Flowers for Her Grave

Chapter Eight

The Flamingo, Palm, and Pelican were surprisingly quiet in the late hours. It was close to midnight, and Casey sat on her balcony, drinking unsweetened hot mint tea. There was a chill in the air, but not enough to send her back in for a sweatshirt. The pool was still, its surface like unbroken, bluish glass, but several people lounged in the hot tub. Their occasional laughter was the only thing Casey heard, other than the ocean lapping against the shore beyond the palm trees.

“You gotta admit,” Death said. “This is pretty darn nice.” Death now wore a dark red housecoat and black slippers, and was holding a glass of red wine.

“It is.” Casey took a deep breath of the sea air. “But I suppose I should go to bed. I have to get up in less than six hours for my Land of the Dead class.”

“You know,” Death said, “that’s really not very PC.”

Casey cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, you wouldn’t let someone call a class the Land of the Japs, or the Land of the Spinsters.”

“That’s because those names would offend people. Who is the Land of the Dead going to offend? Dead people?”

Death sniffed. “I know you like to pretend I don’t exist, but really, Casey. Do you not see how that could bother me?”

“Do you not see how I don’t care?”

Death sat up suddenly. “Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“I gotta go.” And Death disappeared without a trace.

Casey swallowed. It wasn’t like Death to vanish like that, without an explanation. There must have been an emergency. A quick death somewhere. Casey didn’t want to think about it.

Yawning and stretching, she stood up and went inside, where she got ready for bed. She dressed in her workout clothes so she would be ready when her alarm went off. No reason to dirty pjs, when she would barely be in them. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and lay down on her bed.

And couldn’t sleep.

She tossed and turned, wondering what her brother Ricky was doing. Was he still dating that woman she didn’t like? Was the catering business going well? Perhaps she should get him and Del together—but no, she couldn’t. What about Eric? Was he recovering from those events in Ohio? Did he ever think about their brief encounter in the back of the theater? Did he get as hot as she did, when he thought about it? And her lawyer, Don? Had he gotten in trouble for helping her?

Just how many lives had she screwed up?

She perched on the edge of her bed. Her brain was too busy for sleep. Her body was exhausted from leading so many classes that day. She needed something to occupy her mind. Someone to talk to. She couldn’t call Ricky. She couldn’t call Don. Or Eric. Not if she didn’t want to mess them up even more. She wasn’t about to call upon Death for conversation—she got more of that than she ever wanted. She looked at the clock. Twelve-thirty. Would Jack still be down in the bar? He’d said the bar closed at midnight, but she didn’t really want to mix with whatever drinkers were still hanging around after last call.

Finally, she decided to just take a look. If there were lots of people there, or Jack was gone, she’d find something else to do. Simple as that. She slid on the soccer slides she’d bought at the shoe store, and went down the service stairs toward the first level.

Down in the lobby, she peered around the corner. Only two people remained in the bar area, a man and a woman, sitting very close together at a corner table. Behind the counter, Jack was doing his usual cleaning—at least, all the times Casey had seen him, that’s what he’d been up to. She walked across the lobby and perched at a stool.

“Bar’s closed,” Jack said without looking up.

“But you said I could stop by any time.”

He glanced up, smiling. “Ah, I wondered if I’d see you tonight. Thought it might be a little earlier, but this’ll do.” He grabbed a glass, filled it with club soda, and handed it to her.

“I really don’t—”

“On the house,” he said. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He slung his cloth over his shoulder and leaned on the bar. “So, what do you think of our little community so far?”

Casey looked up at the palm trees, the flowers, and the gleaming glass and countertop. “It’s nice.”

He gave a short laugh. “That would be one word for it.”

“I thought it would be…busier.” She gestured at the lounge.

“It was, up until twelve. Week night, you know. These folks like their partying, but they also have regular jobs. Wait till the weekend, then you’ll see people out late.”

“Young people hooking up?”

He grinned. “Not just young people.”

“I thought the other buildings had their own lounges.”

“They do, but that’s the retirement crowd. The middle-aged crowd tends to hang here.” He leaned even closer. “Sometimes they forget just how old they are.”

“Age isn’t a bad thing.”

He rocked back. “Didn’t say it was. Look at me. I’m not exactly a spring chicken.” He smiled widely and spread his arms. “Prime of life, even with my thinning hair.”

Casey smiled. He seemed to really mean it. He looked just like he should—no comb-over. No hair dye or teeth whitener. Just a fit, forty-something with confidence. And a very, very short buzz cut.

“The problem,” he said, screwing a lid on a bottle, “is getting other folks to see it that way.”

Casey thought of Sissy, with her bright orange hair, and Laurie, with her snow white teeth. They obviously hadn’t bought into Jack’s philosophy. But at least they worked at their health, promoting—and in Laurie’s case, teaching—exercise.

Jack took a last look at the bar and came out from behind the counter. “Now, Daisy, I am off for my sleep, the one beauty aid I believe in, other than a good run in the morning.”

“No aerobics for you?”

He laughed. “No, thanks. I see enough of those women at night. I don’t need to see them during the day, too.”

“Regular Casanova, huh?”

He looked surprised, then smiled. “Here at the bar, Daisy, not in my personal life. Most of these women, they’re…not my type.”

