Dead Weight

by Ragan, T. R.

  “He never insinuated that you two were an item.”

  Debra sighed. “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Not at all.”

  Debra’s shoulders relaxed as she moved into the main living area and took a seat on the edge of a crème colored ottoman. “Okay, why don’t you tell me exactly why you’re here?”

  Standing near the kitchen, Lizzy stayed right where she was. “Like I said, I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired to investigate a missing person. Her name is Diane Kramer.”

  “Never heard of her,” Debra repeated, putting her hands up for emphasis. “I swear.”

  “I believe you, but the thing is I keep running into nothing but dead-ends. That is, until I talked to Michael Denton. There is one common thread between you and Diane...Anthony Melbourne.”

  “Is that so?”

  Lizzy nodded. Although she hated to lie, something she’d been doing a lot lately, the sudden nervous tap tap tap of Debra’s left foot told Lizzy that she might be on to something. “My sister and I attended Anthony Melbourne’s retreat at Lake Tahoe recently,” Lizzy told her. “I asked him about you specifically and he mentioned that you were his star pupil.”

  “He said that? He said my name?”

  Lizzy nodded. “He was very excited about all the weight you lost. I know he helped you, Debra. I know that he’s very good at what he does, but I also know he’s hiding something.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk about it and you really shouldn’t be here.” Debra stood and went to the door, Lizzy’s hint that it was time to leave.

  Lizzy didn’t move. “How did you lose the weight so fast? Michael said you lost over 100 pounds in less than four months. Is that true?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “You won’t say.”

  “Okay, I won’t say. I signed a confidentiality agreement. If I say too much, I could be sued and lose everything I’ve worked so hard for.”

  Lizzy stared the girl down. “Diane Kramer was 255 pounds the last time her sister saw her. Diane was obsessed with her weight and with Anthony Melbourne. If something happens to her and it has anything at all to do with Melbourne, I’ll be sending the FBI to your door, Debra. The feds do not take kindly to secrets, especially secrets that could ultimately cause harm to others.”

  The stare down continued.

  Neither of them blinked.

  One thing was clear. Debra Taphorn knew something. Just spit it out, she wanted to say to the woman, but she held her tongue.

  “Look,” Debra finally said. “I’m sorry about the missing girl, Diane, or whatever her name is. Anthony Melbourne’s program changed my life. Two nights ago my boyfriend asked me to marry him.” She held up her ring finger for Lizzy to see.

  Two carats, maybe three. Impressive. Lizzy had never gone diamond shopping in her life. If she couldn’t even move in with Jared, it was a big possibility that diamonds were not in her future. “Congratulations,” Lizzy said.

  “Listen, I’ve got to get to work.”

  Lizzy slipped on her shoes, and then reached into her purse and pulled out her business card. “If you change your mind, give me a call.”

  Debra nodded and continued to hold the door open.

  Lizzy left the apartment building feeling deflated. She was batting zero on all accounts: two missing girls and only a handful of clues. And then there was Hayley, sneaking out at night. What was she up to?

  And what about her sister? Cathy was so lonely that she was actually entertaining the idea of dating her loser of an ex-husband. Why couldn’t Cathy take a break from men altogether? Just a year, not forever.

  Feeling momentarily overwhelmed by life, Lizzy walked across the parking lot. She opened the door to her Toyota and slipped in behind the wheel. The fabric on the passenger seat was curling at the edges. It really was time to get a new car, but she couldn’t stand the idea of letting Old Yeller go.

  With a sigh, she inserted the key into the ignition, looked up and saw four words written in big red letters across her windshield. Was it written in blood?

  Lizzy climbed out. At closer inspection she realized the message had been written in lipstick, CoverGirl’s Cherry Bomb, if she had to guess. MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!

  ***

  Anthony Melbourne guzzled another eight ounce glass of water as he looked around his office, his gaze settling on the nicely framed picture of him shaking hands with George W. Bush, the 43rd President of the United States.

  Although fitness buffs like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Lou Ferrigno had always intrigued him, Anthony could relate much more to Richard Simmons.

  Like Simmons, Anthony was obese throughout his adolescence. Simmons weighed over 250 pounds when he graduated from high school. Anthony had weighed over 275 when he graduated.

  He used to blame his weight on his parents. They were both obese. After graduating, he decided to do the opposite of what his parents had done. He refused to waste time in front of the television. He refused to put anything into his mouth that wasn’t made from natural foods. His parents were slobs; he became a clean freak. They binged; he ate healthy portions throughout the day. They never exercised; he opened a gym and spent most of his day there.

  So many parents around the world, he thought, had no idea how their heart, mind, and body affected their kids’ everyday life. Parents were selfish when they failed to realize the basic fundamentals of parenting. Children imitated those in charge.

  His gaze fell on another, more recent, picture Jane had hung on his wall. Jane had taken the picture at the top of Horse Tail Falls the last time they hiked to the top. Jane was a big girl, but she was healthy and strong. Not only was she the best assistant he’d ever had, she was funny too. If she ever quit her job and left him, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

  The idea of not being able to look out his door and see her sitting at her desk made him feel sick to his stomach. Although Jane didn’t know it, because he’d never told her, he’d stopped traveling around the world because of her. Why travel around the world when everything he wanted was right here in Sacramento? Right here in his office, in fact.

