Fit to Die

by J. B. Stanley

  “Sounds great,” Lucy answered while pushing her hair back into a headband in preparation for the upcoming workout. “What’s playing?”

  James shrugged. “Actually, I have no idea. I haven’t been to the movies in so long that I’ve forgotten to even read the film section in the newspaper.”

  “I go all the time. Lindy and I saw a great period film two weeks ago. An Austen remake.” She sighed. “There’s something about those British men in breeches …”

  “Well, you can choose the movie, but I’d prefer to avoid anything featuring dandies sporting breeches and ponytails tied with silk ribbons,” James said gruffly. Then, noticing that Gillian and Lindy were approaching, he gathered up his bag and stepped into the exercise room. Turning, he whispered, “Just call me at work tomorrow and we’ll plan everything.”

  Lucy looked perplexed. “Okay, but why are you whispering?”

  Panicking at the sight of the other supper club women, James darted over to the water fountain as if Lucy hadn’t spoken at all, his stomach fluttering with nerves as he watched in the wall-length mirror while she casually greeted Lindy and Gillian.

  “How’s it going?” a voice asked from behind James, causing him to jump.

  He looked beyond his own reflection to see the friendly, handsome figure of Dylan as he waited to fill his water bottle from the fountain.

  “Oh, I’m fine! Sorry to hold you up.” James bent over to take a quick drink in order to make it seem as though he had actually been thirsty, but in his increased state of agitation he jammed the button in with too much force and water shot out in an arched stream directly into his face. James backed away and wiped at the moisture running off of his chin and onto his T-shirt with his forearm.

  “It’s got a finicky release button,” Dylan said smiling. “Glad to see you’re hydrating, though.”

  James nodded mutely and slunk over to his customary place in the back row.

  Halfway through the exercise routine, as Dylan was leading the group in the first of a series of nasty lunges, James noticed a face appear in the mirror at the door separating the exercise room from the cubicle area out front. The face caught his attention because it belonged to a woman who was not enrolled in the Witness to Fitness program. The trim figure, clad in a neat powder blue pants suit, was easily half the size of any of the other exercisers’ larger bodies and did not seem in accordance with the other heaving shapes moving about in the mirror’s reflection. Murphy Alistair began making her way toward James, but he instantly stopped mid-lunge, swung around, grabbed her by the elbow, and led her out of the room.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked in an anxious and hushed tone even though Phoebe did not appear to be at her desk.

  Murphy grinned wickedly. “I thought you’d be glad that I saved you from those lunges. They look like hell on the ass and thighs.”

  “They are, but I think that’s the point.” James dabbed at his face and tried to calm down. He was afraid that if Lucy spotted them together again she would leap to the wrong conclusion. He had already explained to her that Murphy was interviewing him on his weight loss experiences but Lucy firmly believed that Murphy had her cap set on James.

  “There’s a look she gives you, James,” Lucy had said late on the night of the Spring Fling. “It’s flirty and … well, predatory. Women recognize that kind of look much better than men do. Just don’t be fooled, because I am the jealous type.”

  Now, Murphy was fixing James with a calculating gaze, her hazel eyes studying him as if trying to read his mind. “I wouldn’t have showed up here if this wasn’t urgent,” she assured him. “I just wanted you to know that you were 100 percent right about those entrées. They are all store-bought.” Squaring her narrow shoulders, Murphy took a deep breath and turned to leave, “But since I seem to be causing you distress merely by being in your presence, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

  Not willing to take the chance that Murphy was only teasing him again, James danced in front of her and held out his hands in surrender. “No, no! Please don’t. I’m sorry, it’s just that none of us look too graceful bouncing around in there and it’s kind of unsettling to have someone who’s not … ah … in need of our class to suddenly appear.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, James. Your group looks great. After all, you’re the ones making things happen for yourselves. You’re not sitting at home ordering products from infomercials because they promise to make you instantly thin without the need to diet or exercise.” She moved into the doorway separating the two sections of the building and indicated the exercise group. “It’s an inspiring sight, truly.” She paused. “By the way, where is your fearless leader tonight?”

