Dead Weight

by Ragan, T. R.

  “Hello,” Lizzy said. “My name is Lizzy Gardner. I’m a private investigator and I was hoping you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions about Diane Kramer.”

  “I’ve already talked to the police. I answered all of their questions...on more than one occasion, I might add.”

  “I know. I’ve seen the files, but Diane’s sister, Andrea, is not happy with the results.”

  “That woman is never happy.”

  Lizzy angled her head. Michael Denton was the second person this week to put Andrea in a negative light.

  “Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “That was out of line. I don’t even know the woman.”

  Lizzy tried to put him at ease and keep him talking. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first person to speak about Andrea negatively. Sounds like Andrea might have been overly concerned for her sister.”

  “I don’t know if I would call it concern. The woman seemed obsessed with her little sister. She never left Diane alone. There were times when Andrea would call Diane every five minutes. Excessive, don’t you think?” He shook his head. “I don’t think Diane cared, but it drove me crazy.”

  “Were you and Diane dating?”

  He pointed to his chest. “Me and Diane?”

  Lizzy nodded. “Yes. Were the two of you in a relationship?”

  “No. It was nothing like that.” He looked at the keys in the door. “Do you want to come in?”

  “I would love to.”

  By the time Michael Denton made himself comfortable and got them both a glass of iced water, nearly ten minutes had gone by, giving Lizzy plenty of time to take a look around his living area, which was quaint and homey. Two end tables and the recliner were decorated with large handmade doilies. The walls were covered with pictures she assumed were family and friends, every frame a different color and size. At closer view, she noticed that nearly every woman in every picture was eating: pizza, cake, donuts, and cupcakes...odd.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard and now you can see,” Michael said, gesturing toward the wall of pictures as he entered the room, “that I have a fat fetish.”

  Lizzy blushed.

  “It’s not a big deal,” he told her. “In fact, I have a girlfriend.”

  Lizzy raised a curious brow. She pointed to the wall covered with pictures. “Which one is she?”

  “She won’t let me hang her picture. In fact, she won’t let me feed her either.”

  Lizzy tried to get it all straight in her mind, but too many pieces were missing. “All the women in these pictures allow you to feed them, but that’s the only thing going on between you and them?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “So, simply feeding them cupcakes, or whatever, turns you on?”

  “Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “There are many forms of fat fetishism, but I’m what most would refer to as a fat admirer. Not only do I like feeding overweight women, I prefer to date women who are clinically overweight.”

  “You mean obese.”

  “Sure. Call it whatever you want. I’ve already got the Fat Acceptance Movement group coming around, giving me grief.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They argue that feeders like me take pleasure in seeing fat women immobilized and helpless.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Not at all. In fact, I encourage the women I feed to exercise regularly.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “What do these women get out of it?”

  “Most of them like my cooking.” He smiled. “My plan is to open a bakery and call it The Sweet Life.”

  She smiled back at him. “Cute. You said ‘most of them’ like your cooking. What about the women who don’t come here for the cooking?”

  “The others come to me because they, too, have a fetish. It turns them on to have someone cook for them and feed them, knowing the turn-on is mutual.”

  “So everyone gets turned on and then they run home to their significant other for the happy ending.”

  “Exactly. In the end,” he said, arms extended wide, “everybody’s happy.”

  “But your girlfriend does not get any sort of sexual gratification from being fed by you.”

  He laughed. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “But she goes along with this,” Lizzy said, gesturing at the wall, “because it makes you happy.”

  He nodded. “And she trusts me, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “So, do you think Diane Kramer had a fetish?”

  “Definitely.”

  The answer surprised Lizzy. “But Diane had nobody at home waiting for her.”

  Michael scratched his chin. “Are you sure?”

  “From what I’ve gathered, she had few friends, but you were the only man in her life.”

  “Well that’s not true. Diane had a major crush on Anthony Melbourne.”

  “Did she tell you as much?”

  He laughed. “Are you kidding me? He’s all she talked about.”

  Lizzy looked at the wall of pictures again.

  “There was another woman I used to feed who had a crazy thing for Melbourne, too,” Michael said. “Her name was Debra Taphorn.”

  “Do you still see her?”

  He shook his head. “Debra was one of the first women I ever fed. She was a regular, too. But then, out of the blue, she told me that Melbourne had invited her to enroll in a program of his. A program that only a select few were invited to join. She wouldn’t say anything more than that and I never saw her again.”

  “Did you tell the police the same thing?”

  “I can’t recall,” he said, “but it’s more than a possibility.”

  Lizzy pulled out a notepad and pen and wrote down the woman’s name. “Do you have an address?”

  “No. Most of the women I feed don’t want me to have phone numbers or addresses, especially if they’re married or living with someone. I’m pretty sure some of them give me fake names, too.” He shrugged. “As long as I get to feed them, I don’t mind.”

  “Do you ever turn anyone away?”

  “Oh, sure.” He snapped his fingers, giving Lizzy a start. “I just remembered something. I used to have a picture of Debra, but I took it down recently.”