  Jane Andrews—the love of his life.

  He felt the urge to walk out there right this minute and tell her how he felt once and for all. Surely she could see that he felt more for her than simple friendship?

  His phone rang and he picked it up. “Hello?”

  Nothing but heavy breathing coming through the line. “Who is this?” he asked, although he already knew. The hang-up calls used to be sporadic, but lately the calls came every hour on the hour. He thought about calling the police but they were already watching him like a hawk. The police thought he might have something to do with Diane Kramer’s disappearance.

  That bothered him to no end.

  He provided a service for overweight and obese women who couldn’t help themselves. He would never purposely hurt anyone. His programs had worked on thousands of women all over the world. He received hundreds of emails daily praising him for the work he did.

  The heavy breather was still on the line. Unusual considering the caller usually hung up after five seconds. “Andrea, is that you?”

  No answer.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you want so I can help you?”

  More breathing.

  He already knew what she wanted. They had grown especially close during Andrea’s time spent at his mountain cabin. With his help, she’d lost half of her body weight. In the beginning he’d been attracted to Andrea. But she was a needy, possessive woman and he’d quickly lost interest. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’d become obsessed with him, bringing him gifts and popping in to visit him at all hours of the day. It wasn’t long before his assistant and Andrea were butting heads right here at his gym in front of his clients. That’s when he’d asked Andrea to stay away. Enough was enough. Although Andrea wouldn’t admit it, he was sure she was the one who had told the police he had something to do with her sister’s disappearance. A
nd now she’d hired a private investigator to keep an eye on him. It was all too much. In fact, it was time to take care of Andrea Kramer once and for all.

  “I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”

  More silence.

  Anthony hung up the phone. He went to the door and opened it, disappointed to see that Jane had already left for the day. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he grabbed his keys and left the gym.

  ***

  After stopping by Ruth Fullerton’s house and being told by the nurse that she was sleeping, Lizzy ran to the store to pick up some more cat food along with a few unnecessary toys for Hannah.

  She was home now.

  Judging by the bowl and the silverware in the sink, Hayley had been home at some point, but now she was gone again. That girl did not sit still.

  Last night, their first night as roommates, Lizzy hadn’t slept a wink just as Hayley had predicted. It would take time for them both to get used to having each other around.

  Sitting at her desk in the corner of her bedroom, Hannah played under Lizzy’s feet while she waited for her computer to kick on. After a few minutes, she was surprised to see her in-box already flooded with new emails from the Weight Watcher Warriors group. She had been accepted into the group and everyone was welcoming and friendly. That was a good sign.

  There was a private message from Heather Champion, the woman in charge. Although the tone of Heather’s email was friendly, Heather was firm about having all of the information she needed about Lizzy. How long had she been trying to lose weight? What were her goals? What diets had she tried in the past?

  Lizzy wrote Heather back and told her she had tried every diet known to mankind. She tossed in a few diets that Andrea Kramer had mentioned, like the disgusting chewing-your-food-forever diet.

  Next, Lizzy wrote an introduction email to the entire group, thanking everyone for being so welcoming. Recalling what her sister Cathy had said about trying to lose weight, Lizzy talked about feeling hopeless about the whole weight issue. Lizzy closed her message by mentioning that Diane Kramer was the one who told her about the group and had anyone heard from her lately?

  Lizzy clicked Send.

  Tiny teeth gnawed at Lizzy’s ankle. She bent over, picked up Hannah and carried her to the bed. Lying on the mattress, she held Hannah in the air and said, “What am I going to do with you?”

  A ding ding sounded on the computer, telling Lizzy she had a message. Figuring it was another WWW introduction, she set Hannah on the ground and sat in front of her computer.

  Someone from WWW had already emailed her back about Diane. It was a private message from “Petunia.” Apparently Petunia and a few other women were concerned about Diane and had been wondering about her leaving the WWW group without saying goodbye. What was particularly concerning to Petunia was that Diane had befriended another WWW group member by the name of Vivian Hardy. In Petunia’s words, Vivian had been discouraged about her weight.

  More interesting, though, Petunia wrote that Vivian also disappeared from the group a few months ago. No goodbye. Not a word to the group. She suddenly disappeared off of the face of the earth just like Diane Kramer.

  Lizzy’s pulse was racing by the time she read the last line: Vivian Hardy lived in Sacramento, California. Lizzy sent a quick email thanking Petunia. It only took her five minutes to find Vivian Hardy’s address: a scary thing these days, having such easy access to a person’s whereabouts. The apartment building where Vivian lived was less than fifteen miles away. She printed off directions and said, “Come on, Hannah. I need to pay Vivian Hardy a visit.”

  She placed Hannah in the section of the kitchen that had been gated off. Everything Hannah could possibly need was there, including a scratching post and a soft bed filled with goose feathers. Hannah was getting spoiled.

  ***

  “Fuck.”

