Carbs & Cadavers

by J. B. Stanley

  “Fair enough,” James said, averting his gaze. Relieved at receiving such a mild reprimand, he reclaimed his throbbing hand and made a hasty escape.

  On Sunday, it was finally Gillian’s turn to host the supper club. She had written them all an e-mail earlier in the week telling them not to bring any food to her house as she was planning a little celebration in honor of the capture of Rachel Shilling and the end to Quincy’s Gap’s greatest mystery.

  Before meeting his friends, James stopped at Dolly’s Diner late Sunday afternoon to pick up a chicken pot pie for his father’s dinner. The three Livingstones were sitting at the counter in the nearly empty diner, enjoying steaming cups of hot chocolate smothered by fluffy coils of whipped cream and massive slices of apple crumb pie.

  “Hello, Professor!” Dolly hooted as she burst through the swinging doors leading to the kitchen. “Come in here and take a load off. You poor darlin’! We’ve been worried sick about you and Miss Hanover and Whitney’s little friend . . .”

  “Amelia,” Whitney said.

  “Right, Megan’s gal.” Dolly grabbed a mug and the coffee pot and pointed to one of the counter stools. She was almost salivating as she waited for James to give her every detail of his kidnapping ordeal. Even though James wanted to make a hasty escape, he just couldn’t take his eyes off of the slices of apple crumb pie, plus he was too fond of Dolly to deny her a firsthand account of his trials. He knew she couldn’t wait to tell her customers a highly embellished version over the next few days.

  “You should sue Shilling’s Stables!” Dolly exclaimed when James finally finished his lengthy narrative. He realized that she was directing her suggestion at the Livingstones.

  “You probably could sue for damages, in civil court that is,” James said, turning to Beau. “The criminal trial will come first I guess.”

  Dolly’s eyes lit up. “I reckon you could get enough to pay off your medical bills and Whitney’s schooling.”

  Beau shook his head. “We’d never sue those folks. That family has got enough trouble comin’ its way without us addin’ our two cents in.”

  “Yeah, poor Allison,” Whitney added. “She had problems even before she found out her mother was one can short of a six-pack.”

  “By ‘before,’ you mean problems the drugs?” James asked.

  “And with her mama, too,” Caroline said, staring at a piece of golden brown piecrust mournfully. “Rachel was so focused on her daughter marrying into a big-shot family that she ended up causing the poor girl a whole lotta heartache instead.”

  Whitney sighed. “I think that’s why Allison started on drugs in the first place. It seemed like everything she did was wrong in her mom’s eyes. She didn’t study hard enough at that fancy private school and when we were friends in high school, Allison never wanted us to hang out at her house. She said she couldn’t take her mom’s nagging.” She put her good arm around her mother’s shoulders. “I’m glad you love me for me, mom.”

  Caroline beamed. “Well, you make it pretty easy, sugar. Who could ask for a better child?”

  James absently stirred his coffee as envy bubbled up inside his stomach. He could barely have a conversation with his father and he certainly couldn’t recall the last time they had exchanged a handshake, let alone an embrace. It would be nice to have the family unity the Livingstones had for just a fraction of the time.

  “Here’s your pot pie.” Dolly handed James a paper bag. “I threw in a fat piece of banana cake. No charge. Your Pa must be getting as skinny as you are with that diet you’re on and he used to love my banana cake.” Dolly patted James on the cheek as if he were a little boy. “You’re a good son, Professor. You just keep working on your pa. He’ll come around. He loved your mama a powerful lot, so it’s gonna take him some time.”

  James wondered if Dolly was a mind reader as he gathered the takeout bag in his hands. “Thanks, Dolly.” Her words immediately comforted him and the warmth of her smile was like a blanket placed around his cold shoulders.

  As he turned to leave, the Livingstones stood and Caroline enfolded him in a hug. James accepted her embrace, awkwardly, as he balanced the bag in one hand and reached out to her with his other.

  “We’re mighty glad you came back to our town, Professor,” Beau said. “You’ve done nothin’ but good since you got here.”

