A Diet to Die For (17 page)
Authors: Joan Hess
He bent down over the driver’s seat for a moment, then stood up and said, “Yeah, the pedal’s down there, all right. You still can’t park here, ma’am. The mower’s coming pretty soon.”
“Why would the pedal give way like that?” I said, frowning. “It was fine last night.”
“How should I know? I’m not a mechanic. All I know is that you’re not allowed to park here and the mower’s coming pretty soon. If you want me to call campus security on my walkie-talkie, I will. But in the meantime—”
“I can’t park here,” I interrupted with a wan smile. “Then again, I can’t drive away without brakes, can I? That might result in a problem at some point in the immediate future, if I need to slow down or even to stop. If you’ll direct me to the nearest telephone, I’ll call a tow truck.”
“Probably in the administration building at the top of the hill there. There’s a pay phone in the hall, I think. But what am I supposed to do when the mower comes? I think I’d better notify campus security and let them deal with this.”
I took my purse from the car, found a ten-dollar bill, and held it delicately between thumb and forefinger. “Let’s not disturb the security men. I suggest the mower mow around the car until a tow truck arrives. Do you think that might be possible?”
It was possible. I trudged up the hill to the gray administration building, located the pay phone, waited impatiently while a dithery blond coed cooed to an unseen admirer, and eventually arranged for a tow service to collect my car from underneath the jaws of the mower and repair the brake pedal. I didn’t gasp at the amount of money required for all this, but I was hardly smiling as I replaced the receiver and leaned against the wall.
Coincidences might be the mainstay of fiction, but this was reality. My car was fifteen years old; the brakes had never failed before. I’d been snooping around, asking questions, and somewhere along the
way I’d pinched a nerve. The cozy notion that someone had tried to stop me caused my knees to weaken and my head to throb. Students swarmed through the hallway, their expressions grim as they prepared to face impersonal, money-hungry secretaries in the bursar’s office. I warranted a few incurious glances as I cautiously explored the lump on the top of my head, wincing, and then fought my way out of the building.
way I’d pinched a nerve. The cozy notion that someone had tried to stop me caused my knees to weaken and my head to throb. Students swarmed through the hallway, their expressions grim as they prepared to face impersonal, money-hungry secretaries in the bursar’s office. I warranted a few incurious glances as I cautiously explored the lump on the top of my head, wincing, and then fought my way out of the building.
I sat on a low brick wall and watched a campus security car drive across the grass and park next to my car. The treacherous maintenance man waved his hands about, clearly explaining the lurid details of the felonious assault on the lawn, and followed the cop to the rear of my car in order to make sure the license plate number was recorded accurately. I was not overcome with surprise; my one previous attempt to bribe someone had turned out no better, since the bribee subsequently was introduced as an undercover cop under orders from Lieutenant Peter Rosen, who’d found it highly diverting.
The security cops left. A few minutes later a tow truck approached my car, coupled itself, and drove away with my only means of transportation. I wasn’t especially eager to get behind a steering wheel, but my apartment was on the far side of the campus and I wasn’t sure I could survive the hike. Then again, my options were limited and I doubted a limo would stop in front of me, with a solicitous chauffeur who would settle me in back with tea and a dozen aspirin. I forced myself up and trudged down the sidewalk.
When I reached the corner of the library, however, I headed for the fine arts building adjacent to it. The students on the sidewalk wore skirts and blouses or button-down collars and ties (depending on their
gender), but the denizens of the fine arts building were … artier. Here the long hair was equally divided between genders, as was the cropped, bushy hair, and a scattering of unnatural colors. Ragged jeans and blue cotton work shirts seemed to be the uniform of the day; in that I’d been in college in the sixties, it was more familiar.
gender), but the denizens of the fine arts building were … artier. Here the long hair was equally divided between genders, as was the cropped, bushy hair, and a scattering of unnatural colors. Ragged jeans and blue cotton work shirts seemed to be the uniform of the day; in that I’d been in college in the sixties, it was more familiar.
I wandered around until I spotted a ponytailed man with the same grayish splatters on his clothes that Joanie favored. I asked him where someone might fire something. Unlike others of us, he resisted an impulse to make feeble jokes and directed me to the pottery labs in the basement rather than to the ROTC firing range.
Joanie was on the bottom step of the stairwell, talking to a girl with orange hair and earrings that dangled to her shoulders.
