Full Release by Marshall Thornton (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📕

Pulling away from the curb and into traffic, I wondered if that was why the phone had been taken. So that the police couldn’t look at the calls until they’d zeroed in on a suspect. Until they were only looking at calls from me. Whoever the killer was, he was organized and logical. Had he planned to frame me before he killed Eddie? Well, no, if Eddie’s death was sexual, he wouldn’t have known. So, it wasn’t planned. In fact, it was likely an accident. So, he’d improvised the whole thing after he strangled Eddie. He made it look like suicide and then at some point realized that wouldn’t work, so he switched directions and made it look like I’d done it.

At what point? The police figured out it wasn’t suicide after the autopsy. Is that when the killer changed his plan? Did he have access to the autopsy somehow? Did he work at the morgue? Or the police station? Maybe he Googled what he’d done: strangulation. He might have run across the information that bruises formed even after death. Something that was news to me. But then I wasn’t the one trying to save my ass. Except now I was. Shit. I needed to get a lot better at this.

By the time I got home, I had an idea, a way to make the whole thing go away. I ran into the house and packed up my gym bag. I grabbed a clean T-shirt out of the closet. I figured I should probably wear a different pair of shorts, just for the sake of variety.

When I dropped my shorts to the floor, a clanging noise reminded me that Eddie’s keys had been in my pocket the whole time the police were searching my place. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten to give them to Tripp. I wondered whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. If I’d pulled the keys out of my pocket in the middle of all that it would have just made things worse. Tripp would have asked where I found them, and if I’d told the truth it would have fit right in with what he thought happened. Maybe forgetting had been a good thing. But why hadn’t Tripp asked about them? Or Hanson? That seemed odd.

I took the keys out of my shorts and put them into the bowl by the door as I headed out to the gym. Driving to West Hollywood, it hit me that I hadn’t been arrested. That had to mean the police didn’t have enough evidence and that they’d be trying to find more. I didn’t think they’d find more, but then I’d have said that before they came up with the evidence they had. Somehow, I had to fight back. I had to find a way to convince them I was innocent.

It was nearly six when I pulled into the gym’s parking garage. I was there to find Stripes so he could provide me with an alibi and the whole thing could be over. When I saw him at the gym, it was usually around the time I got out of work. Of course, it was Saturday, and a lot of people changed their workout times for the weekend. I did. Sometimes I skipped weekends all together. So, there wasn’t any guarantee I’d find Stripes. In fact, trying to find him was probably a long shot.

Before I got out of the car, I remembered something. I’d spoken to Peter on my cell while I was at the gym. Which probably didn’t mean much, since my telling him I was at the gym didn’t prove anything, but what about the call? Could they trace the call somehow and prove I was there? Did it even matter, I wondered. I’d made the call either at six or shortly after. It wasn’t a long call. If it finished at 6:05 or 6:10, I’d still have had time to get home and kill Eddie, wouldn’t I? What I needed was someone who could place me at the gym between seven and seven-thirty. Which is why I needed to find Stripes.

I grabbed my gym back and jumped out of the car. At the front desk sat the same girl with the tattoos and The Great Gatsby. Even though a couple days had gone by, she was at about the same spot in the novel. It wasn’t a very long book; she should have made more progress. I held out my card so she could swipe it. When she didn’t look up, I asked, “Is Myrtle dead yet?”

“Myrtle dies?”

“Could you swipe my card?” Diffidently, she took the card and swiped it. “Was the scanner working last Thursday?”

She shrugged. “Got me.” Then she scowled at me. “You shouldn’t have told me Myrtle dies. I was hoping for a happy ending.”

“You should have scanned my card the last time I was here.”

Giving me an even dirtier look, she glanced at the computer screen and said, “Your membership expires in three weeks. Two hundred and sixty-eight dollars. Do you want to pay now or next time you come in?” About six responses popped into my head, all of them full of curse words. Deciding to go with classy, I turned and walked into the men’s locker room.

Some days the gym swarms with hot guys; on other days the place could be an old age home. That day it was the latter. After I changed, I hurried up to the weight floor and walked the track that circled the floor. I made two circles before I saw Stripes. My heart leapt a little when I saw him doing pull downs in the center of the floor. I took a deep breath. Everything would be all right. Hopefully, someone would go to prison for killing Eddie, but it wasn’t going to be me. My alibi was pumping iron in front of me.

I turned off the track and headed across the weight floor. When Stripes