  Michael headed for the kitchen and Lizzy followed him. She watched him open the first of many drawers and shuffle through papers. He leafed through dozens of old pictures before he pulled one out and said, “Here she is, Debra Taphorn.”

  Lizzy took the picture. Debra was blonde with green eyes. Her face was round and her eyes appeared to be smiling into the camera as she sunk her teeth into a lemon-filled donut.

  Lizzy’s stomach growled.

  “Somebody’s hungry. Want me to make you something? It won’t take me but a minute to find something tasty for you to eat.”

  Lizzy smiled. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  He laughed, a laid-back sort of laugh that made it easy for Lizzy to see why a woman might let Michael Denton feed her...if she was in to that sort of thing.

  “Can I keep this picture?” She held up the picture of Debra Taphorn.

  “Sure, why not.”

  Chapter 21

  100 Pounds to Go

  Sierra Mountains, Day 40

  Vivian woke to the sound of a key turning in the door.

  She sat up just as Anthony Melbourne entered the cabin. He smiled brightly as if they were the best of friends.

  Not being a violent person, Vivian was surprised to find that she wanted nothing more than to pick up the chain attached to her leg and wrap it around Melbourne’s neck. And then she wanted to squeeze as hard as she could until his tongue turned purple and his eyes bulged from their sockets.

  He set a cardboard box and two plastic bags next to the door. “How are you doing?” he asked.

  She knew she looked like hell. She hadn’t taken a shower in five days. “Are you serious?”

  His smile grew wider, literally ear to ear, making his face
look like one big blob of silly putty.

  “Feeling a little cranky?”

  “You cannot be for real, you fucking asshole.”

  He shook his head at her as if she were five. “You haven’t read the pamphlets I left for you, have you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “If you don’t eat at least five small well-balanced meals with plenty of protein and healthy fats, your hormones will get out of whack and one of the symptoms is crankiness.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He went to the kitchen.

  She could hear cupboards being opened and closed. She could already smell Lysol. The man was cleaning the kitchen.

  She couldn’t believe he expected her to pay him fifteen thousand dollars to be restrained, deprived, and tortured. Unlike others who might think this a grand plan, she had come to terms with her weight long ago. All she wanted to do was lose a few pounds. She had put down five thousand dollars as a deposit, promising to pay the rest upon reaching her goal weight. She only spent the money in hopes of finding Diane. Sure, it was a lot of money, but she knew that Diane would have done the same for her had the situation been reversed.

  She slid off the bed and went to stand just outside the kitchen.

  He was on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor just like her mother used to do. “I want out,” she said. “I will sign anything you want me to, declaring to all of your lawyers and the world that the decision was mine. I don’t want a refund. I don’t want anything from you. I just want you to unlock me and let me go.”

  He kept scrubbing, didn’t even bother to look at her when he answered. “Sorry. Can’t do.”

  “Why not?”

  “What you’re experiencing right now is just part of the process. Everybody goes through it. You just happened to get to stage three faster than most. In fact, you skipped stages one and two altogether.”

  Vivian didn’t care about stage one or two, or even three. She only cared about getting out of here. “You’ve done your job. I’ve lost over 60 pounds. I want to go home.”

  That got his attention and he looked at her, his eyes narrowing as he scanned her body from head to toes.

  She hated him—hated him more than she’d ever hated anyone in her life.

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Great. So, can you unlock this cuff around my ankle?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “Why not?”

  He stood, put the rag and bottle of cleanser under the sink, and then walked past her. In the top drawer of her bedside table, he pulled out a ledger and held it up for her to see. “You were the one who wrote your goal weight right here on the dotted line. You still have another 100 pounds to go before our work here is finished.”

  “Our work here? I haven’t seen you do anything besides wax the floors.”

  He smiled and put the ledger back where he’d found it.

  “You haven’t done jack shit for me.” She pointed to the pantry. “You left enough cake and cookie mixes to feed an army.”

  “Nothing you won’t see when you’re back in the real world.”

  “I threw all of the mixes away.” She raised her arms to the air. “I’ve conquered my cravings. I can do the rest on my own at home.” She didn’t like the desperation she heard in her voice. Nor did she appreciate the way he was shaking his head at her as if nothing she could possibly say or do would make him change his mind. He was a busy man with a mission. He had yet to stop and listen. He had picked up his box and bags and was now in the pantry unloading cans of soup and other assorted food items.

  “What did you do to Diane?”

  He sighed, turned toward her and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never met anyone named Diane.”

  He did. She could see it in his eyes. When she’d said Diane’s name, he’d flinched. A mere twitch of his body, but still, it was something. “Diane Kramer attended your workshops and retreats. She’s your number one fan. She bought every single T-shirt and worthless piece of exercise equipment you ever sold. She’s been missing for months and I know you’re involved somehow. She came here. I know it. And now she’s missing. Where is she? What did you do with Diane?”

  Chapter 22

  The Girl Next Door

  It was Friday morning and Lizzy could not believe how quickly the days flew by when she had to exercise every morning. Five minutes on the treadmill felt like two hours, whereas the twenty-three hours between workouts felt like five minutes. It wasn’t fair.