“Uh-huh.”

He shook his head. “I’m outta here. You going up?” He gestured to the elevator.

She considered her plans. She was exhausted. Her body was tired. But she hadn’t done her own workout. Her kata. And she was missing it. She glanced at the clock. Almost one. It was reckless. Stupid, even. But that huge, pristine aerobics room waited up one flight, silent and secluded.

“Just to the second floor, I think.”

“Checking out your new domain?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, goodnight then.” He gave her a two-fingered salute and headed for the elevator.

Casey took the stairs to the fitness level. Everything was quiet. The floor was dark, lit with only security lights, and the window at the end of the hallway looked out onto the black sky.

Casey slid her magnetic key through the lock of the aerobics room, and the door clicked open. Not wanting to disturb the silence, she eased the door shut. The only sound was the quiet snick of the lock, which echoed throughout the room. Light filtered through the windows on the far end of the room, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. The steps and exercise balls huddled in dark lumps in the corners, and light reflected dimly off the wall-length mirror. The room smelled of sweat, and rubber equipment, and faintly of something fruity. Perfume, probably. Or the air freshener from the locker room.

Casey took off her slides and closed her eyes, then filled her lungs with air and raised her arms to the ceiling. She held the breath as long as she could before letting it out slowly, allowing her arms to drift downward. She repeated the process several times, then opened her eyes and began a simple routine.

Squat, swivel, extend, strike, turn, kick, jump, spin…

Her feet smacked lightly on the floor, adding their own rhythm to the night. Now it was just her breathing, and the tap of her skin against the slats.

Stretch, duck, strike, leap, step, hold, breathe…

She froze.

What was that sound? Another snick, like she’d made with the door as she’d come in. But the door to the aerobics room hadn’t opened.

Casey straightened, and silently checked out every corner of the room. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could see that no one hid in the shadows.

But she had heard that sound.

She padded over to the locker room and pressed her ear against the door. Nothing. No sound at all. She pushed open the door, ready to strike should someone be waiting on the other side. No one.

She backed out, and went to the aerobics room door. She stood to the side of the window and peered out. No one in her sightlines. She opened the door and looked up and down the hallway. Nothing. No indication that anyone had been there. She glanced up at the security camera mounted in the corner of the hallway. Had it caught anything just now? Had there been movement?

She stepped back into the aerobics room and eased the door shut. She had heard something. She knew she had. She couldn’t just ignore it. If there had been someone in the locker room, why hadn’t she been making any other sounds? Why hadn’t she announced her presence? Was she breaking into Casey’s office? Or was it a he?

Casey grabbed an eight-pound balance bar and went back to the locker room. Again, she prepared for an attack as she opened the door, this time with the bar in her right hand. No one came at her. She reached in with her left hand and flicked on the light. The brightness assaulted her, and she squinted at the bright tile and white walls.

“Hello?” Her voice pierced the silence.

No response.

She stood completely still, listening so hard it was almost painful. And then she heard it. A breath. No, a gasp.

Casey flexed her fingers and walked further into the room, swiveling her head from side to side as she passed the areas of lockers, and the sauna. Nothing. No one.

The area with the toilets and sinks was also empty, the clean shine almost blinding.

Which left only the showers.

Casey stepped carefully toward the row of individual showers. The curtains were all closed. Holding the bar firmly in her right hand, she swept open the first curtain to reveal the dressing area and shower stall. Empty. She did the same with the second, and the third. Finally, she stood before the fourth. She tightened her fingers around the bar, and yanked the curtain open.

A woman lay face down on the ground, halfway in the shower, halfway in the dressing area. She was soaking wet, but the shower had been turned off. Was it Krystal? Her blond hair spilled onto the tile floor of the shower, blood mingling with the messy strands, and her shirt lay bunched and torn around her shoulders, deep, bloody bruises dotting her back. Her arm rested in an unnatural position above her head, and her legs sprawled limply over the shower barrier and into the dressing area. A bloody iron hand weight, a ten-pounder, lay on the floor at her feet.

For a brief moment, Casey thought maybe this was where Death had rushed off to, but then the woman took a shuddering breath. Casey knelt beside her. She brushed aside the hair on the woman’s cheek, and gave an involuntary gasp. It wasn’t Krystal, as she had imagined, the victim of some jealous wife or boyfriend. It was Andrea.

Casey bent to look into Andrea’s unfocused eyes. “I’m here, Andrea. I’m going to help you.” She jumped up and raced to the training room. The door was locked. Uttering an oath, she ran back into the aerobics room, got her key, and rushed back to the training room, sliding the key through the lock. She lunged at the phone on the desk and dialed 911. A man answered, saying “Flamingo security.”

“Security? I dialed 911.”

“It comes right to us. What do you need?”

“An ambulance. Women’s locker room.”

“Who is this?”

“Ca—Daisy Gray, the new fitness instructor. Call 911! Now!”

She slammed down the phone and ran back to Andrea. “Help is coming.”

Andrea took another shuddery breath, blowing a bubble laced with blood.

Casey stroked her cheek. “What happened, Andrea?”

Andrea swallowed forcefully, and attempted a smile. “I couldn’t…do it.”

“Couldn’t do what?”

Andrea closed her eyes. “I couldn’t run.”