Carbs & Cadavers

by J. B. Stanley

  This is my segue, James thought as Darryl walked over to the Bronco, staring openly at the comely brunette. “You get customers like that all the time?” James whispered, jerking his head toward the woman.

  “Not as often as I wish!” Darryl exclaimed, eyeing the woman’s legs. He got into the Bronco and drove it expertly into the bay. As he popped the hood, he cast one more glance at the brunette as she walked back to her car from the Food Mart. “Man, I love a chick in cowboy boots.”

  “I hope your girlfriend knows that,” James joked.

  “Tsss,” Darryl made a sound through the mound of tobacco. “She doesn’t wear boots, but she’s pretty hot, too.”

  “Like model hot?” James prodded, feeling idiotically transparent.

  “Yep,” Darryl replied offhandedly, absorbed in his examination of the Bronco.

  “Lucky man.” James looked around the garage. Behind him was a cluttered desk bearing a half-empty liter bottle of Mountain Dew and a soiled Atlanta Braves baseball cap. Above the desk was a bulletin board covered with phone numbers, parts diagrams, and a poster of a blonde in a bikini draped over the hood of a black Ferrari.

  Darryl raised his face from his inspection and laughed. “That’s not my girlfriend!” He gestured at the poster and laughed. “She did one modeling job, but it wasn’t her thing. You’ve probably seen her around. Her ma owns the Sweet Tooth and she works over there.” Darryl sounded proud that his girlfriend held a steady job that required hard work but not a college education.

  “I love that place,” James said truthfully. “Sure, I think your girlfriend has helped me there before. She’s great. Her name’s Amelia, right?”

  “That’s her.” Darryl climbed inside the Bronco and began tinkering within the steering column.

  “I bet Amelia’s had a rough time lately, huh? With that ex-football player dying in her shop. She doing okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s a tough nut.” Darryl scowled at the steering wheel, and then turned the engine over. He removed the key and to James’s astonishment, the engine kept running. Other than the frown he wore over the mechanical puzzle before him, Darryl seemed completely unfazed by much of anything, including the mention of Brinkley’s death.

  “You look like you might have played some ball yourself.” James filled his voice with admiration.

  “I was on defense. Not the same kind of glory as guys like Brinkley get.” He paused. “Got,” he added apologetically.

  “Were you two friends?” James winced, hoping he wasn’t pushing it too hard.

  “We hung out now and then after we graduated, but he started acting funny a few months ago, and I started hanging out more and more with my girl. You know how it goes. Once a woman’s got her hooks in you . . . look out! There goes your free time.” Darryl sounded delighted to be able to complain about having a relationship.

  James was stumped. Not only did it appear that Darryl felt no animosity toward his one-time friend, but he gave no indication that he knew about Brinkley and his blackmail scheme.

  “It must be tough to come up with the extra dough to work on your Bronco,” James commiserated. “All the long hours here and then you need spending money for your girlfriend. I don’t know how guys like you work so hard.” James fidgeted as he prepared to lie. “The only times I saw Brinkley he was eating at the diner or lazing about the video store, checking out three or four movies. Guess he had no girlfriend to spend cash on, huh?”

  Darryl shrugged. “He always claimed to have more than one. Who knows? Girls thought he was the bomb.” He paused, adjusting something out of James’s view behind the dashboard. “I don’t know where he got his extra jack from, either. He didn’t mow that many lawns.” He grunted in exertion and then jumped out of the car and disappeared under the hood again. “I think I know what’s going on here!” he announced, pulling open a drawer near the desk and fishing out a tool. James froze. His gig was up and Darryl was calling his bluff. But to James’s surprise, the young man pointed excitedly to the Bronco and asked, “You leave your car outside at night?” as he slipped back inside the car.

  James leaned into the driver’s-side door. “Yes.”

  “Does it keep running like this in the summer or only in the colder months?”

  James thought about the question and then exclaimed, “Only when it’s cold! I never noticed that before.”

