Fit to Die

by J. B. Stanley

  James couldn’t think of any comment to supply to Ronnie’s rhetorical question. He was relieved to see her jog into her townhouse and shut the door. What he wanted was a quiet drive home so that he could ruminate over all the details of the Polar Pagoda fire.

  Reaching into his center compartment in the hopes of finding a stick of gum, James felt his hand close on a roll that felt like a sleeve of nickels, but when he drew the package into the dim interior lights he recognized the form of a Life Savers candy roll. And in Butter Rum flavor, too. His favorite.

  James examined the nutritional information while backing out of Ronnie’s driveway at a snail’s pace. Figuring that a few candies wouldn’t disrupt his weight loss progress, he eased the Bronco onto the road and popped two Life Savers into his mouth. Sucking contentedly on the candy, James passed by the man walking his dog just as the twosome moved directly beneath a pool of lamplight.

  The mailman who gave Ronnie the creeps was none other than Carter Peabody.

  James was on his way to work the next day when he remembered that it was time for the monthly library staff meeting. Even the retired schoolteacher who helped out on evenings and weekends, Mrs. Waxman, came early for her shift in order to attend. It had become a habit on meeting days for James to stop by the Sweet Tooth, the town’s only bakery. He enjoyed choosing homemade treats for his employees and everyone looked forward to the meetings due to the freshly baked goodies they could expect to consume while discussing improvements to their branch.

  Today, James was anxious about stepping inside the famed bakery. The owner, Megan Flowers, had decorated the window with bright tissue paper flowers and whimsical kites made with construction paper. In the center of each flower, cinnamon buns and apple streusel muffins bloomed. Trays lined with fudge and butterscotch brownies covered a red and white checkered cloth and a picnic basket overflowed with French baguettes and crusty Italian Semolina bread. Chocolate-dipped sugar cookies in the shapes of ants marched around the base of the basket. James paused in order to absorb the tempting sights and then opened the door to the cozy warmth and heavenly smell that the Sweet Tooth maintained all year round.

  “Good morning, Professor!” Megan greeted James affably as she dusted flour from her hands. “I was just whipping up a few loaves of raisin bread. How are you?”

  James inhaled the tantalizing aromas of baked butter and cinnamon and felt the saliva inside his mouth rapidly begin to multiply. Despite the pleasant scents within the small storefront area, James noticed that Megan’s shelves were unusually full for this time of the morning. By nine o’ clock, her supply of breakfast Danishes, coffee cakes, and muffins were typically depleted. James noticed, too, that Megan seemed even thinner than normal. Her attractive, angular face looked pinched around the mouth and eyes and she ran her flour and butter encrusted hands over her brunette hair without even realizing she was coating herself as if greasing a pan.

  “Everything all right, Megan? How’s Amelia doing in school?” James asked, genuinely concerned.

  Megan smiled tiredly. “She’s really excelling. I am so proud of her, Professor. I mean, since all that nonsense last fall she’s really come around. Works hard here and hits the books at school.” She held out her hands in a gesture of helplessness and laughed. “I guess it takes a murder to straighten out some teenagers!”

  James grinned, remembering how surly Amelia once was. “Well, that’s terrific news. We’ve got our staff meeting today so I thought I’d load up on some peanut butter cookies and maybe some white chocolate macadamia nut ones as well.” James paused, his eyes feasting on all of the delectable items encased behind glass. “And I think I’ll bring Pop a loaf of rye for his sandwiches and one of those raisin breads you just finished baking. He loves a slice with cream cheese as an afternoon snack.”

  Megan seemed delighted to fill the order. “I’ve got to tell you, Professor,” she began as she boxed up the cookies and tied the box with red- and white-striped string. Amelia might be doing well in school, but I’m not sure how much longer we can afford for her to attend.” She sighed as she wrapped and bagged the two loaves of bread. “All of a sudden, my customers have gotten on this crazy health kick. It’s like the opening of Witness to Fitness has scared them all away completely. Sure, some of them come in for wheat bread and I’ve started making these light bran muffins, but those two items are my big sellers these days.” She dusted her hands on her apron. “And let me tell you, it’s not much fun baking bran muffins all the time.”

