(LB1) Shakespeare's Champion (2 page)

His spotter laughed. “Want another dime?”

“Yeah,” said Del. “I want to do ten reps, okay? Only help me if I’m hurting.”

The spotter added a ten-pound disc to each end of the bar. It already held a total of two hundred and seventy pounds.

Del tightened the wrist straps of his lifting gloves, flexed his fingers. But he delayed for a moment longer, saying, “You been to that Marvel’s Gym? It’s the biggest place I ever seen.”

“No.” Del’s companion also adjusted his black leather gloves. Lifting gloves stop at the first knuckle and have padded palms. Del’s spotter had forgotten to bring his, he’d explained, and had pulled a pair of regular gloves out of the lost-and-found box. Now, the spotter casually pulled down the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

“I don’t mind telling you, last year I was pretty nervous. There was guys in that middleweight division pumped up like tanks, been in training since they could walk. And their outfits! And here was me, ole country boy. But I did all right.” Del smiled proudly. “This year I’ll do better. No one from Shakespeare but me is entered this year. Marshall tried to get Lily Bard—you know her? blond? don’t talk much?—to enter in the women’s novice division, or the open, but she said she wasn’t about to spend eight months pumping up to stand in front of a bunch of people she didn’t know, all greased up like a pig. Well, that’s one point of view. I look on it as an honor to represent Shakespeare at the Marvel Gym competition. Lily’s got great chest and arm development, but she’s pretty weird.”

Del lay back on the bench and looked up at the face of his spotter, who was bent over him, gloved hands resting casually on the bar. His spotter lifted his eyebrows in query.

“You remember, I was kind of worried after we had that conversation last week?” Del asked.

“Yep,” the spotter said with a dash of impatience in his voice.

“Well, Mr. Winthrop says everything is okay. Just not to talk about it to anyone.”

“That’s a relief. You gonna lift this, or just look at it?”

Del nodded his blond head sharply. “Okay, I’m ready. After this set, I’m quitting for the night. I’m dead beat.”

The spotter smiled down at him. With a grunt, the spotter lifted the bar, now weighted with two hundred ninety pounds. He moved the bar into position above Del’s open hands and began lowering it.

Just as Del’s fingers were about to close around the bar, the spotter pulled it toward himself a little, till it was right over Del’s neck. With great control, the spotter positioned it exactly over Del’s Adam’s apple.

Just as Del opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, the spotter dropped the bar.

Del’s hands scrabbled convulsively at the weight crushing his neck for a few seconds, hard enough to make his fingers bleed, but his companion squatted down and held either side of the bar, the gloves and sweatshirt protecting him from Del’s fingers.

Very shortly, Del lay still.

The spotter carefully examined his gloves. In the overhead light, they looked fine. He threw them back in the lost-and-found bin. Del had left his gym key on the counter, and the spotter used it to unlock the front door. Halfway out the door, he paused. His knees were shaking. He hadn’t any idea of what to do with the key, and no one had thought to tell him. If he put it back in Del’s pocket, he’d have to leave the door unlocked. Would that look suspicious? But if he took it with him to relock the door from the outside, wouldn’t that tell the police that Del had had someone with him? This whole assignment was more terrible and perplexing than he’d imagined. But he could handle it, he reassured himself. The boss had said so. He was loyal and he was strong.

Hesitantly, the spotter rethreaded his steps between the pieces of equipment. With his face compressed into an expression of disgust, he tucked the key in Del’s shorts pocket and rubbed the enclosing material around the key. He backed away from the still figure on the bench, then walked out hastily, almost running. He automatically flicked the light switch down on his way out. Glancing from side to side, the spotter finally broke and ran to the dark corner of the parking lot where his pickup was waiting, fairly well concealed by a few wax myrtles.

On his way home, he suddenly wondered if he could now get a date with Lindy Roland.

Chapter 1

I GRUMBLED TO MYSELF AS I SLID OUT OF MY SKYLARK
, Marshall’s keys clinking in my hand. Since I made my living doing favors for people, it hardly seemed fair to be doing a favor for free this early in the morning.

