a half-eaten bagel at her elbow. She looked up, and a thrill ran from Casey’s head to her toes.
The woman, even sitting, was tall, and her coffee-colored skin shone with health and fitness. A jacket hung over the back of her chair, which meant her muscular arms were revealed from under her tank top. She sat with a posture of confidence and no-nonsense, and her kinky hair sprayed out in a shining mass of curls, like a dark halo. But it was much more than her appearance that got to Casey. It was the look in her eye. Casey recognized it. It spoke of battles fought and won, of challenge, and of a desire to control her surroundings. Casey hesitated, wanting to speak to her, knowing that just as much was being broadcast about herself as about the other woman.
“Ms. Gray?” A small Hispanic woman approached Casey.
Casey tore her eyes from the table. “Yes.”
“I’m Maria Mendez. Welcome to the Flamingo.”
Maria had a pleasant accent, and was about as opposite in appearance from the woman at the table as could be, but her eyes also revealed something familiar. Not the sense that she had total command of her environment, but that she’d been through a lot to get where she was, and wasn’t going to take any crap. She was probably in her thirties, and was dressed to a T in a dark business suit and heels. Her hair had been twisted into a perfect bun, with not one hair daring to fly free. Casey felt like she should salute.
“Please,” Maria said. “Come this way.”
Casey followed her toward the back corner, where they went through a door marked, “Office.”
“Mrs. Williams is ready for you.” She knocked on another door, and opened it. “Mrs. Williams, Ms. Gray is here.”
“Come in, come in.” Mrs. Williams got up from her chair to shake Casey’s hand, and Casey choked back a laugh.
Death didn’t bother holding it in.
The Flamingo Community Director, “Call me Sissy,” was in her fifties, with bright orange hair. She wore a lime-green track suit, with a lemon-yellow headband, and bright white sneakers. Her lipstick was an alarming shade of orange, matching her hair and her perfectly manicured fingernails. She looked like an upright, slightly pudgy, fruit basket. Casey wasn’t sure if she was supposed to eat her or drink her.
“Thank you, Maria,” the fruit basket said. “That will be all.”
The receptionist backed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
“Have a seat, please, Ms. Gray.”
“Please, call me Daisy.”
“Please, call me Daisy,” Death said, and giggled.
Casey, ignoring Death’s rudeness, took one of the pink chairs. Death sat in the other.
“I received the e-mail with your vita, Ms. Gray, and it is quite impressive. It looks like you have experience with all areas of our program.”
“I’ve been in the fitness field a long time.”
“The problem comes, however, with your lack of references. We really do need to talk with some of the people you have worked for.”
“I’m sorry,” Casey said. “That’s just not possible. All of the people I’ve worked for have either moved on or closed their doors. That’s why I’m searching for work.”
Sissy frowned. “Then even with your experience I’m afraid we can’t—”
“Could I at least offer some free classes? Perhaps one of each kind. You could see whether or not you like what I do.”
“But that still doesn’t answer the other questions.”
“Which are?”
“Whether or not you’d be a good fit for our community personally.”
“Which means she is worried you’re here to scam the residents, empty out their bank accounts, and disappear into the ether,” Death said. “Or else kill them all. You need to convince her you’re not only a good teacher, but a good person.”
Casey thought she looked the part of a reliable citizen. She’d taken the time to not only clip her nails and get a haircut, but to buy some respectable khakis and a blouse, leave her bags in a hotel room—this time at a very nice Four Seasons—and actually put on some make-up. She couldn’t look more respectable. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do about her blank history.
“You’re losing her,” Death said. “Make something up.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant.
“A sob story,” Death said. “Something to make her feel sorry for you.”
“I’m…trying to start fresh,” Casey said. “I’m coming from a…a bad situation.”
Sissy sucked in a breath. “Were you in jail?”
“What? No!” Casey glared at Death.
Death’s eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. “It’s not my fault you’re a bad liar.”