Authors: Joan Hess

A Diet to Die For (8 page)

BOOK: A Diet to Die For

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My eyes were still blinking and my jaw waggling as he escorted me to the door, held it open long enough to propel me out to the sidewalk, and locked it behind me with a loud click. Jealous and resentful of Maribeth’s success? I finally found a suitably scathing remark, but as I turned back, the office light went out.

“Am not,” I muttered to the darkened room. Then I got in my car and unclenched my fist to remove the embedded key ring.

SIX

T
he following morning Peter wandered into the store, looking remarkably tanned for someone who’d supposedly been holed up with a bunch of spies. He cornered me between the travel guides and the cookbooks and spent several minutes greeting me with great skill. I felt like a devoted wife who’d been waiting for Hubby’s return from the battlefield. Self-perceived Amazon warrior that I am, the image irritated me, although not enough to keep me from responding. And enjoying it.

“Did you miss me?” he murmured into my ear.

“Did you go somewhere?”

“Is that any way to get a bumper sticker?” He stepped back and pulled a folded rectangle from his pocket. “I thought you’d be overcome with emotion after our long and painful absence from each other’s arms. However, I can see you’re playing the role of a woman scorned, so I’ll just give this to someone else.”

“And allow my bumper to fall off in the driveway? I can see from your well-baked glow that the hush-hush guys didn’t make you slave all day inside an
igloo. Where’d you go—Hawaii or Key West?”

He flashed his teeth, which looked even whiter in contrast to his recently darkened complexion. “I was taking an all-expenses-paid crash course in one of the trendy new felonies. I can assure you that any sunbathing that occurred was not in the company of svelte nubile blondes but of fat manila folders of statistics. But I must confess there was a particularly sleek assault weapon that I couldn’t keep my hands off. I can still feel that baby’s hard metallic body as I cradled her in my arms. And those steamy sessions on the firing range, with the lingering aroma of spent shells, the rat-a-tat-tat of her sultry voice, the—”

“A trendy new felony?” I said, refusing to fall for a diversion of such magnitude that a parachute would be in order. “Anything that might tempt a mild-mannered bookseller?”

“I can’t tell you, but I’m glad to see you’ve remained the same inquisitive Claire, the Miss Marple of Thurber Street. Should New Scotland Yard beckon you, we wouldn’t want you to be delayed by a loose bumper.” He held up the bumper sticker, which said DON’T DIET; LIVE-IT! “I thought Caron and Inez might be amused by this.”

“Nothing amuses them anymore,” I said, sighing. I listed all the disastrous diets that had been dismissed over the two-week period and admitted they had actually gained weight. “I had the audacity to suggest a sensible diet and exercise, but that was, of course, a waste of perfectly good carbon dioxide. They’re determined to find a miracle diet that doesn’t interfere with their daily regime of pizzas, cheeseburgers, and inertia. I think they’re enjoying the investigation, but
it’s driving me to lengthy conversations with the bathroom mirror.”

“How’s your new clerk doing on her program?”

“Very well. As of yesterday, Maribeth’s lost sixteen pounds, between the diet and the exercise classes. Her behavior is sort of peculiar, though, and I’m worried. I am not jealous.”

“Why would you be jealous?” Peter said, leaning over the counter with a grin. “Are you worried that I might cast you aside when I catch a glimpse of this svelte, sweaty person?”

“Don’t be absurd; you’re much too old for her.” I turned my back on him to gather up a pile of catalogues, then started for my office. “However, she ought to be here any minute, and she might find the bumper sticker so amusing that she swoons into your arms like a dying swan in a white tutu.”

I took the catalogues to my office, dumped them on top of a stack of last season’s catalogues, vowed that this would be the year I cleaned up the unholy mess, and went back to the front of the store in time to see Maribeth collapse into Peter’s arms. “What’d you say to her?” I yelled as I ran toward them.

“Nothing. Help me lower her down gently, then get a cup of water and a damp washcloth.”

I did as ordered, and within a minute Maribeth’s eyes opened. “Where am I?” she asked, giving me a frantic look.