But this fall a flu epidemic was scything its way through Shakespeare. It had crept into the Body Time gym enclosed in the body of my friend Raphael Roundtree. Raphael had coughed and sneezed in karate class after working out in the weights room, neatly distributing the virus among almost all the Body Time clientele, with the exception of the aerobics class.

And me. Viruses don’t seem to be able to abide in my body.

When I’d dropped by Marshall Sedaka’s rented house even earlier that morning, Marshall had been at that stage of the flu where his greatest desire was to be left alone to his misery. So fit and healthy that he took sickness as an insult, Marshall was a terrible patient; and he was vain enough to hate my seeing him throw up. So he’d thrust the keys to Body Time into my hand, slammed the door, and yelled from behind it, “Go open! Tanya’s coming after her first class if I can’t get anyone else!”

I’d been left with my mouth hanging open and a handful of keys.

It was my day to work at the Drinkwaters’ house. I had to be there between 8:00 and 8:15, when the Drinkwaters left for work. It was now 7:00. Tanya, a student at the nearby Montrose branch of the University of Arkansas, might get out of her first class at 9:00. That would put her arrival time at somewhere around 9:40.

But Marshall was sometimes my lover and also sometimes my workout partner; and he was always my sensei, my karate instructor.

I’d blown air out of my mouth to make the curls at my forehead fluff, and driven out to Body Time. I’d decided I’d just unlock the gym and leave. The same people came every morning, and they could be trusted to work out alone. Most days, I was one of them.

Marshall’s almost incoherent appeal for help had come when I had been dressing to leave for the gym, as a matter of fact, and I was already in my sweats. I could go to work at the Drinkwaters’ as I was, though I hated beginning my earning day without having showered and put on makeup.

I don’t like breaks in my routine. My job depends on the clock. Two and a half hours at the Drinkwaters’ house, a ten-or fifteen-minute gap, another house; that’s my day and my income.

Body Time is in a somewhat isolated position on the bypass that swerves around Shakespeare, allowing speedier access from the south to the university at Montrose. Marshall’s gym has a large graveled parking lot and big plate-glass windows at the front, which are covered by venetian blinds lowered at six on winter afternoons, four in the summer. There was already a car in the parking lot, a battered Camaro. I expected to see some impatient enthusiast waiting in its front seat, but the car was empty. I walked over, cast a cursory look over the car’s clean interior. It told me nothing. I shrugged, and crunched across the gravel in the chilly, pale early morning light, fumbling through Marshall’s keys. As I sorted through them to find the one marked
FD
for front door, another vehicle pulled up beside mine. Bobo Winthrop, eighteen and chock-full of hormones, emerged from his fully equipped Jeep.

I clean for Bobo’s mother Beanie. I have always liked Bobo despite the fact that he is beautiful, smart enough to scrape by, and has everything he has ever expressed a wish for. Somehow Bobo had charmed his way into Marshall’s good graces, probably by working out on as demanding a schedule as Marshall himself. When Bobo had decided to start college in nearby Montrose, Marshall had finally agreed to hire the boy to work a few hours a week at Body Time.

Since Bobo isn’t hurting for money, I can only figure his job motivation is getting to ogle many women of all ages in form-fitting outfits and getting to see all his friends, who naturally all have memberships in Body Time.

Bobo was running his fingers through his floppy fair hair by way of grooming. He said groggily, “Whatcha doin’, Lily?”

“Trying to find the right key,” I said, with a certain edge to my voice.

“This is it.” A long finger attached to a huge hand nudged one key out of the cluster. Bobo gave a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Thanks.” I put the key in the lock, but as I did I felt the door move a little.

“It’s unlocked,” I said, hearing my voice come out sharp. I was now really uneasy. The back of my neck began to prickle.

“Del’s already here. That’s his car,” Bobo said calmly. “But he’s supposed to lock the front door when he’s here by himself. Marshall’s gonna be mad.”

The gloom in the big room was pronounced. Shades still closed, all lights off.

“He must be in the tanning bed,” Bobo said, and kept going across the room as I flipped on the central panel of lights with one hand. I reached for the ringing phone with the other.

“Body Time,” I said sharply, my eyes ranging from side to side. Something smelled wrong.

“I was able to get Bobo after you left,” Marshall said weakly. “He can stay, Lily. I don’t want you to miss work. Oops. Gotta…” He slammed down the phone.

