He backed out of the footwell, sitting upright on the door sill with his feet on the asphalt. He ran his hand through his hair again, his face pale under the yellow glare of the dome light. The cool night air did not seem to soothe him.
“We need to find it tonight,” he said.
“We can call the gym and ask the front desk to check the locker room,” I suggested, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Marcus is usually there until closing, and he knows us well enough to take a look.”
He flinched slightly at my touch, his muscles corded and tense beneath his wool coat. He looked down at his shoes, his thumbs hooking into his pockets as if to keep his hands from shaking.
“They do not keep the locker rooms open past six on Thursdays,” he said, staring at the gravel between his shoes. “The staff leaves early to clean the pool area.”
“Since when?” I asked, the question hanging in the quiet air between us. I had gone to the gym on a Thursday evening only two months ago, and the facility had been fully open until nine.
