The Devil Diet

by Nancy Bell

“I guess,” I said. The way I remembered it, Buster had been the cause of our falling into the pit in the first place. But it’s no good arguing with Monica.

  “Never mind that now,” Biggie said. “Go outside and tell Rosebud I’m ready to go.”

  “Where ya’ll going, Miss Biggie?” Monica took another cookie off the plate.

  “We’re all going out to a ranch in the country,” Biggie said. “We’ve been invited to tea.”

  Clouds were building up in the west when I went out to tell Rosebud. “It’s gonna rain,” I said.

  “‘Course it is. I’m washing the car, ain’t I?”

  “Biggie’s ready to go. Have you seen Prissy?”

  “Ain’t seen her. I reckon she’ll show herself once it commences to rain. Tell Miss Biggie I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” He grabbed a towel and started wiping down Biggie’s big black funeral limousine that she bought cheap off the undertaker over in Center Point after he bought a brand-new white one. Biggie bought it because she said now we could carry our fishing poles inside and not have to ride around with those poles sticking out the window and have everybody and his dog know where we were going.

  * * *

  After we picked up Mrs. Muckleroy and Miss Julia, Rosebud drove the car to the bypass then turned east onto Center Point Road. The ranch is located halfway between Job’s Crossing and Center Point down a two-lane county road.

  “This is where the property begins,” Biggie said, pointing to a fence with steel posts.

  “That’s a mighty fine fence,” Monica said. She was sitting on the jump seat between the front and back seats. “Lotsa money in that fence.”

  “New money,” Mrs. Muckleroy said. “I remember when Old Man Barnwell didn’t have a pot to, er…”

  “… Cook his peas in.” Miss Julia Lockhart said with a grin.

  “How come it’s so high?” I asked. “The fence, I mean.”

  “Oh, I expect they keep exotic animals in there.” Monica craned her neck to see over the fence. “I saw a place over near Corsicana where they had a bunch of zebras and llamas and giraffes and stuff. See, you have to have a high fence so they can’t jump out.”

  “You just know everything, don’t you?” Sometimes Monica feels a need to show off.

  “It’s a deer fence,” Rosebud said.

  “You mean they keep deer? How come?” I asked.

  “They don’t keep them, J.R.,” Biggie said. “They’re trying to keep them out.”

  Miss Julia nodded her head. “That’s right. The deer population has mushroomed out here in the last twenty years. Used to be, folks had to go ‘way off to hunt. Now they say they practically come up in the yard and eat your shrubs.”

  “Turn here, Rosebud.” Biggie pointed to a high gate with a sign over the top that said, BAR-LB RANCH.

  The road wound for a quarter of a mile through green pastures surrounded by the same fence that bordered the road. Fat, Black Angus cattle grazed alongside sleek, brown horses. In a field by themselves, a small herd of Mexican goats grazed and twitched their short little tails. Occasionally, two kids would butt heads or playfully jump straight up into the air. We drove past two barns and a long bunkhouse before we pulled up in front of the main house.

  “Lord, look at that place!” Mrs. Muckleroy put her hand over her mouth.

  It was a long, low, Spanish-style ranch house made of stucco with a red tile roof. A deep veranda, supported by dark, rustic columns, ran all the way across the front of the building. Red, purple, and yellow flowers in hanging baskets and fat Mexican pots were everywhere.

  “How in the world do they get that bougainvillea to grow this far north?” wondered Miss Julia.

  Just then, the heavy oak doors were slung open, and one of the girls we had seen at the tearoom came out to greet us. I frowned as I remembered her being the one that had stuck her tongue out at me. She was dressed in the same blue shorts and white blouse she had worn before. She watched us without smiling as we piled out of the car and walked up the gravel path to the house.

  “I’m Stacie,” she said, beckoning with one pudgy hand, “Stacie Foxworth. I’m supposed to invite y’all in.” She turned back toward the open front door talking over her shoulder. “I’m supposed to entertain you until the others get here, so y’all can just sit down anywhere you want to then I’ll start the entertainment.”