  James reached out to pull Murphy away from the doorway but she was unaware of his motion and stepped farther inside in order to observe the workout. “Who? Ronnie?” James asked distractedly, his mind focused on one particular form in the mirror.

  “Yes, Ronnie.” Murphy cocked her head and put an impatient hand on her hip.

  James shrugged. “We were told she was home with a cold. Dylan teaches all of the exercise classes anyway. Ronnie just does the weigh-ins and the counseling sessions. I talk to Phoebe whenever I have any issues, so it’s not like her absence is a big deal to me, except that it’s noticeably quieter.”

  “Well, she may not be your counselor, but she collects your money, I’d bet,” Murphy remarked sardonically, her eyes wandering over the group of sweaty dieters as they jumped in time to the music.

  To his horror, James noticed Lucy catch his eye in the mirror. She raised a suspicious brow and then faltered while doing a leg lift. James hurriedly withdrew in the direction of the front door, forcing Murphy to follow. “So how were you able to confirm my theory about the food?” he asked.

  “I have a chemist friend. I simply brought one of Ronnie’s meals and the comparable store-bought meal to my friend’s lab and she conducted an experiment after work. It was fascinating to observe.” Murphy rifled through her bag and produced a notebook. “According to these findings, the only thing Ronnie did to doctor up the cheaper product was to add some grated Parmesan cheese and fresh parsley for garnish. And somehow, I don’t think her expenses would total the $6.81 difference between the cost of the store-bought meal and the one she sold you for ten dollars.”

  “Especially since that’s $6.81 times seven days of entrées!” James was furious.

  Murphy nodded excitedly. “Exactly! That comes to a bit less than $48 per week, which really adds up over the course of the month. Even though Ronnie had to buy aluminum tins for all of the meals, they sell those in bulk for next to nothing at those discount warehouses.”

  James shook his head angrily. “That’s where Lindy and I met her! She was probably stocking up in preparation to rip us all off!”

  Murphy shut her notebook with a triumphant flourish. “We need to compare the rest of the week’s meals in order to firm up our research. Can I follow you home and get whatever you have left from last week’s entrées? I know you mentioned having skipped some of the required dinners last week. The paper will reimburse you for the cost, of course.”

  James hesitated. If he left now, Lucy would be convinced that something was going on between him and Murphy beyond that of a simple newspaper interview. And since he had told no one that Murphy was investigating the nature of the Witness to Fitness meals, it would look exceedingly odd if he were to simply disappear in the middle of class.

  “Can I meet you at my place after class is over instead?” he stammered. “I don’t want to miss the rest. I need to be able to deduct these exercise points.”

  “Ah, such dedication,” Murphy teased. “Fine, I’ll see you at your place in about half an hour and don’t worry, I already know where you live.”

  James was about to caution Murphy about both his father and the mess in the yard, but she slipped out the door and into the evening like a silent zephyr. James hastened back inside to rejoin the class only to find that th
ey had all collected mats and were beginning their final stretches. Avoiding everyone’s curious eyes, James grabbed a mat and began bending over at the middle.

  Once class was finished and people were drinking greedily from water bottles or stuffing sweat-soaked towels into duffle bags, Bennett moved over to James’s side and clapped him on the back. “That’s one fine lookin’ excuse to get yourself out of those Godforsaken lunges, my man.”

  “What?” James asked innocently.

  “That cute reporter.” Bennett stroked his mustache and grinned. “She can ask me for my story any time, yessir.”

  “Actually,” James lowered his voice, “she may have found out something pretty incriminating about Ronnie.”

  Bennett looked at him with interest. “Go on, now. You can’t mess with a man by teasing him like that. What did our fine Ms. Alistair find out?”