“On the floor of the Book Depot. You fainted,” I said. I draped the washcloth on her forehead and helped her take a sip of water. “Stay here until you feel capable of walking, and then we’ll take you back to the office to rest. When you’re ready, we’ll figure out how to get you and your car home.”

“I’m better. Really.” She pushed the cloth aside and sat up, her face puckered with anxiety and her hands fluttering in the air. “I would like to sit in the office, but just for a minute, and then I’ll start work.” She gave Peter a quizzical look. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before? Are you one of Gerald’s colleagues?”

“Gerald’s her husband,” I explained. “He teaches at the law school.”

“I’m Peter Rosen. I don’t have any connections with the law school, and I don’t remember meeting either you or your husband. Are you feeling steadier? Let Claire and me help you to the office.”

As we guided her down the aisle, I said, “What happened, Maribeth? Did you feel dizzy?”

She stopped to think, then put her hands on her face and mumbled, “Yes, I felt a little dizzy. That’s all. I’ll be fine in a few minutes. Please don’t make a fuss over this, Claire—and please don’t say anything to Joanie. She’ll go screeching to the Ultima staff, and they’ll refund my money and throw me out of the program. Jody’ll be scared to allow me to participate in the aerobics class. This was my fault. I’m required to take potassium caplets three times a day, but yesterday was hectic and I missed a couple of doses. If you and Mr. Rosen agree not to tell anyone about this stupid dizzy spell, I’ll swear I’ll never miss another one.”

She was most likely correct in her predictions of what Joanie, the Ultima owners, and Jody would do if they suspected there was any chance that Maribeth was unfit and therefore posed a threat both to their reputations and their liability premiums. I gazed at Peter. “If you’re certain that a potassium deficiency is
responsible—and if you swear you won’t miss another dose—I won’t mention this,” I said sternly.

“It’s my only chance to break out of this horrid body,” she said to Peter, clutching his arm desperately enough to endanger the Italian silk. “It’s my last chance.”

After we’d let her sink down in the chair behind the desk, he continued to look soberly at her. “I don’t know any of the people, so I’m not in a position to speak to any of them,” he told her. “I do think you ought to be checked by your private physician to make sure you’re in shape for this diet and exercise class.” When I nodded in support, he added, “Why don’t you tell us his or her name, and Claire can make an appointment right now?”

“I don’t have a doctor in Farberville, unless it’s Dr. Winder. When I lived here as a child, my pediatrician was old enough to have written a chapter of the Bible. He’s either retired to Florida or is in the cemetery by now, and in any case, I’d feel foolish sitting in a waiting room filled with comic books, little cars, and spotty babies. I haven’t had any reason to use another doctor since we returned.”

It made sense, but it came out in such a tumble that I didn’t quite believe her, although I wasn’t sure which bit of the story seemed iffy. “You’re a little old for a pediatrician,” I murmured, “but you do need an examination. How about my doctor?”

“I’m fine now! Just leave me alone!” she said belligerently, then hid her face with her hands and began to cry.

“We’re going, we’re going,” Peter said. He took my arm and led me out of the office. When we were
in the front of the store, and presumably out of earshot, he said, “Could she be on drugs?”

“Vitamins, potassium, calcium, that sort of thing. She’s examined daily by a registered nurse, who monitors a urine sample and watches for bizarre behavior. If Maribeth were taking some unauthorized drug, wouldn’t it show up in a urinalysis?”

“It depends,” he said, frowning over my shoulder.

“What happened? Did she take a look at your moderately handsome face and pass out in ecstasy?”

“If she did, it’s a first for all of us.” He seemed to realize he was still frowning, and gave me a smile that went a full half-centimeter deep. “I said hello and showed her the bumper sticker. She stopped in midstep and goggled at me as if I were showing her a piece of underwear I’d lifted from her lingerie drawer, put her hand on her chest, and crumpled down for the count. I didn’t think the bumper sticker was all that funny, but we both know I’ve got lousy taste.”

We both knew he didn’t, especially in his choice of women. We discussed the scene for a while, and I agreed to try once again to persuade Maribeth to consult my physician, who happened to be an ob-gyn. Better than a pediatrician. At least the waiting room had back issues of
Cosmopolitan
and
Newsweek
, and the only babies present were in utero.

