sank into her chair. It seemed too big for her. I feared she might skip off and hurt herself. She didn’t say anything. I said, “Consider hearing me out as a temporary alternative to having me beat up.” She nodded. “First of all, I need to know what we’re talking about.”
She paused to think before she said, “The club membership roster.”
“Bullshit.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“Yes.”
“I ought to have you trounced.”
“Let’s get one thing straight here, Ameleth. I’m not an idiot. Unless your club roster documents that heads of state have sexually harassed a Soloflex machine, it ain’t worth dick.”
She squinted at me, the muscles in her arms flexing and unflexing automatically. “You expect me to hire you.”
“That hadn’t occurred to me, but now that you mention it, I’d be delighted.”
She wasn’t convinced. “Who do you think took it?” she asked.
I had no idea who—or what, even. “Whoever killed Barney,” I said. It was the logical guess. The person showed up, took It (whatever It was), and killed Barney who might have caught him or her in the act of stealing It. I wondered why the thief left behind the three grand.
“Let me just ask you this one question. Why did you marry Jack if you hate him so much?”
She got all pensive for a second. “I didn’t hate him when I married him,” she said plainly. “I won’t pay you a penny until you recover the stuff. Then you can have five hundred.”
So now, at least, I knew I’d be looking for “stuff.” That didn’t sound like a knife. I said, “Five thousand.”
“Forget it.”
“Nonnegotiable.”
She mulled and then nodded, resigned. “Five thousand, but only if you get it today. Tomorrow, it’ll be four. The day after, three.”
Sounded suspenseful, “Deal,” I said, “if you drop the charges on Jack.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Good enough for me. Jack wouldn’t get into any trouble in the slammer. And he’d stay out of the way. “Now that we’re partners,” I prompted, “let me ask you this: As a cheater, do you feel guilt or just the passion of something new?”
“That’s none of your fucking business.” She seemed pissed. So much for female bonding.
“Tell me about Freddie Smith,” I asked. “He and Barney must have been close.”
Ameleth stared at me strangely. “Who’s Freddie Smith?”
“He’s on your staff. A massage therapist.”
“I don’t have a massage therapist named Freddie Smith on staff.”
One Lump or Two
“Then who gave me a massage five minutes ago?” I asked.
Ameleth said, “Janey said she sent you downstairs to see Olga.”
“Does Olga have a hooked nose and hairy arms?”
“She does actually.” I decided to drop it. The murder must have affected her brain. Ameleth stared at me'ponderously. She seemed to think we knew each other in a former life. “I’m hungry,” she announced. “Let’s get some food. And I want to show you something.”
Never one to argue with that proposition, I followed her. We walked through the exercise room of her suite, and down the elevator to the restaurant level. I know that’s where we were going because the elevator told me. She was steely silent the whole ride.
“Lobby level. Slimmy Shack restaurant, please try our delicious frozen yogurt sundaes, only fifty calories and two grams of unsaturated fat,” said the elevator as the door opened. We got off.
She turned down a short corridor. She stared ^ straight ahead. “You must wonder how I married a useless sentimental like Jack,” she said. “And how I destroyed that by having an affair with Barney, who has been murdered in my own club, which is going bankrupt.” She stopped in front of a pair of glass doors.
She pushed open the doors. The Slimmy Shack restaurant reminded me of Long Island diners, but painted yellow and pink. The colors alone reminded me of junk food. A zigzaggy counter slinked across the room. A dozen or so women
She paused to think before she said, “The club membership roster.”
“Bullshit.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“Yes.”
“I ought to have you trounced.”
“Let’s get one thing straight here, Ameleth. I’m not an idiot. Unless your club roster documents that heads of state have sexually harassed a Soloflex machine, it ain’t worth dick.”
She squinted at me, the muscles in her arms flexing and unflexing automatically. “You expect me to hire you.”
“That hadn’t occurred to me, but now that you mention it, I’d be delighted.”
She wasn’t convinced. “Who do you think took it?” she asked.
I had no idea who—or what, even. “Whoever killed Barney,” I said. It was the logical guess. The person showed up, took It (whatever It was), and killed Barney who might have caught him or her in the act of stealing It. I wondered why the thief left behind the three grand.
“Let me just ask you this one question. Why did you marry Jack if you hate him so much?”
She got all pensive for a second. “I didn’t hate him when I married him,” she said plainly. “I won’t pay you a penny until you recover the stuff. Then you can have five hundred.”
So now, at least, I knew I’d be looking for “stuff.” That didn’t sound like a knife. I said, “Five thousand.”
“Forget it.”
“Nonnegotiable.”
She mulled and then nodded, resigned. “Five thousand, but only if you get it today. Tomorrow, it’ll be four. The day after, three.”
Sounded suspenseful, “Deal,” I said, “if you drop the charges on Jack.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Good enough for me. Jack wouldn’t get into any trouble in the slammer. And he’d stay out of the way. “Now that we’re partners,” I prompted, “let me ask you this: As a cheater, do you feel guilt or just the passion of something new?”
“That’s none of your fucking business.” She seemed pissed. So much for female bonding.
“Tell me about Freddie Smith,” I asked. “He and Barney must have been close.”
Ameleth stared at me strangely. “Who’s Freddie Smith?”
“He’s on your staff. A massage therapist.”
“I don’t have a massage therapist named Freddie Smith on staff.”
One Lump or Two
“Then who gave me a massage five minutes ago?” I asked.
Ameleth said, “Janey said she sent you downstairs to see Olga.”
“Does Olga have a hooked nose and hairy arms?”
“She does actually.” I decided to drop it. The murder must have affected her brain. Ameleth stared at me'ponderously. She seemed to think we knew each other in a former life. “I’m hungry,” she announced. “Let’s get some food. And I want to show you something.”
Never one to argue with that proposition, I followed her. We walked through the exercise room of her suite, and down the elevator to the restaurant level. I know that’s where we were going because the elevator told me. She was steely silent the whole ride.
“Lobby level. Slimmy Shack restaurant, please try our delicious frozen yogurt sundaes, only fifty calories and two grams of unsaturated fat,” said the elevator as the door opened. We got off.
She turned down a short corridor. She stared ^ straight ahead. “You must wonder how I married a useless sentimental like Jack,” she said. “And how I destroyed that by having an affair with Barney, who has been murdered in my own club, which is going bankrupt.” She stopped in front of a pair of glass doors.
She pushed open the doors. The Slimmy Shack restaurant reminded me of Long Island diners, but painted yellow and pink. The colors alone reminded me of junk food. A zigzaggy counter slinked across the room. A dozen or so women
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