by Joan Hess
“Then what are we going to do?” Joanie asked. “We can’t sit around while Maribeth remains in a coma caused by someone who’s now convinced he or she got away with it.”
Sighing, I said, “Peter never answered my question, but I think we can assume they didn’t run any tests on Maribeth’s potassium supply. According to Sheldon Winder, the supplements were kept in an unlocked cabinet in the Ultima office, but he, Candice, and Bobbi had the only keys to the center. It’s possible all three of them could have been with clients in the examinations rooms at the same time, leaving the office vacant, but it’d be risky for anyone to sneak in for even a few seconds. If for no other reason, a client might come in the front door and accuse you of peeking at her confidential folder.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want my weight to appear in the campus newspaper gossip column.”
“They contain medical information, too.” I rose and went to the kitchen, moving slowly not only out of consideration for my much abused body but also because something was nagging at me and I couldn’t quite grab it. Medical information, I reiterated mentally. The Ultima Center took medical histories and ran tests before enrolling its clients. But had they run tests on Maribeth? I poured myself a medicinal shot of scotch and went back into the living room, scowling like a copy editor confronted with capricious punctuation.
Once I was resettled, I said, “When I asked Gerald why Maribeth dropped out of college, he was vague, saying only that she’d stayed in the infirmary for several months and missed too many classes. Do you know what was wrong with her?”
Joanie thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, and since it happened while Maribeth was in college, I doubt my daughter would know, either; they’d quit corresponding by then. I guess I could ask her when she calls tonight. Do you think it’s important?”
“I have no idea,” I said morosely. “Maybe Maribeth had some bizarre illness that subsequently prevented her body from absorbing potassium. Maybe she had something wrong with her throat and could no longer swallow caplets. Maybe I’m making no sense whatsoever.” In that I was holding a glass, I resisted the urge to throw up my hands in the traditional gesture of defeat and instead drank a good inch of scotch.
“I’ll ask my daughter tonight, and I’ll also call Betty Lou and find out when she’s on duty at the hospital; if she’s needed in the wards again, she might be able to take a peek at Maribeth’s chart. But that will help only if she can read the doctor’s handwriting, which makes it a very long shot.” Joanie went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The path must have been fraught with inspiration, because when she returned with a beer, she said, “Why don’t you look at Maribeth’s chart at Ultima?”
“Because the information is confidential.”
“And you’re going to let that stop you?”
“I can think of someone who might be a tad testy if I were caught breaking and entering,” I said. “His thumbscrews may be broken, but his temper’s intact.”
Footsteps thudded up the stairs and Caron and Inez flung themselves into the living room. “Hi, Mrs. Powell,” Caron said, then looked at me and in a grand display of breathlessness, demanded, “Guess what, Mother? It’s such an Incredible Coincidence that you’ll never believe it!”
“Yeah,” Inez said, merely breathing.
“There’s an aerobics class at the youth center? All your friends want to sign up, it costs nothing, it’s a short walk, and it’s being taught by Jane Fonda?”
“Mother,” Caron said in a pained whine, but realized her tone was not likely to win friends or influence people vested with maternal authority. “The classes at the youth center are impossible. We talked to the woman who teaches them, and she said most of the participants are at least sixty years old and like to work out to ancient stuff like big band music. She’s probably forty herself—which isn’t that old, of course. I mean, you’re almost forty and … you look okay … .” She paused to consider how to undo the damage.
Inez tiptoed to the rescue. “We found out about a really neat class just for teens, where they play heavy metal and hard rock. The instructor’s young and bouncy, and she says it’ll be so exciting to have us join the class.”
“But it’s not offered through the youth center, so it’s not cheap, it’s not conveniently close, and it’s not being taught by Jane Fonda. Correct?”
“Correct,” Caron said, “but we positively can’t waltz with a bunch of old people. This class is designed especially for our age group, and the instructor is a physical education major who studies bones and joints and stuff.”
“How much does it cost?” I asked mildly.
