Carbs & Cadavers

by J. B. Stanley

“That’s exactly what I’d like to speak to you about. Can I follow you back to the library?”

  James thought quickly. “I’ve had several calls from city reporters about last night, including The Daily Progress from Charlottesville and Richmond’s Times-Dispatch. I guess they see me as some kind of hero librarian,” he lied, watching as Murphy’s eyes grew round in alarm. “So far, I haven’t talked to anyone. I’ll give you the exclusive story on one condition.”

  Murphy’s narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What’s that?”

  “I’d like you to write two stories for tomorrow’s edition.” James opened the passenger door to the Bronco and gestured for the reporter to get in. “One of them is about this weekend’s . . . uh . . . Neighbor Aid Festival.” Murphy gave him a blank look. “Trust me, it’s breaking news. I’ll explain on the way.” James pointed at her glistening mauve nail polish. “Watch out for your nails.”

  Murphy slid carefully into the car, her hands wriggling in front of her like a pair of large spiders weaving a web. She was uncharacteristically taciturn.

  Jackson Henry threw The Star down on the table in disgust. “That woman spreads poison faster than a nest of water moccasins.”

  James looked up in surprise. He hadn’t seen his father read the daily paper for months. Reaching across the table, he took the crumpled pages from Jackson and examined the latest headline. PARENTS OF HIT AND RUN LIVE IN FEAR it read.

  “And what in the hell is this Neighbor Aid?” Jackson grumbled, sinking a pair of yellowed teeth into a piece of crisp raisin toast dripping with butter.

  James continued scanning the front page, pleased to see that the entire bottom half of the page had been devoted to the upcoming festival. Murphy’s article on the Livingstones was touching and heartfelt. The enormous photo of Whitney in pigtails standing in front of Goodbee’s Drug Store with an ice cream cone in hand was perfect. Her youth, innocence, and vulnerability shone through the eyes of the sweet, knobby-kneed six-year-old, and reminded people that she was a child belonging to the community of Quincy’s Gap.

  “This reporter is trying to get the townsfolk together to raise money for this young woman, Whitney Livingstone.” James pointed at the more recent photo of Whitney taken at her high school graduation. “She’s a part-time college student and a waitress at Dolly’s. She’s the girl I found lying in the ditch two nights ago.”

  Jackson squinted at the photo. “I know her. She’s from good people. Her daddy used to work for me before he started that roofin’ business. Should have stayed with me, too. He could have gotten a job at . . .” Jackson couldn’t speak the name of the new hardware store. “Well, he would have had insurance if he was with them when his heart gave out.”

  James was stunned. Not only did his father know of Beau’s troubles, but he actually said something nice about the family in the same breath. “What are you going to do to help them out, set up a tutoring tent?” Jackson sneered, adapting his regular scowl.

  So much for a change of disposition, James thought. “There’s going to be a silent auction Saturday night. I’m donating all of my vintage Marvel comic books and a few signed first edition books.”

  “Those books worth anything?” Jackson asked.

  “Folks will pay good money for these. They’re horror books by really famous authors.” James wondered why his father was so curious about the subject.

  “Maybe you should sell them and get our roof fixed,” Jackson grumbled, getting up from the table without clearing his plate. At the door leading outside, he paused and without turning said, “I’m going to leave a box in your truck for you to sell at the auction. I don’t want it opened ’til you bring it out to the field on Saturday, understand?”

  James stared at his father’s lean back, perplexed.

  “Understand?” Jackson cast a fierce stare over his bony shoulder. It was a stare that allowed for no argument.

  “Yes, sir.” James muttered, reduced to a seven-year-old child once again. “I understand.”

  The Fitzgerald brothers were in a tizzy over the allotment of the float prize funds. Francis wanted to spend all the money on DVDs and audio books, Scott wanted to update the library’s ancient matrix printer and buy a laser printer as well as a new copier machine. James wanted to add another computer terminal to their single computer station. In the end, they decided to purchase more audio books and some large print books for the bookmobile to take to the homebound. They also agreed to buy the laser printer and charge the patrons per printed page so that they’d make enough money to pay for ink cartridges and paper.

