Out of the frying pan, into the fire “Three seventy-five pound dumbbells? You sold them Monday?” It took work to keep my voice even, and I flashed the pimply kid behind the counter a grin. Though he didn’t look like he regularly lifted anything heavier than a video game controller, he did look like he was a fan of my smile. And my legs, from the way his eyes kept wandering to the lower half of the glass counter between us. The two locations nearest police headquarters were of no help. This one was farther out, but that didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t what I was looking for. I asked who he sold them to. “We don’t have a record of that, but they paid with cash.” I shifted my stance, hiking my hemline up the tiniest bit, and smiled again. “I know it’s not the kind of question you get every day, but I really need to know.” I frowned slightly. “There’s no magic you can work on that computer that will help me?”
