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“Far be it from me to cause trouble,” said Phoebe righteously. “Besides, she’ll probably find out after you tell the police. You should have done a walk-through; it’s part of your job, part of what you’re paid to do.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to check the mail, and then get ready for our members. The first one will be arriving soon. That’s part of my job too, remember, said Averil severely. “You know, what I get paid to do.”
“Well, you don’t have to get huffy about it,” answered Phoebe, stomping off to her office. “I’ll probably have to find a replacement for Bobby. Belinda’s nerves will prevent her from doing anything useful for at least a week.”
From his chosen spot on the floor, Bobby had listened to the three women with interest. Belinda was being her usual neurotic self; Phoebe was being a bitch, also as usual, and Averil was being herself – lazy and defensive. What really stood out for Bobby was that none of them seemed to care about what had happened to him, except in the way that it affected them and their precious centre. No one seemed to care that he was dead. They just wished that he’d met his end elsewhere. This came as a shock to Bobby because he had believed that most (if not all) women were just a little bit in love with him, either as a potential son, or lover. This lot couldn’t wait to bury the corpse, and get back to business. He rose and wandered back into the newly washed and spanking clean gym. The first class would begin in 30 minutes and people would be jumping and stomping all over the place where he died. He wondered if any of them would avoid it. Would they all crowd to the other side of the room? He’d soon find out.
Some of them were starting to gather outside the room. Usually, they walked right into the gym and gathered any equipment they needed. Bobby moved out into the hall, and listened to what they were saying. “It’s so terrible,” said Janice, one of his evening students. “Poor Bobby,” said another. “Well, he was sort of living dangerously, wasn’t he?” said someone else. Bobby wondered who had spoken last. He hadn’t been looking at the speaker. He turned in the direction of the voice. Did someone know about his private life? Ah… Cindy, yes, Cindy would know. He hadn’t even considered that she might tell any of the others. She was married to a rich workaholic, and didn’t want to lose her source of income. He’d forgotten one important fact in all this. Most women gossip and anyone not present was fair game. The list of potential killers had suddenly grown from zero to many.
The fitness class began at nine o’clock. It was Virginia’s class, tall, skinny, androgynous Virginia. When he’d first met her, he’d wondered if she was of the other persuasion, but she was happily married to some techy-type, and didn’t pay untoward attention to those of her own gender. She just looked the part. She had liked Bobby and, consequently, he had liked her in return. There had been nothing more between them, although Bobby had caught Virginia admiring his thighs on more than one occasion and he suspected that she had admired other parts behind his back. He’d been told that he had very nice buns on more than one occasion. Not anymore; he shuddered, and thanked whoever was in charge up there that he hadn’t had to follow his body to the morgue. There was still some mercy in the universe.
Virginia was speaking. “I would like to take a moment to remember Bobby, one of our Dancercise teachers, who was killed so tragically on Monday. He will be missed.”
Bobby was touched. He didn’t get teary or choked up, but his basic emotions still functioned without a body. He just couldn’t express them. He moved towards Virginia, and then thought better of it. He remembered Averil’s shiver. He didn’t want to make Virginia uncomfortable; she was a real friend after all. She remembered him, and had spoken well of him when she thought that he was gone. Bobby suddenly realized that to her he was gone. Only he seemed to know that he was still here. Then he noticed a woman in the back row. She was looking straight at him as if she actually saw him. He moved to a different spot and she followed him with her eyes. She gave him a little smile, as if for encouragement; then she returned her gaze to Virginia, and went back to exercising.
She too had been in his Dancercise class. He couldn’t remember her name; in fact, he wouldn’t have noticed her at all (she wasn’t his type) except that she wasn’t a bad dancer. She had a sense of rhythm and she was light on her feet. She had never spoken to him and, up until now, had shown no more interest in him, except as a teacher, than he had in her. Who was she, and could she really see him? He wondered if she would be able to hear him too. Then it registered that he hadn’t actually spoken since his death. Did he still have a voice? He tried clearing his throat, but he didn’t have a throat, so that was out. He tried to remember what it felt like to move his throat, tongue, and lips to form the words, “Can anybody hear me?” Nothing happened. It sort of felt as if he had said something, but there was no sound. He had heard all the words of the living people that he had encountered; he could hear the music of the fitness routine, but he couldn’t hear himself.
Breaking his concentration, he noticed that the woman in the back row was watching him again and smiling. She nodded at him, disguising it as part of the routine. Surely she couldn’t hear him if he couldn’t hear himself. What was going on? He moved to the back of the class, and positioned himself in front of the woman. She could no longer see the instructor, and had to follow one of her fellow students. She glanced at him and mouthed the words, “After Class”, and then steadfastly ignored him until he moved out of her line of vision. She hadn’t made a sound, but her exaggerated pronunciation had made it easy for him to read her lips. She had also made it crystal clear that she wasn’t going to pay any further attention to him until after the class, and since this woman seemed to be his only chance of communicating, he decided that it would be best not to annoy her. He moved out into the hallway. From there he went back to the reception desk to check on Averil. He would still be able to hear the end of the music, which would signal the end of the class. Then he would return to the nameless woman.
Averil was sitting at the desk eating as usual. She was also listening to Zena hold forth about him, the nuisance value of his dying on the premises, and his selfishness in general. “Well, far be it from me to speak ill of the dead,” said Zena, “but you know that I always speak the truth and I must say that I’m not surprised that Bobby came to a terrible end. He was always playing up to the ladies, the good-looking ones, at least, and I heard that he wasn’t above looking at a few of the handsome young men who come here. Someone probably got mad at him. He couldn’t keep it in his pants. He was just asking for trouble.”
Well, this was interesting, thought Bobby, because the only handsome man that Bobby had been involved with at the centre was Zena’s son Johnny, and only Zena thought that Johnny was still young. He was 42 years old and still in the closet, at least with Mommy. Had Johnny told Zena about their relationship? He kept promising to break away from her, but as far as Bobby knew, he had never found the required courage. Zena was a widow who clung to her only son “the accountant” a well-paid accountant, with the tenacity of a barnacle. She wouldn’t give him up without a fight. Bobby wondered if Zena had killed him. It was a possibility; but then, again, how could that short, fat, old biddy sneak up behind him and bash him over the head with his own award? He had been almost a foot taller than she was; and how had she removed the statue from his bag without him hearing her? Hmm… maybe it wasn’t quite so possible, after all. He wished that he could remember what happened. Why had he still been there after the class? Had someone been with him?
He noticed that the music had stopped and people were walking out to the reception area. Some of them seemed to want ask Averil about the murder. Bobby wasn’t interested. He wanted to find the woman who could see him. He rushed back to the gym. She was waiting for him on one of the benches in the hall. “I thought you might come back,” she whispered.
Summoning up memories of speech, Bobby asked, “Why are you whispering?” He didn’t need to ask if she could see him because she was talking to him.
“Because I don’t want anyone to notice, and think that I’m losing my marbles,” she answered. “No one else can see you, and no one can hear you, not even me.” I was a teacher in a school for the hearing impaired before I retired. I’m reading your lips; and I must warn you that you’ll have to pronounce your words very distinctly, or I might not see what you’re saying. I don’t suppose you know sign language do you? It would make things so much easier, and more private.”
Bobby was astounded. She was reading his memory of the lips he used to have, and he had to make this very distinct. This was getting to be too much for his poor dancer’s brain. He’d have to take it at face value; it was beyond real understanding.
The woman continued, “You’re trapped here, aren’t you? It’s not because you were murdered you know; it’s because you didn’t learn something you were supposed to and you’re being given a chance to learn it now. It’s probably not a