  Lizzy pulled over to the side of the road, both hands squeezing the steering wheel. She was lost. Why did she have to go flying out of the house right that very minute? Not only was it getting dark, she’d hardly slept in the past forty-eight hours. She wasn’t thinking straight.

  Her cell phone rang. She picked it up before it rang a second time. “Hello?”

  “There you are. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day.”

  “Oh, Jared. I miss you. Come home.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yes. For starters, let’s talk about Charlee.” She couldn’t believe that was the first thing that came out of her mouth. All day she’d been telling herself that if Jared called she wouldn’t bother talking about Charlee at all.

  “Charlee?” he repeated.

  “Yes, Charlee. Don’t play dumb with me. I’m parked on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere and I have a pounding headache.”

  “Lizzy, why are you parked on the side of the road? It’s getting late.”

  “It’s not even eight thirty,” she said. “Does it usually get dark this early?”

  “It’s way past your bedtime.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from smiling if she tried. “Am I really that boring?”

  “You really are, but that’s what I love about you.”

  That word again. She hated that word and yet it was so damn comforting to hear. Maybe she didn’t really hate the word after all. “Charlee isn’t boring,” she said, then rolled her eyes at how ridiculous she must sound.

  “Lizzy, you’re worrying me. What are you talking about? Spit it out. Who’s Charlee?”

  “Your cute, perky, big-breasted Barbie doll neighbor.”

  “Her name is Charlee?”

  Lizzy let her head fall to the steering wheel. “I guess that does make sense that you wouldn’t know her name. After meeting her, I’m surprised I remember her name. She’s Cameron Diaz, Jennifer Lopez, and Uma Thurman all mixed into one ridiculously beautiful woman.”

  “Wow. How did I miss all of that?”

  “What? You didn’t meet her?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry to say that I did meet her, but I didn’t remember her name. And somehow I failed to see what you saw and I’m not trying to downplay anything. She must not have been my type.”

  “Dingy-brown-haired, flat-chested boring girls are your type. That makes me feel better. I’m so glad you called.”

  He laughed. “Do you want to call me back later when you’re feeling better?”

  “Would you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I do miss you,” she said.

  “I miss you, too.”

  Lizzy hung up and for the first time in a very long time, she felt like crying. What was wrong with her? She was too young to be going through menopause. She wasn’t pregnant. It wasn’t even close to being that time of the month. She was a wreck. “You just need sleep,” she said aloud.

  As she gazed out her window, she noticed something stuck under her windshield wiper. Probably an advertisement, she thought, as she climbed out of her car. Only the corner of the paper was showing since most of it had disappeared under the hood of her car. She pinched the corner of the paper and then lifted the wiper. It was a picture of a girl. Her pulse raced. She recognized the woman. It looked like a younger version of Andrea Kramer. It had to be Diane. From the looks of it, she’d lost a lot of weight--too much weight.

  Lizzy looked around at the empty streets and then quickly got back into the car. Under the light she saw that the picture was smeared with something that looked a lot like blood. The photo appeared to be one of those instant pictures taken with a Polaroid camera. She wondered how long the picture had been stuck beneath her windshield wiper. Careful not to touch the photo more than she already had, she placed it in the glove box where it would be safe until she could get a better look at it.

  She’d already been warned to mind her own business, but now someone was leaving her evidence? Shivers coursed over her as she locked the doors. She took a moment to gathe
r her thoughts before she looked at the map again and saw where she’d taken the wrong turn. She merged back onto the road.

  Ten minutes later, Lizzy parked in front of Tree Top Apartments, which made no sense since there was only one tree in the vicinity as far as she could tell. The apartment building looked older than dirt with its cracked stucco and peeling paint.

  Lizzy followed the numbers and headed upstairs. Vivian’s apartment was on the far corner. She knocked on the door and waited patiently. After a few minutes she knocked again. The curtains were drawn tight. Nobody was home. She inhaled deeply, relieved that no weird smells were coming from the apartment.

  Next she headed for the main office, which was empty.

  Lizzy hit a bell.

  A short hunched-back man waddled in from another room where she could hear a television blasting.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m looking for Vivian Hardy in apartment 154A. I just knocked on her door but nobody answered.”

  “You’re a brave woman,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Anyone who knocks on Vivian Hardy’s door is doing so at their own risk. The girl does not like to be disturbed and even pays rent in advance to ensure nobody bothers her.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  He shrugged. “Three weeks ago, maybe four.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  Lizzy frowned.

  He walked to a file cabinet across the room and waved Lizzy over. “Let me show you something.”

  Lizzy moved to his side and watched him open the cabinet labeled G through M. He shuffled through the drawer and pulled out the Hardy file. He opened the file and showed Lizzy a thick stack of formal letters written in perfect penmanship by Vivian herself.

  Letter after letter was addressed to the landlord of Tree Top Apartments asking the landlord and staff not to allow anyone to bother her. Unless she called with a problem, he was not to call, and that included knocking on her door to see if she was okay.

  “Can I see the file for a moment?”

  He obliged and Lizzy looked through the letters under the pretense of reading one after another. Instead, she took a good look at the contract that listed references, including Vivian’s mother Abigail Hardy and her phone number and mailing address in Brooklyn, NY.