Fit to Die (14 page)

When the woman moved away to serve drinks to the other residents, Fred continued. “Peter and I had a bond of loss, in a manner of speaking. My twin brother was killed during the Korean War. He died trying to protect me and so I understood the kind of guilt and grief that Peter knew. Neither of us were men with many friends, but we spent some time together. I don’t partake of alcohol and I tried to be a positive influence on Peter. I know he wasn’t a popular man, but he never did anyone wrong.”

James took a sip of refreshing limeade. He could practically feel the sugar as it slid down his eager throat. Lucy finished her own glass in four swallows and then delicately dabbed at her lips with a cocktail napkin. “Anyone could see that Pete was unhappy. That’s why the authorities, with the exception of my boss, accept the ruling of accidental death.”

“Yes, Peter was unhappy.” Fred looked off into the distance. “But he was trying to turn things around. I saw him just a few days before the fire. He was really looking forward to working with Willy. Peter viewed him as a fellow survivor and genuinely admired the fellow. I saw it as Peter turning over a new leaf.” Fred leaned over and clutched Lucy’s forearm. “If Peter was killed, then his enemy is someone I don’t know. I believe I knew all of the people Peter associated with, and there were very few of those. He was a true loner.”

Lucy nodded. She clearly could think of no other questions to ask. “Thank you for your help. I’m more convinced than ever that he was murdered. We’re just no closer to discovering why.”

Fred leaned back in his chair, clearly wearied physically by the conversation, but his eyes remained alight with intelligence and determination. “Peter was gruff with people. I know what he was like. He said something to someone near his end and that someone became angry. Enraged. Find out who he talked to and I bet you’ll find your man.” He gripped Lucy’s forearm. “And do let me know what I can do to help. I may be an old man, but my mind’s still sharp as a razorblade.”

James rose and shook Fred’s hand. He and Lucy promised to keep him informed and to return to Wandering Springs if they had any new or significant information to share. On the way out, James led Lucy around the outside of the house toward the walking paths spiraling around the back gardens.

“Why are we going back here, James?” Lucy asked curiously.

“I swear I saw Dylan earlier. This must be the nursing home where he volunteers.”

Lucy immediately brightened. “Wouldn’t that be a coincidence? You’re right, there he is, reading the paper to that man dozing in the wheelchair.”

Lucy and James approached Dylan and called out a greeting. At first, Dylan seemed stunned at seeing them in such a setting, but after they explained that they had come to visit Mr. Wimple, he smiled. “Fred doesn’t get many visitors. His folks were really well off but money doesn’t do you much good if there’s no one to spend it on. It was nice of you both to spend time with him.”

“Well, we wanted to question him about—” Lucy began.

“Local Quincy’s Gap history stuff,” James quickly cut her off. Lucy gave him a look of annoyance but before she could say anything further, the man in the wheelchair seemed to suddenly wake from his snooze. “Why hello, kids,” he croaked sleepily. “You all headin’ over to the ball game with my son?” he gazed at Dylan with pride.

“No, Randolph,” Dylan patted the older man tenderly on the shoulder. “These folks are here to see another friend.”

“Well, stop on over to our house afterward and we’ll fix you some supper. My Louise just loves to cook for you kids after one of our boy’s big wins. Best point guard in the whole of Miami-Dade County, yessir!”

“Thank you, sir. We’d be delighted to come,” Lucy answered and Dylan winked gratefully at her.

Dylan then leaned forward and whispered, “He’s got Alzheimer’s, poor man. He thinks I’m his son.” He began pushing the wheelchair forward, toward the Japanese garden James had seen from the parking lot. “Phoebe is here today, too. She’s been singing some Chinese folk songs for the residents.” He laughed. “They think she’s Japanese ’cause she’s wearing a kimono. She rented it from a party store and is going to help host an Asian tea ceremony later this afternoon. The residents are really pumped. Would you like to stay?”

“We’d love to,” James answered quickly, “but I still have so much work ahead of me if I’m going to be ready for the library’s Spring Fling.”

“Okay then, you two have a nice day. See you in class on Monday.” Dylan smiled warmly and he and Randolph moved off down the path.

“Why did you lie to him?” Lucy asked angrily once they were safely in the Bronco heading back toward Quincy’s Gap.

“Dylan’s a stranger to us, Lucy. And to Pete. As much as I like him, we can’t trust anyone.”

“Oh please,” Lucy sighed in disgust. “So I suppose Carter and Phoebe are suspects, too.”

“Yes,” James insisted. “Any stranger, including Ronnie Levitt. No one was interested in Pete’s existence until that group of newcomers moved to Quincy’s Gap.”