  The living room was long and narrow with a huge, gray, stone fireplace against the back wall. Flanking the fireplace on either side were French doors through which we could see a fountain in the middle of an enclosed patio. Three saddle-colored leather sofas with Indian blankets slung over the backs were set at an angle in front of the hearth. A giant buffalo head looked down at us from above the mantle. He had a surprised expression on his face like he couldn’t believe he had ended up like this. The Mexican tile floor in front of the sofas was covered with a Navajo rug.

  “Way cool,” Monica breathed. “When I get a house, it’s gonna be just like this.”

  Everybody took seats on the sofas. Biggie perched on the edge on account of her little legs are so short. “Well, Stacie,” she said, “you must enjoy getting to spend the summer in a lovely place like this.”

  Stacie stood in front of the fireplace with her arms folded in front of her. “Huh? This place is a prison.” She glared at Biggie.

  “Oh, my.” Miss Julia took a little notebook out of her purse and opened her fountain pen. “Tell us all about it, honey.”

  “Julia, put that up,” Mrs. Muckleroy said. “We’re guests here.”

  Miss Julia didn’t put her notebook away, just kept looking at Stacie.

  “How come you got that?” Stacie looked suspicious.

  “She’s a reporter for the paper,” Monica said. “You better watch out what you say.”

  Biggie gave Monica a look. “Don’t be sassy, young lady. And, Julia, Ruby’s right. Put that thing away. Now, honey, what’s on your mind?”

  The girl, Stacie, looked at Miss Julia. “You’re a real reporter? Are you going to print this?”

  “Could be,” Miss Julia said. Mrs. Muckleroy frowned.

  The girl continued. “Well, for starters, we don’t live in this big fine house. No way. We have to live in the bunkhouse, four to a room. And they make us make our own beds and wash our clothes— and on top of that they don’t hardly give us anything at all to eat.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Mrs. Muckleroy said. “After all, it’s like a camp, isn’t it? Why, I remember when Meredith Michelle went to scout camp, they had to sleep outside in a tent and actually cook their own food!” She took a handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her forehead. “The poor child came home with her clothes all grass stained and muddy and her hair— well, I don’t even want to think about it. I remember she literally destroyed a cute little tennis dress I bought from Neiman’s. Well, you can imagine, I paid a pretty penny for that! Bless her heart, the whole experience just traumatized her. Now that’s what I call roughing it.”

  “Ruby, you don’t know anything.” Miss Julia was miffed. “Why would you send clothes like that to a Girl Scout camp?”

  “Oh, it’s a whole lot worse here.” Stacie wasn’t going to let Mrs. Muckleroy steal her thunder. “They make us hike five miles every single day, rain or shine. And we have to get up at six o’clock every single day— even Sunday. I hate it, and as soon as I get out of here, I’m turning them in to the juvenile authorities. Child abuse is what I call it. I’m calling Mike Wallace, too.”

  “Stacie!”

  We all looked around to see who had spoken. My mouth fell open. It was a girl standing in the doorway. She was dressed in the same blue-and-white uniform Stacie wore. But she wasn’t carrying one single extra pound on her perfect little body. She had long hair, light brown, and it fell in tight ringlets all around her face, which was tanned a golden brown. Her eyes were big and bright blue green, the color of turquoise. She had long legs and a waist I could reach around with only my hands. My whole
body turned to jelly, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

  “What?” Stacie looked defiantly at the girl. “What am I doing? I was told to entertain the company so that’s what I’m doing.”

  “No, you weren’t,” said the girl. “And Miss Higgins wants you back at the bunkhouse right now. You didn’t finish mucking out the stalls this morning.”

  “See.” Stacie looked at Mrs. Muckleroy. “We have to clean stalls. I’ll bet your precious daughter didn’t have to do that at camp!”

  “Stacie, Laura’s going to be disappointed in you.”

  Stacie stamped her foot. “I don’t care what she thinks. I hate her!”

  “Stacie, it’s going to storm. Dad says we have to get the horses in the barn quick.”

  That seemed to do the trick. Stacie followed her out the door without another word.

  I watched them leave, thinking how her voice sounded like music. Rosebud poked me with his elbow. “Shut your mouth before a fly gets in.” He grinned at me.