  “Yep, you’ve got a bad battery lead. It makes your battery drain in cold weather. I can fix that. I also think we should make a copy of your key. I think the original, this one that the dealer gave you, is messed up.” He pointed at the ignition. “The tumblers connect to the ignition switch and I think this key pushes the tumblers on its way out. It’s only supposed to hit them on the way in. I can file your new key down a bit and then your problem should be solved. Can you leave it here today?”

  James stared at Darryl in amazement. “Man, you’re a magician. I can’t, because I’ve got to get back to work, but I can drop it off first thing in the morning and catch a ride from a friend.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll put you down for tomorrow.” Darryl jotted a note in his appointment book. As he wrote, the sound of police sirens cresting the hill near the gas station broke the midday stillness.

  Two brown Sheriff’s Department cars pulled erratically in front of the garage and came to a grinding halt, inches behind James’s truck.

  “What the hell?” Darryl dropped his pencil in shock.

  Sheriff Huckabee and Deputy Donovan leapt from their cars and hustled over to the young mechanic. Their faces reflected a grim determination that immediately set James on edge.

  “Darryl Jeffries?” Sheriff Huckabee asked. “We’ve got some questions to ask you. You want to answer them here or down at the station?”

  James stood frozen in shock as Donovan turned a disdainful gaze on him. “Now just what are you—?”

  “What the hell is going on here?” the bald man who was working on the Honda suddenly demanded. “This boy committed a crime?”

  “That’s what we’re tryin’ to find out, Tom. We just need to ask him a few questions.” Sheriff Huckabee stepped closer to Darryl.

  “Well, shit! You don’t need to drive in here like the place is filled with terrorists! You’re scarin’ all my customers. Turn off the damned sirens and sit down like civilized human beings. Does he need a lawyer?”

  “No, no,” Sheriff Huckabee replied in a placating tone, never taking his eyes off of Darryl. “We’ve got a girl missin’ and we need to know if your assistant has any information for us on her whereabouts.”

  For the moment, the man named Tom, who James assumed was Darryl’s boss, seemed satisfied with the sheriff’s answer.

  “What girl? What are you talking about?” Darryl asked angrily.

  “Now calm down,” Donovan shushed him in his patronizing tone. “You act up one mite and I will drag your sorry ass downtown.”

  James thought Donovan sounded like a complete hack, like some TV cop from a B movie reciting his lines in front of the mirror. Donovan was such an unbelievably dislikable person that James wished he could think of something to say to take him down a notch or two, but he felt it was best to remain mutely in the background.

  “When was the last time you saw Amelia Flowers?” Huckabee asked.

  Darryl’s eyes flew open. “Saturday night. We worked Miller’s Haunted Hayride. Why? What’s going on? What’s happening?” His voice echoed shrilly throughout the garage.

  “This is the last time I’m warning you to calm down, son,” Donovan threatened. Tapping on his gun holster, he continued. “Seems she’s gone missin’. You were the last person anyone can recall seeing her with that night. You got anything you wanna tell us?”

  There was a long pause. Darryl shook his head, confused and worried. “Look, we hung out for a bit after the last group went through the ride, but then we split up. She said she was catching a ride with one of her friends and that’s it. I split and went home.”

 
“What time was that?” Huckabee asked.

  “Like, eleven, I guess.” Darryl held out his hands helplessly. “I’m not sure exactly.”

  “How late do you usually stay out with Miss Flowers?” Donovan continued the grilling.

  “Never past midnight. She’s got to get up pretty early to go to work.”

  Donovan scribbled some notes in his pad. “Her mama’s down at the station. She’s pretty upset. There anything you’d care to say that could make that woman feel better?” Donovan barreled on without waiting for a reply. “What exactly were you two doin’ after the hayrides were over?”

  Darryl fidgeted with the zipper on his jacket. “We were messin’ around a bit, you know. She’s my girlfriend.”

  “No,” Donovan answered meanly. “Why don’t you elaborate for us?”

  “Kissin’ and stuff,” Darryl said defensively. “We’re both adults. It’s no crime!”

