Fit to Die (5 page)

Trying to mask her impatience, Ronnie turned to see the group of men watching her exchange with Pete. It was evident that her clients were enjoying themselves, so she quickly tried to guide Pete to the door but he refused to budge.

“Well,” Ronnie quickly uttered a high-pitched squeal. “I have been told I look a little like Hilary Swank, the actress.”

Pete’s eyes narrowed as he struggled to remember. “Nah. It wasn’t like that.”

Ronnie opened the front door and practically shoved Pete outside with an exaggerated giggle and a powerful bump of the hip. She then followed him out and said something else that no one could hear as the door had shut after her. The rest of the men began to talk among themselves about their concerns about joining a diet group, but James kept his eyes riveted on Pete Vandercamp, who reached into his pocket, removed a tin of Skoal chewing tobacco, and put a wad inside his left cheek.

Staring at Pete, it was obvious that the older man had suddenly remembered something, because he pointed accusingly at Ronnie and then began to laugh. His whole body seemed to shake as he mocked the fitness instructor. James could see from Ronnie’s profile that the color had drained from her flushed face, but she seemed to recover quickly. She raised her fist and took a step toward Pete in what was unmistakably a threatening manner. Guffawing, Pete spit a thin stream of brown tobacco juice on the ground, turned his back, and then casually strode away as Ronnie stood motionless, calling angrily after him. James watched as Ronnie took several deep breaths in order to compose herself before she reentered the store.

When she returned, a wide smile was once again plastered on her face, but James noticed that both of her hands were still clenched into tight fists, as if the rest of her body hadn’t received the message that rage must be completely controlled in front of the customers.

Brady Gerhardt was the newest member of the Quincy’s Gap Volunteer Fire & Rescue Station. Even though he knew about as much as everybody else did about putting out fires, the veterans of the department called him “rookie” and forced him to do all of the menial tasks around the station, such as stocking the pantry and cleaning out the restrooms. Brady didn’t mind. He was an affable young man in his early twenties and felt proud to have joined the grizzled and seasoned men of Fire & Rescue. He also knew that as soon as someone else signed up to volunteer he, Brady, would be able to call that person “rookie,” regardless of the newcomer’s age or station in life.

At the moment, Brady couldn’t dwell on thoughts of rising in status within the department. It was the annual charity dinner and he was far too busy ladling steaming spoonfuls of homemade Brunswick stew into deep ceramic bowls neatly lined up on a tray in the station’s kitchen to do any thinking at all.

“Come on, rookie!” Dirk Maguire shouted gruffly. “We got payin’ customers out there and they’re starvin’!”

Brady wiped a line of perspiration off his brow with the back of a potholder and carefully pushed the tray, filled with delicious-smelling stew, in Dirk’s direction.

“Keep ’em comin’. We’re gonna be able to keep the lights on after tonight’s dinner for sure.” Dirk hoisted the tray high on his shoulder, as expertly as a waiter in a four-star eatery. Brady was impressed. Dirk worked at the landfill and was noted for his strength and direct mannerisms, but he was clearly graceful as well. “We might even be able to buy that second-hand pool table we’ve been wanting for so long.”

Other members of the department came noisily into the kitchen, clapping Brady merrily on the back and taking deep swallows of beer from red plastic cups.

“This dinner’s a record breaker!” bellowed a jovial Chief Lawrence. “Get on out there and enjoy yourself, boy. I’ll spot you for a bit. There’s a lot of pretty women who’d just love to meet a handsome firefighter like yourself.” The chief winked and took the ladle from Brady’s hand.

“Thanks, Chief!” Without hesitation, Brady stripped off his white vinyl apron bearing the text, If you can’t take the heat, git on out of my kitchen! He darted out of the second-story kitchen and slid down the fire pole leading to the station’s garage, where rows of tables and folding chairs had been set up to accommodate the diners. From the looks of it, every able-bodied person in Quincy’s Gap was either sitting and enjoying their meal, waiting in line for a bowl of stew and a piece of homemade cornbread, or flanking the makeshift bar where cold beer was being distributed as dollar bills hurriedly exchanged hands.

“I sure hope there aren’t any fires tonight,” Brady heard a barrel-shaped woman with bright orange hair remark lowly as he made his way toward the bar. “I think the firemen are all going to be too drunk to drive the truck.”

Her friend, a plump woman with glossy black hair and friendly brown eyes smiled and said, “I’m sure they’ve got some people on standby for an emergency.”

Brady walked past the women in search of a Coke and then a piece of warm cornbread. As he sat in one of the few empty chairs, watching a fat pat of butter slide down the slope of moist cornbread, he wondered about what the woman with the orange hair had said. Looking around the room, he could see that every member of the Quincy’s Gap Volunteer Fire & Rescue Station had a red plastic cup in his hand. Ruddy cheeks, twinkling eyes, and hearty belly laughs indicated that the members of Station Seventeen had consumed a goodly amount of beer. With a start, Brady realized that he might be the only one capable of driving the truck and he had never driven it before.

As he bit into his homemade bread and then paused to lick a rivulet of butter from the back of his hand, a cute blonde seated at the other end of his table smiled at him. He returned the smile, forgetting all about his concerns about being the only sober fireman in Quincy’s Gap. When the girl coyly waved him over to join her using only her index finger and a subtle wink, Brady leapt to obey.

James Henry had the great misfortune of being stuck in line behind three of the most fearsome women in Quincy’s Gap. He had arrived late to the Brunswick stew fundraiser as his father refused to let him leave until James sat down with him and looked over a brochure containing a palette of roofing materials. Ashamed to admit to Jackson that his savings were soon to be nonexistent after enrolling in Witness to Fitness, James pretended to have great interest in the brochure until his father told him that he had already hired a roofer and that the job was slated to begin next week. Panicking, James abruptly stood and informed his father that they would need to hold off on the roof work a little longer and then, like a coward, he grabbed his windbreaker and bolted out the back door without further explanation.