Caron draped herself across a chair. “I didn’t ask, but the first two classes are complimentary, so I don’t see why you won’t let us try it this week. The class meets at six o’clock for an hour, twice a week. We can go tomorrow, and all you have to do is take us and pick us up.”
“Is that all? Can’t your mother drive one way, Inez?”
Inez shuffled her feet like a toddler in need of a potty. “She has a meeting tomorrow night. The Budgie Fanciers Club.”
Caron snorted. “What’s a budgie, some kind of nickname for a budget? Sounds like a really exciting time, figuring out how to pay the rent and keep the children in shoes.”
I shushed Caron and gazed at Joanie. “I suppose I might drive them to this class tomorrow evening. I could find somewhere to wait for them, couldn’t I?”
“You mean we can go?” Caron shrieked, forgetting about the rent and unclad toes. “Come on, Inez; let’s call Rhonda. She’ll absolutely die when she hears about this.” She started for her room, then stopped and looked back at me. “Could I have a small advance on my allowance? Please? I just know everybody will wear the latest style in leotards, and all I’ve got are gym shorts and a T-shirt. I don’t want to look like some pitiful orphan in Salvation Army used clothes.”
“How would you like to live at the Salvation Army shelter?” I countered sweetly. I maintained the smile until her bedroom door slammed closed.
I stayed in bed the next day, partly out of delayed deference to the doctor’s orders and partly because the previous day’s activities had rekindled a few tiny sparks. I amused myself by calling Luanne Bradshaw, an old friend who’d agreed to babysit the Book Depot for a few days. After a mere three or four calls, she heartlessly announced she would no longer answer the telephone. Maribeth’s condition had not changed. The temperature was sixty-three and the time 9:05—and 10:57, 11:14, etc. My accountant was in Hawaii; I took comfort in the knowledge that had he financed his trip by embezzling my money, he would have run out of funds in Muskogee, Oklahoma. Peter was out on a case and Jorgeson had called in sick. The desk sergeant said his grandchildren were fine but that he needed to take more urgent calls. I couldn’t think of any Lieutenant Columbo-type questions to hurl at anyone, à la “One more thing, Gerald, why did the potassium caplets turn green under fluorescent light?”
I was actually glad to see Caron and Inez, although Caron was quite the martyred orphan in her shorts and T-shirt. If Inez owned a fashionable leotard, she had enough sense not to wear it and was clad in similar rags.
I opted to drive, and we arrived at Delano’s Fitness Center shortly before six o’clock. The door of the Ultima Center had been replaced with a sheet of plywood and the sign hung at a crooked angle, but it seemed it was business as usual, because two clients came out as I parked. I told the girls to go inside the fitness center, then went to the plywood door and, after a stern mental lecture to my trembling hand, opened it and forced myself to enter.
The glass that had comprised the front wall of the office was gone, although the counter, silk flowers, and clipboard were in place. Bobbi Rodriquez looked up from a stack of folders. “Hi, Ms. Malloy. Can I help you?”
“I’m surprised you’re open.”
“It’s been one headache after another, for sure, but we have an obligation to our clients. Some of them are in really crucial stages
of the program, and we couldn’t let them down by closing the center and returning their fees, even if we prorated them.”
“Heavens no,” I said dryly. “I was hoping I might have a brief look at Maribeth’s file, Bobbi. She’s still in the coma, and I think there might be something in the file that might explain certain things.”
“But it’s confidential,” Bobbi said, her eyes wide with astonishment.
“She wouldn’t mind, especially if it improved her condition.” I leaned over the counter and studied the name tags on the pile of folders. “Isn’t that hers near the bottom? If you’ll let me have ten seconds with it, I swear that no one will ever find out and you’ll have helped Maribeth.”
Bobbi nibbled on her lip, then frowned at her wristwatch and said, “Oh, gee, look how late it is! I’m going to run back and change into my leotard and tights. Would you please wait here in case some late client shows up?” With the expression of a novitiate on the way to vespers, she left the office through the back door.
