“Sounds like a fun day.” Jeff released a loud yawn. “I’m beat. I’ll go with you and Nugget on his evening pee walk, but I’ll let you play Nancy Drew tomorrow. I’ll work on coming up with promotional summer packages. Hopefully, Michael’s killer will be caught by then and we’ll be back to our boring old selves.”
* * *
In the morning, rather than wear the worn, oversized T-shirt she usually worked out in, Dee went with a more subtly sexy look of tight, teal-patterned crop top and leggings, which accentuated her body’s curves. Whether or not Shawn was the culprit who drugged her drink, advertising a little feminine mystique couldn’t hurt, even if it went against her moral code. But not wishing to broadcast the look to the Goldsgonedian world, Dee topped off the outfit with an extra-large zip-up hoodie that hid everything.
She stopped by the sheriff’s station first, where the office assistant took her prints, since Raul was out on a call. Then she took a deep breath and strode into Gym Dandy.
She found Shawn waiting for her at the front desk. Considering she was a paying client—and from what she could gather, the trainer didn’t exactly have a stable of them—she found it telling that he didn’t bother to fake enthusiasm about their session. He muttered a greeting, then left the desk for the gym facilities. Lacking instructions, Dee followed him.
Despite its nineteenth-century setting, the gym featured up-to-date equipment. A row of ellipticals and treadmills lined the brick back wall. They faced a glass window that looked out on a lovely patio. Weight machines filled the gym’s interior; to Dee’s right, a sign above a door labeled the room behind it as STUDIO SPACE FOR GROUP CLASSES.
Dee removed her hoodie, surreptitiously checking for a reaction from Shawn. She picked up an infinitesimal raise of an eyebrow, which quickly disappeared.
“Hang the jacket in the locker room,” the trainer said. He gestured in the opposite direction from the studio space. “We don’t like junk on the gym floor.”
“Okey dokey.” Dee hurried into the women’s changing room, where a small bank of lockers covered the wall facing the bathroom and shower facilities.
She left the locker room and met Shawn by a treadmill. “Warm up with five minutes on the tread,” he said in a disinterested tone. “Then I’ll put together a strength-and-training routine you can do yourself.”
“I was planning to book more sessions with you.” Dee wasn’t, but she wanted the option of future sleuthing and found it curious a man who lacked a sustaining client base was already writing her off as one.
“I’m not taking on new clients. I’m booked solid.”
Dee knew this was a lie, but she didn’t press him. Instead, she vowed to milk whatever she could out of the trainer in the time she had with him.
If only.
Every time Dee steered the conversation toward Michael’s murder or the hoedown, Shawn deflected, tacking left to her right and right to her left. While he didn’t deliver the brutal session he’d inflicted on Jeff, by the time they were done, Dee felt every muscle of her body. That’s more about me being lazy when it comes to exercise than Shawn’s workout, she thought, feeling guilty about the number of times she’d stopped at In-N-Out Burger on her way to the Studio City gym and then decided it was “too late” to work out.
Shawn handed her a sheet detailing the exercise routine he’d worked out for her and ushered her to the Gym Dandy front door. Figuring it didn’t hurt to be polite, Dee thanked him for the session.
“You’re welcome,” he responded. “And just so you know, I didn’t set Baker’s cabin on fire.” He smirked. “I didn’t need to.”
He gave Dee a push out the door and slammed it shut. She heard him turn the door’s locks. Then she was left to ponder his odd closing comment: “I didn’t need to. ”
Shut out of further snooping at Gym Dandy, Dee debated her next move as she strolled down Goldsgone’s scenic streets. She walked past Gold Rush Contractors and Carpentry, then backtracked.
As long as I’m in town, I might as well get an estimate for replacing Michael’s cabin, she thought. Here’s hoping we don’t need a gold rush to pay for it. Jeff had checked their insurance policy and arson wasn’t covered. Dee said a silent prayer their provider would accept a claim if they could prove they weren’t the ones who set the fire for the insurance money.
She scampered up the few steps to the business’s front door and stepped into the reception area, which was furnished in what Dee had come to think of as Goldsgonedian Victorian. To her surprise, she found Millie Oakhurst futzing with a large floral display behind the carved walnut table.
Millie beamed at Dee. “Well, hello there. I figured you’d stop by at some point, although not quite so soon.”
“You did?” asked a thoroughly confused and more than slightly weirded-out Dee.
“Yes.” The older woman’s smile faded, replaced by compassion. “I heard about your fire. I’m so sorry. It leaves a scar on your property, doesn’t it? We’re the only contractors in town, which is why I knew you’d drop in, at least to get a quote.”
“We?” With all her repeating, Dee was starting to feel like a befuddled parrot.
“This is my son Brian’s company. Once I retired from teaching, I joined him in the business. When I’m not working at the mercantile, I’m here.”
“Ah.” Dee finally got a sense of what was going on. “And you’re very prescient. I stopped in to get a quote for replacing the cabin.”
Millie smoothed the starched apron covering her calico maxidress and stuck a strand of hair that had come loose back into her gray bun. “Brian is in the back building cabinetry for a summer home he’s renovating. Give me a minute to finish this and I’ll take you to him.”
“It’s a stunning arrangement,” Dee said, admiring the colorful mix of sunflowers, calla lilies, hydrangeas, and roses, all in shades of peach, orange, pink, and yellow. A white flower with tiny petals similar to baby’s breath filled out the arrangement, adding an airy, cloudlike touch to it. The scent of lilies perfumed the air.
“Thank you so much. Flower arranging is a hobby of mine. I tried quilting, but like the saying goes, when you’ve made one, you’ve made them all.” Millie stepped back to admire her work. “There. All done.”
She squirted sanitary gel on her hands and rubbed them together, repeating the process a second time. She gestured for Dee to come with her and they headed down a long hallway, past a couple of small, empty offices and a larger one housing both a conference and drafting table.
Millie made small talk as they walked, eventually segueing to Dee’s relationship with Jeff. “I’ve heard you and your fellow motel owner are just friends. Is it true?”
“Very.” Dee wasn’t sure if she was flattered or discomfited by the fact locals gossiped about her and Jeff. It was to be expected in a small town—something else the citiots would have to get used to.
“No man in your life?” Millie’s gray eyes twinkled with curiosity.
Huck’s handsome face floated through Dee’s imagination, then drifted off. “No. Not right now.”
“My Brian is single too,” Millie said, getting to what Dee realized was the point of the conversation.
Wary of being dragged into some kind of matchmaking venture on Millie’s part, Dee responded with a vague “uh-huh.”
The strand of hair with a mind of its own came loose again, and Millie tucked it back, this time with more force. “He and Liza Chen dated. They seemed to enjoy each other’s company. I don’t know why it didn’t work out.”
Dee had a good idea of why the restauranteur’s relationship with contractor Brian Oakhurst went south—the rekindled romance between high-school sweethearts Liza and Michael. She wondered how Brian felt about the relationship. Could he have been jealous enough to commit murder?
She and Millie exited out the back door to a cement flat pad covered with a metal roof—sort of a huge shed with no walls. Carpentry equipment filled the space. At the moment, Brian, wearing a face shield, was pushing a piece of wood through a table saw, whose loud whine made Dee’s ears ring.