“I thought you were going to call me,” I said sternly.
“Goodness, what are you doing here?” she said. “I tried to call earlier, but no one answered the phone at the store.” She shooed the orange person away, then patted the step beside her. “You’d better sit down, Claire; you look worse than last week’s casserole.”
I did as suggested. “I think someone fiddled with the brakes in my car. I nearly took out half a dozen freshmen and two trucks before I settled for a metal trash can and a chunk of lawn. I’m feeling a little weak about the whole thing.”
“Fiddled with the brakes? When?”
“The garage isn’t locked, so someone could have done it last night, or even this morning while I was at the store. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but the brakes
were fine yesterday and decidedly nonfunctional an hour ago.”
were fine yesterday and decidedly nonfunctional an hour ago.”
“Are you sure it isn’t just one of those not-so-funny cosmic jokes, Claire?”
“I’m not sure of anything,” I said peevishly, “except that something’s going on and I don’t like it.” I repeated what Peter had told me earlier about the potassium stash in Maribeth’s kitchen. “Can you think of a reason why she might refuse to take the potassium and then lie about it? When I first met her, she was on a self-destructive track, but her success on the Ultima program and in the exercise classes was doing a great deal to enhance her confidence. Why in hell would she act like that?” I realized my voice was echoing in the tunnel and ordered myself to calm down. “Maribeth seemed to be candid with us at first, but according to what I’ve learned, she was lying through her teeth the week before the accident. I like her, damn it. I don’t want to categorize her as a liar.”
“Then don’t,” Joanie said.
“How can I not?” I said, exasperated. I stood up and began to pace in the narrow hall. “Peter said she’d stashed the unopened bottles of potassium caplets in the cabinet. She assured me the day she fainted that she’d skipped only two caplets and would be careful not to skip any again. Sheldon said her progress was erratic, and the chart confirmed that, yet she was telling us how well she was doing.”
“Maybe that’s what she believed. If Peter’s so confident that everything is neatly packaged and ready to file away, then how can he explain the sabotage to your brakes? Maribeth didn’t do it.”
I gave her a dark look. “He can’t explain it because he’ll never hear about it The one thing I don’t need
is one of his tedious, pedantic, suffocating lectures about meddlesome amateurs and efficient professionals. On the other hand, I’m in dire need of a couple of aspirin.”
is one of his tedious, pedantic, suffocating lectures about meddlesome amateurs and efficient professionals. On the other hand, I’m in dire need of a couple of aspirin.”
She took a small tin from her purse, handed me two tablets, and waited in silence while I went to the drinking fountain and choked them down. “But what if Maribeth has been saying what she perceives to be the truth—that she faithfully took potassium every day and was losing weight steadily?” she asked me.
If my head hadn’t been so sore I would have let out a screech of frustration that would have shattered all the exquisite hand-built vases in the basement. I settled for a muttered, “That’s not possible. How could she not know?”
Joanie glanced at her watch. “Oh dear, it’s time to check the kiln. I’ve never pretended to be the local version of Miss Marple, Claire; you’re the one with that particular claim to fame. I just thought I’d throw out a suggestion or two.”
She was a nice person, and in my heart of hearts I knew I shouldn’t strangle her on the spot—despite the urge to do so. “Did you get in touch with Betty Lou?” I said through clenched teeth.
“That’s why I tried to call earlier. Betty Lou spoke to her daughter, who reported that there’s a cocktail party today at six for a potential faculty member from Chicago … or was it Detroit? It seems the daughter has a fabulous house and is usually coerced into holding the functions there. All the faculty members are expected to attend in order to size up the candidate.” She again glanced at her watch, twitched like the White Rabbit, and called a farewell over her shoulder as she hurried down the hall.
I went upstairs, out the door, and back to the sidewalk, heading in the direction of my apartment, but even in the sunshine I felt as if I were still in the dark, dreary basement tunnel. Peter presumed Maribeth had lied; Joanie suggested I presume she had told the truth—as she perceived it.
“Peter,” I said aloud, startling a trio of fraternity boys on a bench, “has the better argument: the potassium was truly potassium, and the potassium was in bottles rather than where it should have been, which is in Maribeth. The doctor at the hospital said she had a potassium deficiency. Her behavior confirmed his diagnosis.”
“You lost, lady?” one of the boys said, snickering.