I grabbed Maribeth’s folder and opened it. The top forms involved liability should the party of the second part suffer any ill effects from the program offered by the party of the first part. Her daily record noted the date of each consultation, weight status, ketone level, and blood pressure. The last recorded visit had been the day of the accident, obviously, and the notation indicated she’d gained a pound, putting her at a running total of minus fourteen. Her blood pressure had gone up. Her weight loss had been consistent and occasionally dramatic for the first twelve days, but after that she lost no more than half a pound a day, and as often gained weight.
I flipped the record aside to read her history, which contained nothing more exotic than mundane childhood diseases, a tonsillectomy, and an allergy to ragweed. All the other boxes in the No column were checked, from appendectomy (give date) through whooping cough.
Disappointed, I looked for the results of the EKG and the blood work ordered when she first enrolled. I found myself looking at the back cover of the folder. I shuffled through the loose pages once again, but I’d seen all there was to see, and I was sliding the folder back into the pile when Bobbi came back to the office, now wearing a shiny black leotard with a diagonal scarlet stripe, matching tights, wristbands, and a headband. She paused to allow me to admire the overall effect, and said, “Ooh, I’ve got to lock up this minute and go next door. We have a teen class now, and it’s so much fun. The girls just can’t get enough; sometimes they even wear me out by the end of the class.’ She herded me out to the sidewalk, took a key from her purse, and locked the door behind us. “Did you find what you needed in Maribeth’s folder?”
“No,” I said, still perplexed. “I thought Ultima did blood work and an EKG on every client, but I couldn’t find any records in Maribeth’s folder.”
Bobbi waved at a group of girls going into the fitness center, then gave me an uncomfortable smile. “It’s part of the program, but, you see, Dr. Winder and Candice had to use all their capital, down to the last penny, to lease the building and put in the examination rooms and remodel and everything. They were using the current fees to finance the EKG machine and the lab equipment, but none of it arrives until the middle of next month. Until then, we’ve been requesting that clients have the tests done by their personal physicians and give us copies for the file. That way we know clients don’t have any medical problems that might cause them to be unsuitable for the program.”
“Did Maribeth do this?”
“She said she’d had the tests done, but she kept forgetting to bring us the copies. Candice and I reminded her almost every time she came in for a consultation, and she always promised she would. But then she’d walk through the door empty-handed every darn time. It was kind of a joke in the office.” She looked at her watch again, squealed, and said, “Bye now, Ms. Malloy. The girls are probably going nuts to get started.”
She trotted into the fitness center, leaving me on the sidewalk to wonder why Maribeth had been so determined to forget her test results. One very logical answer came to mind: she hadn’t been able to afford the tests and was frightened to ask Gerald for the cash. It was so overwhelmingly logical that I went over to my car and sat down (very gingerly) on the hood, mentally patting myself (very softly) on the back.
It was a pleasant evening, the temperature mild and the street quieting down now that the good citizens of Farberville were home for dinner. Except for my car, the parking lot in front of Ultima was empty, and only a few cars were parked in front of Jody’s place of business. The windows of the offices beyond were dark, and the spaces in front of them also empty, except for one lone car at the far end. In my balmy philosophical mood, it struck me that no matter how late the hour or remote the parking lot, there is always at least one car parked in every lot.
I squinted at this one but could see no one inside it. A dead battery? A worried owner, holed up in a back room with the accounts? A secretary who’d stayed late and was now being rewarded with dinner before being returned to her car and admonished to drive safely? A burglar casing what I thought was either a chiropractor’s office or a family dental center? I wasn’t sure what one would steal from a chiropractor, but dentists’ offices were stocked with controlled drugs for pain and that wily gas that makes root canals so hilarious.
I was having so much fun I almost slid off the hood when a voice said, “Claire?”
“Yes,” I said cautiously, staring at a red eye glowing in the shadow of the building.
