Fit to Die (12 page)

No one answered so James flicked on the lights and gathered his shopping bag full of entrées. As he turned to leave, Ronnie came out of the kitchen area, a fuchsia towel draped around her neck. She put her hands over her heart as if startled and then broke out into a giggle.

“Oh my! You made me jump!”

James forced himself to look abashed, not believing for a second that she had been the slightest bit frightened. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, you can make it up to me. My silly little car won’t start and I’m sure it’s the battery acting up again. I’ve got an appointment to get it fixed on Friday, but I could certainly use a sweet hero to get me home tonight.”

“Sure,” James replied without much chivalric enthusiasm. “Where do you live?”

“In that group of townhouses behind the post office. You know, the darling yellow ones with the green shutters and flower boxes?”

James nodded. The quaint townhouse block had caused quite a stir during the town planning meetings. The builder of the three-story town homes had promised to paint them a delicate shade of buttery yellow. Instead, he had gotten a deal on a different hue and the grouping of buildings had been covered by three thick coats of an orange-yellow so blindingly bright that groups of bees and other flower-friendly insects were constantly swarming around the area. The poor bugs apparently thought that the wooden structures were actually gigantic marigolds loaded with nectar. The fact that all the residents overloaded their window boxes with every variety of flowers during the growing season didn’t help matters, either. James had heard Bennett complain more than once about having to douse himself with bug repellent before venturing out to deliver mail at the Cozy Valley Town Homes.

“I’ve got to swing by the liquor store on the way, if that’s all right with you,” James said, holding the front door open for Ronnie.

A cloud passed over her face as she locked the door to her business. “Alcohol is just empty calories, James.”

Her patronizing tone instantly grated on him. “It’s for my pop.”

Ronnie smiled her false smile, clearly doubting James at his word. “Well, of course it is.”

James gritted his teeth and opened the passenger door without speaking. He had always hated that derisive sarcasm.

As he parked in front of the town’s only liquor store, Ronnie pulled a fitness magazine out of her cavernous gym bag. “I’ll just sit tight. That’s not a business I frequent.”

A bell tinkled out a greeting as James entered the store. Danny Leary looked up from a book of word puzzles and issued a friendly nod. James located a bottle of Cutty Sark and placed it gently on the counter.

“You any good at word scrambles, Professor?” Danny asked, pointing at a grouping of letters. I can’t figure this one out at all. The clue is that all the words are capitals of foreign countries.” He made a cough-like sound. “Shoot, I haven’t been farther away than Kentucky, so it’s not like I recognize too many of these, but I’ve got ’em all except for this one. I’ve been staring at this clue for almost an hour.”

James turned the book so that it was facing him. He examined the letters.

ihleniks

Danny rang up the Cutty Sark and placed the brown bag to the side of the word puzzle book. James had the answer right away, but he stalled so as not to hurt Danny’s feelings.

“This is a tough one, Danny. Give me a minute to stare at it some more.”

Danny seemed pleased that James was stumped as well. He settled back on the stool he had sat in for over twenty years. He had long white hair pulled back into a neat ponytail and he occasionally twisted the end of it around his finger when he was working one of his puzzles. He wore steel-rimmed reading glasses low on his nose and with his open, wide face, he often reminded people of Ben Franklin.

“Nasty business about that ice cream store,” James said, hoping to ease his way into getting some answers out of Danny.

“Sure was.” Danny unwrapped a piece of gum and popped it in his mouth.

“Heard a rumor that old Pete Vandercamp was inside with both a bottle of Wild Turkey and a bottle of Jack Daniels.”

Danny shook his head. “No chance. Ole Pete has drunk Wild Turkey all his life. He wouldn’t touch another brand. Said it was a favorite of his father-in-law’s and Pete admired that man to no end. Too bad the guy got cancer at such a young age. Pete could have used a friend back then.”

“Was that when his wife was killed?” James asked, not daring to look up from the puzzle book.

“Just a year or two after that. Left Pete all alone in this world. Still, he never drank another whiskey in all the years I’ve known him. Ah, I mean, knew him.” Danny cleared his throat. “It’d seem disloyal to his father-in-law’s memory.”

James nodded. “Well, my pop’s like that with his Cutty Sark. I guess someone must have given Pete that bottle of Jack Daniels then.”

Danny seemed disinterested. “Yeah, reckon so. We sell quite a lot of Jack in here, so there’s no tellin’. Never to Pete though and that’s all I’ve got to say about that. How’s your daddy doin’ these days?”

“Oh, he’s doing just fine, thanks for asking. I think the answer to this clue is Helsinki, but you’d better double-check.”