  “So even people who haven’t joined the weight loss center are trying to cut back on baked goods?” James was surprised. “Surely, you have plenty of regular customers who don’t need to diet.”

  “I do!” Megan exclaimed. “Women thin as fence rails are telling me they feel guilty eating a donut once a week or even buying cookies for their kids. I don’t normally resent a woman whose trying to run a successful business. But I tell you what, I resent the hell out of that Ronnie Levitt ’cause she’s killin’ mine!”

  James looked at Megan’s haggard face and offered her a sympathetic smile. “Well, I know of an upcoming event where your business will shine and I can guarantee that no one will be thinking of Ronnie Levitt or about dieting on this particular occasion.” And James proceeded to discuss the details of having the Sweet Tooth as one of the major food booths at the library’s upcoming Spring Fling.

  Megan was delighted. “That’s just what I need, Professor! We ought to have great sales that day and then hopefully my regulars will start drifting back into the store. How can I ever thank you? Here, take a chocolate croissant on the house. I know they’re a favorite of yours.”

  James hesitated for a fraction of a second, knowing that he should refuse the treat before Megan even had the opportunity to put it in a bag, but he held his tongue. Watching her gather his purchases together, James’s thoughts were already fast-forwarding to the moment when he could sink his teeth into the flaky layers of croissant crust and hit the soft, chocolate cache contained within.

  The moment he was safely seated in his truck, he retrieved the pastry from the white paper bag and took a generous bite from one of the ends, baked to an appealing bronze in the oven. The rich, buttery dough caused him to sink gratefully back into his seat and then he took another bite, savoring the rich chocolate filling as it coated his tongue and nestled around his gums. Within ten seconds, the entire croissant had been consumed and James was plucking crumbs off of his shirt and popping them greedily into his mouth.

  “Oh man,” he moaned, thinking simultaneously of the amount of calories and fat the pastry must have contained and whether or not he should buy another one. Luckily, the strong possibility of being late for work spurred him into putting his car in drive. Licking his lips, he eased down Main Street and began to hum along with the radio. He couldn’t help but note that nothing on the torturous Witness to Fitness menu had ever given him the urge to hum.

  “Life is so unfair,” he muttered and switched off the radio.

  The first thing James did upon arriving at work was to send the members of the Flab Five an e-mail about his discussion with Danny Leary the night before. He also asked Lucy to see if the deputies had thought to collect Danny’s receipts for all of his store’s March credit card sales. James believed there was a slim chance that a suspect—and in his mind the primary suspect was Ronnie Levitt, though he still had no inkling what her motive was—might have charged a bottle of Jack Daniels. Lucy immediately wrote back that the receipts had been brought in and sorted as soon as Sheriff Huckabee had learned about the Valium contained in the Jack Daniels bottle. She promised to examine them when the other deputies were out to lunch.

  The afternoon staff meeting was extremely productive and James was pleased to note that they were completely organized in regard to the Spring Fling. As he deliberated over whether to have another one of Megan’s sumptuous peanut butter cookies, the bell at the checkout desk rang. It was a vintage brass bell once used to summon bel
lhops in the finer hotels, which James had purchased from one of the local antique stores for the infrequent times when he and his staff were tied up in their monthly meeting and patrons needed help. They were rarely interrupted for more than a few minutes at a time, but when James approached the checkout desk and absorbed both the ripe scents and argumentative tones of the two men waiting there, he knew he would be tied up for much longer.

  “We’re here to register our pigs for the big race,” the first man said, tucking his hands beneath his overall straps as he rocked on the heels of a pair of dirt-encrusted boots.

  The second man adjusted the straw cowboy hat on his head so that James could view a pair of deep-set eyes surrounded by weathered skin. “Don’t know why you’re botherin’, Jake. No one can beat my Truffles, ’cept maybe her sister Jiffy Pop.”

