A Diet to Die For (19 page)

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Authors: Joan Hess

BOOK: A Diet to Die For
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“Long walk.”
“We’ve already done that one,” I said acidly. “Twice as far to her house, but not as close as the police station. Contrary to certain disparaging opinions held of me, I can retain a certain amount of statistical data for at least sixty seconds. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to learn I’m not planning to walk to any of those destinations.”
“Shame about your car.”
“This Gary Cooper imitation is getting tiresome. If you have something to say, say it in sentences complete
with subjects and verbs. The only allowed exception is the short yet always popular ‘good-bye.’”
“Oh, no, I’m not anywhere near ending this chat. It seems campus security called in a request to identify the owner of a particular license plate, in that the owner had committed the unspeakable sin of parking on the grass and then fleeing the scene of the crime. Jorgeson ran the license plate number, and guess whose name popped up like a clump of crab-grass?”
“I had a minor mechanical problem, but I hardly fled. I walked slowly to the administration building and called a tow truck. At the maintenance man’s suggestion. He was concerned about the impending appearance of the mower.”
“Jorgeson was bored, so he called the tow service to ascertain details. He was surprised to hear that the car in question had an unusual problem, not a minor mechanical one.”
“Jorgeson has too much free time on his hands. Someone ought to reassign him to traffic control.”
There was a long silence, long enough for me to realize the receiver was slippery from someone’s sweaty grasp. Finally, when I was preparing to inquire if he was still there, I was treated to a lengthy sigh.
“Why didn’t you call me as soon as this happened?” Peter said in a pained voice. “Or when the mechanic told you that someone had intentionally removed the cotter pin?”
“I didn’t want to bother you in the middle of your big investigation. You know, Jockscam.”
“You didn’t want to bother me with the knowledge that someone tried to kill you? I’m deeply moved by this display of thoughtfulness on your part. Do you have any idea who was so unthoughtful as to remove
the cotter pin and cause your brakes to fail?”
“The maintenance man had shifty eyes. He also took my ten dollars and called the damn security cops anyway. If that’s not an indication of amorality, I don’t know what is. Why don’t you send idle Jorgeson over to fingerprint the grass?”
“I doubt he’s up to that at the moment. Listen, Claire, when I told you about the test results, you promised to stop snooping around. Maribeth Galleston was involved in an unfortunate accident caused by her refusal to mention the childhood rheumatic fever and her failure to take the potassium caplets. That’s all there is to it—no criminal intent, no conspiracy, no anything to make you start salivating over juicy clues. The district attorney said he doubts he’ll bring any charges against her, although she’ll have to live with the Winder woman’s death for the rest of her life. I would imagine twelve million dollars will go a long way to assuage the guilt. No one, including her husband and her lover, had any reason to try to harm her with some crazy scheme involving pseudo-potassium caplets. Okay?”
“Then what happened to my cotter pin?”
“I don’t know, but when I find him, I’ll—” He broke off with a rather prehistoric growl. After a moment, he added, “I’ll have someone check with your neighbors to see if anyone was seen skulking around your garage. In the meantime, lock the garage door, stop pestering people with your questions, and
stay away
from the Ultima Diet Center and Delano’s Fitness Center.”
“All right, all right,” I said meekly. “Am I allowed to visit Maribeth?”
“To visit, not to put her through the third degree.
Jorgeson and I are going by tomorrow or the next day to find out what she has to say about the potassium, just to finalize the report. And one more thing, Claire … put things back where you find them. When the Gallestons can afford a gardener, he may need a ladder.”
It seemed prudent to mutter a good-bye and hang up, both of which I did while clutching the back of a chair. Once I’d recovered, I went downstairs and related the news to Joanie, who was eager to accompany me to the hospital. In that it was her car, I felt obliged to display some enthusiasm at the prospect. We went to the garage.
“Oh, my,” Joanie said, fanning the air with her hand, “the car absolutely reeks. I know Caron and Inez are not fond of advice, but you have a maternal duty to discuss underarm deodorants and personal hygiene with them.”