Danny squinted at the clue and then smiled happily. “Darned if you’re not right. Thanks, Professor.” Danny looked beyond James toward the parking lot. “You got a lady friend with you?”

James controlled his feeling of revulsion so that it was not mirrored on his face. “She owns Witness to Fitness, that new weight-loss business. Her car battery is dead so I’m just giving her a lift home.”

Danny removed his glasses and gave the woman in the Bronco a good look, but Ronnie had her face practically buried in her magazine. Another car pulled alongside James’s truck on the driver’s side and a group of young men jumped noisily out of each of the four doors. Ronnie looked up from her magazine momentarily as Danny watched the men make their way to the front door.

“Oh, I recognize her now,” he stated matter-of-factly. “She’s a pretty thing, if you like ’em skinny.”

“You seen her around town?” James inquired. “She said she’s never been in here.”

Danny looked wounded. “Well, sure she has. Just once, a few weeks ago. I don’t remember what she bought, but I remember her. You know I never forget a face and hers is a new one ’round here.”

“She must just not want to come in,” James said hurriedly.

“Well, shoot. Tell the gal I don’t bite,” Danny replied and then turned his attention to his other customers. James cast a glance back outside to see that Ronnie’s visage was again obscured by her magazine. “So she was in here once,” he mumbled to himself and then bid Danny a good night.

Ronnie chattered on about how much she adored Quincy’s Gap as James pondered over his discovery at the liquor store. Before he knew it, they were pulling into the road leading to Ronnie’s town house. Beneath the Victorian lampposts, a man slowly walked a dog on what appeared to be a very long leash. He wore a hooded sweatshirt, dark pants, and a baseball cap. He seemed to be the only person outside and in no hurry to return to his home.

“Him again,” Ronnie said lowly, sinking down a tad in her seat as they passed by the man.

“You know him?” James asked, his curiosity alerted by the lack of peppiness that was customarily injected into every word Ronnie uttered.

Ronnie stuffed her magazine back into her gym bag. “He’s my creepy mailman.”

“Oh yeah? Why creepy?”

Ronnie gestured to one of the units on the right. “The next one’s mine. I don’t know why he bothers me. Whenever he has to hand me a package too big for the mail slot he stares at me.” She laughed lightly. “It’s not like most men don’t look at me. I’m used to that. He just looks in a funny kind of way. I’m sure it’s nothing. Still,” she glanced backward out of the side mirror. “He doesn’t live in one of these townhouses, so why is he walking his dog here?”

James couldn’t think of any comment to supply to Ronnie’s rhetorical question. He was relieved to see her jog into her townhouse and shut the door. What he wanted was a quiet drive home so that he could ruminate over all the details of the Polar Pagoda fire.

Reaching into his center compartment in the hopes of finding a stick of gum, James felt his hand close on a roll that felt like a sleeve of nickels, but when he drew the package into the dim interior lights he recognized the form of a Life Savers candy roll. And in Butter Rum flavor, too. His favorite.

James examined the nutritional information while backing out of Ronnie’s driveway at a snail’s pace. Figuring that a few candies wouldn’t disrupt his weight loss progress, he eased the Bronco onto the road and popped two Life Savers into his mouth. Sucking contentedly on the candy, James passed by the man walking his dog just as the twosome moved directly beneath a pool of lamplight.

The mailman who gave Ronnie the creeps was none other than Carter Peabody.

James was on his way to work the next day when he remembered that it was time for the monthly library staff meeting. Even the retired schoolteacher who helped out on evenings and weekends, Mrs. Waxman, came early for her shift in order to attend. It had become a habit on meeting days for James to stop by the Sweet Tooth, the town’s only bakery. He enjoyed choosing homemade treats for his employees and everyone looked forward to the meetings due to the freshly baked goodies they could expect to consume while discussing improvements to their branch.

Today, James was anxious about stepping inside the famed bakery. The owner, Megan Flowers, had decorated the window with bright tissue paper flowers and whimsical kites made with construction paper. In the center of each flower, cinnamon buns and apple streusel muffins bloomed. Trays lined with fudge and butterscotch brownies covered a red and white checkered cloth and a picnic basket overflowed with French baguettes and crusty Italian Semolina bread. Chocolate-dipped sugar cookies in the shapes of ants marched around the base of the basket. James paused in order to absorb the tempting sights and then opened the door to the cozy warmth and heavenly smell that the Sweet Tooth maintained all year round.

“Good morning, Professor!” Megan greeted James affably as she dusted flour from her hands. “I was just whipping up a few loaves of raisin bread. How are you?”