“Oh,” Lucy scoffed, “so next you’ll be adding Willy to that list.”

James scowled. “Willy was at the Brunswick Stew Dinner, along with Savannah Lowndes, Mrs. Emerson, and the rest of us.”

“Well, so was Ronnie,” Lucy said triumphantly. “I guess she’s got an iron-clad alibi!” She smiled smugly. “And that leaves Carter in the clear as well.”

“Oh good,” James mumbled miserably. He drove the rest of the way in sulky silence.

Over the next two weeks, the members of the Flab Five thought of every excuse they could in order to bring up Pete’s name in front of anyone who had recently moved to Quincy’s Gap. Bennett pried Carter at work, Gillian questioned Willy as he was painting a pink San Francisco Doggie Town House on the front lawn of his rented house, Lucy and Lindy divided the task of grilling Phoebe, Ronnie, and Dylan during one of their weigh-in sessions, and James even asked a few subtle questions to Savannah Lowndes and Mrs. Emerson after church let out. No one discovered anything of any use.

“All I learned is that my man Carter seems to have it bad for Ronnie.” Bennett remarked at their last supper club meeting. He shook his head, perplexed. “She’s not my kind of woman, but I guess some men like ’em scrawny.”

“How do you know he’s interested in her?” Lucy asked while violently stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork.

“Oh, he’s always wondering about little details. Where’d she come from? What did she do before Witness to Fitness? Like how would I know?” Bennett smoothed his mustache and added sympathetically, “That boy can barely concentrate on delivering the mail. Sometimes I see him just starin’ off into space when he’s supposed to be sortin’ letters. Shoot, I haven’t seen one creature moon over another since the old hound dog I had as a kid fell for the beagle next door. Too bad they both were males,” Bennett cackled.

“Ronnie’s too old for Carter anyway,” Lindy quickly said after noting the stormy looks Lucy was directing at Bennett.

“She certainly is not!” Gillian was miffed. “Men can date women ten years younger than they are so why can’t women do the same thing? True, Ronnie might be closer to her fortieth birthday than to her thirtieth, but look how young her soul is. Plus, women get better and better as they age.”

“Kind of like wine?” James teased.

“More like a priceless antique,” Gillian continued. “All of that life experience only increases one’s appeal.”

Lindy tossed a lock of hair behind her shoulder. “Well, if I can look as good as Ronnie at thirty then I’ll be happy.”

“Please,” James sighed. “Lose some weight if you want, Lindy. But don’t end up looking like a praying mantis. At least all three of you look like real women.”

“Why James Henry,” Lindy smiled, placing her hand above her heart, “don’t you just say the sweetest things?”

Later that week, James allowed Murphy Alistair to interview him regarding his current weight loss progress in exchange for some front page publicity on the upcoming Spring Fling.

“This sounds like a fundraiser to beat all fundraisers,” Murphy commented as she took notes on the details of the festival. “Pig races? This is surely going to be a Saturday to remember. Sometimes all it takes is a little competition and presto! You’ve got a crowd. I’ve been working on my hat entry for the last two nights.” She winked at him coyly. “I don’t suppose I have an ‘in’ with one of the judges, now do I?”

James felt his neck growing warm. “Uh … Mrs. Waxman and two of the library volunteers are judging the hat contest. I’m going to help the twins manage the pig races. Though the closer we get to Saturday, the more I wonder what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

Murphy swatted the air in dismissal. “Come on, what’s the worst that can happen? Even if one of those pink speed demons tries for a prison break, we can just shoot the little oinker and have fresh ham and bacon for dinner!” Murphy gave James a playful nudge. “How are you planning on containing the thoroughbred swine, may I ask?”

“Hay bales.” James frowned. “But now I’m wondering if I ordered enough. Can pigs jump?”

Murphy laughed. “Most people only wonder if they can fly, but jump? Oh, I am so bringing extra film for my camera.” She flipped open a notebook and uncapped a pen. “By the way,” she said without looking up, “your weight loss is really beginning to show. I guess all the pain has been worth it. The question is, how much further do you plan to go on?”

James had asked himself the same thing and told Murphy as much. “I just can’t stomach the idea of eating those entrées much longer. If I could make my own food, then I could stick this out, maybe even for the long run.” He opened the top drawer of his desk where a package of Twinkies nestled amongst loose rubber bands and paper clips. “See? I’m starting to buy junk food again merely to allow some kind of taste sensation to return to my mouth during the day. I know that once dinner rolls around, I might as well be eating straw.”

Murphy scribbled on her pad. “What if you could make your own meals, using a cookbook filled with light recipes? Would you really do that? I mean, most people don’t have time to cook every night.”

