“Sounds like an odd place for a convention to me,” Steve replied. “Too many distractions.”
“Maybe, but I say good for her. I’d love to be sent anywhere for a convention. Maybe the newspaper will send me somewhere and you can come along and we can have a second honeymoon. Maybe someplace exciting like New York.”
“Or even Milwaukee,” Steve kidded. “DeeDee, I see right through you. You aren’t going to distract me by dangling thoughts of a second honeymoon in front of me. I don’t want you doing any kind of freelance investigating of Kate’s Weston’s murder, all right?”
“I won’t,” I promised. “But Steve, I work at the newspaper. It’s going to be pretty hard to ignore hearing any rumors that might be floating around the newsroom. I mean, Kate is—was—our boss. Naturally we’re going to talk about what happened.”
“I don’t expect you to suddenly develop a hearing loss,” Steve replied, “I just don’t want you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You could wind up in a lot of trouble that way. I mean it, DeeDee. Kate’s death is a tragedy but it has nothing to do you. If you won’t quit then concentrate on writing your stories and learning your craft, all right?”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” I said slightly huffily. Honestly, I adore my husband but there are times when he acts as if I’m the Lucille Ball of the twenty-first century.
“Don’t be mad. You know I’m right.”
Since I did know he was right, I said, “Let’s go home. I’m getting all sweaty.”
We were just stepping through the front door when my cell phone rang. Not recognizing the number, I let it go to voice mail, waited a minute and then called to hear the message.
“Mrs. Pearson—DeeDee—this is Fritz Scheider. Or should I say Deep Throat.” Fritz’s voice sounded almost as if he were whispering. “Could we possibly meet for coffee or a glass of wine? My treat, of course. Please call me as soon as you get this message.”
“Who called?” Steve asked. “Your face lit up like you just heard from the Prize Patrol at Publisher’s Clearinghouse.”
“Almost,” I said as I called Fritz back. Fritz answered immediately. “Hello, Fritz? I’m sorry I missed your call. I’d love to get together with you. When are you free?”
“Half an hour.” Fritz said. “Let’s meet at the Coffee Hut. I’ll see you then.” He hung up before I could respond.
“That was the chemist from Kutrate Kemicals?” Steve asked.
I nodded. “He wants to meet me at the Coffee Hut in half an hour. You don’t mind if I head out, do you, honey? Or you can come with me if you want to.” It would have been nice to have Steve along since he usually remembers things that I forget. I looked at him hopefully.
Steve shook his head. “No, thanks. You can be Girl Reporter and I’ll stay home and grade papers. Just don’t be out too late. Is he going to give you any more of that ‘Fat Off’ garbage? I’m not so sure I want you messing with that. You don’t need to lose weight anyway and who knows what kind of side effects that crap might have?”
“He didn’t say a word about ‘Fat Off’,” I said truthfully. I wasn’t all that sure I wanted to move into the next stage of ‘Fat Off’ anyway. Like Steve said, I didn’t want to deal with unknown side effects somewhere down the road even like the ones that are in those legal commercials all the time. While I’d love to be thinner, I didn’t want to pay for it later. Besides, I missed eating.
Steve started to speak but I was halfway up the stairs and I kept on going. Honestly, my husband is a doll but sometimes he really does worry too much. It took about five minutes to drive to the Coffee Hut so I had a little time to change into something appropriate for meeting with my very own Deep Throat, although I had absolutely no idea of what I might have hanging in my wardrobe that would be suitable.
I couldn’t remember the last time when I’d felt so excited, like I was about to open a great big present with my name on the gift tag. Well, I reasoned as I changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a casual yet chic top, I was about to open up a present with my name on the gift tag. The present was the story on ‘Fat Off’ and it was going to be a gift that kept on giving. If Fritz let me write about the new weight loss product and if my story was printed in the Kemper Times and then picked up by, oh, say, the New York Times, then Jeff was going to have to offer me a full-time job and maybe a column of my own. How wonderful would that be? Sure, I was excited about my diet diary but a story about how ‘Fat Off’ was invented would be so much better.
