Full Scoop

by Janet Evanovich

  “It’s where you oppose someone’s argument, even though you don’t really oppose it; you’re just looking at it from different angles. To test its, um, accuracy,” he added. “To see if it’s a valid argument.”

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe because my stepdad used to drive me crazy doing it to me,” he said. Zack leaned against one of her beds, propped his elbows on his knees and linked his fingers.

  “Maybe you should be testing this out on my mom,” Mel said, examining one of the chips. “Find out why she expects me to be the perfect daughter. She wasn’t so perfect. It’s like a major sin that I stood outside the movies talking to a boy. Look what mom did.” Her eyes misted. “Look what she did!”

  “I’m looking,” he said.

  Lydia Green was clearly annoyed as she quickly tossed aside the grimy blouse and slacks she’d worn helping Ben put up the clothesline, and then pulling weeds from the flower beds and putting out fresh pine straw as he’d mowed the grass. Without taking time to shower first, she slipped into a clean outfit.

  In the den, Ben snored in his recliner. She looked past him, through the window, where a truck from Southland Phone Company was parked in front of her neighbor’s house. She hurried into the kitchen and scribbled a note. Her hands shook.

  Ben:

  Gone to pick up your insulin at Bi Lo pharmacy. I’ll grab your juice while I’m there.

  Back soon. L.

  She taped the note on a cabinet door in plain view and went for her purse. She dug for her keys and started for the door. She opened it and as she stepped outside a man in a blue uniform approached the back of her house. He stared down at a clipboard he held and whistled the Johnny Cash song “I Walk the Line.” He wore the Southland Phone Company insignia on his uniform, and beneath it, the name Joe.

  “May I help you,” Lydia said as he neared her steps.

  He jumped, obviously startled. He covered his heart and rolled his eyes. “Lady, you just scared the meanness right out of me,” he said loudly. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

  Lydia put one finger to her lips. “My husband is resting.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he said, lowering his voice as he put a finger to the bill of his cap in a polite gesture. His teeth were pronounced, even more so when he smiled.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Lydia said, fitting her key in the lock and jiggling it several times before it finally turned and locked. “I’m in a hurry. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ll be lickety-quick,” he said, still smiling as he shoved his glasses higher on his nose and blinked several times through the thick lenses. “Some of your neighbors are having problems with their phones. Just checking to see if you’ve still got service,” he added.

  Lydia’s brow puckered. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

  “Been living here all my life,” he said. “Do you know Joe and Doris Frazier? They’re my parents. I was named after my dad, of course,” he added, pointing to the patch where his name had been sewn. “They attend the big Baptist church in town. I go with them now and then when they shame me into it.”

  Lydia shook her head. “I’m Methodist.” She checked her wristwatch. “My telephone is fine. The pharmacy called not more than twenty minutes ago. I need to get there before they close. My husband is diabetic and insulin-dependent.”

  “Then I will just mark your name off of my list and be on my way,” he said, pretending to draw a great big X on the page. “You have any problems you call and ask for Joe.” Once again, he touched his cap, then turned to leave.

  “Hold on a sec,” Lydia said with a loud sigh before he reached the steps. “You’ve got me all worried now.”

  “Sorry.”

  She put her key in the lock, hands still shaking. She struggled with the key. “This thing is so hateful.”

  “Let me have a shot at it,” the man said, taking the key from her. He paused. “What happens if he forgets his injection?”

  “He gets sick,” she said flatly.

  “Could he die?”

  “Yes!” She covered her mouth because she had spoken too loud. “Yes, he could,” she said quietly.

  “What would you do if that happened? I mean, if he died? Maybe even died at home?”

  Lydia just looked at the man. “Well, I—” She frowned. “Oh, good grief!” she said, waving off the remark. “That’s a terrible thing to ask someone. I have to go. Are you going to open my door or do I have to ring the bell and wake my husband?”

  “Sorry,” he said, putting the key into the lock and turning it slowly. He jiggled it like she had. “I was just thinking how terrible it would be if somebody I loved died right in front of me.” The lock finally clicked. He opened the door, stood back, and grinned. “There you go.”

  Lydia didn’t return his smile. She looked deeply troubled, anxious. She took her keys from him, crossed the room, and lifted the receiver from the wall phone. She waited a few seconds and tapped the receiver. “I’m not getting a dial tone. The line is dead. What do you suppose—” A hand covered her mouth before she could finish her sentence. She looked up, straight into the barrel of a gun.

  He leaned close. “Tell me, Lydia,” he whispered as softly as the breath that fell against her cheek. “What are you willing to do to keep your husband alive?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Maggie opened her eyes and found the living room dark and herself half sprawled on the living room sofa. She blinked several times. She was groggy and disoriented and still tired, even though it felt as though she’d slept a long time. Someone had covered her with a blanket. She touched the tiny button on her wristwatch, and the face lit up so she could read it. It was after eight P.M.! She had slept for three hours! She quickly threw off the blanket and bolted from the sofa.

  Anxiety spurred her into the kitchen. Dark and empty. She stepped into the hallway. She heard Mel’s voice coming from her room and felt dizzy with relief. She followed the soft light and found Zack leaning against Mel’s bed studying one of her sketches with the help of a fat candle. Mel sat nearby, pointing to something on the drawing. They glanced up. Maggie’s eyes lingered on Zack’s face. She realized she had already memorized it.

  He smiled. “Welcome back.” The smiled faded slightly. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just—” Maggie paused. She had been on the verge of blurting out how much she hated that her daughter was forced to sit in the near-dark. She wanted to rant and rave and maybe kick something; she wanted to yell from her rooftop how unfair it was. She wanted an answer as to why Carl Lee had not been found and how many more days they would have to sit around and wonder when he’d show up. She wanted to turn on all the lights, yank the drapes off their rods, peel the tacky aluminum foil off the kitchen window, and do something really immature and totally stupid like yell out to Carl Lee and dare him to do something about it. It would almost be worth getting shot. Only problem, it wouldn’t be worth leaving Mel orphaned. The expression in Zack’s eyes told her he knew what she was feeling.

  “I didn’t mean to sleep so long,” she said. “I didn’t know I was so tired. You guys are probably starved.”

  “We made a sandwich,” he said, “and napping isn’t a bad thing. It’s not even illegal in most states now. By the way, Queenie called, mostly to check in, but she didn’t want me to wake you. She said she hasn’t had a chance to come by to see if her hen laid an egg yet because she’s been bogged down with appointments.”

  “Sunday is a busy day for her. People come from all over for her, um, services.”

  They were quiet. As if sensing the tension, Zack grinned. “Your daughter kicked my behind in poker,” he said. “She felt so sorry for me she agreed to let me see her artwork. This girl is good.” He looked at Mel. “This is your calling, kiddo. Your mission. Your reason for being. Your key to limos, and a penthouse in New York.”

  Maggie smiled proudly. “Mel’s teacher says she finds beauty in simple things, and she makes simple thin
gs beautiful.” Even in the dim light Maggie could see the bright flush on her daughter’s face, and she was surprised the girl had shown Zack her work.

  “Zack, I hate to ask this, but I really do need to go back to the grocery store,” Maggie said. “This time with my list,” she added. She could see that he wasn’t thrilled with the announcement.

  “Isn’t there anyone you could ask to do it for you?” he said. “Maybe Queenie?”

  “I need to go,” Maggie said. “I’m really particular about what I buy. I can’t use scented soap, certain shampoos, or hair conditioners because they give me a rash. Same goes for facial and toilet tissue. I only buy laundry detergent that has a bleach alternative, and I steer clear of foods with additives. Also, when I shop for beef I only use certain cuts that contain less fat content, and I prefer organically grown vegetables.”

  Zack looked at Mel, whose eyes had already climbed heavenward. “Well, damn, Maggie. I guess we’re going to the grocery store.”

  She hurried into her bedroom, slipped on fresh clothes, and ran a brush through her hair. She found Mel and Zack in the kitchen; he was talking on a police radio.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said, when he got off. “I double-checked with the guys in the area and nobody has seen anything unusual so we’re good to go. Even so, I’ve asked for an escort in and out of here. Now that it’s dark, I’m going to move the van inside the garage so we’ll be driving your car.”

  “Thank you, God!” Mel said.

  “I’ve decided to have a patrolman take the two of you to the office tomorrow, but I won’t be far behind. Also—” He looked at Maggie. “Just so you’re not surprised, I put a couple of patrol cars at the entrance of your subdivision last night, knowing Carl Lee will expect it. He’s probably planning on it. Otherwise, he’s going to be looking more closely for unmarked cars.”

  Someone tapped on the door and identified himself. Zack checked the curtain and disarmed the alarm system. “We need a couple of minutes to look around and get the van in the garage.” He sighed. “I need to make sure the goat is still in her newly secured pen, although I think she’s still exhausted from her busy day. I’ll come back for you.” Zack reached for the raccoon hat and put it on Maggie’s head. “And you’ll need to wear your disguise.”

  Mel looked at him. “She doesn’t have to wear it in the store, right?” she said.

  Twenty minutes later, Zack parked Maggie’s car in front of the Bi-Lo store. A sedan with a plainclothes officer named Bill pulled up beside them. He followed the three of them into the store, carefully maintaining a distance. Zack had wanted him to stay back and watch the people around them.

  Maggie grabbed a cart and started through the store as Zack and Mel made their way toward a table where free cookie samples were being offered. Maggie felt Bill’s eyes on her from time to time and knew he wasn’t far.

  The white-haired woman at the table looked like a typical grandmother except she was unsmiling. When Zack and Mel approached the table she held out her tray, one frizzy eyebrow arched in question. “Cookie?” Her voice was flat.

  “Sure,” Zack said, waiting for Mel to grab one of the fat chocolate chip cookies before taking one for himself. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Here’s your coupon.” She handed it to him. “You get fifty cents off if you buy a bag.”

  “That’s a great deal,” he said. He and Mel stepped back as a mother with four children approached her.

  They ate in silence. “She isn’t very nice,” Mel said, her voice just above a whisper, once she’d finished off her cookie. “I don’t think she likes her job. I don’t think she wants to be here. I don’t think she’s going to give us another cookie.”

  “You want another one?” Zack asked. “I can get us one because I’m charming and women can’t resist me.”

  Mel gave an eye roll as Zack went back to the display table and gave the woman a big smile. “Did you bake these cookies yourself?” he asked.

  The woman looked at him as though she thought it was the dumbest question she’d ever been asked. She pulled the tray closer as though guarding it. “No.”

  “Those sugar cookies look great,” he said.

  “You only get one cookie and one coupon. You’ve already had both.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “If you didn’t bake them how come your name tag says Baker and the brand name on the packages say Mrs. Baker’s cookies?”

  “It’s a coincidence,” she said. “Plus, they misspelled my name. Mine has two letter ks in it.”

  “I see.” He lingered, shot a quick glance at Mel, who looked hopeful. “So the two names aren’t even pronounced the same. Your name is pronounced Backer.”

  “No it’s not,” she replied sharply. “They are pronounced exactly the same. You’re not getting another cookie.”

  “We should go,” Mel said.

  “But we didn’t try the peanut butter.”

  “You had your choice just like everyone else. The rules are, I’m only allowed to give one cookie to each customer who comes through the door.”

  “What if we leave and come back?” he asked.

  The woman’s face tightened in annoyance. “It doesn’t work that way,” she said, raising her voice and drawing looks from several customers standing nearby. “If you want another cookie you can use your coupon and buy some. Now, back off!”

  “Grandma, is this man bothering you?” a young security guard asked; the name Bakker was stitched to his uniform.

  “Yes! You should use your club on him. You should have him arrested for being a public nuisance. And trying to steal cookies,” she added.

  The guard turned and scowled at Zack. “You just bought yourself a whole lotta trouble, mister.”

  Maggie scanned the selection of cakes in the bakery, spied the double-fudge chocolate, and snatched it up before anyone else could claim it, and hoped Bill hadn’t noticed. She didn’t read the ingredients as she did on everything else. Her rules about healthy foods became null and void when it came to chocolate. She turned to her cart and spied Lydia Green in the deli and hurried over. “Hi, Lydia,” she said, coming up beside the woman.

  Lydia jumped. One hand flew to her chest as though she feared it would leap right into the cold cuts bin. “Good Lord, Maggie, you scared the daylights out of me! Don’t ever sneak up on me like that again.”

  Maggie was surprised by Lydia’s harsh tone. “I’m so sorry,” she said, as her friend seemed to struggle to pull herself together. Maggie had never seen her so ridden with anxiety. She raised her hand to touch Lydia’s arm, but she didn’t feel it would be welcome at the moment. Instead, she pretended to push her hair back. “You’re buying a lot of groceries,” she said lightly, trying to ease the tension. She didn’t want to just hurry away when Lydia looked so troubled. “Are you having a dinner party?” She smiled. “How come I didn’t get my invitation?”

  Lydia stared at her for a moment. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

  Maggie saw the panic in her eyes. “Lydia, what is it? What’s wrong? Where is Ben?”

  The woman blinked rapidly. “He’s resting. He’s not feeling well.”

  “You mean you’re alone! You’re in no shape to drive home. You need to pay for your groceries, and I’ll drive you.”

  “No!”

  This time Maggie did touch her. She took Lydia’s hand. It was icy. “Take a deep breath.”

  Lydia did as she was told. “I’m okay,” she said, even as tears glistened in her eyes. “I’m just upset with Ben. I’m furious. I saw his empty insulin vial in the bathroom trash earlier. He missed his morning dose, but do you think he bothered to tell me? Do you think he called his doctor and asked for a refill?”

  “Oh, no. Is he in ketoacidosis?” Maggie asked quickly. “Shouldn’t he go to the ER?”

  “I have his prescription now,” she said. “I got here about two seconds before the pharmacy closed. I’ll give him his injection the minute I get home.”

  Maggie loo
ked at the woman’s cart. Why on earth was she grocery-shopping when Ben needed his medication? She felt her jaw drop at the sight of sweet rolls, a pie, and a box of cookies. Lydia did not keep sweets in the house. Had she lost her mind! “I’ll get Zack to go through the checkout for you and drive you home like I said.” She was already scanning the store.

  “I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own husband!” Lydia snapped. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

  Maggie was so stunned she didn’t speak for several seconds. “I was just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your help, and I don’t have time to stand here arguing with you. Please, just—” She shook her head. “I have to go.”

  Maggie stepped back as Lydia pushed her cart away. Maggie almost didn’t see the case of beer on the metal shelf beneath Lydia’s basket. Beer! Very few people knew that Ben was a recovering alcoholic, and an active member of AA for some thirty years. They didn’t keep alcohol in their home. Maggie could not imagine Ben having a relapse after all this time, but it would certainly explain Lydia’s behavior. Maybe the woman had lied about Ben’s missed injection, maybe she was embarrassed. Maybe that’s why she wanted Maggie to stay out of it.

  Maggie reminded herself that Ben had gone out in the dead of night many times when a fellow alcoholic needed help. Lydia would know to call someone. She would know better than Maggie what to do. Maybe the poor woman was trying to work through shock and disappointment. Maggie pressed her hand against her forehead. Her brain felt like scrambled eggs.

  She had only put a few things in her cart when Zack and Mel showed up. She was unable to focus; she only vaguely remembered where items were kept in the store.

  Mel seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Will this take very long?” the girl asked, looking disappointed at the near-empty basket.

  “Is something wrong?” Maggie asked, wondering how it was possible that anything else could go wrong in their lives at the moment.

  “Zack almost got arrested for bothering an old lady.” Mel looked up at the ceiling.