James inhaled the tantalizing aromas of baked butter and cinnamon and felt the saliva inside his mouth rapidly begin to multiply. Despite the pleasant scents within the small storefront area, James noticed that Megan’s shelves were unusually full for this time of the morning. By nine o’ clock, her supply of breakfast Danishes, coffee cakes, and muffins were typically depleted. James noticed, too, that Megan seemed even thinner than normal. Her attractive, angular face looked pinched around the mouth and eyes and she ran her flour and butter encrusted hands over her brunette hair without even realizing she was coating herself as if greasing a pan.

“Everything all right, Megan? How’s Amelia doing in school?” James asked, genuinely concerned.

Megan smiled tiredly. “She’s really excelling. I am so proud of her, Professor. I mean, since all that nonsense last fall she’s really come around. Works hard here and hits the books at school.” She held out her hands in a gesture of helplessness and laughed. “I guess it takes a murder to straighten out some teenagers!”

James grinned, remembering how surly Amelia once was. “Well, that’s terrific news. We’ve got our staff meeting today so I thought I’d load up on some peanut butter cookies and maybe some white chocolate macadamia nut ones as well.” James paused, his eyes feasting on all of the delectable items encased behind glass. “And I think I’ll bring Pop a loaf of rye for his sandwiches and one of those raisin breads you just finished baking. He loves a slice with cream cheese as an afternoon snack.”

Megan seemed delighted to fill the order. “I’ve got to tell you, Professor,” she began as she boxed up the cookies and tied the box with red- and white-striped string. Amelia might be doing well in school, but I’m not sure how much longer we can afford for her to attend.” She sighed as she wrapped and bagged the two loaves of bread. “All of a sudden, my customers have gotten on this crazy health kick. It’s like the opening of Witness to Fitness has scared them all away completely. Sure, some of them come in for wheat bread and I’ve started making these light bran muffins, but those two items are my big sellers these days.” She dusted her hands on her apron. “And let me tell you, it’s not much fun baking bran muffins all the time.”

“So even people who haven’t joined the weight loss center are trying to cut back on baked goods?” James was surprised. “Surely, you have plenty of regular customers who don’t need to diet.”

“I do!” Megan exclaimed. “Women thin as fence rails are telling me they feel guilty eating a donut once a week or even buying cookies for their kids. I don’t normally resent a woman whose trying to run a successful business. But I tell you what, I resent the hell out of that Ronnie Levitt ’cause she’s killin’ mine!”

James looked at Megan’s haggard face and offered her a sympathetic smile. “Well, I know of an upcoming event where your business will shine and I can guarantee that no one will be thinking of Ronnie Levitt or about dieting on this particular occasion.” And James proceeded to discuss the details of having the Sweet Tooth as one of the major food booths at the library’s upcoming Spring Fling.

Megan was delighted. “That’s just what I need, Professor! We ought to have great sales that day and then hopefully my regulars will start drifting back into the store. How can I ever thank you? Here, take a chocolate croissant on the house. I know they’re a favorite of yours.”

James hesitated for a fraction of a second, knowing that he should refuse the treat before Megan even had the opportunity to put it in a bag, but he held his tongue. Watching her gather his purchases together, James’s thoughts were already fast-forwarding to the moment when he could sink his teeth into the flaky layers of croissant crust and hit the soft, chocolate cache contained within.

The moment he was safely seated in his truck, he retrieved the pastry from the white paper bag and took a generous bite from one of the ends, baked to an appealing bronze in the oven. The rich, buttery dough caused him to sink gratefully back into his seat and then he took another bite, savoring the rich chocolate filling as it coated his tongue and nestled around his gums. Within ten seconds, the entire croissant had been consumed and James was plucking crumbs off of his shirt and popping them greedily into his mouth.

“Oh man,” he moaned, thinking simultaneously of the amount of calories and fat the pastry must have contained and whether or not he should buy another one. Luckily, the strong possibility of being late for work spurred him into putting his car in drive. Licking his lips, he eased down Main Street and began to hum along with the radio. He couldn’t help but note that nothing on the torturous Witness to Fitness menu had ever given him the urge to hum.

“Life is so unfair,” he muttered and switched off the radio.

The first thing James did upon arriving at work was to send the members of the Flab Five an e-mail about his discussion with Danny Leary the night before. He also asked Lucy to see if the deputies had thought to collect Danny’s receipts for all of his store’s March credit card sales. James believed there was a slim chance that a suspect—and in his mind the primary suspect was Ronnie Levitt, though he still had no inkling what her motive was—might have charged a bottle of Jack Daniels. Lucy immediately wrote back that the receipts had been brought in and sorted as soon as Sheriff Huckabee had learned about the Valium contained in the Jack Daniels bottle. She promised to examine them when the other deputies were out to lunch.

