The Devil Diet Read online

  “You can skip over that part,” the ranger said. “I have already taken a statement from Biggie.”

  “Oh, well…“Laura cleared her throat. “Mrs. Weatherford— Biggie— and J.R. visited with Rex for a short while. Then we all gathered in the great room for drinks before dinner. Soon after they rejoined us, Stacie came in. She’s just naturally excitable, and tonight she was especially upset.”

  “Can you tell us what it was about?”

  “Uh… no, I don’t think I can. She’s a troubled child. Sometimes I don’t think she, herself, knows what she is upset about. If you knew anything about her background, you’d understand.”

  “Maybe you’d better tell us a little….”

  “Maybe I’d better. You see, Stacie spent most of her life in the care of Child Protective Services. She was abandoned as an infant, and they never found her parents. Somehow Stacie slipped through the cracks.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, you see, she might have been adopted except that the agency never took legal action to have her parental rights severed, so she was shunted from one foster home to another. Some of them were pretty horrible, to hear her tell it.”

  “How did she end up here?” Biggie wanted to know.

  Laura looked down at the table. “I found her,” she said.

  “And?”

  “Well, that’s what we do. This is not a fancy spa for rich people’s children. A lot of people think it is, and I’ll admit we do take in some paying guests. It helps with the bills. But mostly we try to locate needy kids who have a hard enough time making lives for themselves without also being hampered by their weight.”

  “All right, Mrs. Barnwell,” the ranger said, “now tell us what happened here tonight.”

  “Well, as I said, we were having our drinks when Stacie came into the room. She was hysterical; she had a gun. When I tried to calm her, she somehow grabbed me and held the gun to my head. She dragged me into the study and locked the door.”

  “You must have been scared.”

  “Not really. You see, I make a point of knowing all my girls. I knew exactly how to handle Stacie. I talked to her, you know, reassured her— and, well, she handed me the gun. It was then we heard the gunshot, and the lights went out.”

  “Did you fire the gun?”

  “Oh, no.”

  Biggie opened her mouth to speak, but then she snapped it shut.

  The ranger clicked off the recorder. “That will be enough for now, Mrs. Barnwell. I know Mr. Barnwell’s death is a terrible shock.”

  I looked at Biggie, but she was watching Laura leave the room. The ranger called after her. “Mrs. Barnwell, I wonder if you would mind sending in Miss Grace.”

  Grace told pretty much the same story. “The problem with Laura is she’s too darn trusting. Most of these girls have much more going on than their weight problems. That’s the beauty of our regime here. We treat the whole person: mind, body, spirit. Love and discipline, that’s our theme. Laura, bless her, has oceans of love to give; but when it comes to discipline, her tank’s on empty. She especially wanted to pamper Stacie, although in truth, Stacie needs a stronger hand than most. She has rebelled against the program since she came here.”

  “What does the program consist of?” the ranger asked.

  With that, Grace launched into the whole story of the diet again. It was very boring. “I suppose you’ve heard of the mind/body connection?” She looked like she didn’t think he had.

  The ranger nodded.

  “Well, first, we immerse the girls in positive affirmations. They read and study for two hours a day, only the great thinkers of our time: Norman Vincent Peale, Dale Carnegie, the Maharishi, Anthony Robbins…”

  Biggie covered her mouth with her hand.

  “That’s the mind part. For the nourishment of the spirit, we use body movement, moon baths, certain yoga techniques, that sort of thing.” She looked at the ranger, who nodded again.

  “Now, as to the body, hard work and a sensible diet is the secret. There are no aerobics classes here, no exercise equipment. We don’t believe in meaningless use of the body. Hard work, that’s the answer to weight loss. When the girls see the results of a job well done, they get a real sense of accomplishment.”

  The ranger stood. “Thank you, Miss Higgins. You may… oh, one other thing. What is your impression of Laura Barnwell?”

