Chapter One

The only thing that terrifies me is the prospect of middle age… unless you count being murdered. Even before leaving Chicago to start over, I, Aggie Mundeen, had decided that thirty-something was old enough. So I concocted a strategy to stay young: take courses to spark brain cells, devour wholesome food—including peanut butter—and consider ex­ercise.

Right now, I was investigating physical improvement. As I chugged toward San Antonio’s Forever Fit Health Club in my Wagonneer station wagon, Albatross, I deliberated how to evaluate the facility without physically participating.

I’ve never considered myself shy. I clambered up a steep ladder to reach executive status at Chicago’s Consolidated Bank; I even earned a BBA after hours. The instant I arrived in San Antonio, I enrolled in graduate school and registered for the course Aspects of Aging. However, I am mechanically inept. I shudder thinking about trying to operate the ma­chines packed in fitness clubs. Getting in shape at my age could be murder.

When I called Meredith Laughlin, my graduate school friend, to discuss my fitness plan, I heard her hesitate on the other end of the line. She’s twenty-four.

“That’s great Aggie. I don’t have much time between stud­ying and clearing out Conrad’s office, but I really should exer­cise.”

Conrad is her ex-husband. Her practical nature may result from being spawned by a successful Southern couple. Having virtually raised myself in Chicago, I plunge into situations headlong.

I needed to jumpstart my social life. Break out and en­counter people. Not people. Men. I’d been confined at that bank, like a squirrel counting nuts, for too long. There had to be a good man around somewhere, somebody trustworthy like Detective Sam Vanderhoven, my friend who had previously left Chicago.

“Who knows? I might meet somebody,” I told Meredith. Chances were slim I’d find the right man at graduate school. “Students are fledglings, and professors stagnate. Getting te­nured petrifies a teacher’s brain.”

She chuckled. “Have fun at the health club. I think sitting and studying expands our sitters faster than our minds.”

That remark spurred me into action. When I stopped at North New Braunfels Avenue, waiting for the light to change, I fixated on my nails. Tomato red did not match the wine trim on my warm-up. Okay, I was stalling.

I veered right on to the Austin Highway and saw the club: a four-story armory with convex windows that bulged out over a grassy knoll. What kind of crazy people paid money to go there and exercise? The parking garage for inmates was on the other side of the building. I rolled by the asylum, contem­plating alternatives.

With people living past one hundred, middle age strikes around fifty. Laboratories should genetically test every person who reaches ninety-nine, drug companies should synthesize their genes into pills, and pharmacists should distribute them like vitamins. Until those people get busy, I guessed every­body pushing forty had to rely on maintenance.

With my heart dancing a tango, I settled Albatross in Forever Fit’s garage. If I was too klutzy to master the ma­chines, I needed an alternative plan to spark my social life. Personal ads. I snatched my yellow Big Chief tablet off the seat. “Single white female,” I scribbled. “Intelligent. Interested in everything. Desires to meet intriguing man.” I ripped off the sheet—I’d work on it later—and tossed the tablet on the seat.

Inhaling a liter of air, I pried myself from the car and pointed my body toward the club, hoping I wasn’t about to kill myself on some peculiar apparatus. I crossed the garage exit and was approaching the entrance when a shaggy arm flew up in front of me and blocked the door. Hairy fingers gripped the sheet I had torn from the tablet. He grinned down through hair flop­ping on massive shoulders.

“You must have dropped this,” he smirked, devouring me with close-set eyes. “Interested in everything, huh? Me too. We should get together.”

Chills tumbled down my spine into my socks. My feet froze.

“I’m not interested in everything,” I stammered. “Actually, I’m not interested in anything (cough) since I’m about to throw up.”

He dropped his wooly arm, and I lunged through the door. He didn’t follow. Head down, I crossed the stuffy foyer and approached the girl at the desk. I glanced outside and didn’t see the primitive, but I was sweating from a case of nerves, and the health club was stifling. Heat rising from sweaty bodies on the upper floors must have sunk to ground level.

“Is it all right if I look around?”

“Sure.” She smacked her gum. “Sign this form and I’ll is­sue you a guest pass. Good for today only.”

As I unzipped my jacket, exposing my T-shirt with Garfield the Cat hoisting his barbell, a magnificent blond creature with Caribbean eyes swaggered up from nowhere and smiled at me as if I were Sandra Bullock. I’d never felt so gor­geous in a jogging suit. He blinked at Garfield.

“Hey. I’m Pete Reeves.” He extended a bronzed hand.

“Aggie Mundeen.” He beat everything I’d seen at any fi­nancial institution or graduate school. He stood over six-feet tall, a blond lifeguard type. After toiling days at the bank and dragging my body to night classes, I felt skittish about meet­ing hunks—but eager to catch up.

“Would you like to tour our fabulous club?”

Only a corpse wouldn’t tour with him. “Okay,” I relented, preparing to view a universe of flawless specimens. With his hand on my shoulder, Pete squeezed me around the entrance desk and pointed to the establishment on the left.