  “Ha!” The other farmer bellowed and James strongly suspected it was the first time either man had stepped foot inside the Shenandoah County Library. “Your fat sow’s got nothin’ on my Blossom. Why, she’s as streamlined as a speedin’ arrow.” He took off an ancient John Deere baseball hat and shook it at his fellow farmer. “And I’ve got Rutabaga fit to race, too. There’s no tellin’ how that pig’s gonna tear up a race course.” He turned to James. “Shoot son, you may as well hand over that $1,500 jackpot purse to me right now.”

  James shushed both men even though he didn’t see any other library patrons in his immediate view. “Gentlemen. I’m sure you both have fine animals who have excellent chances of winning.” He smiled. “But you should also know, there are forty other pigs entered in this race.”

  The farmer named Jake scowled. “Well, in that case, sonny, I’ll enter both my swine. What about you Lenny?”

  “Count me in on two pigs, too,” Lenny answered forcefully, slapping three fifty dollar bills on the counter. “At least you and me gotta beat the tar off of ole Billy Ostler, Jake.”

  Jake gave an irritated snap to his suspenders and harrumphed. “That rat bastard’ll probably juice his pigs up on some kind of special slop before the race. “’Member how he fixed that Cow Pull a few years back?”

  “Do I?” Lenny roared. “He didn’t need the prize money anyhow! His daddy’s about as rich as that fellow with the crazy hair …

  Trump.”

  James hurriedly handed both the farmers receipts for their entries and wished them a good day, hoping that they would leave quietly. Neither man paid him any attention as they continued to reminisce about the myriad of wrongs done to them by one Billy Ostler. After they finally exited, James noted the muddy tracks left on the library carpet and clucked his tongue. Scott or Francis would soon be playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who would be using the carpet cleaner before opening tomorrow morning. James could only hope that the smell of manure would dissipate along with the dirty footprints.

  When he returned to the break room to deliver the bad news, the twins were so elated about the entry of four more pigs that they both offered to do the carpet cleaning.

  Scott whipped a tiny spiral notebook out of his front shirt pocket and eagerly turned a few pages. “Four more … why, that makes fifty pigs in all!”

  “At a cost of $75 per entry,” Francis said, sitting up taller in his chair, his eyes aglow behind the thick frames of his glasses. James wondered, for the umpteenth time, why the brothers refused to invest in contacts. They were both relatively handsome young men but seemed to prefer to hide behind black or tortoiseshell frames similar to those seen in films of the early fifties. “Even after we’ve handed out the $1,500 prize purse,” Francis continued, “we’ve already cleared $2,250 in profit for our new Tech Corner!”

  Mrs. Waxman clapped gleefully. “I’ve collected entry fees from forty women for the Ladies’ Hat Contest as well. We’ll have $500 to add to that kitty after we’ve paid out cash to the first prize winner. Not only that,” she smoothed her heavily hair-sprayed coif of tawny hair streaked with gray and added smugly, “but Shenandoah Savings & Loan agreed to donate two bonds for us to use as runner-up prizes. One is for fifty dollars and the second’s for one hundred dollars!” Mrs. Waxman giggled. “Little Hugh Carmichael might be President of that bank, but I swear he still thinks he’s in my English class about to see his grade on another spelling test whenever I approach his desk. I think he’d hand out bonds to me just to make me go away.”

  James and the twins joined in her laughter. Their dream of bringing the library into the twenty-first century was looking more and more like a reality.

  As the week went by, James felt buoyed by the realization that having cheated on his diet on Tuesday didn’t prevent him from losing weight. Once again, he and his friends each got on the scale and were pleased to see lower numbers, by four or five pounds, than they had seen the week before. The exercise classes weren’t becoming any easier, but at least James felt he could breathe during the workouts without his lungs turning to liquid fire.

  By Friday, James was feeling less elated. He barely had the energy to make it to the end of Dylan’s latest routine and he was thoroughly sick of eating the bland Witness to Fitness entrées. The other supper club members who were gathered around his Bronco after their exercise class that night agreed.

  “I could really go for a pizza right about now,” Bennett moaned. “The thought of eatin’ that stir-fry made of rubber bands and tired-out vegetables does not make me wanna rush on home.”

  “Forget pizza. How about a spicy cheese and chicken enchilada?” Lindy sighed. “The Witness to Fitness Mexican Marvel dinner tasted like tree bark in red sauce. I don’t think Ronnie’s ever tasted real Mexican food.”