  “If I sell the old printer on eBay, can we use the funds along with the money from our donated book sales to buy some DVDs?” Francis asked.

  “Absolutely,” James agreed, feeling buoyant over the changes they were making. “I was also thinking that we might start a bit of a side business to benefit this branch.”

  The twins gazed at him with interest.

  “You’re both strong in the math and sciences. I’m not so bad at English and history. What do you think about us providing some tutoring? We’ll ask for donations in order to buy that new computer. We can use the meeting room for our sessions.” He turned to Scott. “If we do really well, a new copier will be next.”

  “I’m in.” Scott assented. “I’d like to add computer classes to that roster once we get another terminal. Tons of people want to learn how to use e-mail or surf the Internet, but they don’t want to go to the community college to do it.”

  “We could also help our patrons write their resumes or fine-tune college or work applications. I’ll write an ad to put in The Star about the tutoring.” Francis jumped up. “Meeting adjourned, Professor?”

  “Yes, gentlemen.” James smiled. “Good work. See you tomorrow.”

  James was just putting on his heavy barn jacket when the phone at the circulation desk rang. He waved to Mrs. Waxman, who was just walking in to begin the evening shift, and picked up the bleating phone.

  “Professor Henry?” James recognized the voice of Caroline Livingstone. “I thought you’d like to know. Whitney’s awake. She’d like to see you and Miss Hanover. Can you come?”

  “I’m on my way!” James answered with elation and dashed out into the cold.

  Lucy was already waiting outside of Whitney’s room when James arrived. She held a plate of oatmeal cookies in her hands and gave him a smile.

  “I only ate two spoonfuls of this cookie dough. Believe me, that’s major.”

  “I think you’re looking thinner, Lucy.” James looked at her momentarily and then eyed the cookies hungrily.

  “So are you, but let’s not blow it by giving into sugar cravings,” Lucy said, noting the direction of James’s longing glance. “Anyway, I bet Whitney’s parents have hardly eaten since they got here.” She knocked on the wooden door.

  Caroline opened it a crack, and her face clearly expressed relief at seeing James and Lucy. “Sorry,” she explained, “but reporters from all over northern Virginia have been trying to get in here. Seems like Murphy Alistair made a few calls and now we’re the ‘big story.’”

  “I think she’s actually trying to help,” James said in a muffled voice. Hospitals were like churches or libraries in that he felt the need to whisper within their walls.

  “And I believe I know the folks behind this Neighbor Aid Festival, too.” Caroline wagged a finger at them both. “There aren’t enough days to thank y’all for what you’ve done for us. Beau raced home to finish the Pet Palace he had started before . . . Well, come in and see Whitney.”

  Whitney was propped up in her twin hospital bed, an IV tube coming out of her left arm and a cast on her right. Her face was swollen and bruised, but she offered a crooked grin when they entered and then quickly stopped smiling. James could only assume that the expression caused her discomfort. Lucy pulled up a chair and took Whitney’s hand.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Caroline offered, but Whitney shook her head.

  “Mom,” she
croaked, her voice sounding scratchy and unused. “You need to hear this, too.”

  Warily, Caroline sat in a faded red recliner by the window. As there were no more chairs, James remained standing, feeling awkward.

  “First of all, thank you.” She gazed and James and attempted another smile. “I hear I owe you my life.”

  James reached over and patted her arm lightly, above the cast. “I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time.”

  “And I owe you an apology,” Whitney continued, turning her eyes on Lucy. “You’ve been so kind to me and I lied to you.”

  Lucy nodded silently. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll make it right, okay?”

  Whitney nodded weakly. “Mom, when you and Daddy went to that anniversary party, I had some friends over. Actually, they’re not even friends. We just had something in common to talk about.”

  “Brinkley Myers?” Lucy guessed.

  “Yes.” Whitney released a deep sigh. “Brinkley asked me for money. He asked us all for money.”

  Caroline’s face crumpled. “What for, darling?”

  “’Cause he knew secrets about all of us, Mom. I’m going to tell you mine. It’s been eatin’ me up inside for months.”