  “I’ll tell everyone tomorrow, I promise.” James shouldered his gym bag. “Murphy needs to do a bit more research and I’ve got to go meet her at my place right now.”

  “Lucky man!” Bennett grinned and was suddenly bumped from behind by a figure hustling toward the front door. “Hey! Where’s the fire, woman?”

  James sighed in resignation as Lucy, her shoulders set in angry determination, marched outside and got into her car without so much as a backward glance in James’s direction.

  “Must be that time of her cycle,” Gillian sympathized as she watched Lucy’s car peel out of the parking lot. “I always feel especially sensitive during my week, too. Ah, the ebbs and flows that make up the mystical tides of Womanhood.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bennett muttered in bewilderment and walked off to where his car was parked.

  James waved to the others and headed for the Bronco with steps more weighted than normal. This time, he couldn’t blame the exercise class for wearing him down. After all, he hadn’t even participated in half of the routine.

  “We figured it all out, Professor,” Francis said, leaning over the Information Desk while flourishing a piece of paper covered with his familiar chicken-scratch handwriting. “We can afford eight new computers—”

  “As long as they come with only basic programs,” Scott interrupted.

  “Right.” Francis nodded. “Internet capabilities and Microsoft Word and such, but no fancy graphics programs. So, if we buy everything during the Memorial Sale at Wired City we can afford to get eight computers, two laser printers, one color printer, and a scanner.”

  “Of course we’ll have to charge our patrons a bit more per page for the color printouts than for the black and whites.” Scott pointed at a red-and-white sale circular on which he had drawn a dozen black stars. “But since we don’t have a color copier yet, I don’t think they’ll mind. Francis and I have already done all of the cost-versus-value comparisons on all of these machines using Consumer Reports. I think we’d be getting a darn good buy if we go to Wired City.”

  James looked over the circular while chomping down on a pretzel stick. “This is more than I thought we could afford. What happens to our old machines? Can we still use them?”

  “Our current two might have to get nixed, Professor. They are pretty old and too slow, but we’ve got a buddy who might be able to add some RAM for a reasonable cost and bring them back up to speed.”

  “That would give us ten computers!” James exclaimed. “That’s remarkable.”

  “True, but we’d have no money left over for the actual furniture to put them on,” Scott said mournfully.

  “If only we knew someone who could build stuff like that.” Francis looked at the sales circular with a wistful expression. “We’re pretty handy, but we couldn’t make anything that looks as sleek as this stuff.”

  James pulled the circular a bit closer. “These prices seem even higher than the furniture in our library supply catalogs. Truthfully, we don’t really need workstations with bookshelf space, we just need to make a big computer island.”

  “Like some huge dining room table?” Francis asked, trying to form a picture of what his boss was imagining.

  “Exactly, but with holes in the middle for all of the wires and shelves underneath to keep the hard drives off the ground.” James paused, chewing on a pretzel. “I may know just the person to construct this for us. Let’s figure out some measurements and do a rough drawing. We’ve got enough money left in our quarterly budget to come up with the cost of labor and supplies for this kind of table. If I can get my friend to agree to build it, we’ll be ready to open our Tech Corner in the beginning of June.”

  The three library employees went back to work. Scott resumed his station at the checkout desk where he assisted a young mother trailing three children, each of whom carried a stack of picture books almost as tall as themselves, while Francis directed a patron to the reference section. As James studied the circular, a slender and pleasantly perfumed hand covered up the photographs of computers, digital cameras, and plasma-screen televisions. James looked up to see Murphy Alistair grinning down at him.

  “I just sampled some of that milk and honey hand cream down at the Food Lion,” she stated, inhaling deeply. “Nice, huh?”

  “Yes.” James stashed his snack-sized bag of pretzels under the desk.

  “That’s not contraband, is it?” Murphy pointed at the desk’s surface. “A jelly donut? A jumbo candy bar? A vial of cocaine?”

  “No, just boring pretzels. Now, if I dipped them in cocaine, then they’d be contraband.” James smiled and realized he was flirting with the attractive reporter. “Um … did you come to see me about the Witness to Fitness food?”

