Hex on the Ex (18 page)

Billy took off his sweatshirt and tossed it in a slot. “It never rains here. What’s a gym emergency?”

“Heat waves and broken plumbing. I saw you train with Kyle the other day. How long have you been his client?”

“Since the gym opened. I can’t get in here as much as I’d like to. I spend half of my time in Atlanta, on the set for my show. Kyle’s great. He’s become a friend. In fact, I helped him get into acting class. The guy has natural talent
and
he’s an excellent trainer.”

“Sad news about Laycee Huber, isn’t it?” I said.

Billy’s face went blank.

“The woman Kyle brought to your suite at the game Tuesday night?”

“Do you mean the Southern chick with the
Star Trek
ears?” he said.

“She was murdered Wednesday morning.”

“No kidding? I don’t pay attention to the news. What happened?”

“Someone attacked her at a home in Encino.”

He stepped back, mouth open. “No kidding. Wow. I mean, no disrespect but I thought she was obnoxious. Wow.”

“Obnoxious?” I said as Tess joined us.

“Relentless, actually. Laycee pitched for an audition for my show
Atlanta Wife Life
and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Relentless and annoying,” Billy said.

“You weren’t interested in hiring her?”

“Honey,
she
wasn’t interesting,” Billy said. “No disrespect again, but her dull face, big ears, and cliché body came with a boring backstory. Married to a lawyer? Yawn. Not ratings material. The other stars on the show would have demolished her, and no one would have cared. Not even if she got a divorce. But wow—murdered? Man, that sucks. I’m sorry to hear she died.”

Tess tossed her keys on a shelf. She swept her tight blonde curls off her face with a headband and said, “Are you talking about the murder in Encino? I saw the woman’s photo on the news yesterday. Kyle’s friend, right?”

I nodded. “Laycee Huber.”

“You won’t believe this—you and she were in my dream
last night. You, Laycee, and a cheerleader got into a fistfight over Charlie Sheen on a lifeboat.”

Billy threw her a cynical glare and bolted to the cardio room, leaving me trapped.

“My psychic visions are never wrong,” Tess said.

“Gee, I hope I didn’t win the fight.”

T
ess cornered me, preventing an escape to the weight room. “I’m serious,” she said. “I think my dream was a prediction.”

“Okay,” I said with patience I reserved for paying clients. “Lay it out for me. Tell me what
you
think the dream meant. Why Charlie Sheen?”

“Not him. His initials. C.S.? Crime scene? I think you were in the dream because you knew Laycee. And she was murdered at your ex-husband’s house. I didn’t get the cheerleader part until I heard Billy say she wanted to audition for his show. Competition, get it? A lifeboat is on water. Escaping a leaking ship, right? I think a plumber killed her.”

Gretchen walked up and stuffed her purse in a cubbyhole. Over her shoulder she said, “A plumber killed who?”

“Didn’t you hear the news?” Tess said. “The woman here
with Kyle on Tuesday was the one who got stabbed to death at Jarret Cooper’s house.”

“You knew her?” Gretchen said.

Tess gestured at me. “Liz did. I had a psychic vision about the killer’s identity in my dream last night.”

“What did you see?” Gretchen listened as Tess recapped her dream, then said, “I don’t pay attention to dreams. It was probably something you ate.”

“Trust me, I’m right.”

I bit back sarcasm. I didn’t doubt Tess’s dream meant something—I’ve heard stranger stories from my clients—but a psychic vision from the beyond?

“There are many ways to interpret your dream,” I said. “Freud might argue wish fulfillment. Carl Jung suggested every character in a dream represents you, the dreamer. The lifeboat may symbolize a facet of
your
personality. Water is sexual, the fighting is conflict, cheerleading is self-confidence. The subconscious layers multiple images in dreams, none of them literal. Instead of taking the dream at face value, see if you can relate the elements to your feelings.”

“That’s what I said. I have a feeling the dream provides a clue to Laycee’s murder,” Tess said.

Gretchen raised a brow. She turned to me. “You read dreams?”