  6

  Just then, a door opened at the far end of the room. “Welcome to Bar-LB.” This was one of the women we had seen at the tearoom, the pretty one. She walked toward us. “I’m Laura Barnwell, director of the camp.”

  Biggie stood up and took a step toward her. “I’m Biggie Weatherford,” she said, “and this is Ruby Muckleroy.”

  Mrs. Muckleroy stuck out her hand, the one with the big diamond ring. “So pleased,” she said.

  “And Julia Lockhart,” Biggie said.

  “You must be Rex’s wife.” Miss Julia never forgot she was a reporter.

  Laura nodded with a smile before greeting each of us, ending with me and Monica. The lady shook hands and said something nice to every one of us.

  “We’ll have tea in the dining room,” she said. “I believe it’s ready, if you’d like to follow me.”

  “I reckon I’ll pass,” Rosebud said. “Okay if I look around outside?”

  “Of course, if that’s what you’d rather do,” Laura said. “Make yourself at home. I think you’ll find Hamp Caldwell, our combination vet and horse trainer, in the barn. I’m sure he’ll be happy to show you around.”

  Rosebud went out one of the French doors while we followed Laura into the wood-paneled dining room.

  Monica walked over and started examining the display of food piled on a sideboard along one wall. “Get back here,” I hissed. Naturally, she ignored me.

  Several people sat in tall-backed chairs with cowhide seats around a long ranch table under a deer-horn chandelier. Windows that reached from floor to ceiling showed a view of rolling hills dotted here and there with the same black cattle we had seen when we arrived.

  Biggie looked at the windows with a worried frown. “Storm’s coming— and it looks like a bad one.”

  Sure enough, black clouds boiled up from the tops of the distant woods.

  “Tornado season,” said a burly man, standing behind a chair at the end of the table. “Hamp’s putting the horses in right now.”

  Laura spoke in a soft voice, but she somehow managed to get everyone’s attention. “Everybody, allow me to present our honored guests from town.” After she gave our names, she began to introduce the people around the table. She gestured toward a girl with short, black hair who looked to be in her twenties. “This is Rex’s daughter, Babe.”

  Babe waved three fingers in our direction and looked at us with sparkling eyes. “Hey, everybody. Glad y’all could come.” She bit into a baby cream puff. “Grab a plate and chow down.”

  “And this,” Laura continued, “is Babe’s husband, Rob Parish.” She indicated a skinny guy. His thin, straight hair kept falling down over his eyes.

  He brushed the hair back with his hand and nodded to us. “Gladameecha,” was all he said.

  “And this,” Laura smiled, “the fellow with the weather report, is Abner Putnam, Rex’s oldest friend and ranch foreman.”

  The burly man nodded and waved his hand toward the sideboard. “Y’all help yourselves, why doncha? We’ve got iced tea and coffee. Nobody around here drinks their tea hot.”

  We all moved toward the sideboard, which was piled with food that was anything but dietetic. I saw a pyramid of tiny cream puffs like the one Babe had been eating, just oozing with flavored whipped cream, a silver tray covered with cupcakes, little bitty tea sandwiches, and three or four pies. At one end stood a silver coffee pot and a crystal pitcher of iced tea.

  Mrs. Muckleroy, loading up her plate, couldn’t hold back any longer. “Where’s Rex?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

  “He begged to be excused. But Grace Higgins, our dietitian, should be here any minute. I can’t imagine why she’s late,” Laura said.

  “I hope he’s not ill.” Mrs. Muckleroy wouldn’t let it go. She glanced at Biggie out of the corner of her eye.

  “Shut up, Ruby,” Miss Julia muttered.

  “Oh, Daddy’s always ill,” Babe said. “He’s got aches and pains he hasn’t even used yet.” Her voice sounded bitter.

  “Ah, here’s Grace.” Laura Barnwell passed around a plate of coconut macaroons. “Come on in, Grace, so I can introduce you.”

  It was the other lady we’d seen at the tearoom. Today, she was dressed in Eastern-style riding britches with brown boots. She wore a white Polo shirt, open at the neck. “Trouble in the ranks,” she muttered, as she passed Laura. “I may need your help.”