  Donovan shrugged. “Maybe things got a little rough, huh? Maybe Amelia didn’t want to mess around anymore but you did. Did you get mad at her over somethin’ like that, Darryl?”

  Without warning, Darryl lunged at Donovan. The two men grappled with one another until Sheriff Huckabee intervened. He shoved Darryl into the back of his car and pulled Donovan aside to dress him down. James couldn’t hear their conversation, but he could tell from Donovan’s sagging shoulders that he was not being complimented by his superior.

  “That was provoked!” Darryl’s boss yelled. “I’m a witness! Where you takin’ that boy?”

  “Relax, Tom.” Huckabee stroked his lush, walrus-like mustache. “I’m just going to bring him down to get his statement. After he signs it, we’ll bring him right back.” The sheriff got in his car and drove off. Tom went inside the Food Mart, cursing under his breath.

  Donovan ran a hand through his hair, which was a fiery red beneath the November sunlight, and swung around. He practically spat at James, his voice a vehement hiss. “Don’t you have some library cards to stamp, Professor?”

  James waited until the second brown car had pulled out of the lot before carefully backing the Bronco out of the garage bay. He broke at least four traffic laws driving to the library, but he figured that every member of the Sheriff’s Department was busy with something much more significant—the disappearance of Amelia Flowers.

  “You’ve got mail!” James’s computer announced as he raced to check his e-mail upon returning from his dramatic lunch break. Lucy had written the supper club group about the morning’s events at the Sheriff’s Department.

  Dear F. F.s,

  I feel terrible! I think that when James and I questioned Amelia, we triggered a horrible event. Megan Flowers came to the station this morning to report that her daughter never returned home from a weekend trip to a friend’s lake house. When she called to speak to the friend, she was told that Amelia was never expected at their house at all!

  Megan brought in a note that Amelia left under the van’s windshield wiper telling her that she’d gone home with her friend Cyndi and would be heading up to Cyndi’s lake house to stay over Sunday night. With the bakery being closed on Monday, Megan had no objection, even though she thought it was weird that Amelia left the note on the van instead of in the house or inside the Sweet Tooth where Megan would have found it Sunday morning. Now that Megan’s had time to really examine the note, she also believes it may not even be Amelia’s handwriting!

  Do you all realize what this means? Brinkley’s killer and the person who ran Whitney down MUST have seen Amelia talking to me and James. Now, that person has taken her, maybe even killed her, too! We have got to have an emergency meeting today to figure out what we can do. I hope you all found out what you could about that poodle mask—that’s our only hope of finding out who’s responsible for bringing all of this violence to Quincy’s Gap.

  I’ve got to go. Murphy Alistair is here and is demanding to know what’s going on with Amelia. Apparently, they’ve brought in Darryl Jeffries for questioning.

  James, can we come to the library after work? This is serious and it’s gone way beyond me trying to play deputy. We’ve got to put our heads together and help this young woman.

  Yours,

  A Worried Lucy

  James immediately wrote back to his four friends that they should come to the library as soon as they were able and that they would shut themselves in the meeting room and figure out what to do next. He then summarized his conversation with Darryl and explained that he didn’t think the young man was capable of murder, but that was just a feeling. James knew that he would need to repeat the entire exchange in order to get his friends’ point of view.

  A few minutes before four, James told the twins to mind the fort and slipped out to the Quickie Mart to buy some kind of snack for the meeting. Truth be told, he was too restless to spend another second in the serene atmosphere of the library. He desperately needed fresh air, some loud music, and an errand to take his mind off of Amelia Flowers and her unknown fate.

  As he pulled into a parking space, he noticed a beige Jeep parked a few spots over. It looked remarkably like Lucy’s. Walking behind the other cars, James could see that someone was sitting in the driver’s seat, but he wasn’t certain if it was Lucy. All he could really see was a fuzzy pink hat with a matching scarf and a pair of shoulders covered by a black overcoat.