“I can quote a few universal interpretations for fun, but I view dreams as personal messages from the psyche to the dreamer, especially if the theme recurs.” I turned to Tess. “Do you write out your dreams after you wake up? The practice makes an enlightening trip into your subconscious.”

“You bet I keep a journal. That’s how I’m sure my visions are right. I go back and check.”

Gloria bounced toward us in a T-shirt, sweats, and sneakers, looking like she had twelve hours of sleep and a facial though I knew she was out drinking the night before. She threw her keys onto a shelf. “Good morning. Nice day, isn’t it? Guess who I met loaded out of his mind at the Sportsmen’s Lodge pool bar last night.”

“Who?” Tess and Gretchen asked in chorus.

“Jarret Cooper. You were right about those martinis, Liz.”

“You were there, too?” Gretchen said to me.

“For a drink. I left right after I saw Gloria.” I looked up at the clock, acting surprised. “Didn’t realize how late it is. I’ve got to finish my sit-ups, shower, and get out of here. Excuse me.”

Members performing a variety of sit-ups, push-ups, stretches, and balancing exercises filled the floor of the back studio. I spotted an open space beside Kyle and the middle-aged gent grunting out a round of push-ups at Kyle’s feet. Nodding hello, I rolled out a mat then got on the floor and started my sit-ups.

“Liz, did you meet up with Jarret yesterday?” Kyle said.

“I saw him at the hotel. He was in a rush to meet Ira and—” I stopped mid-crunch and wound my hand in a circle. “What’s his lawyer’s name?”

“You mean Thaddeus Owen the Second?” he said with a bite of contempt. “The guy is more intimidating than my high school math teacher.”

I nodded knowingly. “Right. Thaddeus Owen. I suppose Jarret spends a lot of time with Thad and Ira.”
Scheming to shift more suspicion on me for Laycee’s death.

“Don’t know. I worked all day.” Kyle helped his client up, then led him to the weight room.

Tess threw a mat on the floor and plopped down at my side. “Did you notice?”

“Notice what?”

“Gloria and Gretchen have the hots for your ex,” Tess said. “After you left, they kept talking about how sexy he is. Does that bother you?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I’m with a man I adore. I wish the girls luck—Jarret can be a lot of fun. Exclusive? Not so much. But definitely fun.”

After I finished stretching, I collected my things and a clean towel and went into the ladies’ locker room to enjoy a long, hot shower in peace. I dropped my backpack and gym clothes on a bench, turned on the water full blast, and stepped into the stall.

As I shampooed and conditioned my hair, I pictured Jarret, sloppy drunk at the pool bar. The guy never could bear to be alone, especially in a crisis. Now, thanks to a rash comment, Jarret had made his latest problem mine. I toweled off, then slipped into black yoga pants and a light gray zip-up sweatshirt.

Earl caught me at the door and we walked outside together. He scanned the parking lot then leaned in, conspiratorial. “I didn’t want to tell you this in front of anyone inside. A woman detective called me yesterday afternoon. She asked me a lot of questions about what time you left here Wednesday.”

“I apologize for involving you.” I clenched the strap of my backpack. “You and Tess are the two people I know by name who saw me here Wednesday morning, and I don’t know Tess’s last name. Again, I’m sorry. What did you tell the detective?”

“The truth. That I saw you leave when my eight o’clock client came in.” Earl squinted at me. “Are you mixed up in Laycee Huber’s murder?”

“Mixed up?”

“You know, a suspect?”

I shook my head emphatically. “I’m not. Detective Pratt questioned me because they found Laycee’s body in my ex-husband’s house. I’d be the biggest serial killer in history if I attacked every woman who slept in his bed since I moved out. Did the detective ask you anything else?”

“Only how well I knew Laycee. I said I only saw her those two times she came here with Kyle.”

“Two?”

“Yeah. First on Tuesday morning, and then she and Kyle came here that afternoon for a few minutes. I didn’t talk to her either time. That’s what I told the detective.”

“Thanks for telling me in private, Earl. I’m trying to avoid the grapevine.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear from her again,” he said, opening the door. “Good luck.”

