toward the closet. “Let’s have a chat and I won’t make this too hard for you.”
The cop grumbled under his breath and stepped inside.
“How did they kill her?” Jo asked as soon as the door was closed.
“What? Nobody killed Rosamund Harding,” Tony told her. “She crashed her car into a utility pole on Danskammer Beach Road this morning.”
“Was she drugged?”
“I don’t know what kind of drugs she’d been taking,” Tony said. “The toxicology report isn’t back yet. But that’s one of the reasons I’m here. The husband said she has a history of opioid abuse. He thinks she may have drugs stashed in her locker.”
“Rosamund hasn’t been back to the gym since her husband’s bodyguard chased her off. Even if she has drugs in her locker, they didn’t have anything to do with her death.”
Tony sighed. “Listen, Jo, I’m not here to chitchat. I just came to collect Mrs. Harding’s things for her husband.”
“Ah, so let me guess—this isn’t really part of the investigation. You’re just cleaning up any messes that may have been left behind. This mean you’re taking odd jobs from the Culling Pointe set?”
She’d hit a nerve. Perretta reached for the door handle.
“I’m sorry, Tony,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No shit,” Perretta said, but he let his arm drop. “If you want to know the truth, Jo, I offered to come as a courtesy to you. Mr. Harding wanted to send his bodyguard to empty the locker, but I know you’re not the guy’s biggest fan. Now maybe you can quit being a giant bitch for one minute and let me do my goddamned job.”
“Fine,” Jo said. “But I want to see everything that comes out of her locker.”
“I can’t agree to that, Jo. There’s no investigation. Her death was clearly an accident. So the stuff in her locker is private property. Rocca told me to sweep everything into a bag without even looking at it.”
“Come on, Tony,” Jo said. “Let me have a quick look. Otherwise, I’m going to have to insist that you leave my gym and bring me back a copy of the death certificate before I reveal which of the three hundred lockers in my establishment was rented by Rosamund Harding.”
“You are such a pain in the ass,” Tony said, not unappreciatively.
“Oh man, you have no idea,” she said.
“I pity your poor husband.”
Jo had to laugh at that one. “Really? I think he’d tell you he’s got it pretty damn good. Now let’s go. Get the bolt cutters and leave the kid at the desk. It’s just you and me from here on out.”
Jo peeked into the changing room to make sure it was empty. Then she guided Tony to locker 288, which was secured with a simple combination lock. A single snip of the bolt cutters and the lock fell to the ground at their feet. Jo stood back and watched as Tony retrieved a pair of sneakers, three sports bras, and a pliable purple item that resembled a small closed funnel.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, holding it up to the light.
“That, my Neanderthal friend, is a menstrual cup.”
“You mean it’s been—” With a grimace of disgust, he tossed the cup across the room into a garbage can.
“Probably should have worn gloves,” Jo noted. “That it?”
Tony turned back around and ran his hand along the bottom of the locker. “Guess so.”
“No drugs or stacks of cash or amateur porn. Still, can’t say it was wasted time.” Jo patted him on the back. “You learned a little something new today, didn’t you, Sparky?”
She walked Tony back to the front desk, where he was reunited with his young partner, who seemed a bit miffed he’d missed out on the fun. Jo watched through the window as their cruiser drove away. Then her smile fell, and she turned to the young woman behind the desk. “Do me a favor, please. Print out a list of all the lockers that are rented by the month.”
With the paper in hand—and a pack of Post-its—Jo returned to the changing room. Around a third of the lockers were rented on a monthly basis. The rest were free to be used by anyone who supplied her own combination lock. It was against the rules to keep your stuff in a locker overnight unless it was rented, but Jo had never been one to strictly enforce the rules. Sometimes she even used the lockers to stow Hanukkah and birthday presents that she didn’t want her nosy little girl detective to find.