The afternoon staff meeting was extremely productive and James was pleased to note that they were completely organized in regard to the Spring Fling. As he deliberated over whether to have another one of Megan’s sumptuous peanut butter cookies, the bell at the checkout desk rang. It was a vintage brass bell once used to summon bellhops in the finer hotels, which James had purchased from one of the local antique stores for the infrequent times when he and his staff were tied up in their monthly meeting and patrons needed help. They were rarely interrupted for more than a few minutes at a time, but when James approached the checkout desk and absorbed both the ripe scents and argumentative tones of the two men waiting there, he knew he would be tied up for much longer.

“We’re here to register our pigs for the big race,” the first man said, tucking his hands beneath his overall straps as he rocked on the heels of a pair of dirt-encrusted boots.

The second man adjusted the straw cowboy hat on his head so that James could view a pair of deep-set eyes surrounded by weathered skin. “Don’t know why you’re botherin’, Jake. No one can beat my Truffles, ’cept maybe her sister Jiffy Pop.”

“Ha!” The other farmer bellowed and James strongly suspected it was the first time either man had stepped foot inside the Shenandoah County Library. “Your fat sow’s got nothin’ on my Blossom. Why, she’s as streamlined as a speedin’ arrow.” He took off an ancient John Deere baseball hat and shook it at his fellow farmer. “And I’ve got Rutabaga fit to race, too. There’s no tellin’ how that pig’s gonna tear up a race course.” He turned to James. “Shoot son, you may as well hand over that $1,500 jackpot purse to me right now.”

James shushed both men even though he didn’t see any other library patrons in his immediate view. “Gentlemen. I’m sure you both have fine animals who have excellent chances of winning.” He smiled. “But you should also know, there are forty other pigs entered in this race.”

The farmer named Jake scowled. “Well, in that case, sonny, I’ll enter both my swine. What about you Lenny?”

“Count me in on two pigs, too,” Lenny answered forcefully, slapping three fifty dollar bills on the counter. “At least you and me gotta beat the tar off of ole Billy Ostler, Jake.”

Jake gave an irritated snap to his suspenders and harrumphed. “That rat bastard’ll probably juice his pigs up on some kind of special slop before the race. “’Member how he fixed that Cow Pull a few years back?”

“Do I?” Lenny roared. “He didn’t need the prize money anyhow! His daddy’s about as rich as that fellow with the crazy hair …
Trump.”

James hurriedly handed both the farmers receipts for their entries and wished them a good day, hoping that they would leave quietly. Neither man paid him any attention as they continued to reminisce about the myriad of wrongs done to them by one Billy Ostler. After they finally exited, James noted the muddy tracks left on the library carpet and clucked his tongue. Scott or Francis would soon be playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who would be using the carpet cleaner before opening tomorrow morning. James could only hope that the smell of manure would dissipate along with the dirty footprints.

When he returned to the break room to deliver the bad news, the twins were so elated about the entry of four more pigs that they both offered to do the carpet cleaning.

Scott whipped a tiny spiral notebook out of his front shirt pocket and eagerly turned a few pages. “Four more … why, that makes fifty pigs in all!”

“At a cost of $75 per entry,” Francis said, sitting up taller in his chair, his eyes aglow behind the thick frames of his glasses. James wondered, for the umpteenth time, why the brothers refused to invest in contacts. They were both relatively handsome young men but seemed to prefer to hide behind black or tortoiseshell frames similar to those seen in films of the early fifties. “Even after we’ve handed out the $1,500 prize purse,” Francis continued, “we’ve already cleared $2,250 in profit for our new Tech Corner!”

Mrs. Waxman clapped gleefully. “I’ve collected entry fees from forty women for the Ladies’ Hat Contest as well. We’ll have $500 to add to that kitty after we’ve paid out cash to the first prize winner. Not only that,” she smoothed her heavily hair-sprayed coif of tawny hair streaked with gray and added smugly, “but Shenandoah Savings & Loan agreed to donate two bonds for us to use as runner-up prizes. One is for fifty dollars and the second’s for one hundred dollars!” Mrs. Waxman giggled. “Little Hugh Carmichael might be President of that bank, but I swear he still thinks he’s in my English class about to see his grade on another spelling test whenever I approach his desk. I think he’d hand out bonds to me just to make me go away.”