To minimize my self-consciousness about appearing in this getup, I kept my makeup to a minimum, avoided direct eye contact with the men, and tried to squelch any interest manifested by any of the guests.

Since the front door had been opened already, I knew the manager was there. Sure enough, the light in her office was on. Linda Doan didn’t like me and was determined to get rid of me the first chance she got. But Linda couldn’t fire me, though she didn’t know that yet. She didn’t know why I was really at Marvel.

I was under cover. The very term had a tendency to make me snicker, but it was true. Since its opening seven months before, the gym had been plagued by a thief. Someone was sneaking into the changing rooms and stealing items-cash, jewelry, cell phones-from the guests. It wasn’t impossible that the thief was a guest, but Jack thought the culprit was one of the staff, given the territory the thief had covered.

“The men’s changing room, the ladies’ changing room, the storage cubes outside the sauna,” Mel Brentwood had moaned. “Drinks, watches, chains, cash. Never a lot, never anything awfully expensive, but it’s just a matter of time. And the guests will hear about it and they won’t come. If we don’t find out who’s responsible, I’ll fire everyone working there and replace all of them, I swear I will.”

I was pretty sure such drastic action was illegal, but it wasn’t my business to say so, and I noticed Jack glanced out the window and kept his face blank. Mel couldn’t be the idiot he projected himself to be. He had started this string of gyms with money he’d begged and borrowed from skeptical friends of his parents, and he’d made the gyms prosper by thinking of ever-new ways to get them in the news without actually burning them down.