Free Body Blows by Marc Strange

either of you ever seen him? Know what he looks like?”
    â€œNot a clue,” says Tricia.
    â€œShe had his picture in her locker for a while,” Christine says. “She took it down after a while. I never got a good look at it. He had dark hair. He was wearing a suit.”
    â€œAny other rumours circulating?” I ask.
    â€œMrs. Dineen did it,” says Christine, then immediately clamps a hand over her mouth and giggles, then sobs.
    â€œWouldn’t put it past her,” says Tricia.
    â€œWhy would she do a thing like that?” I’d like to know.
    Tricia laughs. “Spite,” she says. “She was Number One, for a while. He didn’t live here then, but he visited a lot.”
    â€œMrs. Dineen and Leo?” I’m shaking my head at the image.
    â€œThere was a time …” says Christine.
    â€œLady Muck,” says Tricia. “Queen of towel cupboard.”
    â€œAnd Raquel supplanted her?”
    â€œOh, she was supplanted long before Raquel showed up.” Tricia butts her smoke in the hidden ashtray. Grabs a can of air freshener and gives the air a spritz. “What was the next one called?”
    â€œI don’t remember,” Christine says. “Vera fired her.”
    â€œI guess my boss was more of a ladies man than I knew,” I say.
    â€œLadies man?” Tricia snorts. “He thought he was a sultan or something. Housekeeping was his harem.”
    Mrs. Dineen reminds me of a nun who used to smack my knuckles with a yardstick. Sister Clarissa was a world-class knuckle-smacker; humourless, chilly, and fully informed of all your secret sins. Vera Dineen has that same look. When she sees fit to spare me a frosty glance, I’m certain I missed a spot shaving.
    â€œMr. Grundy? Something I can do for you?”
    â€œYes, Mrs. Dineen, there is. You’ve already spoken to the police, I suppose?”
    â€œOh, yes, they were here.”
    â€œChecking on who had access to the penthouse?”
    â€œThat’s correct. I explained to them that I personally hadn’t had occasion to visit Mr. Alexander’s private chambers for some time.”
    â€œI’ve been trying to add up how many special elevator keys there are.”
    â€œTo my knowledge there are seven. One held by the manager, Mr. Gruber, one in your possession, one here in Housekeeping, Mr. Alexander kept two, one for himself and one for Mrs. Mendez.” She gives me a pointed look. “You knew she was married?”
    â€œI didn’t know her all that well,” I say. “Nothing about her personal life.”
    â€œI never met her husband,” says Mrs. Dineen. “I believe he lives in Spain, or Mexico, or somewhere. I take it they were estranged, had been for some time. She no longer wore her wedding ring.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œWas there something else, Mr. Grundy? I’m quite busy.”
    â€œLet’s see. Lloyd has one, Security has one, Housekeeping one, Mr. Alexander, two. That makes five. You said seven ?”
    â€œI believe I did.”
    â€œAnd the other two?”
    â€œMr. Alexander’s sons, Theodore and Leon.”
    â€œOh. That’s a surprise. I didn’t think they were all that welcome upstairs.”
    â€œPerhaps not. Nevertheless …” She starts rearranging her desk, straightening already straight piles. “If there’s nothing else …”
    â€œNo. That’s it. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Dineen.”
    Leon? I always thought his name was Lenny. Gritch has the same reaction when I see him in the lobby. “ Leon ?” he says. “You ever see him up there? You ever see either of them up there?”
    We start heading back toward the office. I should eat some lunch. My stomach isn’t happy.
    â€œYou’d think the wives at least would’ve jumped at the chance to go to a fancy-dress ball,” he says. “Get their hair done, hire babysitters, get