Page 71 of The Change
“Rosamund Harding,” Heather said.
A second surge made the line crackle. “Ask all the clients to leave. Tell them there’s a plumbing emergency. I’ll be at the gym in three minutes.”
“Trouble at work?” Art asked when she hung up. Harriett had paused from her labors to hear what had happened.
“A client of mine died,” Jo announced, her eyes trained on Harriett. “Rosamund Harding.”
Harriett shook her head, disappointed. “I guess she didn’t get to her husband first.”
“I guess not,” Jo confirmed. “Now the police want access to her gym locker.”
“What a tragedy. Go do what you need to do,” Art told his wife. “I’ll hose off the kid and take over from here.”
Harriett gave Jo a slight nod. She’d made Spencer Harding a promise, and she intended to keep it.
When Jo arrived at Furious Fitness, Tony Perretta and his young partner were waiting for her at the front desk. The younger man held a pair of bolt cutters in his hands. They were going to get what they were after one way or another.
“It’s been years since I’ve seen you in a dress.” Tony gave Jo a once-over. “You look good as a girl.”
“Dress or no dress, we both know I could take you out in ten seconds tops,” Jo said.
“Is no dress an option?” Tony asked. They’d gone out a few times in high school, which Tony seemed to feel gave him license to say whatever he liked.
Jo gritted her teeth and let the comment slide. She needed something from him. “Listen, Tony, could I have a quick word with you in my office?” she asked.
She led the older cop around the corner and held a door open for him.
“That isn’t an office,” he said. “It’s a supply closet.”
“Wow,” Jo marveled with big eyes. “Sherlock Holmes has nothing on you, Tony.” Then she gestured toward the closet. “Let’s have a chat and I won’t make this too hard for you.”
The cop grumbled under his breath and stepped inside.
“How did they kill her?” Jo asked as soon as the door was closed.
“What? Nobody killed Rosamund Harding,” Tony told her. “Shecrashed her car into a utility pole on Danskammer Beach Road this morning.”
“Was she drugged?”
“I don’t know what kind of drugs she’d been taking,” Tony said. “The toxicology report isn’t back yet. But that’s one of the reasons I’m here. The husband said she has a history of opioid abuse. He thinks she may have drugs stashed in her locker.”
“Rosamund hasn’t been back to the gym since her husband’s bodyguard chased her off. Even if she has drugs in her locker, they didn’t have anything to do with her death.”
Tony sighed. “Listen, Jo, I’m not here to chitchat. I just came to collect Mrs. Harding’s things for her husband.”
“Ah, so let me guess—this isn’t really part of the investigation. You’re just cleaning up any messes that may have been left behind. This mean you’re taking odd jobs from the Culling Pointe set?”
She’d hit a nerve. Perretta reached for the door handle.
“I’m sorry, Tony,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No shit,” Perretta said, but he let his arm drop. “If you want to know the truth, Jo, I offered to come as a courtesy to you. Mr. Harding wanted to send his bodyguard to empty the locker, but I know you’re not the guy’s biggest fan. Now maybe you can quit being a giant bitch for one minute and let me do my goddamned job.”
“Fine,” Jo said. “But I want to see everything that comes out of her locker.”
“I can’t agree to that, Jo. There’s no investigation. Her death was clearly an accident. So the stuff in her locker is private property. Rocca told me to sweep everything into a bag without even looking at it.”
“Come on, Tony,” Jo said. “Let me have a quick look. Otherwise, I’m going to have to insist that you leave my gym and bring meback a copy of the death certificate before I reveal which of the three hundred lockers in my establishment was rented by Rosamund Harding.”
