by Joan Hess
I waited until the poor little bell jangled, then leaned back in my chair and tried to determine when and where I’d gone wrong, or how I could have gone so very wrong. Dr. Spock had smiled at me from the bedside table. I’d read those magazines in the pediatrician’s office, the ones crammed full of articles on how to teach baby to be bilingual and how to recognize common illnesses before any symptoms appeared. I’d taken pictures at all her birthday parties and had sworn to have the roll developed before she went away to college. Then again, I hadn’t checked her into a nunnery on her thirteenth birthday.
I was wondering if there might be a nunnery in the immediate area when the bell jangled me out of my reverie. I went to the front room and found Peter Rosen thumbing through a magazine.
“How’s the diet going?” he asked.
“They talk a good line, but thus far they’ve managed to avoid actually going on any of them. I finally got fed up with their incessant excuses and suggested they cut out junk food for two weeks. I might as well have suggested they sprout halos and audition with the pope for beatification.”
“Every once in a while I wonder if I should have begat a child to take care of me in my old age. Then I take a hard look at your offspring and put a few dollars in my savings account. When I’m in my dotage, you’ll feed me oatmeal and wipe the drool off my chin, won’t you?”
“If they give us adjoining rooms at Sunset Manor,” I said lightly. It was time for a diversion. “I didn’t see anything in the newspaper about this new case of yours.”
“And you never will.”
“Then you’re not involved in anything?”
“Oh, but I am, and it’s a major muddle. All I said was that you’d never read about it in the paper.”
“So it’s terribly hush-hush? Classified information, the CIA, Farbergate; that sort of thing?”
He gave me a wolfish grin. “Your nostrils are flaring, darling. Could it be you’re curious?”
“Of course not,” I said, mentally cursing my tattletale nostrils. “I merely wanted to know if you were going to be occupied with this case for the next few days.”
“Why would I assume otherwise?” he murmured.
“Why don’t you go away and assume whatever you want. I have better things to do than indulge in this silly conversation. You’re not at all attractive when you gloat.”
He gave me a wounded look. “I wasn’t gloating. This happens to be one case you’ll never read about, that’s all. For once you won’t be able to interfere, and I take a vast pleasure in that.”
I was considering how much acidity to insert into my next comment when the telephone rang. I settled for a tight-lipped smile, picked up the receiver, and said, “Book Depot.”
“Claire?”
It was almost a whisper, and I had no problem identifying its origin. “Maribeth, what a pleasant surprise.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said, and if you’re still willing to hire me, I guess I’d like to work part time.”
“That’s an even more pleasant surprise. Are you sure it’s not going to cause problems with Gerald?”
“It’ll cause problems with Gerald,” she said in a resigned voice, “but I don’t know that I care. Not caring’s become a habit lately. When shall I start?”
“Tomorrow would be fine. Since you have no transportation, I’m sure Joanie will be happy to pick you up and bring you to the store. She adores to volunteer.” I said good-bye and hung up. Feeling more than a little bemused, I repeated my suggestion to Peter that he make assumptions elsewhere.
He wandered away, still grinning like a damn wolf giving directions to a red-hooded kid, and I was trying to figure out how to find out about his mysterious case when Joanie returned.
“Were you impressed with the diet place?” I asked.
“Very much so.” She nudged me off my stool and sat on it. “It’s only been open a few weeks, and they’re offering a special to get started. It’s owned and run by a young doctor named Sheldon Winder and his wife, Candice, who’s a registered nurse. They both seem very professional. Dr. Winder does a complete medical history and examination, then orders whatever tests he feels are necessary to make sure the client won’t have any ill effects from the program, which is quite strict and rigorous. Then Candice or another staff member meets daily with the client to monitor urine samples and blood pressure.”
“How much does this attention cost?”
Joanie tried to look nonchalant. “That’s determined by the length of the program and the desired weightloss goal.”
“In Maribeth’s case?” I said, unimpressed.
“With the initial examination, the required EKG and blood work, the daily vitamins and potassium supplements, the protein packets, and the weekly behavior modification classes?”
“With all of the above. How much?”
“Oh, Candice estimated somewhere in the range of six to seven hundred dollars, but the program is guaranteed as long as the client doesn’t cheat.”
I had to grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. “Seven hundred dollars? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“And fifteen a week for the exercise classes at the fitness center next door,” she added with a wince. “I was a little appalled, myself, but I’m committed to helping Maribeth, and I’ll write you a check so that you can advance the money to her. Her appointment is tomorrow at four-thirty.”
“Why are you so positive she’ll agree to any of this? I told you that she wasn’t exactly overcome with delight at the idea.”
“Because I called to tell her I’d signed her up and that the only way she could pay Ultima was to take the part-time job here. I may have mentioned something about collection agencies and small claims court if she failed to honor the contract.”
“Nothing you signed is binding on her. Maribeth may have panicked, but Gerald’s a lawyer and he’s not going to fall for an idiotic play like that.”
“I don’t think,” she said pensively, “that she fell for it, either. I think she pretended to in order to allow someone to make the decision for her, to remove the responsibility from her and perhaps divert some of Gerald’s displeasure. In any case, once I take her there tomorrow, she’ll sign a new contract and have no choice.”