  “Later.” Laura seemed unfazed.

  Just then, the doorbell rang and Abner left to answer it. I got up to refill my plate. From the sideboard, I could see the front hall. A strong gust of wind blew in as Abner opened the door to let in a blond man wearing a blue suit. He put his briefcase on a hall table and followed Abner into the dining room.

  “Why Jeremy!” Laura looked startled. “What brings you here? And in this weather, too.”

  The man walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “Laura, pretty as ever. Hon, I have to talk to Rex. It can’t be handled over the phone. May I spend the night?”

  “Of course.” Laura flashed a look at Grace. “Nothing’s wrong, I hope?”

  “I hope not. I’ll discuss it with Rex tonight.”

  “Then have some tea with us. Rex is resting.”

  Biggie stirred sugar into her tea then turned to Laura. “So tell us about your program here. It sounds intriguing.”

  “Oh, Lord, don’t get her started.” Babe rolled her eyes.

  “No, we’d all like to know,” Miss Julia said, taking out her pad and pencil.

  “Well, if you insist.” Laura began to talk, and anyone could tell she was awfully excited about what they were doing. “Let me start by telling you why I decided to open a camp for overweight girls,” she said. “It stems from my own past. I was brought up in Tyler, the oldest of four girls. My father was not the wealthiest man in town, but he was successful in the oil business and was active in many civic and charitable causes. As a result of that, three of us girls were asked to participate in the Queen’s Court at the Rose Festival. My sister was chosen queen. Are you all aware of what that means?”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Muckleroy piped up. “That’s the most prestigious event in the city. Only girls from the finest families are asked to be duchesses. And to be selected queen, well…”

  “It means you have to be rich enough to afford the pageant dress!” Babe bit into a cookie. “Let alone all the outfits you have to buy for all the parties.”

  Laura ignored her. “My younger sister, Ellen, was the sweetest, most loving girl you could ever hope to meet, and the smartest, too. And funny? She was a natural mimic and could do impressions of everyone we knew.” She looked at Biggie. “But never in a mean way, if you know what I mean. She just observed people and had a pure talent for picking up on their mannerisms. She wanted to become an actress, and we were all convinced she could become a big star.”

  “She was a natural,” Miss Julia commented.

  “Exactly.” Laura nodded her head. “Ellen was smart, to
o. She graduated top of her class in high school. Everyone thought she’d go far in life. In her junior year, she sent applications to several colleges, and it looked like she could take her choice. They all wanted her.”

  “She must have been the sister who was chosen queen,” Mrs. Muckleroy said.

  “No, that was Beth. Ellen was never asked. In the week of spring break, before her high school graduation, mother decided to take Ellen on a trip up East to look over some of the schools. My sisters and I went along for the fun of it.” She folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. “We flew into Logan Airport in Boston and rented a car. New England is beautiful in the spring, and we were all in a festive mood. We looked forward to visiting the various campuses and helping Ellen select just the right one.” She looked out the window and continued to talk just as if she was reliving that trip. “The first school we visited was an exclusive girls’ college. In their letter, they had seemed the most interested in having her. The campus was covered with cherry trees, just dripping blossoms all over the walkways that led from one ivy-covered building to the next. And the girls, they all looked happy and content to be there. Mother suggested that we visit the dean of students, just to get acquainted, you see.” All of a sudden, a big tear rolled out of her eye. She blotted it away with her napkin.

  Grace, the dietitian, put her hand over Laura’s. “You don’t have to tell this.” Her voice was brusque. “It always makes you cry.”

  “But I do, Grace. Don’t you see? People need to understand— they have to!” She turned back to Biggie, who was listening with a little frown on her face. “The trip was lovely. We visited four schools and were greeted warmly at each one. After that, we visited Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket. We drove up through New Hampshire and Maine. We ate our fill of Maine lobster and clam chowder, shopped at L.L. Bean, explored some lovely New England villages, then boarded our plane back to Texas satisfied that our trip had been a rousing success.”

  “Which school did she choose?” Mrs. Muckleroy asked.

  “None of them. Something happened that made her decide to stay home.”