  James drove home with a full heart. Jackson was locked up in the shed as usual, so James left him a note taped to the fridge about heating up the pot pie. As he gathered up his car keys once again, James spied his father’s toolbox on top of the kitchen counter. As far as James was aware, Jackson hadn’t touched a tool since his hardware store was sold years ago. There were no signs of a current fix-it project, but James felt hopeful simply seeing the toolbox. Opening the lid, it was clear that Jackson had meticulously cleaned off every tool within. Perhaps his father was beginning to reclaim a bit of his old life. Using his long-neglected tools would be a step in the right direction. Even if it were only a tiny step forward, James would revel in the slightest sign of improvement.

  Gillian lived in a large pink Victorian house with a wraparound porch. The gingerbread trim had been painted sage green in some places and a creamy shade of beige in others. Dormant flower beds and neatly trimmed mature boxwoods surrounded the porch and two mammoth magnolia trees graced the flat rectangle of lawn. A wrought iron fence complete with a squeaky gate allowed access to a cobblestone pathway that brought visitors to a polished front door with leaded glass panes.

  Inside Gillian’s kitchen, which was painted a light shade of periwinkle, a cluster of pink asters arranged in a ceramic pitcher was the only item resting upon the copper-colored granite countertops. James admired the cherry cabinets and the row of violet- and green-colored candles on the fireplace mantle.

  “Your house is beautiful,” he said. “Everything is so colorful, but it all blends together so perfectly.”

  “Thanks. You know, people always expect me to be a slob.” Gillian gestured around the spotless kitchen. “And I know I’m kind of flaky in some areas, but when it comes to my home and my business, I’m as compulsive and order-obsessed as an accountant during tax season.”

  Bennett settled himself into one of the oak chairs at the breakfast table. “So where are you hiding supper in this paradise?”

  Gillian smirked. “It’s a surprise. First, however, I thought we’d have a toast to celebrate the successful end of our first adventure.”

  “Finally!” Lucy cheered as Gillian produced a bottle of champagne from the fridge. “Some alcohol! I thought I’d have to go buy a bottle of this the other night just to celebrate the look on Donovan’s face when he found out he had missed his big chance for glory by not taking down the real killer.”

  “Did he have the night off?” James asked.

  “No, but he switched with Glenn so that he could bowl with the Sheriff’s Department from Rockingham in some big league showdown.”

  “Man, he must be grumpy.” Bennett laughed at the thought.

  “He’s been pouting all week, but every time I see him, I tell him some detail about our investigation.” Lucy’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

  “So, are we celebrating our diet adventure or our sterling detecting abilities?” James quipped.

  “Both,” Gillian said, distributing plastic champagne flutes. “Sorry about the glasses, but I don’t normally drink. I prefer to take myself to other planes of existence through meditation and the use of scent.”

  “To the Flab Five!” Lindy pronounced as the friends knocked glasses together.

  “Speaking of scent”—Lindy sniffed the air—“I do declare that I can smell the tantalizing aroma of pizza somewhere around here.”

  As if on cue, the doorbell pealed merrily into the hallway where it bounced off the black-and-white checkered floor tiles.

  “You have a fine nose, Lindy,” Gillian laughed and opened the door to the town’s only pizza delivery man.

  “Evenin’, Miss O’Malley.�
� The boyish delivery man tipped his hat. “I thought you were mad at us or somethin’. You haven’t ordered a pie in weeks!”

  “I’ve been on a diet Danny, and it unfortunately does not include pizza. Thanks so much.”

  Danny looked down at his tip and smiled gratefully. “I’m glad to be comin’ back, ma’am. Y’all enjoy!”

  James heard his stomach gurgle with anticipation as the aroma of hot pizza wafted through the spacious kitchen.

  “I’ve got pepperoni, vegetarian, and four cheese,” Gillian announced, tossing a stack of paper plates and napkins on the table. “Dig in!”

  Everyone dove for a pizza box, grabbing the warm slices as if they were the last pieces of pizza left in the known world. James bit off the end of a pepperoni slice, watching as a string of cheese at least twelve inches long stretched from his mouth back down to his grease-soaked plate.