  “Yep. I was hoping to catch you before you headed home. My friend the chemist worked all through her lunch hour and now we’ve got proof positive. Ronnie has been scamming all of her Witness to Fitness clients.” Murphy tapped her notebook with a set of plum-colored nails. “I wanted you to know before the story hits the front page of The Star tomorrow morning. I’m expecting our local businesswoman to feel some serious heat by the end of the day.”

  “Starting with me!” James whispered forcefully. “Ronnie had better be handing out refund checks like water to marathon runners or she’s going to feel more than heat. Someone will see this as a chance for legal action.”

  “You going to sue?” Murphy asked raptly.

  “No, not me. I hate all of these civil suits that clog up our court systems. Someone else may go after her, though. I mean, isn’t this an open-and-shut case of fraud?”

  “That’s what my headline says!”

  James felt his cheeks growing flush with anger. “I knew she was too good to be true. I told everyone …” he trailed off, trying to get his emotions in check. “Look, thanks for looking into this, Murphy. I owe you one. I’ve got to run right now, though. I want to contact my friends about this.” James backed away from the desk.

  “Sure thing, Professor. You can just take me out to dinner one night to show me your undying gratitude.”

  James absently nodded and then went into his office to call the other members of the Flab Five. “Meet me at the library right after work,” he told them all. Even when he called Lucy, he refused to divulge any specific information other than to urge her to come into his office as soon as she arrived.

  “Does this have something to do with that Murphy woman?” Lucy demanded tersely.

  “Yes, but not in the way you think. Please Lucy, just trust me. Can you do that?” James waited on pins and needles for her answer. After all, he had asked her quite a loaded question without meaning to.

  Lucy hesitated and then accepted that she would hear a full explanation when she arrived at the library. “I guess I can wait until then. See you after work.”

  “What’s going on, James?” Lindy asked with concern when she arrived shortly after five o’clock. Bennett and Gillian hustled through his office door seconds later with the same question on their lips.

  “Just give Lucy a chance to drive over here and then I’ll tell you all at once. C
an you browse through some magazines or something in the meantime?”

  Bennett shrugged. “All right, but you’ve got my curiosity as piqued as Megan Flowers’s meringue kisses, so Lucy had better be breakin’ some speeding laws.”

  “Oh settle down, Bennett,” Gillian admonished. “Take a few moments to center yourself. I know I’ve been dying to get a look at the new Llewellyn Herbal Almanac. Maybe I should look up some relaxation herbs for you when I find it.”

  “No thanks,” Bennett pulled a face. “I still remember the taste of that blue lotus tea you made me drink to cheer me up when Virginia Tech lost their bowl game.”

  Lucy arrived shortly after the other three had settled themselves into reading chairs and were flipping through magazines with all the false concentration of patients in a physician’s waiting room. James shepherded his friends all inside his small office and closed the door.

  “Sorry to make this seem so dramatic,” he began, “but I have some shocking news and I wanted to tell you all before you read about it in tomorrow’s newspaper.”

  “Is something wrong … with you, James?” Gillian leaned forward, her pencil-drawn brow creased in concern.

  “No, no. It’s just that we’ve all been cheated. Ronnie Levitt has been selling us store-bought frozen entrées since we joined Witness to Fitness.” He paused. “Basically, she’s made a nice pile off of us and would have continued to do so had Murphy Alistair not taken the meals to a chemist and had them analyzed.”

  Lindy laughed. “That’s it? My God, James, I thought you had some terminal illness or had accepted a job in Alaska and would be moving before the week was out! So, we’re out a few pennies, is that all?”

  Lucy frowned. “Wait a minute. Just how many pennies are we talking about? None of us are exactly living high enough on the hog to just throw our money away—especially for someone else’s profit.” She looked at Lindy curiously. “Unless art teachers are suddenly being paid more these days?”