Nodding, I rolled down the car window and watched the scenery while I tried to decide how best to grill Maribeth. By the time we arrived at the hospital, I’d failed to perfect a strategy and was prepared to improvise. As Joanie and I waited in front of the elevators, I spotted a familiar figure in a white coat.
The elevator door opened. I shoved Joanie in and said, “I’ll catch up with you in a minute. I want to get Maribeth a little something from the gift shop.” The door slid closed before she could protest, and I hurried down the corridor and caught Dr. Brandisi’s arm. “Hello. I left a message earlier with your receptionist that I needed to speak to you.”
He gave me a wry smile. “I don’t think she likes you. After you left, she wanted to report you to the Department of Human Services, but I talked her out
of it. What did you need to speak to me about, Mrs. Malloy?”
“Maribeth had a potassium deficiency. I wondered if residual damage from rheumatic fever might have caused it, or had an effect on the severity of the symptoms.”
He shook his head. “I’m not a specialist in dietary dysfunctions, but I don’t see why there would be any correlation between the two. The rheumatic fever resulted in some damage to her heart. The potassium deficiency would make her forgetful, vague, sort of fluttery.”
“Or apt to fly into uncontrollable rages?”
“Rages?” he repeated, giving me a puzzled look.
“One second she’d be smiling, the next in an absolute fury over an insignificant remark or question. It was almost a Jekyll-Hyde routine.”
“That sounds more like a roid rage,” Brandisi said. He glanced at his watch, then gave me a sharp look and added, “Do you have any reason to suspect she was taking anabolic steroids?”
“Steroids?” I said incredulously. “Why would she be taking steroids? They’re not part of anyone’s diet program, are they? How would she get them?”
“They’re not hard to find these days. Locker rooms, playgrounds, bowling alleys—you name it. I’ve treated a couple of junior high boys who wanted to beef up their bodies without exerting themselves to do any more than gulp down pills. They were rather alarmed when they experienced testicular atrophy, rages, depression, acne, and were faced with the possibility of heart, liver, and kidney damage, not to mention permanent sterility. As for your friend, the steroids would
have created serious complications because of the cardiovascular damage.”
I stared at him while I tried to assimilate the barrage of symptoms he’d tossed out so casually. “Maribeth had developed acne,” I said slowly, “and was having an increasingly difficulty time losing weight.”
“Athletes use steroids to increase muscle mass. No one taking steroids will lose weight, although whether or not it actually enhances muscular strength and endurance is disputed in medical circles. Her physician surely knows about this, so you might talk to him. I’ve got to finish my rounds.”
“One more thing, Dr. Brandisi. I’ve got a caplet that’s supposed to be potassium. Is it possible you could have the lab at the hospital run a test on it?”
His expression made it clear he was remembering his receptionist’s dark opinions of my character. “You think it’s a steroid? Is that why you want me to order the test?” He held up his hands and began to back away from me. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mrs. Malloy. I didn’t mind hunting up an old medical record, but I have no desire to get involved in something like this. You need to discuss this with a policeman, not a pediatrician. Now I really must finish my rounds; my wife’s waiting in the lounge.”
“One little caplet,” I said, turning on the earnestness and moving toward him. “How long can it take to test one teeny tiny caplet? The hospital lab runs hundreds of tests every day; no one will mind one more minor test. The police have declined to become involved. The girl was a patient of your father’s, and I’m sure he would want you to do whatever you can to help her.”
“He might agree, but he didn’t have to pay exorbitant
malpractice premiums in case hysterical parents decide I should have diagnosed little Suzie’s Ethiopian liver-worm disease when they forgot to mention the details of their vacation. I’m sorry, but I can’t risk any involvement with another physician’s case.” With an apologetic shrug, he walked briskly down the corridor and vanished around the corner.