  Her face softened. “She is the sweetest, most adorable… no, let me restate that. She is my business partner; and with the exception of the matter of discipline, we are of one mind about the services we offer here. It is my hope that what happened tonight will not put an end to that.”

  After she left the room, the ranger turned to Biggie. “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “Both those women. Start with Laura.” The ranger got up to make sure the door was closed, then came back and sat down.

  “She means well, I think.” Biggie poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and took a sip. “Dogooder, of course— thinks she can save the world. Makes me think of Ollie Sistrunk. She goes to our church. Awhile back, Ollie decided chickens were getting a raw deal. She’d seen them being trucked around town about forty chickens crammed into these little bitty cages— and she’d seen some TV show about cruelty to chickens. So she organized a march out to Birdsong’s Fresh-As-a-Daisy Chicken Farm and Processing Plant to protest. Naturally, she didn’t get many marchers, doncha know, since a good number of folks in town work out at that plant.”

  The ranger nodded, then tried to get Biggie back on track. “But what do you think about Laura?”

  “I’m getting to that,” Biggie said. “Ollie sent out letters to the editor and posted signs all over town. She started raising chickens herself just to give them good homes. After a while, people started making fun of her and calling that big house of hers Cluckingham Palace.”

  “So what happened to her?” the ranger couldn’t help asking.

  “Her husband finally sent her off to a sanitarium. She had gone completely off her head. That’s what happens sometimes when people go overboard.”

  “And you think Laura’s done that?”

  “Could be,” Biggie said. “It’s getting late. Who’s next on your list?”

  Ranger Upchurch went to the door and called in Abner Putnam. He looked even more upset than Laura had. He sat down at the table and mopped his brow with a blue bandanna.

  “I understand you and Rex were pretty close,” the ranger said.

  “We were buddies.” Abner frowned.

  “So you were good friends.”

  “Oh, sure, the best of friends. I would have laid down my life for old Rex— and he’d have done the same for me. We’d been together for, let me see, going on thirty years now.”

  “Do you know anybody here who would have wanted him dead?”

  Abner looked shocked. “Wanted Rex dead? Who would want that?”

  “Apparently somebody did,” Biggie said softly.

  “Okay.” The ranger picked up the tape recorder and looked at it, then set it back down. “Suppose you just tell us what you were doing this evening.”

  “Sure. I spent the afternoon helping Hamp vaccinate the horses. After that, I went to the bunkhouse to take a shower and change clothes. Then I came up here to the house.”

  “And?”

  “I came in through the back door to find out what Josefina was cooking for supper. She was making tamales, so I sat at the table and helped her roll them up— you know, spread the shucks with masa dough then put in the meat and all.” He looked at the ranger who nodded. “After we got ‘um tied into bundles and on the stove to steam, I got me and her a beer out of the icebox, and we had just sat down when Rosebud walked in.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Sundown. Around six-thirty, I reckon.”

  “And you were all still sitting there when the shots were fired?”

  “Yeah, but we didn’t hear the shots. Th
e kitchen’s too far away from the bedroom wing. But when the lights went out, I went right straight to the breaker box to check on it.”

  “Right. And where is the breaker box?”

  “In a piss-poor place, if you ask me. ‘Scuse me, Miss Biggie. Some fool mounted the thing on the wall outside by the patio. I checked the box and found that the switch had been intentionally turned off.”

  “How could you tell?” Biggie wanted to know.

  “Easy. You see, if the thing trips from an overload or some such thing, the switches only move over halfway, but when somebody turns it off manually, it goes all the way over.”

  The ranger nodded like he understood.

  Biggie opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut again. She stood up. “Well, it’s late, and J.R. has school tomorrow.”

  “Then go,” Ranger Upchurch said. “I’ll drop by the house tomorrow to get Rosebud’s statement.”

  14

  So who do you think done it?” Willie Mae asked after we got home and were all sitting around the kitchen table eating chili and drinking cocoa.

  “No idea,” Biggie said. “Jeremy Polk is the logical suspect since he was with him at the time— only he was shot, too.”

