Free Zigzag by Bill Pronzini Page A

Center, conference rooms, a dozen restaurants, and what they call a high-energy casino floor—three thousand slots, hundred forty-four table games, live poker room, VIP gaming salons.”
    The kind of place they’d have had to drag me into kicking and screaming. “You said Melanie Holloway liked high-stakes games. Did she win or lose large amounts?”
    â€œCan’t be sure without more checking. Seems like she lost more than she won, though.”
    â€œSo if she was dropping large chunks, her father might’ve put a stop to it, laid down the law. That could be the reason, or part of the reason, for the sudden turnaround in her lifestyle.”
    â€œCould,” Tamara agreed.
    â€œThen again,” I said, “something may have happened during the last of her gambling weekends that brought about the sudden change. Is there any way of finding out if she went to the Graton Casino right before her social media silence?”
    â€œNot on the Net. But if you want to take a shot at it, there might be another way.”
    â€œAnd that is?”
    â€œMelanie Joy’s former good-time boyfriend was pissed about being dumped. Some Twitter and Facebook grumbles to that effect. Dude might’ve had his eye on the Holloway fortune—he’s not one of the rich crowd—and Papa pressured Melanie to break it off. Or maybe they had a hassle that last weekend and she’s the one who ended it. Anyhow, he might know something and be willing to talk about it.”
    â€œName?”
    â€œConner Jacklin. He’s a physical terrorist.”
    â€œA what ?”
    Tamara let me see one of her impish grins. “My name for dudes in his profession. Never let one of ’em torture me.”
    â€œUh-huh. Physical therapist, you mean.”
    â€œRight. Does his thing in a Burlingame health club, the EverYoung Fitness Center. That’s where Melanie Joy hooked up with him—he was her personal trainer.”

 
    11
    The EverYoung Fitness Center, according to the advertisements printed on its long front window, was a “full-service health spa for men and women of all ages.” It was on a side street off Burlingame Avenue, in the Peninsula community’s downtown shopping district. You could tell from its size and its ornate old-fashioned brick façade that it catered to the area’s more affluent citizens. Visible through a long front window were eight or nine individuals of both sexes busily and sweatily exercising on a long row of expensive-looking treadmills.
    A smiling young woman, the picture of rosy-cheeked and trim-bodied health, presided over a desk in the open lobby. I gave her my name and she checked her computer to confirm that I had an eleven-thirty appointment with Conner Jacklin. He was with a client at the moment, she informed me, and might be a bit late. But definitely not more than five or ten minutes, she said brightly. Was I personally acquainted with Mr. Jacklin or had he been recommended to me? Recommended, I said, by a friend of Melanie Joy Holloway. Her smile dimmed for an instant, like the flicker of a lamp before a power outage, and then brightened again. Knows Melanie Joy, I thought, and doesn’t like her much if at all.
    The young woman invited me to have a seat, handed me one of EverYoung’s brochures to read while I waited. I sat in a comfortable, formfitting chair and glanced through the brochure. Their personal trainers were NCSF and ACE certified, acronyms that meant nothing to me, and provided individualized exercise programs that included strength training, aerobic and anaerobic training, cardiovascular and spinal care, and therapeutic massage. The club also featured such state-of-the-art exercise equipment as total body elliptical crosstrainers, Life Fitness Lifecycles, incline and decline mountain climber treadmills, and upright and recumbent bikes. Altogether it sounded pretty healthful, all right, but it also sounded like a