I’d almost told Marshall something was wrong. But that would have been pointless, worrying him until I found out what was making the skin of my neck crawl.

I’d only switched on the central panel of lights, so the sides of the big room were still dark. Bobo had begun turning on lights and opening doors in the rear of the building. So I was by myself when I noticed the man lying on the bench in the far left corner.

I didn’t for one minute think he was asleep, not with the barbell across his neck. His arms were dangling awkwardly, his legs spraddled. There was a stain. There were lots of stains.

I was scrabbling at the switch plate behind me, trying not to take my eyes off that still figure, when Bobo came from the hall that led to Marshall’s office, the tanning beds, and the karate and aerobics room.

“Hey, Lily, you like Natural Morning Zap Tea? I didn’t see Del, but I found this bag in Marshall’s office…”

My fingers located the light switch for the left side of the room, and as Bobo looked to see what I was staring at, I flicked it up.

“Aw, shit,” said Bobo. We both stared at what was lying on the bench. We could see it all too clearly now.

Bobo scuttled sideways until he was behind me, looking over the top of my head. He put his hands on my shoulders, more to keep me firmly between him and It than to comfort me. “Aw…shit,” he said again, gulping ominously. Just at that moment, Bobo came down hard on the “boy” side of eighteen.

I had already encountered two nauseated males and it wasn’t even seven o’clock.

“I’ve got to go check,” I said, “If you’re going to throw up, go outside.”

“Check what? He’s dead as a doornail,” said Bobo, his big hands anchoring me firmly on his side of the service counter.

“Who is it, you reckon? Del?” Possibly I was stalling.

“Yeah, from the clothes. That’s what Mr. Packard was wearing last night.”

“You left him here by himself?” I asked as I began walking over to the body on the bench.

“He was doing chest when I left. He had his own key, to lock up. Marshall had told me that was okay. And Mr. Packard said he had a spotter coming,” Bobo said defensively. “I had a date, and it was closing time.” Bobo’s voice got stronger and angrier as he saw he was going to have to justify leaving Del alone in the gym. At least he didn’t sound nauseated anymore.

I finally got to the corner. It had been a long journey. Before I got there, I took a deep breath, held it, and bent over to check Del’s wrist. I had never touched Del alive, and I didn’t want to do it now that he was dead, but if there was any chance there was a spark of life left…

His skin felt strange, rubbery, or it might have been my imagination. The smell was not my imagination, nor was the lack of pulse. To make absolutely sure, I held my big watch in front of Del’s nostrils. There were trails of dried blood running from them. I bit my lip hard, forced myself to hold still a moment. When I pulled my arm back to my side, the watch face was clear. I found myself backing up for the first two feet, as if it would be irreverent or dangerous to turn my back on poor Del Packard. I hadn’t been scared of him when I’d been able to talk to him. It was absurd to be nervous around him now. But I had to tell myself that several times.

I picked up the phone again and punched in some numbers. I looked up at Bobo while I waited for the ring. He was staring at the body in the corner with a horrified fascination. Perhaps this was the first dead person he’d ever seen. I reached over and patted the back of his big hand, lying on the counter. He turned it over and clutched my fingers.

“Umhum,” rumbled a deep voice at the other end of the line.

“Claude,” I said.

“Lily,” he said, warm and relaxed.

“I’m at Body Time.” I gave him a minute to switch gears.

“Okay,” Claude said cautiously. I could hear a creaking of bedsprings as the big policeman sat up in bed.

Maybe if I took this step by step it wouldn’t be so bad? I glanced over at the still figure on the bench.

No way to ease up to this. I’d just plunge right in.

“Del Packard is here, and he got squashed,” I said.

I DID MAKE
it to my first job on time, but I was still in my workout sweats, and still barefaced. So I was uncomfortable, and disinclined to do more than nod by way of greeting Helen and Mel Drinkwater. They weren’t chatty people either, and Helen didn’t like to see me work; she just liked seeing the results. She’d been giving me hard looks, since September when I’d been sucked into a notorious brawl in the Burger Tycoon parking lot—but she hadn’t said anything, and she hadn’t fired me.

I’d decided that she’d passed the point of most concern. Her pleasure in a clean house had outweighed her misgivings about my character.