Fit to Die (7 page)

Lucy squeezed Willy’s arm with a bit more pressure, trying to lead him away from the scene. “Come on Willy, let’s get you home.”

“I know you’re tryin’ to spare me pain, friend, but I gotta know.” Willy gently shook off Lucy’s arm and appealed to the others. “I’ve gotta go down.”

James understood. “Then we’re coming with you.”

As the group of seven approached what was left of the Polar Pagoda, Deputy Keith Donovan raced over to them before they could all duck under the yellow tape.

“Whoa there, folks,” he said, holding up his hand like a traffic director. “That tape is there to keep civilians like yourselves safe from harm.” He looked directly at Lucy as he said this, deliberately taunting her for being an administrator in the Sheriff’s Department and not a bona fide member of law enforcement.

“This is my place,” Willy said calmly and stepped over the tape. “I need to know what’s happened here.”

“We’ll inform you in due time.” Donovan stepped in front of Willy and ran a hand through his unkempt orange hair, which was flecked with ashes and other debris. “Damn!” he yelled, shaking his head violently as black flakes flew onto his shoulders and trickled down the front of his uniform. As he focused on dusting himself off, Willy walked briskly past him and approached Sheriff Huckabee.

James could hear him politely introducing himself before the Sheriff could utter the slightest protest over his presence within the restricted area. The sheriff’s face was unreadable, but he shook Willy’s hand in apparent sympathy and then pulled him farther away from James and the others and began to talk in a hushed tone as he gestured between the ambulance and the ruined building. As James watched, Willy suddenly covered his face with his hands and moaned loudly. Sheriff Huckabee gazed at him with compassion and patted him awkwardly on the back.

Spotting Willy’s friends, Huckabee’s walrus-like mustache suddenly flared in anger and he bellowed at Donovan. “Get them out of here, Deputy!”

Although Keith Donovan did his best to push and shove the remaining six onlookers back beyond the tape, most of them, including James and Lucy, caught a clear glimpse of the gurney as it was wheeled to the silent ambulance. A figure lay unmoving under a thin shroud. James stared at the form, which was completely covered beneath a white sheet that had a sickly yellowish tinge below the headlights of the truck.

“What happened, Keith?” Lucy asked Donovan quietly. “Is it Pete?”

“Oh, come on, Lucy,” he answered crossly instead. “You’ll stick your nose into everything soon enough. I’m sure you’ll have read every single one of our reports and tell all your friends here every tiny, little detail by noon tomorrow.”

Lucy’s brow clouded. “Well since I have to type the reports, I guess I will be reading them, but it doesn’t take a deputy to know that Pete was scheduled to be working in that ice cream shop tonight. If it’s not Pete, then who is it?”

Her taunting succeeded in confirming their worst fears. Donovan gave James a final shove directly into the tape and spat, “So it’s Pete. Good for you, Miss I-Went-To-College. But since you can’t get near the scene, bein’ it’s a crime scene, I guess you won’t be figurin’ out how exactly Pete met his fiery end, now will you?”

“I guess I’d have to start by wondering if he drank all of the contents of those two whiskey bottles you brought out as evidence,” Lucy said, using a mockingly innocent tone.

Donovan’s freckled white skin grew mottled with anger. “I’ve got work to do! Why don’t you and your friends go hang out at the Shoney’s buffet and let the rest of us do our jobs?” And with that rejoinder, Donovan stalked away.

The group watched as Donovan began to confer animatedly with Sheriff Huckabee. As they spoke, the paramedics slammed the rear door of the ambulance, asked Huckabee to apply his signature to a document on their clipboard, and then drove off. The ambulance wheels crunched over small pieces of wood and dark shards of broken glass, and then glided silently through the empty parking lot and out of view over the top of the hill. Huckabee followed the departing vehicle with his eyes while pulling roughly on his mustache, then he sighed loudly, checked his watch, and gestured toward Willy. After placing a kind hand on the man’s shoulder, Huckabee steered him over to Donovan’s car and opened the passenger door for him. He then gesticulated at Donovan, indicating that the deputy should chauffeur Willy back to his car. Before sliding into the patrol car, Willy looked up at his new friends and gave them a small wave accompanied by the best smile he could muster. They all waved back, but none could force smiles to their own lips.

“It’s getting late.” Gillian glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a toy poodle coming in at eight tomorrow for the works.” She sighed. “I wish there was something we could do for that poor man.”

“Yeah, poor Willy.” Lucy gazed at their new friend as he faced forward inside the sheriff’s patrol car. “What’s he going to do now?”

“Lord only knows,” Bennett sighed. “He’ll have to find somethin’ to do to keep him on his feet until his place is rebuilt. Come on, men. Mondays are always busy at the post office. The mail never sleeps, so we’d better.”