  “Go ahead,” Lucy prompted when Caroline didn’t speak.

  “I’m a horrible writer. When I had to write those three essays to apply to James Madison, I knew I would never get in, so I paid another girl to write them for me. Brinkley found out and threatened to call the dean of admissions and tell them.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I’m not a liar, I’m really not. If JMU ever saw my true writing, they’d know I cheated and I’d be kicked out. I’ve avoided that so far by not takin’ any English courses.” She cast James an apologetic look. “Thing is, I had no more money to give Brinkley. With JMU’s tuition and helping out at home . . .”

  “Honey, couldn’t one of your teachers have helped you with those essays?” Caroline asked in shock.

  “Yeah, sure they would have. I took the easy route out. That was before Dad’s accident. I didn’t see things like I do now. I was just in a rush to move on, to get out of town and become a career woman, makin’ the big bucks. I’m real sorry, Mom.”

  “So Brinkley was blackmailing you?” Lucy clarified.

  “I paid him a few hundred dollars, but he kept at me. I’d have to quit school to keep paying him and then what would be the point? I was going to call his bluff next time he bugged me about money, but then . . . he died.”

  Lucy asked gently. “You had nothing to do with that, right?”

  Whitney’s eyes grew round. “No! I really didn’t, Ms. Hanover. Swear to God!”

  “I believe you,” Lucy assured the wounded girl. The room filled with silence.

  “Do you remember what happened last night?” James finally asked, changing topics.

  Whitney shook her head. “I was walking home from Dolly’s. Some asshole stole my bike.” She looked sheepish for having cursed. “Sorry, Mom. The rain came out of nowhere, so I walked on the road to keep my sneakers from getting soaked. Next thing I know, I’m here.”

  “So you never saw the car?”

  “I saw headlights and I moved off to the side. I turned around, but only for a second. I feel like I saw something, something weird, but I can’t remember what.”

  James and Lucy were silent.

  “So who else was at your house the night your parents were away?” Lucy inquired in an authoritative tone. “It’s time to tell me now, honey.”

  Whitney didn’t answer.

  “Amelia Flowers was there,” James stated. “You might as well admit that.”

  “How did you know that?” Whitney was startled.

  “The day Brinkley died, he was probably going to ask Amelia for money, too. What did he have on her, Whitney?”

  The young woman closed her eyes. “It’s not for me to spill her secrets, Professor. I’m sorry, I know I owe you more than that, but I just can’t.”

  Even though James could see that Lucy was frustrated, he couldn’t help but respect Whitney’s sense of honor.

  “The sheriff will be here asking you the same questions!” Lucy practically shouted. “He’s not going to let you off this easily. Someone tried to kill you, Whitney! This isn’t over!”

  Whitney began to cry and Caroline hustled from her seat to stand protectively at her daughter’s side. “That’s enough for now, please. I’ll try talking to her later, but right now . . . I just think she’s been through enough.”

  Lucy bowed her head in shame. “Of course. I apologize. I just want to make sure no one else gets hurt. I’m real worried about your daughter.”

  Caroline nodded and then turned to enfold her daughter’s head gently in her arms. She began to hum softly as she pressed a light kiss on Whitney’s forehead. “Momma’s here,” they heard her croon as they closed the door. “No one is gonna hurt my baby ever again.”

  The spectacle that had become Neighbor Aid was one that James Henry would remember for the rest of his life. In just a few short days, the entire town had pitched together to set up a charity event the likes of which Quincy’s Gap had never seen. The festival came to life in the unused field behind the strip mall housing the Yuppie Puppy and lasted from early in the morning until dusk.

  The work began at dawn on Wednesday with a few of the farmers who drove their industrial tractors into town at 15 miles per hour in order to mow the field. Next, the county’s only party rental store, Party Like It’s 1999, from the nearby town of Elkton, erected their entire supply of large tents across the mowed field. Volunteers from Elkton helped the party store set up the tents and line the interiors with long tables for displaying goods as well as creating a dining area for those who wanted to sit and have a meal.