  “Oh my God,” Lucy moaned. “How did we live without this for so many weeks?”

  “And was it even worth it?” Lindy chimed in.

  “Well,” Bennett said. “Let’s do a tally. Everyone write down the total amount of weight you’ve lost on this napkin. Don’t say anything and then hand it off to the person next to you. I’ll add up our total when we’ve all put down our numbers.”

  Gillian started. She wrote down a number and handed the napkin to James. He saw that she had written the number 8. He had lost nine pounds over the last five weeks, so he added his number below Lucy’s and slid the napkin to Lindy. None of them stopped eating as they wrote their numbers down. Finally, Bennett jotted down his own number and then added up all five of their numbers.

  “Damn, we’ve lost the weight of an entire six-year-old child!” He looked around at a group of blank faces. “Well, a six-year-old boy, to be specific. On average, they weigh forty-eight-and-a-half pounds.”

  “That’s amazing!” Gillian exclaimed. “Look,” she said, racing over to her pantry. She dragged two large bags of kitty litter on the floor behind her. Plopping them on the table, she shouted exuberantly, “These weigh twelve pounds each. We’ve lost the equivalent of four of these bags. Come over and pick one of these up and just think about that. It will make you realize the size of our accomplishment.”

  “Wow.” James was impressed. He picked up both bags and tried to imagine that weight being doubled, then handed off the bags to Lucy.

  “Who was the big winner with the loss of twelve pounds?” Bennett asked, examining the napkin bearing their weight loss numbers.

  “Me!” Lindy exclaimed. “I’ve been walking to school instead of driving. Well, on days when it’s not too cold. I think that’s helped me lose a few extra pounds.”

  “You were right, then.” Lucy swallowed a bite of cheese pizza. “We do need to start some kind of exercise.”

  “And a little less TV watching,” Bennett grunted. “Statistically speaking, if we could replace two thirty-minute shows with some kind of activity, we’d lose more weight.”

  “Then that will be our next adventure,” Gillian suggested. “Not that I’m looking forward to sweating, but it’s time to kick things up a notch. After all, the Flab Five can handle any challenge!”

  “I’ll toast to that,” James said, refilling his plastic flute with the dry champagne.

  “Oh, James.” Lindy suddenly wiped off her mouth and stood abruptly. “I almost forgot! Lucy told me that with all the goings on at the Neighbor Aid Festival you never had a chance to see what your daddy donated to the silent auction.”

  James bolted to a standing position. “Do you know? It would answer the question I’ve had for months. What does that man do all day out in our shed?”

  Lindy giggled. “Not only do I know, but soon a lot of other people will, too. Wait a sec. I’ll show you.”

  Lindy left the room and then returned again with a thin, square moving box, the kind used to pack mirrors or paintings. She slid a canvas out of the box, showing only the back to James.

  “Wipe your hands off first, please,” Lindy requested. “I don’t want any grease on this wonderful piece of art.”

  “Art?” James asked, thinking back to the day he had found the paintbrush next to the kitchen sink.

  “Just see for yourself.” Lindy reached over him and placed the painting onto the table where the plates and glasses had been. The painting wasn’t large. It was about twelve by fourteen inches in total and was unframed, but James touched the edges of the canvas with trembling hands, his mind a flurry of emotions.

  Jackson had painted a pair of cardinals surrounded by dogwood blossoms. The birds and vegetation looked so lifelike that it seemed that James could have been looking out a window during the height of spring instead of at a skillful combination of paint and careful brushstrokes. He examined the ruffled feathers of the male cardinal’s bright plumage, the softness of the dogwood petals, the brittle textures of the tree bark. He noticed how his father had expertly captured the glossy imperfection of the tree leaves, the way in which the sun spotted areas of foliage with a gentler light, and how minute edges of the birds’ feet or curled leaves were captured with just a hint of shadow.

