Pumped for Murder by Elaine Viets Read Free Book Online Page B

on a low setting. And don’t be late. When you return, you have to fill in at the Xtreme Shop.”
    Helen pedaled the stationary bike for four minutes and felt good, even invigorated. She decided to step up her workout and punched the buttons to the highest setting. Pedaling at that level was harder, but not that hard.
    I’m in better shape than I thought, she congratulated herself. She was surprised when the timer dinged and she had to return to the reception desk.
    Carla was waiting for her. “Hurry! Kristi is going on break. You have to watch the Xtreme Shop for her.”
    “What do I do?” Helen said.
    “Ring up the members’ purchases on the cash register. Everyone puts them on their gym account, so you just run their membership cards through the machine. Be careful around Kristi. She’s in training for a bodybuilding competition. She and Tansi are Debbi’s mentors.”
    “Do you have to have a name like a Playboy centerfold to be a female bodybuilder?” Helen asked.
    Carla pushed Helen into the Xtreme Shop, a cubicle stocked with protein powders and bodybuilding supplements. “Promotes skin-tearing muscle pumps!” screamed a drum of “muscle amplifier.” A fat bottle declared it was a “pre-contest physique repartitioning compound.”
    Sexual metaphors abounded: “explosive strength,” “increases powerhouse pumps,” “extreme stimulation.”
    I’ve spent too much time on my honeymoon, Helen decided. I need to get my mind out of bed.
    “Extreme” was definitely the word for Kristi. She showed off her muscles in yellow spandex. The grotesque development looked like a set of clothes. Kristi had a shelf of muscle on her shoulders. The sides of her chest were like an insect’s carapace. She was so deformed by her shoulder and upper-arm development, she walked slightly hunched.
    A grumpy Kristi glowered at Helen. “You’re late,” she said. “I’ll be back in sixteen minutes.”
    “Nothing wrong with that girl a good meal wouldn’t fix,” Carla said as Kristi scuttled to the free weights.
    “Wow,” Helen said. “Kristi has some serious muscle.”
    “Serious is right,” Carla said. “She and Tansi are going out for the Women’s Muscle title in the upcoming East Coast Physique Championships. They’re training Debbi for the Women’s Novice Muscle title. They think she’s a shoo-in.”
    “Do they get paid for mentoring her?”
    “No. They get the glory if their protégé wins,” Carla said. “If they rack up enough winners, they can call themselves ‘trainers to the pros’ and make big money. I wish Debbi’s two mentors didn’t start her on steroids.”
    “Aren’t those illegal?” Helen said.
    “We don’t allow steroids at our gym,” Carla said. “But some of our bodybuilders inject. You can tell who uses them. Take a look at Kristi’s back and you’ll see the telltale acne.
    “And talk about ’roid rage. Kristi saw me eating a burger and nearly bit my head off. She said I was deliberately trying to make her lose the competition. I was just eating lunch.”
    “Can’t she eat, too? I thought workouts made you hungry.”
    “They do,” Carla said. “But right before a competition, some serious builders go into starvation mode to show every muscle fiber. They live on two ounces of chicken.”
    “That’s all they eat for one meal?” Helen said.
    “For one day,” Carla said. “They eat protein only—no fruit or bread. They avoid carbs the way you’d run from heroin.”
    Debbi approached the reception desk. This time, she seemed shy and tentative. “Excuse me,” she said with a small voice. She pushed what looked like a candy bar toward Carla. “That’s for you. It’s an energy bar. Double Dutch chocolate. When I can eat, it’s my favorite. It has no carbs and three grams of protein. I’m sorry I yelled. I tell myself I won’t get mad and next thing I know, I’m screaming. I’m just so angry since my dad died.”
    Carla’s face softened. “I’m sorry.