  “There are a few of those dinners that I just can’t swallow,” Lucy said. “I actually had a Happy Meal yesterday for dinner instead of that package of fettuccine and broccoli. I took one whiff of that as it came out of the oven and got right in my Jeep.” She laughed. “I don’t like broccoli as it is, but boy, that stuff smelled awful, like some chemistry experiment gone bad.”

  “I’ve been adding organic sea-salt to all of my meals,” Gillian confessed. “I don’t think they’re bad, they just lack a sense of soul. So,” she looked at her friends, “anyone have a report to make on Pete or the fire?”

  “I do!” Lindy exclaimed. “Not a breakthrough on the case, but I did find out that Pete was kind of chummy with one of the history teachers from school. Mr. Wimple has long-since retired, but according to one of the teachers who have been at Blue Ridge High the longest, this man was the only person Pete was ever seen talking to. I guess that although he muttered to himself a lot or grumbled at students, he didn’t socialize with any of the other teachers or staff.”

  “Where’s Mr. Wimple now?” James asked.

  “Wandering Springs. It’s a nursing home.” Lindy pulled a piece of paper from her purse. “It’s over in Harrisonburg. I’ve got directions here and Saturday’s visiting hours, but I can’t go ’cause I’m going to visit my mother and daddy this weekend. Can anyone else go? Mr. Wimple might know something about Pete that we won’t be able to find out on our own.”

  “Count me out,” Bennett said. “I’ve got to cover for Carter. He says he’s got somethin’ important planned for Saturday so I’m takin’ his shift.”

  Gillian shook her head forcefully. “I’ve got two horse shows. It’ll be by the grace of Buddha that I even make it to our Sunday dinner alive.”

  “James? What about you? And Lucy?” Lindy asked them both simultaneously.

  “I can go,” James answered quickly.

  Lucy hesitated. “I guess I’m free, too.”

  “Great!” Lindy smiled. “And Lucy, did you have any inside news from the Sheriff’s Department?”

  Lucy shook her head. “I looked through the credit card receipts from the liquor store, but none of the customers seemed connected to Pete. There weren’t too many of them, either. You know most folks around here like to pay for things with cash.”

  “So we’re at a dead end so far.” Bennett kicked at a stone
with his shoe.

  “I hope you and James can discover something from Mr. Wimple.” Gillian slung her gym bag over her shoulder. James grinned at the sight of her orange hair paired with a neon yellow bag and her shimmering lilac tracksuit.

  “We’ll do our best,” James replied solemnly and then an image of Lucy’s filthy Jeep arose in his mind. “Oh and Lucy, I’ll drive. Pick you up at ten?”

  James couldn’t believe his eyes when he and Lucy pulled up to Wandering Springs. The building, which resembled a miniature Monticello, had a manicured lawn and a sweeping gravel drive flanked by azalea bushes exploding in all spectrums, from delicate pinks to fiery crimsons and oranges. Mammoth magnolias and tall, thin pine trees dotted the tidy grass and a row of dogwood trees led visitors to a small parking area. Off to the side, beyond the front lawn, James noticed that the walking paths were populated by several groups of elderly residents and that a woman dressed in a kimono was singing as she stood on a wooden bridge in the middle of what appeared to be a Japanese garden. Hummingbirds and bumblebees filled the air with pleasant sounds of industry and a variety of birdhouses and feeders attracted groups of bright finches, cardinals, and blue jays.

  “If this is what old age has in store, bring it on now,” James murmured.

  Lucy inhaled deeply. “Count me in, too. Even the air is restful here.”

  James glanced over at Lucy and smiled. She had seemed a bit tense and unusually taciturn during the forty-minute ride from Quincy’s Gap to Harrisonburg. James had tried to warm her up by recounting the tale of the two pig farmers and though she smiled when James shared some of the names given to the cloven-hoofed racers, that smile faded away just as quickly. She also inserted Carter’s name into the conversation several times, praising him for being a dog lover and musing over what was so special about his Saturday plans that Bennett had needed to cover his postal route.