Lindy gave everyone a quick hug as she and Gillian turned to leave. “I wish our last night out before the diet starts had been more uplifting. We must tell Willy we’ll all help him in any way we can. See y’all at tomorrow’s Witness to Fitness meeting. At least we get to see Ronnie. She’s so sweet! She’s sure to cheer us all up!”

“Yeah, see you then,” James mumbled miserably. He didn’t think he could stomach Ronnie’s chipper demeanor after such a sobering evening. He watched as the rising smoke began to dissipate and mingle with a group of silvery clouds high above them. Stars winked in and out of the gray veil as if too shy to allow themselves to be seen.

Life can change so quickly, James thought, reflecting on his own life and Willy’s recent tragedy. He thought of Pete and what his dreams must have been when he was a young man. No one planned on being a drunken janitor, so what had happened? Did he fail to pursue a higher education? Was he afraid to take risks and therefore ended up living from bottle to bottle as he searched for just enough part-time work to keep the wolves at bay?

James turned to watch Lucy’s form recede toward the other end of the parking lot. Suddenly, he was overtaken with the desire to connect with her.

He glanced over at Bennett who was unlocking the door to his truck. “You coming James?” he called as he hopped in.

“No. Go on without me,” James answered and then clumsily jogged in Lucy’s direction. “Lucy!” he shouted. She stopped and pivoted, her face a mixture of alarm and curiosity.

James panted as he caught up to her. “God, I hate running.” He put a hand over his aching lungs. “Man’s body just isn’t designed for that kind of exercise. Listen. Could I … ?”

Lucy looked at him with a small measure of impatience. “It’s pretty late, James.”

“I know, I know.” James inhaled a gulp of foggy air. “Could you give me a lift back to my car?”

“Of course.” She nodded and James was grateful she hadn’t asked why he wasn’t riding back with Bennett and Carter. The inside of her car still doubled as a trash receptacle. James remembered that the last time he had ridden in it, the passenger seat had been entirely covered by used napkins, clothing catalogues, old newspapers, gum wrappers, and paper bags. Lucy swept the debris into the back seat as James sat down, nudging aside a few soda cans as they rolled around his feet.

They pulled onto the main road and James knew that he only had a few, precious minutes with Lucy, as it wouldn’t take long to reach the library lot. To James, it seemed as though he had parked the Bronco on a completely different night. He shared this thought with Lucy.

“You just never know what’s around the bend,” she agreed, shaking her head.

James gathered up his courage and spoke what was on his mind. “Lucy, I just wanted to ask you … I … um … if you would have coffee with me after work on Tuesday.”

Lucy’s face lightened up. “Of course I would. Any particular reason?”

James felt encouraged by her warm smile. “I need to talk to you about … well, about a couple of things.”

“Sounds good,” she nodded and then glanced at him sideways while flashing him one of her dazzling smiles. “If you beat me there, I’ll take a mocha latte.”

“That’s probably not going to be on our diet,” James laughed as they pulled up next to his Bronco.

“Ugh, that’s right.” Lucy frowned, putting the Jeep in park as the engine idled. “Okay, a decaf with skim then. I guess I have to get used to making some sacrifices again. I hope this all works out for us James.”

James didn’t know whether she was referring to their diet plans or to something more important, such as their relationship. “I hope so, too,” he answered as he got out of the car.

As he drove toward home, Lucy’s smile temporarily banished all thoughts of the fire and of poor Pete Vandercamp. In fact, James was already dreaming of how he would look after losing twenty pounds, of a successful date with Lucy on Tuesday, and after that, perhaps a whole new future.

James took a bite of his sandwich and frowned. Two slices of fat-free turkey along with lettuce, tomato, and mustard on whole wheat wasn’t too exciting and he had a hard time enjoying any sandwich without adding his customary three creamy slices of American cheese. He was crossly examining the sliced Granny Smith apple and microscopic packet of sugar-free chocolate cookie wafers he planned to have after wolfing down his sandwich when Scott Fitzgerald, one of the library’s four staff members, entered the break room.

“Looks healthy, Professor,” the lanky young man in his mid-twenties said as he grabbed a brown bag from the fridge. Pushing his horn-rimmed glasses farther up his thin nose he examined his boss’s fare while pulling out an enormous hoagie filled with salami, pepperoni, and several slices of mozzarella from his own lunch sack. James glanced at Scott’s loaded sandwich, large bag of sour cream and onion potato chips, and package of Hostess cupcakes with envy.

“So how’s the new diet working out?” Scott asked, brushing aside a sandy-colored lock of unruly hair from his forehead before taking a gargantuan bite of his hoagie.

“I’ve really just started,” James answered once his own mouth was empty. “We’ve got our first exercise class tonight.”