  “Bad?” Willie Mae got up and poured more cocoa all around.

  “No. The bullet just grazed his ear.”

  “Who all was in the living room when the lights went out?” Rosebud asked. “Seems to me none of them could of done it.”

  “Let me see,” Biggie said. “Grace and Babe and Rob— us, of course. And Stacie had taken Laura into the study. I guess that clears all of them.”

  “Well, Abner and Josefina were settin’ right there in the kitchen with me.” Rosebud stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles. “Reckon that clears them.”

  “That leaves Hamp or one of the girls,” I said.

  “Not necessarily,” Biggie said. “It wouldn’t have to be someone connected with the ranch. Anyone could have crept up to the house and shot through the window. And since the breaker box was on the outside, they could have shut the power down, too.”

  “Biggie,” I said, “the driveway’s long. If anybody drove a car up it at night, somebody would have seen the lights.”

  “What about the gun?” Willie Mae wanted to know.

  “Don’t know yet.” Biggie stood up. “Red will be coming by in the morning to take a statement from Rosebud. I’m sure he’ll fill us in on that. I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.”

  I was awake half the night throwing up. Biggie said it was probably the three bowls of chili I ate, but she let me sleep in the next morning just in case. When I finally came downstairs I felt fine, but it was already past eleven and too late to go to school. I went into the kitchen.

  “Boy, was I sick last night,” I said to Willie Mae.

  “I ain’t surprised,” she said. “You want me to fix you some milk toast?”

  “With an egg in it?”

  Willie Mae nodded and put a pan on the stove to boil. “Go wash your face and comb your hair,” she said, her back to me.

  Willie Mae and Biggie are sticklers for neatness. When I got back from the bathroom, a bowl of steaming hot milk poured over buttered toast with an egg on top was waiting for me. I poked the egg with my fork and watched the yolk run out. Prissy crawled out from under Biggie’s desk and came to sit by me. I held a piece of toast just out of her reach to tease her. Willie Mae frowned and poured some warm milk in Prissy’s bowl for her. She was lapping it up when Mrs. Moody came in the screen door. Prissy liked to have busted a gut jumping all over her.

  “There’s my baby girl,” Mrs. Moody said, picking Prissy up and hugging her. “Mama missed her little dumpling. Did my little snookie-ookims miss her mama?”

  “How come you be back so soon?” Willie Mae asked, pouring Mrs. Moody a cup of coffee.

  Mrs. Moody sat down at the table holding Prissy on her lap. “I had to,” she said. “Those kids of Woodrow’s about drove me crazy. They don’t know the meaning of the word ‘no.’ Spoiled to death is what they are. Not that I’m the least bit surprised what with the mama they’ve got. And poor Woodrow, he works his fingers to the bone driving that bread route. He’s just too tired to discipline them when he gets home.”

  “So who’s taking care of them?” I asked.

  “Oh they’re all in school now. I found a teenager to come in after school and look after them ‘til Woodrow gets home. I told Woodrow, I said, you just get that wife of yours back here. A woman’s first responsibility is to her husband and children, is what I always say. Anyway, that old mama of hers is a whole lot better. If she’d had the sense of a goat, she never would have…”

  I pushed my plate away. “Where’s Biggie and Rosebud?”

  “Rosebud’s gone to the store for me, and Miss Biggie’s in the living room talking to that ranger.”

  “I better go see,” I said, and headed for the living room as fast as I could.

  Ranger Upchurch was perched on Biggie’s sofa having a cup of coffee and telling Biggie all he knew about my new grandfather’s murder. He had a hat line crease in his red hair, which he always has when he takes off his big Stetson.

  “Anyway, that’s about all we know now,” he said. “I’m going back out right after lunch, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to go out and ask a few questions on your own.”

  “Why should those people talk to me?”

  The ranger laughed. “Now, Biggie, don’t pretend with me. You know they’ll talk to you if you want them to. You could get information out of a dead man.”

  “Dead men often tell more than the living,” she said.

