Carbs & Cadavers (2 page)

The twins were long-limbed, brainy bibliophiles who were given up for adoption at birth and spent most of their lives living in a series of foster homes. Luckily, they had never been separated, and the last of their foster homes, which was the one they lived in throughout high school, was a unique place. Their foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. Sloane, owned a bookstore and were die-hard fans of early American literature. The Sloanes believed that fate had brought them together with the brilliant young men named after one of their favorite writers.

Francis and Scott were encouraged to attend the local community college, and the Sloanes helped them acquire scholarships. The boys were so thorough in applying for grants and scholarships that they were able to graduate without any debt. Immediately after graduation, they searched for a job in libraries across Virginia in which they could both be hired together. Only Quincy’s Gap offered them both identical jobs.

Francis raised a lanky arm to hold the door open for James and then for his brother, who issued a forceful head bob in gratitude that shook his wild curls of unkempt hair. The young men had attractive faces well hidden behind thick glasses, and when they were not re-shelving books or helping patrons, both would be peering intently at a computer screen or rifling through the pages of a book. James immediately liked their quirkiness as well as their proficiency and punctuality. So far, things had run smoothly at the King Street Branch.

Perhaps living in Quincy’s Gap wouldn’t be all that bad, James thought hopefully as he tried to put the morning’s negativity behind him. The presence of the tidy stacks of books and the Fitzgerald brothers’ quirky optimism always seemed to lend him solace when he was feeling down.

“More cheese puffs, Professor?” Francis asked him as James emptied his lunch from his tote bag in order to store his sandwich in the staff fridge.

James nodded, slightly embarrassed.

“I’m a sour cream and onion chip man, myself.”

“Poor choice, F. Salt and vinegar is clearly the superior chip,” Scott quipped.

“Oh! Customer!” Francis exclaimed, hurling his lunch onto the rectangular table where the three men took turns eating lunch and reading. He strode out to the circulation desk while Scott carefully arranged everyone’s sandwiches in a neat row within the fridge. James could hear Francis whispering to someone even though there were no other patrons in the library. Once the clock struck nine, the twins would whisper until their shift was over at five.

Francis poked his head back in the staff room. “There’s a lady out there, Professor. She says she needs to ask you about hanging a notice on the lobby bulletin board.”

“Certainly,” James said, almost repeating a reminder to the twins that they could call him by his first name, but he had told them several times and they seemed determined to call him “Professor.” Truthfully, James liked the title. It made him feel dignified and more significant than a small-town librarian each time one of the brothers uttered the word.

Out at the circulation desk a woman was leafing through the latest edition of
People
magazine. When she saw James, she smiled in a friendly fashion and extended a hand bearing small, delicate fingers. “I’m Rosalind, the art teacher up at Blue Ridge High.”

James returned the handshake, staring at the young woman’s round face as he introduced himself. In fact, all of her was round. She had saucerlike brown eyes, large breasts, a thick waist, and wide hips that only tapered slightly down to short, plump legs. Her hair was a shiny black that reflected a pleasant sheen from the overhead lights and was constricted into a twist held by two lacquered spikes resembling a pair of chopsticks. Her skin was a very light tan, as if made out of café au lait. James looked back down at her petite hands, one of which held a neon pink flyer.

“I was wondering if I could hang this in the lobby,” she said loudly and then covered her mouth with her hand. Whispering, she continued, “The old librarian, Mrs. Kramer, was such a witch. She wouldn’t hang anything that wasn’t related to ‘the literary interests of Quincy’s Gap,’ which basically meant the personal interests of Mrs. Kramer. She wouldn’t even let the Girl Scouts hang up their signs for cookie sales. I’m glad you’re here now.” Rosalind smiled, revealing a mouthful of perfect teeth. “You already seem nicer than old Mrs. Kramer.”

“Thank you,” James returned her smile warmly. “Well, let’s see what you’ve got there, Rosalind.”

“Rosalind is what my Brazilian mother calls me, but you should call me Lindy. All of my friends do.”