I was adding some fresh eye pencil when I suddenly remembered Kate Weston and how she’d been murdered that very morning. Sobered, I put my hand down and stared in the mirror at my reflection. It felt shallow and selfish to be thinking about my journalism career when there was a murderer on the loose, a murderer who had killed my boss and who might very well be sitting next to me, or at least near me, in the newsroom.
It would be nice if I could figure out who had killed Kate but I knew the odds of that happening were astronomical. I’d gotten lucky finding out who had killed Frank Ubermann but this was a totally different ball game. Frank’s murder had been a crime of passion. I wasn’t at all sure why anyone had killed Kate. True, she had a lousy personality but if people were killed because they had bad personalities the population on the planet would be down to about twenty-five.
I supposed it didn’t really matter one way or the other. I didn’t have a clue who’d killed Kate so it wasn’t either shallow or selfish of me to focus on my job. Feeling better, I finished outlining my eyes, shoved my feet into a pair of flats and ran down the steps.
The interior of the Coffee Hut was dark and filled with lumpy couches and chairs next to rickety tables that wobbled when touched. There was the scent of mildew in the air along with freshly brewed coffee. Fortunately, the coffee scent won. I waited for a few moments for my eyes to focus in the gloom since I really didn’t want to walk into one of those rickety tables and send an espresso flying into someone’s lap. When my eyes adjusted, I looked around at the patrons, searching for Fritz Schneider. It didn’t take long to spot him at a table in the back of the room. He still looked like Gregory Peck but an even more harassed version. I noticed that he was tapping his coffee cup with a spoon in quick staccato bursts and I could see that his feet were twitching as well. Fritz was obviously keyed up over something.
Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I wove through the tables until I reached him. “Hello, Fritz,” I said a little breathlessly. I’d had to park five blocks away and had half jogged to the coffee shop since I didn’t want to keep Fritz waiting.
I watched with a little amusement as Fritz sucked in his small paunch as he half stood to greet me. “Hello, DeeDee. You’re looking quite lovely tonight.” What is it about all men who feel the need to suck in their stomachs whenever they meet someone in a restaurant? I’ve noticed that they seldom do that at home. I sat down in the chair across from Fritz and ordered a concoction called Honey Do when the waitress scampered over. After she left, I spoke.
“I’m so glad that you called me, Fritz.”
“I told you that we’d speak again soon,” Fritz said. His voice was quiet but I sensed a tension that hadn’t been there before.
“Yes, you did. I take it you’re ready to tell me about how the magic happens?”
Fritz frowned. “Magic?”
“How you invented ‘Fat Off.’ If it works, it’s going to seem like magic to a whole lot of people.”
“Well, that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about tonight but I’ll give you a little bit of background since you’re so interested.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “I’m interested. I think you’ve invented something that’s going to go down in history.”
Fritz looked pleased. “It was really a fluke, like so many brilliant inventions start out. I was experimenting with a spray that would keep dogs off furniture––my German shepherd is always jumping on the sofa and leaving dog hair behind. I have to c
onstantly yell at poor Hans even though it isn’t really his fault. So I created a spray that smelled offensive enough that Hans didn’t want to be around it. All I did was squirt it around the sofa whenever Hans was about to jump up on it. Hans stayed off the sofa but I noticed that he also got extremely skinny. I thought he had worms but when I had him tested he was fine. I also dropped twenty pounds too without even trying. I deduced that it had to be the spray that I was using since neither Hans nor I had changed our diets. Further experimentation proved me right.”
“You sprayed that awful stuff in your own house? How can you still be alive after smelling that disgusting scent?”
“It grows on you,” Fritz replied. “Well, at least you get used to it enough not to notice it quite so acutely. Plus notice how skinny I am.” He patted his small pot belly. “With the exception of this, of course. I can’t seem to lose my tummy. You need to remember that there are trade-offs for everything––fat and nice smelling air or skinny and stinky air. Everything is about choice.” He had a point. “But that is moot now that I’ve discovered how to make my product smell like a meadow in springtime.”
“Was it difficult to make it smell better?”