“Yuck. I hate exercising.” Scott took another bite and a trickle of vinegar ran down his angular chin. He chewed feverishly, as if someone intended to steal his food and then hastily swallowed. “Guess Francis and I are pretty lucky, having the metabolisms we have. Shoot, we try to gain weight but never seem to be able to.” Scott paused, unaware that his boss was glaring at him. “Did you get a load of the new Robert Jordan book? Almost eight hundred pages! I can’t wait to get it home. I’ll probably stay up all night tonight. Francis won’t even notice ’cause he’s got the new Neal Stephenson to keep him busy.”

James couldn’t help but grin as Scott rambled on about his and his twin brother’s recent reads in the science fiction and fantasy realms. Even though they were named after a famous twentieth century American author, Francis and Scott Fitzgerald had little interest in classical literature. They were savvy mathematicians, quick at solving complex logistical problems, and were compulsively organized. James enjoyed working with them more than any of the professors from his former department at William & Mary. For one, the twins were the most enthusiastic employees he had ever seen. They worked tirelessly and were completely devoted to seeing that every patron’s needs were met. In addition, they were continuously dreaming up new schemes on how to improve their library branch. However, not even the sharp-minded twins had been able to come up with a fundraiser idea that would allow for the purchase of several new computers, which were so desperately needed.

James polished off his thin cookies and was silently wishing three more bags of them would materialize out of thin air when Francis burst into the staff room.

“Professor!” he whispered urgently, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Things are getting a little hairy at the computer terminals. Mrs. Hughes claims that Mr. Tuttle has gone way over the thirty-minute allotment but Mr. Tuttle refuses to budge. She’s threatening to sit right down on his lap if he doesn’t move. I tried to intervene but …”

“That’s all right, Francis. Why don’t you have some lunch and I’ll handle this.”

Clearly relieved, Francis strode over to the fridge and pulled out a lunch bag twice the size of Scott’s. “We’ve just got to come up with a stellar fundraiser idea, bro. I can’t take this kind of conflict,” James heard him say to Scott.

James couldn’t agree more. The computers had become more and more popular with patrons of all ages and there was rarely a time during the library’s working hours when someone wasn’t anxiously waiting for one of the two PCs. And thirty minutes didn’t turn out to be very long when it took each of the archaic hard drives several minutes to complete even the smallest of tasks. The result had been friction among the patrons. The Shenandoah County Library was a place meant for peace and quiet discovery, not for patrons pacing with impatience or getting into heated arguments.

Out in the nook between fiction and nonfiction where the two computer terminals were set up, Mrs. Hughes stood with her hands resting on her formidable hips and a deep scowl wrinkling her face. She was normally a cheerful, pleasant lady, and James always tried to get in her checkout lane at the Food Lion as she was the speediest cashier and bagger in Quincy’s Gap. She could process and pack a week’s worth of groceries in under three minutes.

Mrs. Hughes latched onto James’s fleshy upper arm. “Oh, Professor! Thank the Lord you’re here! I’m trying to bid on an online auction and Mr. Tuttle here won’t get off this machine. I’ve been timin’ him since I came in and it’s been well over forty minutes since he first got on.”

Mr. Tuttle, a small, balding, middle-aged man with a pasty complexion turned a pair of narrow eyes upon James. “Hey, I’m lookin’ for work here. Isn’t that a bit more important than somethin’ this woman wants to go shoppin’ for? I got a pile a bills at home high as the Appalachians, so I need more time on this here computer.”

James indicated a sign hanging over the two computers. “You know there’s a limit, Mr. Tuttle. You’ll have to relinquish your machine until Mrs. Hughes has had her thirty minutes.”

Mr. Tuttle slammed a fist down next to the keyboard. “Damnation, man! I’ve been out of a job for three months and I can’t even use my own library’s computer to look for a new one? What kind of public works joint is this after all? I paid my taxes like everyone else.” He stepped away from the computer and gesticulated angrily at a spinner rack containing romance novels. “Instead of buyin’ that trash, why don’t you spend our tax money on gettin’ some more computers in here?”

As James opened his mouth to reply, a man with a briefcase tapped on the shoulder of the young woman using the second computer. James recognized her. It was Amelia Flowers, daughter of Megan Flowers, who owned the Sweet Tooth, the town’s only bakery. Amelia worked for her mother part-time and also attended classes at the community college. James knew that she was interested in fashion design.

“My turn, missy.” The man plunked his briefcase down on the floor next to Amelia’s cavernous book bag.

“One sec. I just need to print this article,” Amelia replied without looking up from the screen. She continued typing as Mrs. Hughes slid into the empty seat next to her.

“Why, hello Amelia. You doin’ work for school?”

“Hi, Mrs. Hughes. Yeah, I got a paper due for my History of Fashion course and the books here aren’t as up to date as some of the articles I found on this awesome website.”

