Authors: Joan Hess
A Diet to Die For (4 page)
I’d taken a deep breath and prepared myself for round two (or three—I’d lost count), when she said, “It would be nice to see someone once in a while. I was going to join the Law Wives Auxiliary, but Gerald wouldn’t let me. He said it would embarrass him.”
If I’d possessed a lethal weapon and a propensity for violence, I would have driven straight to the law school and gunned Gerald down in front of the class, thus provoking a lively and informative discussion about justifiable homicide. Instead, I said, “If you’re willing to work every afternoon from two until four, it would be a tremendous help to me. At least promise me that you’ll think about it, okay?”
“I’ll think about it,” she said morosely and without any discernible conviction.
I told her to call me later. She walked me to the front door and was still standing in the doorway as I got in my car and drove down the driveway. She looked as despondent as I felt.
I
drove back to the store and repeated the conversation I’d had with Maribeth, mentioning that I’d also met Gerald. Joanie was not impressed with my efforts. After a few minutes of communicating as much, she announced she had not yet abandoned all hope and that she was going to the Ultima Center to pick up information about the program and its cost. I warned her not to sign anything she couldn’t read without a magnifying glass and, with a small sigh of relief, watched her drive away.
drove back to the store and repeated the conversation I’d had with Maribeth, mentioning that I’d also met Gerald. Joanie was not impressed with my efforts. After a few minutes of communicating as much, she announced she had not yet abandoned all hope and that she was going to the Ultima Center to pick up information about the program and its cost. I warned her not to sign anything she couldn’t read without a magnifying glass and, with a small sigh of relief, watched her drive away.
As predictably as the 1040 forms arrive the week after Christmas (ho, ho, ho), Caron and Inez stormed the store at four o’clock.
“We have been to that health food store,” the former announced. The latter blinked in support.
I closed the checkbook and aligned my pencil (red) beside it. “Were they running a special on kelp?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mother,” Caron said in a tone meant to convey there were More Important Things on the agenda than obtuse remarks from her mother. “Do you know how much they want
for one little packet of yellowish-green stringy stuff that looks like dried dog hair?”
for one little packet of yellowish-green stringy stuff that looks like dried dog hair?”
“Your firstborn child?”
“This is not funny.” Caron glowered at Inez; Inez nodded her head, realized that might not be the requisite response, shook her head, and finally gave up and stared at the floor. “They want an absolute fortune. I pointed out that it was just icky seaweed and that no one in his or her right mind would eat it unless going on a macrobiotic diet, and the guy got all snooty and said he ate it every morning for breakfast. On rice cakes. And drank goat’s milk.” She stopped to roll her eyes as she relived the repugnant scene. “Well, I told him that his store was a total rip-off and that he ought to be arrested for public indecency for having pornographic food right there on the counter where innocent children might see it.”
I held up my hand. “And he threw you out of the store, and therefore you have no way to go on the macrobiotic diet. How am I doing?”
It was obvious I wasn’t in contention for any popularity awards, or even a nomination. Caron mentally ran through her repertory and settled on the role of martyred teen-saint. “I was only trying to improve myself,” she said as her eyes filled with tears. “Today Rhonda told Inez that Louis Wilderberry, who’s so stupid he wears his IQ on his football jersey, said the guys were making me a cardboard crown and one of those stupid sashes. I could just die.”
“It’s terrible,” Inez added in a sepulchral voice.
Caron covered her face with her hands, either out of despair or a desire to win an Oscar. “When I grow up—if I decide to—I’ll probably end up like that Maribeth person. I’ll have to wear clothes made out
of polyester bed sheets and no one will let me sit on wicker furniture. I might as well call it quits while I can still fit into a prefab coffin.
of polyester bed sheets and no one will let me sit on wicker furniture. I might as well call it quits while I can still fit into a prefab coffin.
At this point whatever patience I had evaporated. “Now listen here,” I said angrily, “Maribeth has a legitimate problem, and she doesn’t whine nearly as much as you do. If you don’t want to be grounded for the next five years while you ponder the value of compassion, cut out that kind of thoughtless remark and stop this self-indulgent moaning and groaning. Give up pizza and sodas and chips and cupcakes for two weeks and you’ll lose a few pounds. Take the money you were going to use for seaweed and send anonymous boxes of Twinkies to Rhonda Maguire so she can be Miss Fabulous Flab or whatever.”
“Miss Thunder Thighs,” Inez corrected me politely.