“Is it possible,” I said as Peter started to leave, “that you could run a check on Sheldon and Candice Winder? Background, medical training, whatever. I’d feel more comfortable if I knew they were both what they claim to be.”

“As in bogus credentials?”

“Dr. Winder recites diet jargon quite glibly, but he didn’t seem to be the least bit concerned with Maribeth’s
symptoms and agreed to talk to me only when I mentioned a possible lawsuit. Then again, maybe I’m as flaky as Maribeth,” I said, shrugging.

“But you wear it so well. I’ll tell Jorgeson to see what he can find out, but it may take a few days.” He gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek and left.

A few minutes later Maribeth came out of the office, still wan but determined to work, and although I wanted to send her home, I left her to clean out the drawers below the cash register. She was, after all, nearly thirty years old and heir to a large fortune. She was entitled to swoon, rage, and contemplate an illicit affair with her aerobics instructor, all without my solicitous intervention. On the other hand, I told myself as I shoved aside the stack of catalogues, I might attend the family support group that afternoon, convince Candice that my motives were pure, and find out why the hell Maribeth was behaving as erratically as a punch-drunk boxer with oatmeal for brains.

Maribeth and I were doing an inventory of the science fiction paperbacks when Joanie came into the store. She studied Maribeth. “How are you today, dear?” she asked.

“I’m fine, and I wish everyone would stay off my case and stop clucking over me. I’m the one who’s chosen to be on this program, and I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“Of course you are,” Joanie said soothingly. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, she said, “Isn’t this news about the football player distressing? According to the news on the radio, the athletic department’s in quite an uproar—as well it should be. The poor boy was twenty years old. Such a waste.”

“Are you talking about the football player who had
a heart attack several weeks ago?” I asked as I jotted a note to myself about the fantasies, which were moving like salted slugs. Rack space being at a premium, we needed more carnivorous aliens and fewer dwarfs and cute little fairies.

Caron and Inez burst in before Joanie could continue. Caron pointed her finger at me and said, “We’ve finally found the perfect diet, and it’s one we’ll be able to stick to for weeks and weeks. It’s based on eating fiber in order to make yourself feel full, so you’re able to resist temptations.”

Inez nodded. “It’s very easy to follow, Mrs. Malloy.”

“What’s it called?” I asked, resigned to look pleased with whatever I heard.

“The popcorn and grapefruit juice diet,” Caron said. “That’s all you have, but you can have all you want of those two things.”

I fought back a wince. “It doesn’t sound very appetizing. Are you sure you can stick to it, Caron? You don’t like grapefruit juice. In fact, I seem to remember that you detest it.”

“That’s the beauty of the diet. I like popcorn, and I loathe grapefruit juice, so I won’t be tempted to drink too much of it. According to Rhonda, I can lose as much as ten pounds a week.”

“Rhonda’s now an authority on nutrition?”

Inez blinked solemnly. “No, but her cousin in St. Louis went on this diet and lost twelve pounds practically overnight. Rhonda said it was like a miracle or something, and her cousin wasn’t ever hungry.”

At least it was less expensive than tuna packed in water or the dreaded seaweed regime. I chewed my lip. “You two might discuss diets with Maribeth,” I
told them. “She’s lost sixteen pounds, and she’s done so while eating fairly normally.”

“Seventeen and one-quarter,” Maribeth said cheerfully. “By this afternoon, maybe eighteen.”

Caron and Inez exchanged enigmatic looks. Caron folded her arms and said, “Which one are you on?”

“It’s basically well-balanced low-calorie meals with vitamin and protein supplements. I also go to aerobics classes and work out on the toning machines, but that’s the fun part, and I look forward to my classes.”

Joanie beamed at her. “And I must say that I’m terribly, terribly proud of you, Maribeth. I wrote a letter to my daughter to tell her what progress you’ve made.”

Caron and Inez again exchanged looks, but enigma was replaced with wariness.

“How long have you been on this?” Caron asked in a challenging voice.

“Almost three weeks,” Maribeth answered uneasily, clearly taken aback by Caron’s demeanor.

BOOK: A Diet to Die For

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