“I would buy some light frozen entrées if I were too busy,” James replied. “But I honestly don’t mind cooking. I like the way the kitchen fills up with aromas. It reminds me of my mother.”

“A sensitive man with a multitude of talents.” Murphy nibbled on the end of her pen and stared intently at James. “I can’t believe Dolly hasn’t gotten you married off yet.”

James noted the glint in Murphy’s eyes, which shifted from gray to green beneath the fluorescent lights, and hastily changed the subject. He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Listen, Murphy, there’s something truly odd about the Witness to Fitness meals.”

“Aside from their bad taste?” Murphy’s eyebrows rose up her forehead.

“Yes.” James hesitated and then decided to take the plunge. “I think they’re the same as all the other frozen entrées from the grocery store. You know, like Lean Cuisine and Smart Ones?”

“As in they taste the same?”

“No, as in they are the same. I think Ronnie is just repackaging them in foil containers.” He watched as Murphy absorbed what he was implying. “For example, she gave us this ziti entrée again this week. We’ve had it once every week. Well, I bought one of the ziti entrées from Food Lion’s freezer section and I believe they are identical.”

Murphy absorbed this information hungrily. “That would be a case of fraud if that were true. Especially with what you are being charged for meals.” She suddenly slammed her notebook shut, jumped out of her chair, and pulled a large black satchel over her shoulder. “I’d better check this out right away. This could be a big story.”

James also rose and stood, shifting back and forth uncomfortably on his feet. “But what if I’m wrong?” he worried. “I don’t want to damage anyone’s reputation.”

Murphy smiled indulgently. “Don’t worry, Professor. Nothing will be printed in black and white without solid research. I’m nothing if not fair.” She turned to leave. “I’ll let you know what I discover before any story goes to press. Deal?”

“Okay, thanks,” James agreed quietly.

“And don’t worry,” Murphy threw back over her shoulder, “your Spring Fling still gets the front page no matter what. After all, you do have an ‘in’ at The Star.”

James was almost afraid to open his eyes that Saturday morning. The local news had predicted a day of heavy downpours and the entire event was outdoors, from the pig races to the kids’ games. Hesitantly, he got out of bed, stuffed his feet groggily into an ancient pair of maroon slippers, in which the big toes on both of his feet had poked holes through the material, and eased back his bedroom curtains just enough to catch a glimpse outside.

“Eureka,” he whispered in relief. Though overcast, the sky was already elbowing its way through the dense knot of gray clouds, in a show of strong blue ribboned by pale peach and salmon hues. Toward the east, a foggy patch of sunlight scored its marks across the shadowy trees and gently eased the darkness out of the woods. James exhaled happily. It was going to be a glorious day. He felt it in his bones.

Throwing on his favorite pair of jeans, which had become distinctly loose at the waist and baggy in the rear, James was pleased to note that he was pulling his brown leather belt a full two notches tighter than when he had first begun the Witness to Fitness program.

Even though it was barely seven in the morning, Jackson was already on his second cup of coffee and was engaged in a lively debate with the plumber over which brand of toilet was superior to all others. Their voices echoed around the cavities within the gutted kitchen and carried noisily up the stairs.

“You gonna stay and help us redo the pipes in here, Professor?” the young man named P.J. asked with a sly grin.

“Now you know he’s got to raise money for the library today,” Jackson answered, clearly seeking to continue the strain of friendly, argumentative banter. “It’s men like you and me who can’t get a single crossword clue right that’ve gotta get good and dirty.” He eyed James seriously. “Still, it’s never too late to show a young dog a trick or two. Maybe tomorrow you and I will have a little Carpentry 101.” He chuckled. “Isn’t that how they call them classes at college? 101 or 500 or 1000 whatever?”

“Yes, Pop. That’s what they do.” James filled his thermos from the coffee pot now set up in the downstairs bathroom. “I’d really like for you to teach me how to be a bit more handy. I know I’m not much good at it, but I’d like to learn all the same.”

Jackson looked pleased. “Well, git on for now,” he said hastily. “You’ve been sleeping all morning like Rapunzel. Those computers you want are gonna cost a few piles of nickels.”

James almost corrected Jackson’s choice of fairy tale heroine, but considering the overall feeling of harmony about the morning, he decided to let it go.

“That’s Sleeping Beauty, old man,” said P.J. as he put a dirty hand on his hip and threw Jackson a look of mock disdain. “Did you even go to high school?”

“Sure enough. And listen here, you little whippersnapper, that place has never seen a boy take so natural to shop class as when I was enrolled. Why, they had to come up with all new projects just to hold onto my attention.”