Jody Delano came forward, took a final draw on his cigarette, and flipped it into the parking lot. “I didn’t intend to startle you. I have to sneak outside for a cigarette, just like when I was a kid in junior high, because the fitness freaks would be harder on me than my old man ever was. He couldn’t say much. Emphysema. What are you doing out here?”
“My daughter and a friend are trying the teen class. I’m not a heavy metal fan, so I thought it prudent to wait outside. How are they doing?”
He gave me a crooked grin. “The two wearing T-shirts and shorts? They may be in deeper than they bargained for; Bobbi goes bonkers with this group, and they don’t get a break for sixty minutes straight.” He took the pack from his pocket, took out another cigarette, and lit it. “I called the hospital before I came outside,” he said. “I wish to hell they could do something for Maribeth. I’m sick of this crap about guarded conditions and monitoring vital signs. Why can’t they wake her up somehow?”
“I’m sure they would if they could,” I said gently. “You two seem to have become close friends since she started coming here so often.”
“She always gave it her best. There were plenty of times I’d warn her to slow down, take it easier, walk instead of jog, but she wouldn’t pay any attention. Her face’d turn redder than a beet and she’d sound like a steam engine going up a mountainside.”
“Shouldn’t you have insisted she stop?”
“Naw, the Ultima people are supposed to make sure everyone in the fatties’ class is okay. ’Course, most of them didn’t work like Maribeth. Sometimes we’d sit in the Jacuzzi until she felt strong enough to get dressed by herself.” He threw the cigarette down and ground it out with his heel. “Now she can’t do anything for herself, damn it! For all those overeducated, underbrained doctors know, she’ll be in a coma for years and years, while her bloodsucking husband enjoys her family’s money. He’ll have himself a big time, screwing everything with a crotch, drinking champagne on first-class flights to Paris, buying a snooty law firm so they’ll have to put his name on the stationery.”
His words were passionate enough, but I kept hearing the same siding salesman pitching the same once-in-a-lifetime special. “What would you do in Gerald’s position?” I asked.
“I’d sure as hell make sure they did everything possible to bring Maribeth out of the coma. There’s probably some clinic in Switzerland that has a miracle cure.” He ran his hand through his hair, stared at the darkening sky, then nudged my arm and gave me a comradely
wink. “But who’s to say, after I’d done everything possible for Maribeth, that I might not have a little fun. But I’d be discreet about it, so that if she woke up, she wouldn’t hear any ugly gossip about her old man fooling around.”
“One of these days she’ll wake up and make a decision,” I murmured. “The day of the accident she implied there would be some major changes in her life.”
“Did she say anything about me?”
“No, she talked about finishing her degree, then perhaps traveling or opening an art gallery. Should she have said something about you?”
His teeth glinted in the darkness, but I couldn’t tell if he smiled or sneered. He lit another cigarette, discarded the matchbook, and blew a column of smoke into the sky. “Naw. I just thought she might have. I’ve gotten fond of the girl. She’s kinda helpless and clumsy, and her husband didn’t help, neither. She told me how he used to bring home all this fattening food and leave it all over the house so no matter where she looked it was candy or cookies or cake. He was doing it on purpose, too. I wouldn’t treat her like that. No, sir, Joseph Delano wouldn’t treat his woman like that.”
Once again I could hear the promise of a maintenance-free exterior for life. “Did she seem upset the last week or so about her difficulty in sticking to the program?”
There was a long silence, during which he presumably was collecting his thoughts. I warned myself to wait patiently, in that he was using a sieve at best. At last he let out a lungful of smoke, and in a pensive voice said, “Ya know, she was kind of upset, now that I think about it. There she was, going up and down like a yo-yo, and lying about it, telling everybody she was shedding pounds faster than a snake sheds its skin. I knew she wasn’t doing so hot ’cause I’d catch her weighing herself on the scales in the weight room and looking gloomy about it.”
“She had me fooled,” I said truthfully. “Even with the radical mood swings, she sounded as if she believed she’d lost seventeen pounds the day of the accident. But according to her records, it was fourteen, with a half-pound gain the day before. I suppose she was nibbling at night.”