  Lizzy was in her car headed for Jared’s house. She hadn’t had time to change out of her gym clothes, but she felt as if she needed—make that wanted—to see him before he left for two weeks.

  What did that mean that she was going out of her way to see a man when she had absolutely no time to spare? If she didn’t solve a case or make a few insurance fraud clients happy, she was going to be out of work before she knew it.

  She was falling hard and fast for Jared Shayne and the sick feeling she felt inside was almost enough to cause her to make an illegal U-turn and head back to work.

  Almost.

  She and Jared had talked on the phone a few times since their last night together. They planned to meet up Wednesday night, but he ended up having a late meeting. She hadn’t asked him what it was about, but now she wished she had. Crap. This is exactly why she didn’t like to date. After exercise class this morning, she’d had three missed calls from Jared, but he wasn’t picking up and he hadn’t left a message.

  She sighed. She’d been in a semi-crappy mood ever since she’d told Jared she wasn’t ready to move in with him. A part of her hadn’t liked the fact that he took it all so well.

  What was he supposed to do? Beg until she moved in out of pity for the poor guy?

  She gripped the wheel tighter.

  In the rearview mirror she noticed a dark SUV. Shivers coursed over her when she realized it was a Ford Expedition, the same car she’d seen when she met her sister for lunch. She sped up. The Expedition sped up, too.

  The next exit was about a half mile up ahead.

  Lizzy took the exit and pulled over to the side of the road and waited. Concentrate on breathing, she reminded herself. Stay calm. The Expedition took the same exit and passed her, but she couldn’t see the driver through the tinted windows. She put her foot on the gas and sped through a yellow light to keep up. The Expedition stopped at a red light less than a block ahead of her. As she approached, she noticed that the license plate had been removed. Lizzy put her car in park and opened her door. The Expedition sped off, running the red light, swerving to miss a pedestrian on the crosswalk.

  Damn it! Lizzy got back in her car and waited until the light turned green. A block ahead she made the same right turn as the Expedition. The street was empty. At a speed of about 25 mph she checked parking lots and alleyways, but it was no use. The Expedition was gone. And her nerves were shot. She needed to talk to her therapist. Linda Gates always made her feel a little better, a little calmer. Shifting her thoughts to other things, like her plans for the weekend, was a technique Lizzy used to distract herself when she became paranoid, a lingering effect from her time spent with a madman.

  But it was no use. Somebody was keeping tabs on her. Melbourne perhaps? Frank Fullerton? One of her workers’ comp cases?

  Suddenly, she felt very unpopular.

  It wasn’t long before she exited the highway again. She made a right on San Rafael, and then a quick left. Recently, Jared had moved from San Francisco to Davis. She’d only been to his new house a couple of times since they spent most of their time together at her place. Pulling up to the curb in front of his house, she climbed out and shut the door. The scent of jasmine wafted around her as she headed up the walkway.

  Somebody called her name.

  Turning about, she was surprised to see a pretty blonde with flawless long legs coming her way. Wonderful. Jared was living next to Barbie.

  “Hi,” the woman said, “are you Lizzy?”

  Lizzy nodded. “An
d you are?”

  “I’m Charleen Sydney Bingaman, but everybody calls me Charlee.” She gestured at the newly painted two-story house across the street. “I just moved in three weeks ago.”

  Lizzy didn’t know what to say, so she pointed to Jared’s house and said, “I’m sort of in a hurry. I need to talk to my boyfriend.” Inwardly, Lizzy rolled her eyes. Her boyfriend? Oh, brother.

  Charlee followed her up the walkway. “I thought you were his sister.”

  “Nope.”

  “I guess I was just sort of hoping...”

  Lizzy stopped right there and looked up into big gorgeous eyes. “Excuse me?”

  The woman’s shoulders fell. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. It’s just that Jared has been helping me move in, and he’s so charming. And when he brought me the lasagna he’d made and asked me to take care of little Hannah for a few weeks, I just sort of thought—hoped—”

  “That he was available,” Lizzy finished for her.

  “Exactly.” Cameron Diaz’s look-alike shrugged her shoulders and did this cute little thing with her mouth that worried Lizzy to no end.

  “So you’re not married?” Lizzy asked.

  “No.”

  “No kids?”

  Charlee laughed, which Lizzy took as a definite no.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Lizzy said, “but how can anyone afford to live in this neighborhood unless—”

  “I’m a doctor.”

  “Of course.” Embarrassed, Lizzy continued onward to Jared’s door and knocked. “Well, it’s been nice chatting with you, Charlee, but I really do need to talk to Jared.”

  “I guess he didn’t tell you then.”

  The woman was becoming a nuisance. “Tell me what?”

  “He was called away earlier than planned.”

  “Really?”

  Charlee nodded and held up a key. “I was just about to feed Hannah when I saw you drive up. Do you need help getting inside?”

  At a loss for words, Lizzy gathered the courage to look into Charlee’s eyes and speak without sounding like a jealous bitch. “I have a key,” she lied. “But it’s in the car and I’m in a hurry, so if you could let me in, I would appreciate it very much. And who is Hannah?”