“Extremely difficult. I’ve spent the better part of the past two years working on improving the smell. To tell you the truth, if it was up to me I wouldn’t bother to make ‘Fat Off’ smell better since I believe people would do anything not to give up their Taco Bell and Big Macs and hot fudge sundaes and still be skinny. Oh, and let’s not forget our wine and beer. Heaven forbid that Americans don’t have their wine and beer.” Fritz shrugged. “However, my opinion seldom matters at the sty where I’m forced to work.”
“That’s too bad,” I sympathized. “Have you thought about taking ‘Fat Off’ to another company?”
“Yes, I have and I hope that will happen but that’s not why I wanted to talk to you tonight. I have something to tell you about your boss.”
“Jeff?”
“No, Kate Weston. The one who was murdered. There’s a connection between her and ‘Fat Off’ and I need to talk about it to someone. Since you work at the newspaper, you seemed like the logical choice.”
“What kind of connection?” I asked, unable to imagine any way that the handsome scientist sitting at the table with me and my late editor could possibly be connected.
“A, well, I suppose an odd connection. You see, I knew Kate Weston––”
“You did? How?”
A shadow fell over the table and Fritz and I both lifted our heads. “Well, hello, Fritz. Is this your date for the evening? Haven’t we met before, young lady?”
Looking up, Fritz and I found ourselves staring into the grim features of the president of Kutrate Kemicals, Bernard Morton.
Chapter Twelve
Oh, boy. Time to do some fast tap dancing. I smiled up at my daughter’s boss then glanced at Fritz to see how he was reacting. He wasn’t reacting at all. Nodding curtly, he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I came to meet a friend,” Bernard replied. “I think the more interesting question is: what are the two of you doing here? Together?”
Fritz shifted uncomfortably in his seat and I could see that he was agitated as his face turned a deep shade of red. “I don’t really see how that’s any of your affair, Bernard.”
Bernard laughed. “I disagree. You work for me and this charming lady’s daughter works for me and I’d like to know what you’re up to. This charming lady also works for the local newspaper. Are you telling her some trade secrets, Fritz?”
“My, my,” I said in what I hoped was a light, teasing tone. “Isn’t that a touch paranoid? We’re having coffee, we aren’t trading company secrets––not that I’d know if Kutrate Kemical had any, of course.”
Looking as if he didn’t believe a word I was saying, Bernard spoke sharply to Fritz. “Fritz, don’t forget we have a meeting first thing tomorrow. I’ll expect you to be there bright and early. And bring some pastries from the bakery downtown.”
“Yes, sir,” Fritz said in not exactly a meek tone but not like Superman either.
“And make sure you don’t get any of those long johns without custard filling but no jelly. I hate jelly.” Nodding at both of us, Bernard moved away. I tilted my head slightly so I could see who he was with but all I could see were a pair of long, slender nylon-covered legs sticking out of the corner booth. So there was a woman in the picture. I refocused on Fritz who was still red-faced and shaking with anger. “Are you all right?”
“That...pig!” Fritz spit out. “How dare he question the validity of the two of us being out together? How dare he act as if he can control our private lives?”
“Well, he is a pompous, self-serving jerk,” I readily agreed. “But he’s the boss––what do you expect?”
“What do I expect? I expect respect, I expect admiration and I expect gratitude.”
“I think you’re expecting way too much. Maybe you should start looking for another job. After all, if your fat loss product is a success, why should you let Kutrate Kemicals share in the glory with you?”
“Believe me, I’d love to do that but I’m unable to.”
“Why?” I leaned closer.
Fritz hesitated. “Because of the contract Bernard Morton tricked me into signing.”
“How did he trick you? And what’s your connection to Kate Weston?”
Fritz shook his head. “Not now, DeeDee. Perhaps later, when the walls don't have ears. You come up to my apartment for a little schnapps and we’ll talk frankly then.”
I wasn’t at all sure how Steve would feel about that scenario. I knew it made me a little nervous, not because I thought Fritz would hit on me but because I knew I’d be uncomfortable. “My husband is waiting for me,” I said. “I don’t think that would work. Come on, Fritz, tell me about your connection to Kate Weston.”