  Slinking off to the side so that the driver wouldn’t see him in the rearview mirror, James tried to get a closer look by pretending to duck down and tie his shoe. As he stood back up, slowly as if he had a hurt back, he could see through the rear window on the passenger side that it was Lucy. Even if he hadn’t seen the profile of her smooth cheek, James could have identified Lucy’s car by the piles of trash scattered about the back seat and floor. Just as he was about to rap on the window, James saw Lucy raise a spoon to her mouth and, having taken a large bite, sink back into her seat as if relaxing for the first time in ages.

  James craned his neck forward in order to catch a glimpse of the indulgence that was giving Lucy such obvious pleasure. When her plastic spoon was licked clean, she dipped it back into a small, cylindrical container. Loading the spoon up with a creamy, vanilla-colored substance, she returned the utensil to her mouth. James backed away from the car as if he had just caught one of his former students doing lines of cocaine. Skirting around the cars between Lucy’s Jeep and his Bronco, he sat back inside his truck until Lucy finally pulled away.

  James hurriedly went into the Quickie Mart and chose a snack for his friends. On the way out, he walked down the last aisle containing the baking products to double-check the identity of the container he saw in Lucy’s hand. It was as he feared—Lucy had been pigging out on a can of vanilla buttercream frosting.

  “I’m guilty!” Gillian wailed before the other four supper club members even had a chance to settle into the chairs in the library’s only meeting room. Gillian turned to Lindy with moist eyes, and, seeing her friend’s expression of befuddlement, pulled an orange candy bar wrapper from her cavernous purse and slapped it on the table.

  “I have committed a food crime. I had two peanut butter cups today. I had to have them!” She exhaled audibly. “I called every single pet specialty shop in Virginia that might sell poodle masks. I finally got a hit from Pampered Pooches in Richmond, but they wouldn’t reveal their customer list, no matter how much I begged. We’re going to have to tell all we know to the sheriff if we really want to do Amelia any good. Are we at a dead end?”

  “I’m a food loser, too,” Bennett moaned. “Gillian called to ask me if I remembered delivering a box with a return label from Pampered Pooches. The crazy thing is, I do remember the label ’cause it had these little paw prints all over it. I just don’t remember where I delivered it. Gillian and I cross-referenced her clients with my mail route and no one fits. I’ve been thinking about that poor girl ever since I read Lucy’s e-mail on my Palm Pilot during my coffee break. Man, I drove right to the store and bought myself some donut holes.” He loo
ked down at the table. “I’ve still got the empty box hidden beneath my seat.”

  Lindy put her hands out in front of her, wrists touching as if she were preparing to be handcuffed. “You got another cheater, here. I ate the most scrumptious chocolate-caramel candy bar I’ve ever tasted today. Delicioso! And to add to that, I had a lollipop on the way over here.” She stuck out a bright purple tongue. “Grape Tootsie Pop.”

  “It takes an average of 252 licks to get to the center according to a study done by Purdue University,” Bennett said as he watched flashes of purple from inside Lindy’s mouth as she spoke.

  “Thanks, but I bite mine. No time for 252 licks.” Lindy allowed her long hair to fall in front of her face and peered out through the shiny curtain. “What could we do to help Amelia at this point? We can’t even control ourselves from eating junk food?”

  “We can do something!” Lucy ran a pair of agitated hands over her hair. “First thing is to call Whitney and make that girl tell us who else was at her house with her and Amelia. She’ll have to tell us once she knows Amelia’s gone missing.” She turned an angry gaze upon Gillian. “And we can’t tell the sheriff now. Do you know how much trouble we’d all be in for meddling and then not sharing our information? I’d probably be fired!”

  “Let’s think this over calmly.” James stood up and spoke with an assuring, authoritative tone. “Arguing with one another will get us, and Amelia, nowhere. It’s been a hard day all around.” He pointed to the grains of orange dust gathered around the beds of his fingernails. “It took three snack bags to keep me from completely freaking out. We’ll all get back on track on our diet once this . . . these horrible events are over with. So we’re at a dead end with the mask, for now. I’ll tell you about my conversation with Darryl and then we’ll make a new plan of action, okay?”