I certainly felt as if I were, but I shrugged and continued, still mumbling under my breath like an escapee from the banana-nut-bread bakery. “If Maribeth wasn’t lying, then she thought she was taking potassium three times a day.” I slowed down, and finally stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the students forced to step around me. She thought she was taking potassium—but she wasn’t. Ergo, she indeed was taking a substitute, as I’d originally hypothesized.
Peter had said tests had been done. However, he’d only told me a few hours ago, which meant the tests weren’t necessarily ordered until several days after the accident. Whoever had switched the potassium could have switched it back before the CID had bestirred itself to send the bottles to the lab.
I jarred myself back into motion in time to avoid being trampled by a herd of serenely oblivious sorority girls and hurried to my apartment, feeling very much better. All I had to do was determine who could
have made the exchange, and the man who cohabited in the house seemed likely to have access to the cabinet. A bit of proof might be required before I called Peter, I supposed, but I could cross that bridge when or if I ever found myself in the general vicinity of it.
have made the exchange, and the man who cohabited in the house seemed likely to have access to the cabinet. A bit of proof might be required before I called Peter, I supposed, but I could cross that bridge when or if I ever found myself in the general vicinity of it.
Lunchtime had come and gone by this time, so I grabbed an apple and went back to the Book Depot, hoping this had not been the first time ever that zillions of book buyers had converged on the store, checkbooks bulging, and been confronted with the CLOSED sign. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to devise a solid case against Gerald and/or Candice, but I had no luck and was merely moping when Caron and Inez came by.
“Are you feeling better?” I asked, determined to sound properly concerned if not totally sympathetic.
“Yeah,” Caron muttered, “so I guess we’ll go again tonight, although I’m not convinced that Bobbi person knows everything there is to know about joints and stuff. It can’t be healthy to jump up and down like a pogo stick for fifteen minutes.”
Inez nodded. “Caron and I wondered if it might be bad for our ankles, Mrs. Malloy. But we did lose three pounds each.”
“I’d do better if I had a decent leotard,” Caron added, studying me for the faintest crack of financial vulnerability.
“Forget it,” I said. “There’s a minor complication if you’re intending for me to drive you to the fitness center tonight. My car’s in the shop with brake problems.”
Caron glared at me. “Minor? Are we supposed to walk all the way there, jump around for an hour, and then walk home?” When I shrugged, she lapsed into
martyrdom and said, “Inez’s parents have gone to another pet thing and won’t be home until late tonight. I suppose”—a windy sigh—“I can ask Peter if he can take us. Maybe he’ll let me drive his car.”
martyrdom and said, “Inez’s parents have gone to another pet thing and won’t be home until late tonight. I suppose”—a windy sigh—“I can ask Peter if he can take us. Maybe he’ll let me drive his car.”
“Don’t do that,” I said. “Let me call the shop and find out when the car will be ready.” I dialed the number, asked to be put through to the service department, identified myself, and inquired if they had located the brake problem. I was informed that they had indeed: the cotter pin was missing, which had caused the pivot pin to work loose, which had caused the brake pedal to collapse against the floorboard.
“The cotter pin,” I repeated carefully, although I had no idea what it might be. “What could cause the cotter pin to fall out?”
“Nothing. They don’t fall out by themselves; they have to be pulled out with a pair of pliers. There were some scratches on the pivot pin that looked like someone had done just that.”
Aware of the girls’ scrutiny, I swallowed back a few hysterical questions and asked when the car would be available. The mechanic promised to have it the next morning, and although he was obviously curious about the pin and the scratches, I said I’d be there and cut him off in mid-question.
“Joanie should be home by now,” I said, trying not to sound like someone who’d just learned of an attempt on her life. “I’ll see if I can borrow her car and take you to the aerobics class.” That would give me most of an hour to go to the Galleston’s house, break and enter, search for potassium caplets that were not potassium caplets, and pick up the girls. It was a long shot, in that the substituted caplets most likely had been replaced, but I’d decided earlier that Maribeth
might have left part of a bottle in her bedside drawer or in her bathroom. Furthermore, it was the only thing I could think of to do, and I loathe idleness.
might have left part of a bottle in her bedside drawer or in her bathroom. Furthermore, it was the only thing I could think of to do, and I loathe idleness.
“But if Peter took us, I could drive,” Caron muttered.
I sent them away with a stern order not to call Peter, then called Joanie and asked if I could borrow her car to take the girls to their class at six o’clock.
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