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Authors: Camilla Chafer
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made a mental note to thank Lily profusely for all the times she motivated slash dragged me to the gym to firm up my abs. “It looks great!” he exclaimed. “You’ll fit right in!”
Personally, I wouldn’t consider it quite my shade, but who was I to argue? All I had to do was blend in and try to listen to all the members’ conversations to learn anything that people weren’t telling the cops. Someone here, I figured, had to know something about what happened, first to Jim Schwarz, and then Karen Doyle, not to mention Lorena’s brutal murder in her own home. Someone must have seen something, however innocuous it might seem now, right before their deaths. My aim was to glean every last bit of information for Michael in order to prove that the gym was not negligent. Not only that but I desperately wanted to know who had killed my friend.
“You are aware that I know nothing about fitness, right?” I asked, taking the t-shirt and folding it over my arm.
“I know you come to the gym a lot with your cute friend,” replied Michael. He moved around to his side of the desk and rifled through the mound of paperwork until he pulled out one sheet, which he passed to me. “This is your schedule. You don’t have to stick to it exactly,” he said, “you can come and go as you please. I’ll find cover when you can’t make it, so just let me know when you plan to be here. I need to square it with the permanent staff so they don’t think you’re getting preferential treatment. I’ll tell them I have you for my personal assistant too. That means I can cover for you if you are somewhere they don't expect you to be. I can just say you're running an errand.”
“And just to confirm, I don’t have to take any classes?”
“That’s right. I’ve told everyone you’re a freelance fitness instructor, but you haven’t taught in a while and you’re just helping us out with some cover until Anton returns. If he returns,” Michael muttered.
“You think he won’t?” I asked, glancing up from the schedule. It didn’t look too strenuous.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen a man appear so white.”
“He’s black.”
“Exactly.”
“I might need to interview him. He had a really good view of the room.”
“Sure.” Michael turned around and pulled open a filing cabinet. He plucked a slim file from it, opened it on his desk and grabbed the sticky notes by his desk phone. “Here’s his address and phone number,” he said, scrawling on the note before passing it to me. He hesitated. “What reason will you give for why you’re asking? You’ve taken his class for a long time. He knows you’re not a fitness instructor.”
I tucked the address into my pocket. “It's unlikely I'll call but, if I do, I’ll think of something.”
“Great.” Michael relaxed slightly in his chair. “You need to get changed. The gym is officially open for business. Are you ready for this?”
“Never more ready,” I assured him. “How hard can it be?”
Michael grinned. “You’ve clearly never worked in a gym.”
~
Never in all the time I have lived in Montgomery — which means my entire life barring a brief stint in Army boot camp, an ill-considered decision of badly dressed proportions — could I imagine just how many fitness fanatics this town contained. The gym was half full only minutes after the doors opened; the treadmills and cross trainers, rowers and steppers, all whirring to life while Lycra-clad people sweated and powered their way to the land of toned bodies. For the first couple of hours, I simply tucked myself away at the instructors’ station on the gym floor. I waited for them to get on with their programs, and barely had to answer a single question. Even when I made the occasional rounds, tidying weights here and there, stacking mats next to people, and pausing to chat or eavesdrop, I didn’t learn anything useful. By the time Lily came in, it was already noon. My shift was nearly over and my
Personally, I wouldn’t consider it quite my shade, but who was I to argue? All I had to do was blend in and try to listen to all the members’ conversations to learn anything that people weren’t telling the cops. Someone here, I figured, had to know something about what happened, first to Jim Schwarz, and then Karen Doyle, not to mention Lorena’s brutal murder in her own home. Someone must have seen something, however innocuous it might seem now, right before their deaths. My aim was to glean every last bit of information for Michael in order to prove that the gym was not negligent. Not only that but I desperately wanted to know who had killed my friend.
“You are aware that I know nothing about fitness, right?” I asked, taking the t-shirt and folding it over my arm.
“I know you come to the gym a lot with your cute friend,” replied Michael. He moved around to his side of the desk and rifled through the mound of paperwork until he pulled out one sheet, which he passed to me. “This is your schedule. You don’t have to stick to it exactly,” he said, “you can come and go as you please. I’ll find cover when you can’t make it, so just let me know when you plan to be here. I need to square it with the permanent staff so they don’t think you’re getting preferential treatment. I’ll tell them I have you for my personal assistant too. That means I can cover for you if you are somewhere they don't expect you to be. I can just say you're running an errand.”
“And just to confirm, I don’t have to take any classes?”
“That’s right. I’ve told everyone you’re a freelance fitness instructor, but you haven’t taught in a while and you’re just helping us out with some cover until Anton returns. If he returns,” Michael muttered.
“You think he won’t?” I asked, glancing up from the schedule. It didn’t look too strenuous.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen a man appear so white.”
“He’s black.”
“Exactly.”
“I might need to interview him. He had a really good view of the room.”
“Sure.” Michael turned around and pulled open a filing cabinet. He plucked a slim file from it, opened it on his desk and grabbed the sticky notes by his desk phone. “Here’s his address and phone number,” he said, scrawling on the note before passing it to me. He hesitated. “What reason will you give for why you’re asking? You’ve taken his class for a long time. He knows you’re not a fitness instructor.”
I tucked the address into my pocket. “It's unlikely I'll call but, if I do, I’ll think of something.”
“Great.” Michael relaxed slightly in his chair. “You need to get changed. The gym is officially open for business. Are you ready for this?”
“Never more ready,” I assured him. “How hard can it be?”
Michael grinned. “You’ve clearly never worked in a gym.”
~
Never in all the time I have lived in Montgomery — which means my entire life barring a brief stint in Army boot camp, an ill-considered decision of badly dressed proportions — could I imagine just how many fitness fanatics this town contained. The gym was half full only minutes after the doors opened; the treadmills and cross trainers, rowers and steppers, all whirring to life while Lycra-clad people sweated and powered their way to the land of toned bodies. For the first couple of hours, I simply tucked myself away at the instructors’ station on the gym floor. I waited for them to get on with their programs, and barely had to answer a single question. Even when I made the occasional rounds, tidying weights here and there, stacking mats next to people, and pausing to chat or eavesdrop, I didn’t learn anything useful. By the time Lily came in, it was already noon. My shift was nearly over and my
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