I went back to the elevators and punched a button, frantically trying to come up with a reason why Maribeth might have been taking steroids rather than potassium. I doubted she aspired to become a weight lifter, a lady wrestler, or a member of the Farber College Fighting Frogs. She certainly didn’t want to increase her muscular bulk. It was time to ask her some hard questions.
The elevator door opened and I joined a green-clad orderly who was ogling a pair of shiny-faced nurses. I huddled in the corner until we reached Maribeth’s floor, and then went down the hall to her room.
Maribeth was hooked up to tubes, and an oxygen tube was taped across her nostrils. A broad strip of adhesive tape across her nose and cheeks and a misshapen purplish bruise on one side of her face attested to the force with which she’d hit the steering wheel. Her eyes were closed.
Joanie sat on the unoccupied bed. She gave me a pinched smile and said, “I’d about given up on you. Was there a crowd in the gift shop, or were you too busy chasing doctors down the hall to find it?”
“How’s Maribeth?” I whispered. “Is she asleep?”
“She said she’d had several visitors in the last hour. They must have been too much for her.”
Maribeth opened her eyes, and in a hoarse, nasal voice said, “Claire, how nice of you to come. I’m not
a very good hostess, but sit down for a minute.”
I sat on the arm of a chair, wishing I had the nerve to ask her some questions but aware of Joanie’s protective presence. I settled for an innocuous, “How are you feeling, Maribeth?”
“Not good. I’ve got a broken nose, two cracked ribs, and enough needles stuck in me to make a pine tree. Then again, it’s nice to be alive.” She turned her head to one side, and swallowed several times. “Poor Candice. When I first woke up, the whole thing seemed like a nightmare, just a horrible fantasy someone had whispered in my ear while I was unconscious. Then this afternoon Jody showed up with flowers, and I made him tell me what happened. I almost killed you, too, Claire. You must be furious at me.”
“No,” I said sternly, “and you can’t blame yourself for the accident. A freak accident, Maribeth. You can’t hold yourself responsible for a heart attack that made you lose control of your car. It wasn’t your fault”
“That’s right,” Joanie added.
“But it was my fault,” Maribeth said. “I should have said something about my heart condition, but I didn’t because I wanted to go on the Ultima program. I assumed they wouldn’t take me if they thought I was a high-risk client.”
“So you told them that you’d been examined by your personal physician?” I said, avoiding Joanie’s dark look. “No one at the Ultima Center had any idea you’d had rheumatic fever as a child, and that there was a second occurrence in college?”
She stared at the ceiling for a moment, her eyes unblinking and her mouth slack. “I didn’t tell anyone at Ultima. Gerald might have mentioned it to Candice,
I suppose, but nobody said anything to me about it.”
“And therefore you were allowed to stay on the program,” I said with a sweetly inquisitive smile.
“Of course she stayed on the program,” Joanie snapped. She crossed her legs and began to jiggle her foot up and down in an irritated way, as though she were visualizing making contact with someone’s fanny. “I think we’d better let Maribeth rest. Visitors can be tiring—and tiresome.”
“I did stay on the program,” Maribeth continued. “Bobbi came by earlier and asked me a lot of questions about those overly emotional outbursts. She implied that I’d skipped the potassium, but I took caplets three times a day. The only time I missed any was the day before I fainted in the Book Depot, and that scared me.”
“The police found three full bottles at your house,” I said.
“Gerald brought me some, didn’t he?” she said, sounding confused. “I thought it was just one bottle, but maybe he had others. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.” She put her hand on her forehead, then let it slide down her cheek, tracing the border of the bruise. “Aren’t Jody’s flowers beautiful?”
Joanie clucked admiringly. “They’re quite beautiful.”
I made a similar noise, then said, “He’s been terribly worried about you. Bobbi said earlier that he’s been calling the hospital every hour since the accident.”
“He told me,” she said in an amazed voice. “He said he’s been skipping lunch because he misses our little picnics in the office.” She gave me a secretive smile that seemed to imply complicity between the
two of us, although one of us was decidedly on the far side of the moon. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to Jody. You understand, don’t you? We’re pretty much still in the same boat.”

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