  Dolly and Clint posted a sign on the diner door that they would be closed all day on Saturday and that should patrons wish to eat, they should visit the Dolly’s Diner booth at Neighbor Aid. Il Pomodoro, the local Italian restaurant, did the same. These eateries were joined by the Sweet Tooth, an ice cream parlor called Cups ’n’ Cones from the town of Alma, and Adam’s Ribs, a barbecue joint all the way from Keezietown.

  “They have the world’s best chili cheese fries!” James heard a woman exclaim to her husband as they quickly jumped at the end of the long lunchtime line in front of the Adam’s Ribs booth.

  Further down the line of tents, James spied Gillian and her assistant beneath a hand-painted banner reading “On the Spot.” The two women were giving baths and nail clippings to a queue of dogs. Gillian and her mall neighbor, Mary Ann Pulasky of Shear Elegance, had bought extra-long hoses and extension cords in order to provide their customers with shampoos and rinses. They were offering a “Parent and Pooch” special in which dogs and their owners could receive a simultaneous beauty treatment. Luckily for Gillian, Mary Ann, and especially the Livingstones, the weather was cooperating by providing a rare sixty-degree day replete with sunshine and cloudless November sky.

  Men and women filled the fields, eating, purchasing goods donated from local businesses, or leaving bids at the silent auction tables. Children had their faces painted by a group of high school girls and someone had rented a mammoth moonwalk for the younger kids to bounce around inside. Pony rides, sponsored by Shilling’s Stables, as well as a dressage and jumping demonstration conducted by the Shilling trainers, were a big hit. James was just watching one of the stable’s horse trailers back into a makeshift paddock when a woman’s voice called out his name.

  “Professor!” James turned to see Murphy Alistair beaming at him. “Looks like my friend from The Washington Post came through for us. He put a short piece on Whitney and our festival in the ‘Arts & Living’ section and is even sending a staff writer out to cover the event!”

  James took in Murphy’s triumphant expression and put a hand on her shoulder. “You did a good thing, Ms. Alistair. Look at the positive power media can have. I wish more reporters were like you.”

  Murphy’s e
yes shone. “I’m not all that bad, Professor. Not all reporters are scum any more than all librarians are prudes.” She gave him a penetrating stare.

  James felt his face growing warm. Was Murphy flirting with him? He took in her short, stylish, blonde-streaked brown hair and hazel eyes before the honking of a horn distracted his attention. The trailer stopped, and a woman with a puff of hair dyed a shade of platinum bordering on ghost-white and dressed in a pink skirt suit and beige leather pumps descended from the passenger seat of a white Shilling’s Stables pick-up truck.

  “Who is that?” James asked Murphy, who was watching the woman with intense interest. Before she could answer, a silver Porsche convertible pulled next to the trailer.

  “Don’t see many of those kind of cars around here,” James observed.

  “That must be Chase Radford, the senator’s son.” Murphy pointed at the tall youth as he leapt out of the car and raced around the hood to open the passenger door. “Rumor has it that he’s been dating Allison Shilling. Hmm. Looks like the ladies from Shear Elegance are right for once.” Murphy made a few adjustments to her digital camera as she and James watched Chase help Allison out of the car and then plant a demure kiss on her cheek. “I’d better get some shots of them.” Murphy hurried away.

  Without realizing it, James found himself trailing behind the energetic reporter. As he watched a trainer from Shilling’s Stables unload a beautifully sleek horse from the newly arrived trailer, he spotted Lindy and a group of high school students manning a large table covered with pottery to the left of the horse paddock.

  Trying to ignore the pungent combination of barbecue and horse droppings, James headed over to Lindy’s booth. Lindy was busily selling her students’ art. Bowls and pitchers in glossy jewel-toned glazes were flying off the table. Two high school boys were furiously unpacking vases, plates, and mugs in earth-tone glazes. At the neighboring table, two friendly female students were selling watercolor paintings, charcoal drawings, and African masks created from papier mâché.

  “Hey, Lindy!” James sidled up to her table. One of the boys gazed at Lindy with interest.