Caron’s eyes narrowed to slits and her lower lip popped out like the plastic doneness indicator in a roasted turkey. “Come on, Inez, there are half a dozen more diet books at my house. We didn’t even look at the one where you mix up things in a blender.”
I waited until the poor little bell jangled, then leaned back in my chair and tried to determine when and where I’d gone wrong, or how I could have gone so very wrong. Dr. Spock had smiled at me from the bedside table. I’d read those magazines in the pediatrician’s office, the ones crammed full of articles on how to teach baby to be bilingual and how to recognize common illnesses before any symptoms appeared. I’d taken pictures at all her birthday parties and had sworn to have the roll developed before she went away to college. Then again, I hadn’t checked her into a nunnery on her thirteenth birthday.
I was wondering if there might be a nunnery in the
immediate area when the bell jangled me out of my reverie. I went to the front room and found Peter Rosen thumbing through a magazine.
immediate area when the bell jangled me out of my reverie. I went to the front room and found Peter Rosen thumbing through a magazine.
“How’s the diet going?” he asked.
“They talk a good line, but thus far they’ve managed to avoid actually going on any of them. I finally got fed up with their incessant excuses and suggested they cut out junk food for two weeks. I might as well have suggested they sprout halos and audition with the pope for beatification.”
“Every once in a while I wonder if I should have begat a child to take care of me in my old age. Then I take a hard look at your offspring and put a few dollars in my savings account. When I’m in my dotage, you’ll feed me oatmeal and wipe the drool off my chin, won’t you?”
“If they give us adjoining rooms at Sunset Manor,” I said lightly. It was time for a diversion. “I didn’t see anything in the newspaper about this new case of yours.”
“And you never will.”
“Then you’re not involved in anything?”
“Oh, but I am, and it’s a major muddle. All I said was that you’d never read about it in the paper.”
“So it’s terribly hush-hush? Classified information, the CIA, Farbergate; that sort of thing?”
He gave me a wolfish grin. “Your nostrils are flaring, darling. Could it be you’re curious?”
“Of course not,” I said, mentally cursing my tattletale nostrils. “I merely wanted to know if you were going to be occupied with this case for the next few days.”
“Why would I assume otherwise?” he murmured.
“Why don’t you go away and assume whatever you
want. I have better things to do than indulge in this silly conversation. You’re not at all attractive when you gloat.”
want. I have better things to do than indulge in this silly conversation. You’re not at all attractive when you gloat.”
He gave me a wounded look. “I wasn’t gloating. This happens to be one case you’ll never read about, that’s all. For once you won’t be able to interfere, and I take a vast pleasure in that.”
I was considering how much acidity to insert into my next comment when the telephone rang. I settled for a tight-lipped smile, picked up the receiver, and said, “Book Depot.”
“Claire?”
It was almost a whisper, and I had no problem identifying its origin. “Maribeth, what a pleasant surprise.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said, and if you’re still willing to hire me, I guess I’d like to work part time.”
“That’s an even more pleasant surprise. Are you sure it’s not going to cause problems with Gerald?”
“It’ll cause problems with Gerald,” she said in a resigned voice, “but I don’t know that I care. Not caring’s become a habit lately. When shall I start?”
“Tomorrow would be fine. Since you have no transportation, I’m sure Joanie will be happy to pick you up and bring you to the store. She adores to volunteer.” I said good-bye and hung up. Feeling more than a little bemused, I repeated my suggestion to Peter that he make assumptions elsewhere.
He wandered away, still grinning like a damn wolf giving directions to a red-hooded kid, and I was trying to figure out how to find out about his mysterious case when Joanie returned.
“Were you impressed with the diet place?” I asked.
“Very much so.” She nudged me off my stool and sat on it. “It’s only been open a few weeks, and they’re offering a special to get started. It’s owned and run by a young doctor named Sheldon Winder and his wife, Candice, who’s a registered nurse. They both seem very professional. Dr. Winder does a complete medical history and examination, then orders whatever tests he feels are necessary to make sure the client won’t have any ill effects from the program, which is quite strict and rigorous. Then Candice or another staff member meets daily with the client to monitor urine samples and blood pressure.”
“How much does this attention cost?”
Joanie tried to look nonchalant. “That’s determined by the length of the program and the desired weightloss goal.”
“In Maribeth’s case?” I said, unimpressed.
“With the initial examination, the required EKG and blood work, the daily vitamins and potassium supplements, the protein packets, and the weekly behavior modification classes?”
“With all of the above. How much?”
