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“Pardon me,” he murmured, hurrying to the weight racks and trying to remember what he needed to finish with his workout.
He was working his way through bent-over rows when he heard Beau say, “Hope you had a good workout.”
“Thanks.” Myra’s voice. She was at the door.
Ike straightened quickly and met her gaze. She looked … upset. Because he’d backed away when they were having a moment earlier? Probably. He should sit down with her and explain his past and his future and how dismal they both were and how she didn’t want to be a part of any of it. He passed a hand over his face.
Myra grasped the door handle.
“Oh, hey,” Beau said. “Shoot. I forgot to tell you and that was stupid. My brain’s a little vacant today.”
Ike nodded that he understood. Sadly, he could relate.
“If you two want to look at it while I finish my workout, then we can have breakfast together.”
“What’s that?” Myra turned back, folding her trim arms across her chest.
“I got a personal note from the Star Stabber,” Beau said as if he were saying, ‘pass the salt, please.’
“What?” Myra and Ike exploded at the same time.
Beau shrugged. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Where was the note?” Ike demanded. “When did it come? What did it say?”
“Just the usual, ‘You don’t deserve to live. I’ll have your blood on my hands, superstar,’” Beau answered the first question. “It was on one of the mirrors in my bathroom.”
Myra jolted. “The Star Stabber was in the house?”
“Unless the UPS guy strolled up to my master bathroom.” Beau lifted his hands.
“Beau, this is serious.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“When did you see this note?” Ike demanded.
“This morning, before I came to work out.”
“Did you touch it?”
“Nah.”
Myra and Ike looked at each other. They’d swept his master.
“It wasn’t there last night,” Ike said.
“You’re saying the killer waltzed in while we all slept?” Myra looked pale. “He could’ve killed Beau in the night, and we got no alerts and heard nothing.”
Ike should’ve followed his instincts to not shut down and sleep. Apparently they were on a battlefield.
“If Bermuda doesn’t want me, maybe …” Beau shrugged again. “Sorry, I’m not depressed … Actually, I am.”
“Beau,” Myra said softly. “Do we need to get you into someone?”
“No,” Beau protested. “I’m fine. Forget I said that.”
Ike focused on Myra. He had no clue how to deal with the emotional stuff. “I’ll get a forensic team in here.”