  “He’s as good as Audubon.” Lindy watched James as he tried to absorb the extent of his father’s gifts. “I sent a digital photo to my mother’s gallery in D.C. She wants to set up an exhibit as soon as possible, if your daddy agrees. I think he could make a lot of money from these paintings, James. People were bidding over them like they were made of gold at the festival. You would have been so proud.”

  James could barely speak. “I had no idea. I never knew he could paint like this . . . or that he even enjoyed it.” He stared at the painting again. “I’m not sure that I know him well at all,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.

  Lucy squeezed his arm. “I guess it’s a good thing you came home, then, isn’t it? Now”—she drew out a plastic bag from beneath her chair—“I hope you’ve got that wine bottle in your car, Professor Henry, ’cause I am putting on these jeans today.”

  “Right now?” Bennett asked in alarm.

  “In the bathroom, but yeah, right now.” Lucy shook out the wrinkled jeans and headed for the downstairs powder room. After a few seconds, she came back into the kitchen and asked Gillian if she could change in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

  “I might need more room to get these on,” Lucy said, smiling at herself.

  “Of course. There are three up there. Take your pick.” Gillian watched as Lucy climbed up the staircase. “I hope this works out for her,” she whispered, once Lucy was out of earshot. “It seems a bit too soon for new clothes, even though we’ve been doing quite well.” Gillian began biting her nails.

  James heard a flapping sound coming from the back of the hall and gave Gillian a quizzical look. “What’s that?”

  “That’s Dalai Lama, my tabby cat, coming through his cat door.” Dalai trotted into the kitchen and began to meow. “He wants some pizza cheese. He’s a horrible little beggar.” Gillian scooped the sleek feline off the floor and covered his pink nose with kisses.

  James made a ball out of some of the cheese stuck to the pizza box and tossed it on the ground. Dalai gave it a tentative lick, and then batted it with his paw until it rolled under the table where he began to chew on it in earnest. At that moment Lucy returned, her face red and slicked with sweat, as if she had just finished a marathon. She was wearing the jeans, but the seams were stretched to their limit and it appeared that at any second, the stitches would give way and Lucy’s flesh would explode out of the fabric.

  “You did it!” Lindy cheered a trifle doubtfully.

  Lucy frowned. “I’m not sure if it counts since I can barely move in them.” She tugged at the fabric bunching up between her legs.

  “If you can touch your toes, then it counts,” Bennett pronounced.

  “I couldn’t touch my toes before I was this fat. Who are you kidding?” Lucy scowled. “Let me tell you what it was like to even get these things on. First, I had to lie down on the
bed. Then, I had to tug on one side at a time, just to get them over my humongous hips. That took me, like, five minutes. After that, I had to blow out all of the air in my lungs to get the button through the buttonhole. That was a major deal. Then, I had to yank on the zipper. It went up, like, two teeth at a time, so I had to take another quick breath, let out another deep one, and then pull on the zipper again. That would get it halfway up. You see where I’m going with this.”

  “But you got them closed,” James pointed out helpfully.

  Lucy lifted up her long, loose shirt. The large roll of fat that formed her lower stomach strained against the heavy material and it was clear to all of them that the zipper and button were barely holding things together. “I can’t sit down, people.”

  Lucy dropped her shirt and sighed lugubriously as Dalai Lama approached her calves and gave them a good sniff.

  “She smells your canine beasts,” Bennett teased as the cat rubbed against Lucy, purring affectionately.

  “What a sweet kitty!” Lucy immediately brightened at the sight of the cat. Forgetting all about the precariousness of her pants situation, Lucy bent over to pet Dalai. As her friends watched in horrified fascination, the button from Lucy’s jeans popped off and flew across Gillian’s kitchen floor while the zipper broke apart like a popped balloon. To make matters even more humiliating for Lucy, the seam holding together the fabric covering her generous backside gave way in a horrendous tearing of fabric. James couldn’t help but notice that Lucy was wearing pink and blue striped underwear.

  Lucy screamed and headed upstairs, one hand covering her stomach and the other trying to hide her exposed rear. Her four friends sat in startled silence. They were afraid to say anything, lest someone break out into laughter.