“Oh, Candice estimated somewhere in the range of six to seven hundred dollars, but the program is guaranteed as long as the client doesn’t cheat.”
I had to grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. “Seven hundred dollars? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“And fifteen a week for the exercise classes at the fitness center next door,” she added with a wince. “I was a little appalled, myself, but I’m committed to helping Maribeth, and I’ll write you a check so that you can advance the money to her. Her appointment is tomorrow at four-thirty.”
“Why are you so positive she’ll agree to any of this? I told you that she wasn’t exactly overcome with delight at the idea.”
“Because I called to tell her I’d signed her up and that the only way she could pay Ultima was to take the part-time job here. I may have mentioned something about collection agencies and small claims court if she failed to honor the contract.”
“Nothing you signed is binding on her. Maribeth may have panicked, but Gerald’s a lawyer and he’s not going to fall for an idiotic play like that.”
“I don’t think,” she said pensively, “that she fell for it, either. I think she pretended to in order to allow someone to make the decision for her, to remove the responsibility from her and perhaps divert some of Gerald’s displeasure. In any case, once I take her there tomorrow, she’ll sign a new contract and have no choice.”
“I hope you don’t ever decide to take me under your wing. You’re not a mother hen—you’re a turkey vulture.”
“How inordinately kind of you,” she said, then slid off the stool and left, her expression resembling that of a particular vulpine cop.
When I arrived home I found Caron and Inez huddled over the blender. The table was littered with an amazing number of ingredients, including a milk carton, eggshells, several small bottles, and the cocoa tin. I left them to watch their potion spin and was lounging in the bath when Caron called through the door that they were going to a pep rally at school.
Caron made it back at a reasonable hour, announced she was totally swamped with mindless geography homework because Coach Dooley was a
tyrant without enough brains to prepare lesson plans and therefore assigned pages and pages of dumb things just so the students could correct them in class. I made sympathetic noises and was rewarded with a peaceful evening while she hid out in her bedroom. Grousing on the telephone with Inez, naturally.
tyrant without enough brains to prepare lesson plans and therefore assigned pages and pages of dumb things just so the students could correct them in class. I made sympathetic noises and was rewarded with a peaceful evening while she hid out in her bedroom. Grousing on the telephone with Inez, naturally.
The following afternoon, Joanie delivered Maribeth to the store and reminded her of the four-thirty appointment at Ultima. I gave Maribeth a quick tour, showing her how the cash register worked and where to record orders if a book was not in stock. Neither of us mentioned Gerald, and I left her standing behind the counter, her face bleak for someone making at least five times as much an hour as I did.
Joanie returned at four and whisked Maribeth away to commit to a seven-hundred-dollar contract and the cheery prospect of months of inedible greenery, potassium supplements, and daily urine samples. Minutes later Caron and Inez came by, announced that they had finally found the absolute perfect diet, hung about until I agreed to give Caron an advance of her allowance (which happens so often I don’t owe a dime until the next century), and allowed themselves to be shooed out the door.
When the local paper was delivered by a pimply boy who evinced animation only on collection days, I pored through the main section in hopes of finding some insignificant article that hinted of criminal activity significant enough to warrant the attentions of the CID. To my chagrin, Farberville seemed to be gripped by a wave of lawfulness, except for the usual stuff. Cars were being deprived of their radios and tape decks. Mailboxes were being spray-painted and/ or bashed. Students were being admitted to the emergency
room after resolving disputes with rednecked troglodytes behind the bars on Thurber Street. Purses left on tables in nightclubs were being harvested by unknown hands.
room after resolving disputes with rednecked troglodytes behind the bars on Thurber Street. Purses left on tables in nightclubs were being harvested by unknown hands.
But I could find no mention of any serious crimes. Petty theft, student bashing, and vandalism were hardly earth-shattering; a sudden drop in the numbers might have been greater cause for alarm.
Peter’s smug demeanor was more than a little irritating. He’d described the case as a major muddle, which implied some sort of felony, or at least the possibility of one. Although I had no intention of interfering with his officious official investigation, I damn well wanted to find out what was going on, if only to prove I could. I allowed myself to imagine the scene in which I casually mentioned the gist of the case, then told him I found it less than worthy of my time and energy. The scene was so savory I could almost taste it.
A delightfully devious ploy came to mind. I dialed the telephone number of the CID, identified myself, and sweetly asked to speak to Peter. The gods were rooting for me, for I was informed that Lieutenant Rosen was out of the office. Grinning in anticipation, I asked where he could be reached.
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