“I hope you don’t ever decide to take me under your wing. You’re not a mother hen—you’re a turkey vulture.”
“How inordinately kind of you,” she said, then slid off the stool and left, her expression resembling that of a particular vulpine cop.
When I arrived home I found Caron and Inez huddled over the blender. The table was littered with an amazing number of ingredients, including a milk carton, eggshells, several small bottles, and the cocoa tin. I left them to watch their potion spin and was lounging in the bath when Caron called through the door that they were going to a pep rally at school.
Caron made it back at a reasonable hour, announced she was totally swamped with mindless geography homework because Coach Dooley was a tyrant without enough brains to prepare lesson plans and therefore assigned pages and pages of dumb things just so the students could correct them in class. I made sympathetic noises and was rewarded with a peaceful evening while she hid out in her bedroom. Grousing on the telephone with Inez, naturally.
The following afternoon, Joanie delivered Maribeth to the store and reminded her of the four-thirty appointment at Ultima. I gave Maribeth a quick tour, showing her how the cash register worked and where to record orders if a book was not in stock. Neither of us mentioned Gerald, and I left her standing behind the counter, her face bleak for someone making at least five times as much an hour as I did.
Joanie returned at four and whisked Maribeth away to commit to a seven-hundred-dollar contract and the cheery prospect of months of inedible greenery, potassium supplements, and daily urine samples. Minutes later Caron and Inez came by, announced that they had finally found the absolute perfect diet, hung about until I agreed to give Caron an advance of her allowance (which happ
ens so often I don’t owe a dime until the next century), and allowed themselves to be shooed out the door.
When the local paper was delivered by a pimply boy who evinced animation only on collection days, I pored through the main section in hopes of finding some insignificant article that hinted of criminal activity significant enough to warrant the attentions of the CID. To my chagrin, Farberville seemed to be gripped by a wave of lawfulness, except for the usual stuff. Cars were being deprived of their radios and tape decks. Mailboxes were being spray-painted and/ or bashed. Students were being admitted to the emergency room after resolving disputes with rednecked troglodytes behind the bars on Thurber Street. Purses left on tables in nightclubs were being harvested by unknown hands.
But I could find no mention of any serious crimes. Petty theft, student bashing, and vandalism were hardly earth-shattering; a sudden drop in the numbers might have been greater cause for alarm.
Peter’s smug demeanor was more than a little irritating. He’d described the case as a major muddle, which implied some sort of felony, or at least the possibility of one. Although I had no intention of interfering with his officious official investigation, I damn well wanted to find out what was going on, if only to prove I could. I allowed myself to imagine the scene in which I casually mentioned the gist of the case, then told him I found it less than worthy of my time and energy. The scene was so savory I could almost taste it.
A delightfully devious ploy came to mind. I dialed the telephone number of the CID, identified myself, and sweetly asked to speak to Peter. The gods were rooting for me, for I was informed that Lieutenant Rosen was out of the office. Grinning in anticipation, I asked where he could be reached.
“Well, I’m not supposed to give out that information,” the desk sergeant began in a drawl, “but since it’s you, Mizz Malloy, I don’t see how it’d hurt anything.”
“I agree with you, and I’m sure Lieutenant Rosen won’t mind one teensy bit.”
“Hang on and I’ll check the sign-out sheet.”
At this point, while I was on the edge of the stool and in danger of a topple, the door banged open and Gerald Galleston stalked across the room. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
I held up a finger. “Wait one second and then we can talk. I’m on hold for an important piece of information.”
He took the receiver from my hand and replaced it. “No, we’re going to talk right now. I don’t know why you’re meddling in my affairs, but I don’t like it. Just what gives you the right to talk Maribeth into this job? She has no business working. She needs to stay home and take care of the house.”
“It’s only two hours a day,” I said, gazing sadly at the telephone. “I need some help.”
“Maribeth’s hardly going to be of help,” he said with a sneer. “She’s likely to frighten away the customers. Furthermore, it’s embarrassing to me for her to be seen in a store this close to campus, much less to be doing menial tasks. She was perfectly happy stuffing her mouth and watching television like a zombie. How’d you bully her into it?”
I gave myself a quick lecture on moderation, then managed a cool smile. “I asked her if she might enjoy getting out of the house for a few hours every day. You may think she’s having a wonderful time in solitary confinement, ignoring her weight problem and allowing her brain to atrophy, but I don’t. Once she loses a few pounds on this program, she’ll—”
“What program?” he interrupted in a decidedly ominous voice.
Alas, if only life had a rewind button. “She’s enrolled in a diet program,” I admitted. “She’ll be able to pay for it out of her salary.”
He silently stared at me, his hands clenched into fists and his lips so tight they were almost invisible. I was about to inquire if he were in need of medical assistance when he said, “How much does this program cost?”
“Oh, it’s hard to say. It depends on the length of the program. In any case, she signed a contract this afternoon, so she’s committed to follow through on it. You ought to be pleased that she’s making an effort to gain control of herself.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’d be pleased if she looked less like an aircraft carrier, but no wife of mine is going to work outside the house. She can wait until the family fortune rolls over to her next year to do something about it. What’s the name of this rip-off joint? She’s not competent to scribble her name with a crayon, much less to sign a legally binding document.”