I strolled along the mall past a jewelry store and bakery toward the ATM kiosk at the end of the shops. At the ATM, I unzipped the side pocket of my backpack then gaped at the contents, puzzled. My wallet was opened upside down, my change, driver’s license, and credit cards scattered at the bottom of the pocket. I rifled through and found nothing missing. Maybe the wallet jostled open when I tossed the backpack into the cubbyhole or onto the bench in the ladies’ room? Fear of robbery wasn’t an issue at Game On—members left purses, wallets, and smartphones in full view in the cubbyholes without
concern. I shook off my bewilderment, slid my bank card into the slot, and withdrew some money.

On the way back to my car, I glanced inside the open bakery door. Behind the counter, a girl in oven mitts slid a tray of muffins onto a rack. Mitts plus a hot tray meant muffins fresh out of the oven to me. Not going in would be an insult to the baker. Five minutes later, I exited with a warm carrot-raisin oat-bran muffin and a cappuccino, and sat at a small sidewalk table.

With the sun beaming overhead and cars buzzing along the boulevard, I ate my muffin and sipped cappuccino, content to enjoy a moment of peace.

“Mind if I join you?”

I smiled up at Tess. “Please do.”

“Be right back.” She disappeared into the bakery, returned with an iced coffee, and sat across from me. “So, you don’t believe my plumber theory, huh? Think it over. I told you, I’m pretty good at this stuff. I picked up on a shift in your aura. You’ve got a dark cloud around you.”

“The last few days have been rough. Laycee and I were friends years ago in Atlanta. Her death was a shock.”

“Do you know her family?”

“I ran into her husband yesterday. He’s understandably a wreck. The police haven’t been able to tell him what happened yet.” I finished my muffin and downed the rest of my coffee.

“I know you think my dream is silly, but—”

“Not at all, Tess. Dreams are revealing but they’re also very personal. You won’t convince me a dream can solve a murder unless the dreamer had intimate knowledge about
the crime.” I sat back and teased, “Anything you want to tell me?”

She threw her hand to her chest. “Me? No way. I saw Laycee only once. You shouldn’t resist communications from the beyond. They’re all around us if you pay attention. I’m a messenger. My dream stayed with me because I was meant to tell you about it.”

“Then thank you. I appreciate the thought. I’ll keep the dream in mind.” I stood and tossed my trash. Tess and I walked to our cars parked in front of the gym and wished each other a good weekend before she drove off.

Earl came out, scowling, and looked up and down the parking lot. “I’m sick of this, damn it. My client is late again. If he doesn’t get here soon, I’m—”

The rest of his words were drowned out by the rattling tailpipes of a motorcycle blasting into the lot. A biker in fatigues parked the bike in front of the gym, climbed off, shot Earl a dirty look, then entered Game On.

“Member?” I said.

“Are you kidding? He’s another one of Kyle’s”—Earl fingered air quotes—“people.”

S
ince Stan had taken the day off, I parked in my own driveway at home, a small luxury I would happily trade for completed renovations. I hurried inside to the den, plopping on the sofa eager to hear Oliver’s opinion on Thad Owen.

Oliver answered on the first ring. “Give me some good news, Liz.”

“Thaddeus Owen the Second is Jarret’s lawyer. Do you know him?”

“He’s an asshole,” Oliver said. “You’re sunk.”

“Please quit saying that. You’re not making me feel any better.”

“You didn’t hire me to cheer you up. What do you want me to say? Everything is peachy? Owen is a snake. Do you have any other news for me?”

“Jarret lied to me.”

“Shocker,” he said dryly. “When?”

“Tuesday morning, I asked him if he knew Laycee was in town. He said no. But the bartender at the Sportsmen’s Lodge saw her with Jarret on Monday night. The bartender also saw Laycee’s husband at the hotel the night
before
she died.”

“Good. Lies are good. Jerome is hiding something,” Oliver said.

“Jar—are you testing me again?”

Oliver chuckled. “You’re wising up. I’ll be in court all day. I’ll get McCormick to check out the victim’s husband. Remember—if Detective Pratt tries to contact you, have her call my office for an appointment on Monday.”

“Pratt talked to a trainer at Game On yesterday afternoon. She asked him questions about me.”