At that moment, James would have hung a flyer calling for a book burning. No one had even approached James as a possible friend since he had moved home, and the word itself burned pleasantly through James’s memory of once having a social life that included parties, dinners, and conversations mixed with great doses of laughter. He took the pink flyer and immediately tacked it up on the bulletin board, reading it as he pressed pushpins through the soft flesh of cork.

Are You Feeling Out of Shape?

Not So Pleasantly Plump?

Downright Miserably Fat?

Join Our New Supper Club!

We Plan to Get Fit Together!

We Meet Every Sunday Night!

Make Friends!

Lose Weight!

Call Lindy at 555-2846

“What do you think?” Lindy asked.

James creased his brows. “I’m afraid I don’t know what a supper club is.”

“Oh, it’s when a bunch of people get together to cook a meal and talk and form friendships. Some clubs have a theme, like cooking light or cooking different exotic foods. My sister lives in Atlanta and she’s in a supper club that focuses on pairing wine and food. I came up with the idea that Quincy’s Gap should have one where people can lose some weight. Like a dieter’s club but more fun. I know I’ll never get into shape on my own.” She cast her eyes on the ground and mumbled, “And Lord knows I have to stop making excuses.”

“So you’re just starting to recruit people?” James asked quickly. He didn’t like the way in which Lindy had so suddenly become deflated.

“Oh no!” Lindy perked back up. “We have four members already. Actually, we tried to meet last week to decide what kind of food we were going to eat—you know, like what our theme would be, but two of us wanted to count calories like Weight Watchers and the other two wanted to follow a low-carb diet like Atkins or the South Beach Diet. So, we need a tiebreaker.”

“Hmm,” James responded, nodding his head sympathetically. He disliked indecisiveness as a rule, but he also didn’t relish the thought of being a tiebreaker.

“Wait!” Lindy grabbed onto his arm, her wide eyes gleaming. “Why don’t
you
join our club? You’re new to town and,” she picked up his left hand and pointed at his ring finger, “it looks like you’re not married. This would be a great way for you to make some friends!”

Reeling from Lindy’s enthusiasm, James hesitated. It would be nice to make a few friends, but he was also a bit offended that Lindy so clearly viewed him as someone who needed to diet. Glancing down at his protruding belly, he knew she was right, but it still made him cross to think about his weight.

Lindy dropped her hand from James’s arm and softly said, “I didn’t mean to insult you. I just thought you’d like to join us.”

Her tone was so gentle that James relented. “I’ll give it a try. I’ve gotten to be a decent cook over the last few years, but I don’t know much about diets.”

Lindy’s face filled with delight. “Don’t worry about that! We’ll figure something out together. Let’s see, today’s Friday. It feels weird not to be in school, but we’ve got parent-teacher conferences and no one ever wants to meet with the
art teacher
.” Lindy shook her head as if to shake off her annoyance and returned to the subject at hand. “The supper club is meeting Sunday at my place. We’re having a lunch meeting this time since we haven’t worked out any of the food details yet. Let me write directions down for you.”

“Thanks.” James smiled and then wondered aloud, “Who else is in the supper club?”

“There’s me, of course, and then Lucy Hanover, who works for the Sheriff’s Department, Bennett Marshall—he’s a mailman—and Gillian O’Malley. She owns the Yuppie Puppy.”

James chewed on the name. “Is she a pet groomer?”

“You got it!” Lindy handed him the sheet of directions. “You must know Lucy. You guys both grew up here. Did you go to Blue Ridge High?”

James squirmed. “I did, but I wasn’t much of a socializer. I was pretty quiet back then. I
did
play in the band,” he added with a mix of pride and embarrassment. “French horn. I might know her if she had been in the band, too. Otherwise, I pretty much went straight home after school . . .” He trailed off, feeling like an idiot for babbling about his lack of teenage social activities.