  “Biggie, that doesn’t make a bit of sense,” I said.

  “She means evidence, son.” Ranger Upchurch stood up and put his hand on my shoulder. “Things you find out without having to ask questions.”

  “Oh. Can I go, Biggie? I might be able to help.” I was thinking I might see Misty again, but I didn’t let on.

  Biggie felt my forehead. “You feeling okay?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Then I don’t see any harm in it.”

  When we drove up to the ranch house, Butch’s van with Hickley’s House of Flowers painted on the side was parked out front, and he was hanging a black wreath on the front door.

  “I believe this is the prettiest one I ever made,” he said.

  I took a close look at the wreath. “I never saw any black flowers before.”

  “It’s my own invention,” Butch said. “Isn’t it just gorgeous? What I did was, last night I set a bunch of red carnations in a coffee can full of black ink. They just drunk up that ink like it was water, and by morning it had turned them all black. I may get a patent on this. It could revolutionize the funeral business.”

  “Butch, you’re a wonder,” Biggie said. “But how did you know so soon that he was dead?”

  “Biggie, you know how word travels in this town. Arthel Reid, the new undertaker, called me just as soon as he got his hands on the body. We help each other like that, doncha know. Professional courtesy.”

  “Anybody else around?” Rosebud asked.

  “Sure. They were all sitting around the dining room table when I got here. Well, ta-ta, gotta go. The Methodists are having the bishop this Sunday, and they want to load the church up with flowers.” He waved two fingers at us and headed for his truck.

  Rob Parish answered the door looking as dorky as ever. His hair, black and straight, hung over his forehead, and his rumpled white dress shirt had a big ink stain on the sleeve. His too-short pants rode up enough to show the white socks he wore with a pair of black Oxfords. He frowned when he saw us but motioned us to follow him into the living room. A mess of papers covered the top of the coffee table.

  “Where is everybody?” Biggie asked.

  “Who knows?” he said. “All over, I guess. My darling wife is still sleeping it off, and Laura took a pill and went back to bed right after lunch. What do y’
all want?”

  “Just a courtesy call,” Biggie said, taking a seat in one of the wing chairs by the fireplace.

  Rob sat on the couch in front of the coffee table. “Well, I’m working here.”

  “Oh, go right ahead. Don’t let us disturb you.” Biggie’s not easily discouraged. She sat for about five seconds before she asked, “What’s that you’re working on?”

  He pawed through the papers, not looking at Biggie. “It’s a book I’m writing.”

  “Oh, a book! Then you’re an author! How exciting. What’s it about?”

  “It’s a novel— a serious novel.”

  “My gracious, aren’t you smart. Do tell me about it. I’m so interested in reading.”

  I hid a smile. Biggie never reads anything except the newspaper. She’s too busy doing other things.

  “It’s about good and evil, love and hate, power and corruption.”

  “My, oh my,” Biggie said. “Tell me more.”

  Rob couldn’t resist. The way I saw it, probably not many people asked him to talk about his work.

  “Well, there’s this young man, he’s a kind of Christ character. Good, you know, and pure. Well, he sells his soul to the devil for gold and power.”

  “How original,” Biggie murmured.

  “Yes, I thought so. So, anyway, he meets this rich man, and the man has a daughter. She’s very beautiful but evil. The boy is bewitched by her charms, and soon they are married. The rich man gives his daughter a fortune for a dowry.”

  “How nice,” Biggie said.

  Rob frowned at her. “No, you miss the point. It was not nice at all. The young groom had planned to use the money for good, but his wife has other ideas. She spends recklessly on frivolities. The young man begs her to stop, but she only spends more, so he goes to the father for help. He tries to reason with him, earnestly pleading that the money be used for humanitarian purposes. The father laughs in the young man’s face, for he is Beelzebub himself, you see. In the end the girl becomes a drunken shrew. She mocks the boy and makes his life a living hell.”

  “And what happens to the father?” Biggie looked sharply at Rob.