“The roofer’s comin’ on Monday!” Jackson bellowed after him. “And he’s gonna want a deposit!”

As James drove through town, his growling stomach and the wish to sit and eat next to someone he liked caused him to practically skid into one of the library parking spaces. The lot, which was across the street from the firehouse, was almost completely full. Trotting across the asphalt, James couldn’t help wondering how the Shenandoah County Library could ever host an event that would cause such a full lot and raise funds for his beloved branch.

Winded, James burst in through the side door of the firehouse, darted in front of a family of six, and purchased a food ticket from one of the fireman’s wives.

“Hey! That fat man cut us!” one of the children behind him whined and his parents shushed him, but not before James felt his face grow warm with embarrassment.

It turned out that James got no closer to getting his food by cutting in front of the dawdling family. In fact, the line was at an utter standstill. James stepped to the side to see what the holdup was all about. Apparently, an elderly couple insisted upon hearing each and every one of the stew’s ingredients before they would accept their bowls.

“I’m very allergic to certain foods!” the woman declared. “I could go into cardiac arrest.”

“And I simply cannot eat eggs!” her husband croaked while shaking his cane at the fireman serving the stew.

“Ah … I don’t think there are any eggs in there, sir.” The fireman looked around for help, but the only other fireman in sight was serving the cornbread and he shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

The fireman pushed a bowl of stew underneath the old woman’s nose. “Ma’am, it’s mostly chicken, corn, beans, onions, and tomatoes and stuff. There’s nothin’ bad in there.”

“What kind of stuff?” the old woman demanded suspiciously.

“You know, like spices.”

Fortunately, Mrs. Emerson, the minister’s wife who had been so upset over Chilly Willy’s T-shirts, stepped in and coaxed the couple into accepting their bowls of stew.

“You just have to know how to handle people,” she said proudly to her companion in line as the older couple shuffled off to find seats. Mrs. Emerson’s companion turned out to be Savannah Lowndes.

“Well, I wish we could handle some of this town’s more pressing problems, like that wretched ice cream store.”

“We could always pray that our townsfolk get tired of ice cream and that man has to move to Richmond,” Mrs. Emerson responded with a deadpan look. “I’ll ask the other folks in my Youth Leadership Group to pray with me.”

“Excuse me,” a third woman stepped toward the two middle-aged matriarchs. James tried to shrink backward in line as he recognized the heavily made-up stick figure belonging to Ronnie Levitt.

“Hi!” she chirped. “I’m Veronica Levitt, the proprietor of the new Witness to Fitness and I completely agree with you ladies.”

Mrs. Emerson and Mrs. Lowndes smiled widely. “Welcome to our delightful berg, my dear.” Mrs. Lowndes drawled.

“I just wanted to say, that when my business becomes a success around here, no one will feel the need to visit that little old ice cream shop.” Ronnie lowered her voice conspiratorially. “People trying to eat healthy foods shouldn’t be buying frozen custard, if you see what I mean. I vow to make Quincy’s Gap a happier, healthier place!” James half expected her to shake a pair of pompoms as she uttered this passionate oath. “I might just have to design my own T-shirts. I don’t think Willy’s are very attractive, do you? And he’s bought enough to outfit the entire town.”

“Those shirts are entirely reprehensible!” Mrs. Emerson declared.

Mrs. Lowndes smirked. “Indeed. It looks like we’ll just have to make certain your business succeeds where his does not. We women will stick together and take care of this little problem ourselves.”

“Yes we shall,” Mrs. Emerson said, puffing out her chest like a bullfrog. Then she turned to receive her stew and the three women moved off to find a seat together, whispering in tones too hushed for James to hear over the general din within the garage.

James had just gotten his own steaming bowl with a side of cornbread when Bennett appeared from out of nowhere and asked James to join him and a new co-worker of his at a nearby table. Relieved to have someone to sit with, James wove through the rows of satiated diners where two seats had been saved by the strategic placement of one of Bennett’s letter bags. Across from the two empty chairs sat a man in his late thirties whom James had never seen before. When Bennett moved his bag, the man looked up and gave James a reserved smile.

“Carter, this is my good buddy James Henry. James, this is Carter Peabody. He just moved here and has taken over Pat Salisbury’s route. Pat retired last week.”

“Nice to meet you, Carter.” James felt immediately comfortable in the presence of another shy soul. Of course, Carter had the looks of a weathered surfer, right down to the sun-streaked hair and freckled nose. He seemed to be of average build with a hint of a paunch, but overall, James was certain women would find Carter very appealing. Perhaps his bashfulness was just a pretense. James cast sly glances at the newcomer as he ate his stew and Bennett warned Carter about the nastier canines on his new mail route.

“I like dogs,” Carter responded simply after Bennett was finished. “Especially big ones, like the K-9 units on the cop shows. I’ve got a Border collie named Sergeant.”

“If you like big dogs, then you’ve got to meet our friend Lucy,” Bennett said. “She’s got three of the most terrifying German Shepherds you’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Carter’s eyes gleamed. “German Shepherds are the most common breed used as police dogs. The New Jersey General Assembly actually tried to get a law passed to treat them the same as the human officers … so if someone were to shoot down a K-9 officer it would be the same as shooting a man! Isn’t that cool?” When neither James nor Bennett looked suitably impressed, Carter looked down at his bowl. “I visit a website about citizens who capture criminals. I guess it’s kind of a weird hobby, huh? Still, maybe your friend Lucy wouldn’t find it so strange. I’d like to meet her sometime.”