“The Ultima Center,” I said, wishing dear Joanie Powell were present to argue with the man. She’d gotten me into the mess, but she lacked the decency to be around when the excrement hit the fan.
Gerald turned on his heel and stalked back out the door without even thanking me for the information or waving good-bye. Then again, he was a member of the world’s second oldest profession, which had certain parallels with the oldest. I waited until he’d cleared the portico and vanished, then picked up the receiver and called the CID again.
The gods had put down their pom-poms. I was told Peter would be with me in a second and was treated to a watered-down version of an old rock tune until he came on the line.
“I heard you were inquiring about me earlier,” he said with an audible smirk. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t in. What luck I was back in time to take this call and thus save you the bother of tracking me down.”
“I just wanted to invite you for dinner tomorrow.”
“Of course you did.”
I resisted the urge to play a round of did-too, did-not, and merely said, “Well? Can you escape this so-called major muddle for the evening, or has it become so consuming that you’re obliged to exist on hamburgers and no sleep?”
“I think I can arrange a few hours for dinner and relaxation, although we may not get much sleep.”
We settled a time and exchanged good-byes, he with his smirk and I with my sigh. No doubt he’d instructed the desk sergeant not to divulge his whereabouts in the future, thus thwarting the ploy. If Gerald the Bully hadn’t come in at that precise moment, I would have at least learned the location of the investigation. With that knowledge, the follow-up would have been a piece of cake straight off someone’s silver platter.
When I stopped on the porch to collect my mail, Joanie popped out of her apartment. “Why don’t you come in for a drink to celebrate,” she said.
“I’m not sure a dirge wouldn’t be more appropriate,” I said, then told her about Gerald’s reaction to the idea of Maribeth doing anything other than vegetating. “I would imagine he convinced the Ultima people to tear up the contract,” I concluded.
“But he didn’t. Maribeth just called to say he was impressed with the program and very supportive. He doesn’t object to her job either. It may have had something to do with the fact I told her the chancellor’s daughter works for you every summer.”
“She does?”
“I’m sure she would if you’d ask her,” Joanie said with the self-complacency of a hyena hunkering down over a ripe carcass. “Shall we have that drink?”
I followed her into her apartment and accepted a well-earned glass of scotch. “I’m amazed Gerald changed his mind. He was rather strident about the matter only two hours ago, and firmly opposed to the entire scheme. He lathered and foamed at the very idea of Maribeth doing anything outside the house, and actually sounded alarmed at this change in the status quo. He almost acted as if he prefers her in her present condition so he can maintain control over her.”
“And over her inheritance,” Joanie murmured. “He may be in for an unpleasant surprise.”
“I certainly hope so,” I said.
The next morning I was awakened not by my alarm clock but by an agonized shriek from the bathroom. Imagining all sorts of accidents involving wet tile or razor blades, I leapt out of bed and rushed to the door. There was no smear of blood, no unconscious body on the floor, no indication of pain and suffering. Caron stood in one corner, her back to me.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded.
Her eyes wide with wonder, she looked over her shoulder and said, “I’ve gained two pounds.”
“But your carotid artery is intact? Good grief, you almost gave me a heart attack with that imitation of a banshee. I thought you’d—”
“Two pounds,” she said, dazed. “I cannot believe it. There’s something wrong with the scales, Mother. There must be. Inez and I drunk as much of that swill as we could choke down, and we’re supposed to have lost between two and three pounds by now.”
“Maybe it’ll drop tomorrow,” I said, heading for the kitchen to start the coffee. One needs to be fully caffeinated to deal effectively, or even ineffectively, with a fifteen-year-old.
“I’ve got to call Inez. This is a nightmare worse than anything that happens on Elm Street.”
I got the coffee going and was heading for my bedroom when Caron stumbled out of hers and grabbed my arm. “Inez has gained three and a half pounds, Mother. What’s happening to us? Is this some kind of cruel joke? Did you and Inez’s mother tinker with the scales or something?”
“Of course not. Are you sure you’re mixing up the proper ingredients in the blender and using the right amounts?”
“Absolutely. We’ve been switching back and forth between the chocolate shake, which tastes like chalk, and the vanilla, which tastes like latex paint. Each serving has exactly three hundred calories.”
Aware that I would think more clearly in my bedroom slippers, I wiggled free and said, “I don’t see how anyone could gain weight on nine hundred calories a day. You must be retaining water until your body adjusts to the regime.”
Caron’s face turned as white as her bathrobe. “Nine hundred calories a day?” she whispered.
“Three hundred times three. Don’t worry about this weight gain; it’s temporary, and in a day or two you’ll lose all of it and a couple more pounds. Let me get my robe and slippers, then you can blend your breakfast while I inhale coffee.”
“Nine hundred calories a day?” she repeated in the same stricken voice.
“You’re taking algebra at school, but I presume you still remember some of the more basic computations. Would you like me to show you on a piece of paper?”