“There’s Tofu Temptations Grill. Men and women’s locker rooms are beyond the Grill. Our swimming pool is behind them.” He irradiated me with a smile. “Olympic-sized, indoor pool. Heated to a satisfying temperature.”

I cleared my throat, suddenly desperate to use the bath­room.

“Would you like to see the pool?”

“No thanks.” I had remembered to stuff a swimsuit in my purse, but I didn’t need any extra steam. I was too young for hot flashes, but I was suffocating. “I’ll catch you later after I check out the ladies’ room.” His smile vanished.

Before he could speak, I crabbed backward into the women’s locker room and crashed into a towel depository in­side the door. The din of high-pitched voices ceased. I righted the metal container, smiled agreeably and plunged through fragrances toward the farthest lockers. Chatter resumed above the racket of showers and hairdryers. Assorted women in various stages of undress robed and disrobed. I had stumbled into a nudist colony of magpies.

Grabbing a towel, I found an empty locker. Two women flanked my space. Monica, a naked, pencil-thin woman with doorknob breasts, introduced herself. Her friend Mindy, a heaving Mason-jar woman, toweled her substantial body on my other side, her curly red hair flapping around her jowls. Smiling, I peeled off my warm-up, T-shirt and tights and wrenched my cheap turquoise swimsuit on over sticky skin.

I envisioned the hunky-but-dependable man I’d find in the pool and pictured us gliding like arrows through rippling water. I was not seeking thrills or emotional involvement, just safe companionship. Since I knew how to swim, it seemed like the safest way to exercise. I could access the pool from the back of the locker room without having to traverse the lobby.

Flip-flopping my Kmart rubber slides to the entrance, I gaped at the Olympic pool, a rectangular jewel set in an oblong room. It would look perfect nestled into a Greek hillside overlooking the Aegean Sea. Eight lanes painted with black stripes ribboned the bottom.

Inhaling the purifying odor of chlorine, I scanned the pool for swimmers and spotted a woman at the far end. I backed down the nearest steps, luxuriating in water lapping my body and bounced toward her to begin my workout with a chat.

Despite my splashing, she ignored me. She floated face down, didn’t have snorkel gear and wasn’t coming up for air. My heart thumped. I started running, water dragging against me. The pool seemed twice as big as before. I was horribly out of shape, but I had to reach her. I ignored the fleeting memory that my leaping into situations had proved disastrous. Gulp­ing a breath, I plunged in, ripped water with my arms and kicked hard.

When I reached her, I grasped her shoulders and flipped her face up. Panting from exertion, I leaned over her. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” She was little more than a girl—un­conscious with blue lips.

I whipped my head around, desperate to find somebody, anybody, near the pool. “Help! Help!” My cry reverberated through cavernous space. Cradling her chin with one hand, I grabbed her hair with the other and tugged her toward the ladder. I backed up the first rung and struggled to hoist her up. She looked small, but she felt like the Titanic. She turned bluer. I put my ear to her nose and mouth. Her silence terri­fied me. Time was running out.

“Give me her arms.” Blonde curls loomed above us, bob­bing over a red shirt and white shorts—the club uniform. I was never so glad to see another human being. With remarka­ble strength, the instructor drew the girl up the ladder while I shoved her from below and scurried out after her.

She pulled the victim from the water and shook her, saying, “Annie, Annie, are you all right?” Frozen, I waited for the girl to respond. The victim moved her arm.

The instructor put her on her back, tilted her head back to open her airway and listened for breathing. She swept a finger down her throat to clear any obstruction. Then she placed two fingers on the girl’s carotid artery. “She has a pulse!” Pinching the girl’s nose closed, she covered her mouth with her own. When she blew in two breaths, the girl’s chest rose.

“The color is coming back to her face!” I said.

She felt the girl’s neck again. “Her pulse is stronger.” She crouched over and blew air into the girl every five seconds until she sputtered. By the time the girl coughed up water, I had stopped breathing. “Whew,” the blonde said, setting on her haunches to watch. “She’s reviving so quickly, I won’t have to call 911.”

I felt like somebody had lifted a freight car off my shoul­ders. “You’re great at CPR.”

She smiled. “I’ve had to use it a couple of times. We’re re­quired to learn it to work here.”

The girl squinted at the pool and at her rescuer, eyes flut­tering. She coughed, struggling to clear water from her lungs. “What happened?” She sat up, realized where she was and started to cry. “I could have drowned…”

With flawless features in a doll-like face, ringlets plastered against her soaked head, and huge eyes with brushy lashes, she exuded a helpless appearance that attracts men.

The blonde touched her shoulder. “You’re Cindy, right? I’m Sarah Savoy. We talked after aerobics, remember?”

“It’s Holly. Holly Holmgreen. Was it this morning I went to your class? I hoped I could still do aerobics. You were so nice to me.” She glanced down, embarrassed. “The doctor said swimming might help. I’ve been so depressed.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry to cause this trouble.”

Poor thing. She could have drowned and now she felt ashamed of being depressed. A few more seconds in the water might have depressed her permanently. Chills ran over me. If Sarah Savoy knew what had upset Holly before she entered the pool, she didn’t comment. Holly glanced at me. Embar­rassed at revealing her misery to a stranger, she averted her eyes.

