The next morning, I lolled in my bed half awake, realizing I should have planned better before I told Jarret I’d meet him at nine-thirty. Senseless to work out and shower at the gym and then drive home to let Stan in at nine, then drive back to meet Jarret at the hotel less than a block from Game On. Maybe if I buried my head under my pillow and slept for a few days, I’d wake up to a working shower in my own bathroom. Let Jarret work out his own issues, I’d sleep through Nick’s date with Izzy, and Carla Pratt would forget about me.
Erzulie stood over me and nudged her nose on my bare shoulder. Twice. In other words, get up and feed her. I rolled out of bed, threw on shorts, a T-shirt, and my running shoes, then fed Erzulie and addressed my need for caffeine. While I waited for the coffee to brew, I turned on the small TV in the kitchen—a housewarming gift from my parents—to check the weather. Below the “Encino Homicide Puzzles Police” headline beneath photos of Jarret and Laycee, the temperature in the lower right-hand corner of the screen read seventy-two degrees. Already. The predicted high for the day was one hundred. Degrees. I shut off the set and went outside for a run through my new neighborhood.
As the sun rose over Universal Studios a few miles east, birds chirped from trees in landscaped, white-picketed yards bursting with summer flowers in bright reds and yellows. I did my two-mile run up and down the center of the deserted, residential streets. Squirrels scrambled up trees, lights went on in kitchens, and a middle-aged man in shorts, a pajama top, and sandals with socks, waved hello to me while his golden retriever sniffed at a tree stump.
I returned home sweaty and winded with time to kill before Stan arrived. I laid out a mat on my bedroom floor for a long leisurely stretch. Packed my backpack. Read the mail. Put in a load of laundry. Paid some bills.
Bless Stan for showing up fifteen minutes early. Damn him for being vague on a finish date for my plumbing.
“I’ll return around eleven,” I said as I left. “Make sure to close the door if you go outside so Erzulie doesn’t get out.”
“No problem, princess. We’ll be inside all day,” Stan said.
My dashboard temperature gauge read seventy-nine degrees by the time I found a space in the crowded lot outside Game On at nine.
Earl stopped me outside the ladies’ locker room. “You’re late today. You okay?” He touched my shoulder, a concerned—I heard all about the dead body, what gossip can you tell me?—frown on his face.
“I’m great.” I beamed, thumping my chest. “Woke up this morning and decided to go for a run outside. The fresh air was invigorating. I stopped in here to take a shower. How are you? Where is everyone?”
“I’m same-ol’, same-ol’. Getting over a toothache. It’s been slow here this morning. You just missed Tess. Kyle’s in the office.” Earl flicked his eyes from side to side. “You know.”
No, I didn’t know. Know what? “With a new client?”
“Yeah.” Earl chuckled. “I guess you could say that.”
The office door opened down the hall. A tall, spray-tanned, fortyish jock emerged in camouflage pants and a T-shirt stretched tight over a bulging, overdeveloped frame with biceps as big as cantaloupes. He passed through the gym without looking up, and left.
Kyle came out of the office, locked the door, and pocketed the key. He saw me with Earl and came over. “Did you talk to Jarret last night, Liz?”
“I’m meeting him at the hotel for breakfast,” I said.
“He’s in a mess of trouble, huh?” Earl said to Kyle. “Think he did it?”
“If they arrest him, he can kiss his endorsement deals bye-bye. Liz knows him better than anyone—or did.” Kyle scoffed at me. “Think Jarret’s crazy enough to commit murder?”
Ignoring the question, I asked Earl to excuse us then edged Kyle behind an empty bench, out of earshot. “Do you doubt Jarret’s character? Or did you ask my opinion because you had an audience?”
“Well listen to you, protecting your boy.” He stuck out his chest, posturing. “Jarret will love to hear that. You gonna bake him a cake in prison?”
“I’m surprised you can be so flip.” I hoisted my backpack to my shoulder. “If Jarret ends up in jail, you lose your meal ticket.”
“Easy, girl. Can’t you take a joke?” he said. “Why are you so touchy? Are the cops on you about your fight with Laycee?”
“Excuse me?”
“The scene you made with Laycee at the ball game,” Kyle said.
“What scene? We had a conversation. And how would you or the police know what was said? You were in the concession line getting beer.”
“Laycee told me you threatened her.”
“She lied. And you repeated that story to the police?”
He looked down at me smugly. “Maybe. Maybe not. The cops have all kinds of ways of finding out.”
“Don’t play games with me, Kyle. Who did you tell?”