“How nice, dear. I know your mama is awful proud of you for goin’ to college and all.” She tapped on the computer screen. “I’m gonna bid on a Petal Princess Barbie doll for my granddaughter. She’s been collectin’ them since she was five and her ninth birthday’s comin’ up.”

“That’s just great, ladies,” the man with the briefcase said acidly. “But I’ve got some stock prices to check and I’m on my lunch break, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to have my turn.”

At that moment, the printer jammed in the middle of the ten-page task it was performing for Amelia.

“Sir,” James held out a pacifying hand to the agitated male patron before he tried to physically remove Amelia from her chair. “Let me just fix the printer and then it will be your turn next. Amelia? Is this article all you needed to print?”

Amelia nodded at James. “That’s all, Professor. Thanks.” She then cast an irritated glance at the man standing over her shoulder and added, “I couldn’t work in this hostile atmosphere anymore anyway.”

James tugged at the crumpled piece of paper blocking the printer. It ripped into several raggedy pieces but finally tore free. He then reset the print job and sighed with relief as the machine reluctantly resumed working. Noticing that his hands were now covered with smudges of black ink, James apologized to all his patrons for their inconvenience at having to share two computers and then headed to the restroom to wash up.

Francis was already in the men’s room as James entered. The twin was rubbing his glasses absently, his eyes staring at the mirror without actually absorbing any of the details of his own reflection.

“Lost in thought there, Francis?”

Francis started and dropped his glasses in the sink. Without bothering to dry them off, he shoved them onto his face and turned to James. “I’ve got it, Professor!” he exclaimed happily. “I know how we can raise the money we need for the computers.”

James began scrubbing his hands with pink liquid soap. “That would certainly be nice. If Mrs. Hughes doesn’t get that Barbie for her granddaughter before her thirty minutes are up, I think she and Mr. Tuttle are going to come to blows.”

Francis screwed up his lips in thought. “I’d have to bet on Mrs. Hughes to win that fight. I’ve seen her toss twenty-pound watermelons into people’s carts like they were bags of cotton balls.”

“Your idea, Francis?” James reminded him.

“Oh, right! Well, Scott came up with half of it. Anyway, we thought the library should host a Spring Fling.”

James was unimpressed with the title. “Like last year’s Spring Book Drive & Bake Sale? The library only made a couple hundred dollars from that event.”

“That’s because you weren’t here, Professor. You’ve got more vision than our former employer. This Spring Fling would be a cross between a book drive and a county fair. We could have it at the beginning of next month, when the weather is so nice.” Francis opened the door and James followed the exuberant young man out of the restroom and behind the circulation desk. Francis drew out a piece of paper with a flourish. “Here, I made a quick sketch of how we could arrange things in that empty field behind the strip mall. It worked so well for the benefit last fall and we don’t need to pay anyone to use it—we’d just need to get permission from the mall owners to allow for parking and we’re good to go.”

James leaned over the drawing and tried to decode Francis’s scraggly handwriting. “Does this say ‘Pig Race Course’?” he asked incredulously, pointing to a wobbly oval in the center of the paper.

Francis beamed. “Sure does! We could have two contests. One could be a pig race. That’ll appeal to a lot of folks, including men. It seems like we always have women at our events, but rarely men or children. Now, if we get some carnival rides and food booths like they’ve got at the state fair, we can attract a huge crowd.”

“Then we’d have to charge admission.” James frowned, concerned over the logistics of such a large event.

“Yes, sir. We’d also charge for people to enter the pig race and the Ladies’ Hat Contest. The winners would receive cash prizes. Scott and I think the cash will encourage more folks to enter.”

James looked at Francis in surprise. “Ladies’ Hat Contest?”

“Well, we haven’t worked out the details of that one yet, but it’s a bit different than the usual boring bake-off. Megan Flowers would win any baking contest we held anyway.”

James agreed on that point. “Well, we should remind folks that this event is about the library. What if it was a hat contest with a book-title theme? The ladies could parade in front of a panel of judges and then be awarded first, second, and third-place prizes.”

“That’s good, Professor!” Francis beamed. “Boy, if I were a lady I’d design the coolest War of the Worlds hat or maybe a—”

“This is a rather large undertaking, Francis,” James interrupted before Francis could fantasize about the creation of a dozen hats based on his favorite works. “I think we should limit the number of outside vendors we have for the first year and see how things go. I’m sure we could get Dolly’s Diner and the Sweet Tooth to set up food stalls and we could hire a few ride and game vendors, but we don’t want to get too big for our britches. We could lose money if we don’t sell enough tickets.” James paused. “But overall, it really is a great idea. This library branch is very fortunate to have you and Scott. If we could just make enough for two more computer terminals …” James trailed off as he dreamed of new machinery being placed by the windows and of a row of beaming patrons applauding their arrival.