I chattered to relieve the tension. “I’m Aggie Mundeen. I’m new here. When I got into the pool, I swam over to say ‘hi’ and realized you were unconscious. Do you remember what happened?” My feet started to itch. The phenomenon occurs when my curiosity is aroused.

The girl squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not sure. I felt a buzz… a vibration.” Her eyes opened wide. “It felt like… like electricity in the water. A shock. I don’t remember any more after that.”

I crawfished back from the pool. Sarah Savoy nudged Holly away from the water’s edge, straightened to her consi­derable height and scouted the pool’s perimeter. “Nobody uses electric equipment in here.”

Following Sarah’s gaze around the pool walkway, I spotted a dark object on the far side under the water. A tail attached to it snaked toward the window that rose to the domed ceiling. We scurried around the edge and discovered a radio/tape player submerged beneath the water, not far from where Holly had floated. Somebody had plugged it into the outlet under the window. It appeared to have fallen in.

Sarah’s face reddened. “I can’t believe this. Management never allows appliances near the pool. Locker room signs warn people not to bring them in. Maintenance men have to get the manager’s permission to schedule repairs at slack times.” She reached for the radio.

“Wait,” I snapped. “It might shock you. Unplug it and drag it out by the cord.” My bark surprised me. Maybe I acquired it from Sam. His delivery used to be authoritative, like most law enforcement officers. After his family died, his words devel­oped a sharper edge.

The pool was no longer electrified, or I wouldn’t be standing here talking to Sarah. But I was relieved to see her unplug the radio and draw it out cord first.

“I’m taking this gadget to the manager,” she said. “He’ll know how to handle this. Let’s get Holly out of here.”

I sucked in a lungful of air for the first time in twenty mi­nutes. What happened to the electrical charge when I entered the water? If I had slipped in minutes earlier, would Holly and I be floating corpses? What would the manager do? An elec­trical surge could have changed Forever Fit to Forever Fatal. Not good advertising for a health club. I was not thrilled with getting older, but it beat being dead.

Holly watched us stride toward her. “Somebody used a ra­dio by the pool? Who would do that? They could have killed me.”

Sarah bent and patted her shoulder. “It’s okay. It was a stupid accident, but thank God, you’re all right. Aggie, will you wait here with Holly while I report this to the manager and bring ‘Pool Closed’ signs? It’ll only take a few minutes. Do you mind? Warn anybody who comes in to stay out of the water. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.” Sarah didn’t know it was my first day at Forever Fit. She rushed toward the women’s locker room, a bundle of efficiency. This club trained its employees well. I didn’t mind staying. Holly had expelled the water and was speaking so clearly that I didn’t think her health was compromised. Besides, only she could answer the questions bouncing inside my head.

“I guess you didn’t see anybody?” I asked, glancing around. In addition to entrances to the men and women’s locker rooms, I saw one other closed door. I rubbed my feet together.

“No. Nobody was here. I wanted to join water aerobics, but class had ended. I’m a strong swimmer, so I wasn’t afraid to swim alone.”

“Did something upset you?” I couldn’t help it. My curiosity bubbled up.

“Yes. I took Valium earlier. If only I hadn’t…” She began to sob.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t keep it a secret. I’m not married. I got pregnant and gave up the baby.”

My stomach flipped. Girls were so casual about giving up infants. A few years ago, unwed mothers were tormented and ashamed. Youth makes people do dumb things. Age has a few advantages. I didn’t want Holly Holmgreen to reveal any more. I joined Forever Fit for self-improvement. My fitness plan didn’t include solving somebody else’s problems. We sat motionless, except for my patting her hand when she sniffled. My stomach churned from the agony she felt, and I felt guilty for not trying harder to comfort her.

Sarah returned, taped “Pool Closed for Repairs” signs on the women’s locker room door and pool ladders, and knelt by Holly. “The signs are temporary. The manager will lock en­trances to the pool while he investigates what happened. Meanwhile, he thinks I should take you to the hospital to be checked.” She pulled the shaky girl to her feet and they pad­ded toward the women’s room with me traipsing behind.

“We don’t want to frighten the members,” she said. “If we tell everybody about this, the manager says he’ll have to close the club. You’ll lose your exercise place, and we won’t have jobs.” She turned toward me. “Aggie, can you stay here a few more minutes until somebody hangs a sign on the men’s room and locks their door to the pool?”

Despite my desire to size up the manager, I agreed to stay.

“After the hospital evaluates you,” Sarah told Holly, “I’ll bring you back. I don’t teach aerobics until five this after­noon.”

“I’m all right,” Holly insisted. “I’ll take my time getting dressed and make sure I feel perfect before I drive home. I’m sick of hospitals.”

Sarah appeared skeptical. “I’ll come to the dressing room and check you in an hour. Promise not to leave until I come back?”

“Oh, all right,” Holly sighed. She glanced back at me. “You two saved my life.”

Maybe I was too suspicious, or maybe somebody wanted to shorten Holly’s life.

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