“All in due time. Are you hungry?”
I realized that I was. “Yes, I am. I think my appetite is back.” Phew! No more cooking meals and not feeling like eating them! After a few days of being on ‘Fat Off,’ I wasn’t sure that being skinny was worth giving up eating.
“But the pounds aren’t. Another whiff and you’ll maintain your weight loss.”
“No, thanks,” I said. “I think I’d rather be a touch chunky than not eat.”
“I told you that when you enter Stage Two of the ‘Fat Off’ plan you can eat all you want without gaining an ounce.”
It was so tempting. Too tempting. In the name of science and research, I decided that one more little sniff couldn’t possibly hurt me. “Well, I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe one more time but that’s it.”
“Smell this.” Fritz held out a cotton handkerchief.
I held it to my nose and inhaled the faint lemon and mint smell. “Lovely,” I said.
“Now let’s order dessert,” Fritz suggested.
Over pecan pie—that tasted even better than usual since I knew it wasn’t adding unwanted inches to my bottom and thighs—I managed to pry a little more information out of Fritz. For a Deep Throat wannabe, he was frustratingly slow on telling me anything. Over his second piece of pie, he finally began to open up. “We’re going to nail Bernard Morton to the wall,” Fritz announced, a few pecan crumbs clinging to his chin. “We’re going to hang him out to dry and watch him flap in the breeze. We’re going to throw him under the bus and back up to make sure he’s good and dead! The man deserves to have a vendetta against him. He’s so rotten—almost evil! Why should he get even more money when there are so many people who deserve it more than he does? Like me? After all, ‘Fat Off’ is my creation! I’m going to change the name of the product and no one will know the difference!”
“How do you think you’re going to make that happen?”
Fritz thinned his lips again. “I have my ways.”
I really needed to steer him off the topic of ‘Fat Off’ and his boss and onto who murdered Kate Weston—not because I was abandoning ‘Fat O
ff’ or the story that I wanted to write on it but because Fritz got too crazed when he spoke about Bernard Morton. He needed time to cool off or distance himself and I needed to find out what he knew about Kate’s death. “So Fritz,” I attempted, “what did you want to tell me about Kate? Did you know her?”
Fritz’s eyes glittered behind his glasses. “Quite well. Intimately, you might say.”
I thought Kate was married but maybe I was wrong about that because it sure sounded like Fritz meant they did more than meet for checkers once a week. “Oh? You dated?”
“Of course not! She was my business partner until about six months ago when she dropped me. Quite unceremoniously, I might add. But I got to know Kate very well and I believe I have a good idea of who killed her.”
“Okay,” I finally said when Fritz remained silent. “Who?”
“One moment.” Fritz held up a finger as he forked his last piece of pie into his mouth. Suddenly Fritz’s eyes suddenly bulged outward in a most unattractive manner and his face turned a very unflattering shade of dark purple. “Grrrrggghhhhh,” he muttered, clutching his throat with his hands.
“What’s the matter? Are you choking?” Leaping to my feet, I ran behind Fritz and began whacking him on his back.
“Do the Heimlich!” a customer shouted. Fluttering my arms by my sides, I realized that I had completely forgotten how to do the Heimlich maneuver.
“Hug him! Give him the hug of life!”
I tried, I honestly did. I reached around Fritz and did the pull and lift up that I suddenly remembered from the CPR class Steve and I had taken together years ago. It was like hugging a whale. Fritz kept gurgling but nothing popped out of his mouth like it was supposed to. “It’s not helping!” I shouted.
A waiter rushed over and pushed me out of the way. He was a lot bigger and stronger looking than me so I let him. He did the Heimlich too but it didn’t help. In the distance I could hear the sound of sirens approaching the Coffee Hut. They screeched to a halt outside and a pair of EMT’s raced in. I stepped back even further and watched as they worked over Fritz for several long minutes and as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance. “Is he alive?” I asked one of them as they rushed past.
Black and White and Dead All Over: A Midlife Crisis Mystery (Midlife Crisis Mysteries) Page 14