Lindy seemed to grow pensive for a moment. “I don’t think Lucy was in the band. But that’s okay! Even if you didn’t know each other in high school, you can get to know each other now. In fact, we’ll all be getting to know one another. That’s part of the beauty of a supper club.”

“Uh, should I bring anything?” he asked, relieved that the subject of his lack of friends from the “good old days” was over.

“No need. We’re just going to have sandwiches while we decide what kind of food we’ll be cooking for the next meeting. See you Sunday at noon. It was nice to meet you, James Henry.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Lindy.” James stole another glance at the pink flyer and then returned to his duties at the circulation desk. Without realizing it, he was humming softly under his breath. The Fitzgerald twins looked at each other over a rolling cart filled with books that needed reshelving and smiled. They had never heard their boss hum before. It was a pleasant sound.

It was a crisp, sunny weekend morning and Homecoming Saturday to boot. The counter at Dolly’s Diner was empty, but Dolly laid out silverware at every place. James could see that she expected to do a booming business before closing shop early in order to see the Blue Ridge Red-Tailed Hawks “put a whupping to those braggarts from Jefferson High,” as Dolly so aptly phrased it during lunchtime a few days ago. According to Dolly, the Jefferson Cougars had pummeled the Hawks last year, and the football fans from Quincy’s Gap were looking for a little revenge. Dolly counted herself among the most loyal of all Hawks fans.

After casting her eyes in a satisfactory manner over the countertop, Dolly put her cloud of white hair into a tight bun on the top of her head and peered into the horizontal mirror behind the gleaming rows of clean glasses. James shared the same belief as most of the townsfolk that Dolly looked like a cross between a sumo wrestler and Mrs. Claus. Nobody cared, though. Dolly was beloved by all. She was the mistress of her own domain and treasured three things most in this world: her business, her husband, and gossip.

James could feel Dolly’s eyes boring into his back as she brewed a fresh pot of coffee behind the counter. Dolly had clearly decided it was high time she learned a bit more about the town’s newcomer. She questioned him relentlessly whenever he came in for a meal, which was often because the food was delicious, but James Henry had so far skillfully avoided her most personal questions. He was friendly and polite, of course, but close-lipped when it came to answering any queries outside the realm of work or food. Dolly was not so easily put off, however, and James steeled himself for another round of bluster and evade.

Dolly ambled over to the booth where James sat, appearing to be deeply engrossed in a novel. “You want some more coffee, hon?” she asked, holding the steaming pot up in front of her ample bosom.

James looked up, blinking, like someone who has just driven out of a dark tunnel into the bright daylight. “Huh? Oh, yes please. Sorry, Dolly. I was completely absorbed in this book.” His act didn’t fool the all-seeing eyes of the mistress of the diner for a second.

“So,” Dolly began, preparing to squeeze new tidbits out of the librarian before he could escape. “I thought I heard your mama tell me about you getting married a few years back.” She waited, withholding the coffee until James responded. “How come your wife isn’t here with you?”

“I
was
married,” James muttered, absently turning a page of his book. “We just got divorced this summer.”

Dolly clucked in sympathy and then filled his cup while giving him the once-over with her eyes. “Well, then, you ought to be socializing with folks, not sitting here reading,” she said in a teasing tone, even though she meant every word. “How you ever gonna meet someone with your nose stuck in a book?”

James shrugged, recognizing that Dolly was one of those women who liked to make a project out of matching up all the single people she knew. “It’s a good book,” he said lamely, wishing she would drop the subject.

Dolly waved off his answer and made a dismissive noise by pushing air out through her closed lips. “Pffah. There are plenty of nice women your age that would love to get to know you better. Why, I know . . .” Dolly trailed off, her attention suddenly caught by some movement out the front window. “Sakes alive! Here comes the parade! They’re all gonna want to eat here and I don’t have all the pies out yet. Clint!” she bustled off, calling for her husband, who was safely out of range in the kitchen.

“You got lucky that time,” laughed the young waitress who came over in Dolly’s wake to clear James’s empty plates. She was tall and fair with freckled skin and had thick, ash-blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail.