The Battered Body

by J. B. Stanley

  James stared at her. Was it possible she didn’t know about Paulette’s death? “Do you read the Star, Dr. Ruth?”

  “I’m not much of a newspaper person. I read the news online each morning, but I’ve been too busy getting ready for Christmas to even play games on Pogo. That’s my guilty pleasure.” She caught the worried expression on her client’s face. “Is there something I should know?”

  “Paulette Martine is dead,” James said. “It happened Friday night.”

  “Oh my goodness.” Dr. Ruth folded her hands together as though in prayer and turned her face toward the window. “We must have seen her just hours before she passed.”

  James hadn’t anticipated this remark. Instead of asking her for any details, he decided to remain quiet and wait to see what Dr. Ruth would tell him.

  “I was really mortified over how my boys behaved at the television station. Hank, my oldest, told me that Ms. Martine taunted him once the cameras stopped rolling. Apparently she said that I might need to pick up a McDonald’s application, since my clients were sure to desert me after they heard about how I’d floundered on the show.”

  “That certainly sounds like her.”

  Dr. Ruth smiled wanly. “No matter what she may have said about me, my boys were raised better than that. I’m afraid being at college, playing football, and spending all their free time hanging out in a fraternity house has allowed them to forget how to control their emotions and behave like Southern gentlemen.” She pointed at the photograph of her sons. “The younger ones were given their own penance, but since Hank behaved the worst, I wanted him to apologize to Ms. Martine in person.”

  “When did you go?” James asked.

  “Mid-afternoon. I had a client at two, so it was some time after that.” Dr. Ruth gazed at her desk calendar. “Ms. Martine’s assistant told us that her employer was in the kitchen and couldn’t be disturbed. I went ahead and knocked, and Hank and I were allowed in.”

  James tried to imagine Paulette’s irritation at being disturbed. He was confident that she didn’t receive Hank Wilkins’s apology with the grace and courtesy Dr. Ruth would have hoped for. “How’d it go?”

  “She listened to Hank, but wouldn’t look at him, because she was too busy cracking eggs into a bowl. When my son finished speaking, she dismissed us. That’s really the best way to describe it. And so we left.”

  “Did Willow come into the kitchen with you?”

  Dr. Ruth cocked her head. “That’s an odd question, but no, she didn’t. No one was around when we left.” She handed James his food log. “You must have had a very trying few days. If you feel like you need comfort foods this week, that’s completely understandable. However, you may find that other things can relax you just as well. A long, hot bath, for example.” She placed a blank sheet of paper in front of him. “And I’ve got more homework for you. I want you to pay attention to how hungry you are when you eat.” She drew the number five in the center of the paper. “This is your number when you’re satisfied. Anything above that means that you’re full. An eight, for example, means that you’ve stuffed yourself.”

  “So what does a one mean? I’m about to die of starvation?”

  “Pretty much,” Dr. Ruth replied seriously. “Most of us have never experienced the intense hunger at that end of the scale. When we’re really hungry, we’re more at a three. Four is the beginnings of hunger.”

  James laughed. “I think I’m at a four right now.”

  Dr. Ruth checked her watch. “It’s getting to be dinner time, so that makes sense. Do your best with your food log and remember to record any exercise you’ve done as well. Those are negative calories for your chart. I’ll see you next week, after you don your tuxedo for the wed—” She cut herself off. “I’m so sorry—I’m talking about things I don’t know a thing about.”

  “That’s okay,” James assured her. “The wedding’s been postponed for now. We’re having a Christmas Eve memorial for Paulette, since her family’s in town.” Seeing the sympathy in Dr. Ruth’s eyes, he longed to have her return to her more optimistic self. “On the bright side, this’ll give me more time to fit into my tuxedo.”

  His words resonated with callousness, and he quickly felt ashamed. “Have a lovely Christmas,” he told Dr. Ruth, and then slunk from the office. As he walked out to his car, he realized that he was now in possession of information that Lucy would need to know.

  “It’s time for an emergency supper club meeting,” he declared to himself as he flipped open his cell phone.

  “There’s only one thing for us to do,” Bennett stated as he set aside his copy of The Encyclopedia on World History and brought his mug of frothy cappuccino to his lips. “We’re gonna have to crash your Martine family dinner party tonight—get a firsthand look at these suspects ourselves.”

  “What dinner party?” Gillian asked.

  “Milla and the rest of the clan are getting together at Mamma Mia’s in New Market,” James answered. “I’m driving her there so I can check out the suspects myself.”

  “I’m not on the same plane with you, James.” Gillian frowned in disapproval, her silver eye shadow winking as she did so. “It seems rather judgmental to call these out-of-towners suspects. The Star indicated that Paulette’s death was natural. Her body and spirit have simply been returned to the ever-welcoming arms of our Mother Earth.”

  After sending a perplexed look Gillian’s way, James recklessly forged ahead with his plan to include the supper club members in the Sheriff’s Department’s investigation. “I don’t know about the redistribution part, but ask Lucy whether it was natural or someone helped her reach Elysian Fields or what have you.”

  “Are you holding out on us?” Lindy tugged on Lucy’s sleeve, threatening to spill her mocha latte.

  Lucy freed herself from her friend’s grasp and stirred a pink packet of artificial sweetener into her latte. “Way to put me on the spot, James,” she muttered crossly.

  Willy, the owner of the Custard Cottage, forestalled her from continuing by arriving at their table with a tray bearing five small cups of custard. “I’ve made up a new flavor, folks,” he said while passing out the plastic spoons and paper napkins he had stored in the front pocket of his pin-striped apron. “Give this a taste and tell me what you think. I’m not sure if it’s ready to be added as a flavor-of-the-week, and since y’all have experience bein’ food judges, I’m gonna leave the decision to the experts.”

  Relieved to be out of the spotlight, Lucy spooned an oversized bite of custard into her mouth and then winced as the coldness coated her latte-warmed mouth. Her friends followed suit, taking more reserved bites.

  “I taste chocolate, and that’s always a good thing,” Lindy stated.

  Bennett wiped some custard from his toothbrush mustache. “Yeah, but marshmallow’s the main attraction in this one.”

  Gillian closed her eyes and hummed for a long moment, her hoop earrings bobbing against the skin of her neck. “There’s a very subtle integration of a cakelike cookie. It tastes so familiar, like something from childhood. Nostalgically delicious.”

  Willy beamed. “Yes ma’am! All three of you are right, but our Gillian gave me the answer my ears were searchin’ for. I may now introduce y’all to my newest flavor: Memories of MoonPie.”

  The dozen or so patrons in Willy’s cozy eatery burst into spontaneous applause. Smiling like a proud parent, he passed out rounds of samples to everyone and listened to their feedback with careful consideration. Willy was a relative newcomer to Quincy’s Gap, but one would never know it by watching him work. Not only did he know the name of each of his patrons, but he knew their favorite flavors and toppings as well. He was aware of their current dieting goals, their occasions for celebration, and when they just needed to be cheered up. Most of the townsfolk viewed him as some sort of magician and paid him weekly visits, no matter how cold it was outside, because Willy was filled with enough warmth and good cheer to change a person’s outlook in the twinkle of an eye
and a carefully selected dish of frozen custard.

  Because of the enchanted setting, James had thought that the Custard Cottage would be the perfect place for the supper club members to put their heads together and form a plan to identify Paulette’s murderer, but everything depended on Lucy’s willingness to share information with her friends.

  “All right.” Lindy put her spoon down, crushed her empty custard cup with the flat of her hand, and stared daggers at Lucy. “Time to level with us. We’ve helped out your department before, remember? We can help again. Or are we unnecessary now that you’re a deputy, even though we helped get you in that uniform you’re so proud of ?”

  Lucy glanced at Lindy in surprise. “Sheath your claws. I’m not your enemy.”

  Lindy was instantly contrite. “Sorry, sorry. I’m such a grump today. See, when I finally talked to Luis this weekend, he told me that his mama’s fadin’ fast and that her last wish is for him to marry the daughter of her closest friend.”

  “Ouch!” Bennett exclaimed. “The dyin’ wish of a boy’s mother. Man, that’s heavy. He can’t ignore that one too easy.”

  “Thanks, Bennett.” Lindy was clearly crestfallen.

  Gillian nudged Bennett’s arm so that the spoonful of custard he was about eat ended up smeared across his cheek. “Luis loves you, Lindy. He might be tormented by his mother’s wishes for a space of time, but eventually the true feelings of his heart will shine through. He’ll acknowledge the fact that his sweet mother was simply trying to be the vehicle of his happiness by pushing him to marry.”

  Lindy brightened immediately. “You mean his mama’s pushing this other woman at him so that he’ll make a commitment to me?”

  Gillian shrugged. “Destiny moves in mystifying ways. Who can tell what chain of events will draw one soul to another?”

  The rhetorical question hung in the air as each supper club member fell silent, thinking of the person who caused their heart to beat faster. James flicked his eyes at Lucy and found that she was staring at him intently, her gaze tender and somewhat sad.

  “Why are you doing this?” she demanded, a glimmer of anger crossing her features. “Splitting me between my friends and my job.”

  “I’m forcing your hand for Milla’s sake,” James answered. “And because it’s the right thing to do. The five of us make a great team. You know that, Lucy. If justice is what you seek, then we’re on the job beside you. Just like we’ve always been.”

  She studied him for another moment and then searched the curious faces of her friends. Nodding, she seemed to come to a decision. “Paulette was poisoned,” Lucy whispered softly. “At least that’s what the medical examiner believes.” She held up a finger and pointed it around the table. “And that fact doesn’t go further than this table.”

  “Maybe she killed herself,” Bennett suggested flatly. “She didn’t seem too happy.”

  Lucy shook her head. “That’s pretty unlikely. Unless we count her family reunion, there’s no evidence to suggest she was disturbed to the point of wanting to end it all. Plus, most folks don’t like to suffer when they make a deliberate choice to check out. Paulette definitely felt a lot of pain.” She glanced at James. “The way we found her body made that clear.” Lucy succinctly described the scene in the kitchen.

  Gillian fanned herself with her hand. “How terrible! Such a cruel death. Someone must have truly wanted her to suffer. Perhaps the way they felt they had suffered.”

  James frowned. “I think she enjoyed issuing a little verbal torture to everyone she met. The only person I ever saw her be civil to was my father, and he was plying her with whiskey.”

  “I suppose Willow must be at the top of your suspect list,” Lindy said to Lucy. “That girl took more than her fair share of abuse.”

  “She was at the bed-and-breakfast too,” Lucy agreed. “But why travel to Quincy’s Gap and then kill Paulette? That would be downright stupid. With her boss a stranger in town, Willow would be elected Most-Likely-to-Kill-the-Diva right off the bat.”

  Lindy scooted back her chair and approached the glass case filled with assorted custard flavors. She pointed at one and then gestured at a candy jar filled with peanut-butter cups. A few moments later, she returned with one of Willy’s famous “concretes,” in which he combined the custard and candy toppings—and in this case a few ribbons of hot fudge—using a pair of spackling knives. James loved to watch him blend the sweet ingredients. Willy’s hands were quick and deft, much like the hibachi chefs juggling spatulas or pepper mills at a Japanese restaurant.

  “Sorry for the interruption. I just think more clearly when I’ve got a little chocolate running through my system.” Lindy sighed in contentment as she swallowed of bite of chocolate mixed with fudge and peanut-butter cup. “We should consider that Willow may have intentionally waited until Paulette’s family was in town to act. She probably knew more things about the Diva’s life than anyone else, so if there was any family conflict, she could use that to her advantage.”

  “Clever,” James said in admiration. “Though I wouldn’t wait around to see if the poison worked if I were a murderer. On the other hand, there was definitely tension between Paulette and her daughter as well as her older sister, Wheezie. Apparently the son could do no wrong.”

  “That’s how my mama feels about me!” Bennett thumped his chest and grinned.

  As the friends sipped coffee and watched Lindy devour her frozen custard, Lucy created character sketches of Paulette’s family. She shared details from her interviews with the three relatives, stating that each of them had seemed genuinely shocked but not overly distraught by the news of Paulette’s death.

  “Frankly, Chloe seemed relieved, as though she had no one to criticize her anymore. Chase got a greedy gleam in his eye, and Wheezie was, I don’t know, resigned. Though I swear she smiled once and then tried to hide it by coughing. All of the family members gave brief and careful answers to our questions—never saying more than necessary. I got the feeling that each one of them was hiding something.”

  “How do you sense something like that?” Gillian asked, fascinated.

  Lucy pondered her friend’s question for a moment. “When someone’s keeping something from me, it’s like a curtain drops over their eyes. It’s invisible, but I still see it. I can’t explain it better than that.”

  James studied her for a moment, wondering if he’d be attracted to Lucy’s cornflower blue eyes, luminescent skin, and lustrous cinnamon-hued hair for the rest of his days. She always looked especially appealing when they were involved in a case together. He was suddenly struck with the realization that they got along best when they were investigating a murder. The rest of the time they seemed at a loss over how to take the relationship to a romantic level and keep it there.

  James also saw, in this oddly timed moment of self-reflection, that for years he had been at the mercy of Lucy’s whims. He had wanted to claim Lucy as his own from the day they met, and since that time, only his relationship with Murphy had interfered with those feelings. Lucy, however, seemed only interested in behaving like a couple when he was already dating someone else. Clenching his fists, James looked away from her animated face. His emotions were warring within him as he thought about never kissing her again for the rest of their lives.

  Why does everything have to be so complicated? He thought crossly. Am I ever going to find the right person to spend my life with? Because apparently, it’s not going to be Lucy Hanover!

  Gillian observed James’s hangdog look and covered his hand with hers. “Poor Milla. What did she and your father decide to do about their wedding?”

  “It’s postponed. There’s going to be a memorial service for Paulette on Christmas Eve instead.” James scowled. “Unfortunately, it’s bound to turn into a media feeding frenzy. Newspaper reporters and TV crews should be descending on us any second now.”

  “You hear that, Willy?” Bennett called out to the proprietor. “The press is coming to Quincy’s Gap. Better stock up
.”

  Willy scrutinized the contents of his cooler and smiled. “I’d best make lots of extra coffee-flavored custard. Those journalist types go nuts for anythin’ that has so much as a whiff of caffeine.”

  James was highly tempted to ask for one of Willy’s cinnamon cappuccino custards, but he was determined to restrict his caloric intake that day and feared that having dinner at the family-style Italian restaurant in New Market would be enough of a challenge to his resolve.

  “So tell me, Bennett,” Lindy raised a dark eyebrow, “how exactly can five people crash a dinner party at Mamma Mia’s?”

  “Easy.” Bennett wiped a trace of whipped cream from the rim of his wide-mouthed cup and sucked it from his finger with a smile. “We act like we just happened to have run into our old friend James. Because the man is so polite, he’ll introduce us to Milla’s kin and then he’ll feel like he’s gotta ask us to join the party. We protest at first, but then we sit down and order a few rounds of booze. We only pretend to drink, while encouraging the rest of them to get soused, and then we sit back and listen.”

  “Do you think they’ll be completely honest and open with you there?” Gillian asked Lucy.

  “No,” she answered truthfully. “I’ll dress in plain clothes and hang out at the bar, but I can’t sit with the rest of you. I can’t even come in at the same time. Maybe I can still eavesdrop from the bar.” She looked keenly disappointed.

  The group fell silent, recognizing that their crime-solving methods were now firmly and truly altered since Lucy had become a deputy.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lindy said after a moment, and slung her arm around Lucy’s shoulder. “As long as we’re together, we can do some good.” She put her free hand in the center of the table. “The Flab Five is back at it! Who’s with me?”

  Grinning like children, the friends piled their hands on top of hers and James felt, at least for the moment, that equilibrium had been restored.

  James had never been to Mamma Mia’s before as it had only been open for a little over a month. The restaurant’s décor was a strange blend of luxury and outright tackiness. The walls were wood-paneled and the tablecloths were a pristine white and had been ironed and starched to crispness. Despite these elegant details, there were also dozens of Italian flag garlands criss-crossing the ceiling and trellises of silk bougainvillea in a very unnatural shade of electric pink obscured the walls. The centerpieces on the tables were comprised of dyed-green carnations and miniature Italian flags. The music was at odds too, alternating between Frank Sinatra, Pavarotti, and the soundtrack from Moonstruck.