Fat-Free and Fatal (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (3 page)

The kitchen, behind swinging doors, was better lighted than the hallway. And very well outfitted. Someone had put some money into this kitchen. Too bad they hadn’t put the money into a better cook.

I saw at least a dozen burners on the waist-high stoves, with ovens underneath and cabinets above that stored bottles, canisters and shakers. Stainless steel sinks gleamed under shelves of dishes, pots and pans. A bank of refrigerators and another row of shelves filled the far wall. In the center of the room a twelve-by-four butcher-block table sat with some dining room chairs scattered haphazardly around it. And just past the end of the table stood a ratty-looking podium and a large pad of paper on an easel.

“So, take a seat, everyone,” Alice ordered cheerfully, waving her arms.

I took a chair and found that the table was chest-high once I was seated. I looked around as the others sat down. The butcher block was obviously meant for standing and cutting, not for sitting. Even Gary, the tallest of our bunch, looked like a kid at the grownups’ table as he sat next to his even shorter wife, Paula.

Alice’s smile faded as she joined us at the table. Had she only now realized the inadequacy of the seating arrangements? People began pulling out notebooks, and
I
realized the inadequacy of my note-taking arrangements. Leo and I were the only ones who hadn’t brought anything to write on.

Meg closed her eyes for a moment, then straightened her back and strode up to the podium. As she turned to face us, I saw new color in her pale cheeks. Between the color and the improved posture, Meg managed to look elegant in her baggy pants and white blouse instead of too thin.

“Thank you all for coming this evening,” she began, her voice crisp and clear now. “Tonight we’ll talk about the basics of vegan cooking. As you may know, a vegan diet is one without any animal products, be it meat, dairy, fowl or fish…”

I was impressed with Meg’s delivery. When she was on, she was on. Maybe the class wouldn’t be a total fiasco, after all.

“There are numerous advantages to the vegan diet,” she went on. “It is healthier, lower in cholesterol—”

“And saves the lives of innocent animals,” Paula Pierce pointed out. I groaned inwardly, hoping that Paula wasn’t planning to go into details.

“You don’t have to worry about growth hormones or antibiotics either,” added Ken. “But then with vegetables and grains, there’s always the risk of pesticides—”

“We will talk about those risks later,” Meg interrupted briskly.

All right, Meg!
I cheered silently.

“Tonight, I’d like to start with some of the staples of a vegan pantry,” she told us, turning to the pad of paper on her easel. As she spoke, she wrote in a graceful cursive hand. “Grains, legumes, soyfoods and vegetables—”

“Say, how about a drink while we listen?” Leo suggested. He stroked his pointed beard thoughtfully. “There’s gotta be some wine, or something, somewhere in this joint.”

Iris shook her head and clicked her tongue. I thought I heard her murmur “such a shame.” She probably still hadn’t forgiven him for wearing the beige linen suit.

“I’m sure you can get a glass of water from the tap,” Meg said in a voice that could have frozen the water into ice cubes.

I tallied up another point for Meg.

She continued uninterrupted, telling about the different kinds of vegan foods, beginning with grains and ending with sea vegetables. She showed us some of the special tools of the vegetarian cook: juicers, grinders, steamers and a cute little handheld electric appliance called a SaladShooter whose cord plugged into the wall and shredded fresh vegetables in a matter of seconds. Was this an end to scraped knuckles?

Then came the best part. Meg passed around trays of some of the appetizers we would learn to cook, along with three pitchers of herbal iced tea.

“Oh my, this is simply delicious,” Iris declared after tasting the lentil-walnut pâté on rye toast. “Such a deft hand with the seasoning. Is that marjoram I taste?”

Meg nodded.

“Mrmph,” I added in approval as I stuffed barbecue-flavored soybean riblets into my mouth. I wasn’t going to say any more than that until I got my share of all the food that was being passed around.

Which wasn’t going to be easy. There was a stiff competition for the appetizers. Leo was loading up squares of cracked wheat bread with large portions of both hummus and herbed tofu dip.

“Doesn’t seem right without wine,” he complained as he stuffed a chunk of dip-laden bread in his mouth. He swallowed, stroked his beard for a moment, then scraped the bowl of hummus clean with the rest of his bread.

Paula Pierce grabbed what was left of the tofu dip before Leo could finish it, and scooped it up with the homemade sesame herb crackers she had already snagged. Barbara was gobbling curried mushrooms and eyeing the tray of Mandarin vegetable kebabs that Gary and Alice were decimating. Only Meg and Ken seemed aloof from the frenzy.

“Are these organic?” Ken asked suspiciously as he pointed at the untouched platter of raw vegetables.

“I always use organic foods,” Meg assured him.

Ken took two carrot sticks and nibbled cautiously. At least
he
wasn’t going to eat more than his share.

Meg continued with her lecture as the rest of us ate. It was no wonder she was so thin if she could ignore food this good. Once the food was gone, she finished up with a promise to teach us how to cook all the things we had tasted and told us it was time for a break.

“Good, I need a drink,” boomed Leo, rising. He made a quick exit out the kitchen doorway. Ken looked back at the rest of us briefly through his thick glasses, then followed Leo out.

As Meg walked away from the podium she closed her eyes. When she opened them again a moment later, they held her old expression of faint bewilderment. Even her body was drooping once more. Poor thing, I thought. Public speaking was bad enough, and she had spoken for close to an hour and a half.

“I did so enjoy your lecture,” Iris told her. “You have such an imaginative touch with vegetarian foods.”

Meg looked down at her feet and mumbled a thank-you.

“Now, how long a break should we take?” Iris asked briskly as she stood, smoothing the wrinkles out of her pantsuit.

Meg turned to Alice for an answer.

“How about fifteen minutes?” Alice suggested. A smile curled the sides of her Kewpie-doll mouth. “Then I can do a quick jog around the block and burn off some of these delicious calories.”

“Fifteen minutes sounds perfect,” Iris agreed. “The park across the street is one of the nicer ones in the area. I’ve spent many a quiet afternoon there reading. Such a peaceful atmosphere.”

As Iris turned to go, Paula Pierce strode up and put an arm around Meg’s slumped shoulders. “You did great, honey,” she said.

“A very well organized lecture,” Gary added from behind Paula.

I didn’t wait for any more rave reviews. I needed some fresh air. Actually, I wanted to talk to Barbara about the evening’s events. The two of us walked out of the kitchen, back down the dimly lit hallway and through the dining room, whispering back and forth.

“That woman ought to have her children taken away,” Barbara hissed as we emerged into the cool evening air.

I didn’t ask who Barbara meant by “that woman.” I knew she meant Sheila Snyder. Maybe I was getting psychic too. I looked out across the street and saw Iris seated on a bench in the little park she had recommended, her silver hair shimmering in the luminous twilight as she turned a page of the book in her lap.

“I’m going to call Social Services tomorrow,” Barbara muttered as we crossed the street.

We sat down on the grass under an old, gnarled oak tree on the other side of the park from Iris. When I took a good look at Barbara, I saw lines of anger creasing her usually peaceful face. There was no humor left in her eyes. They looked old without it.

“My father used to hit me like that,” she said, and then I understood the intensity of her anger.

“You don’t know how that can mess a kid up,” she went on. She pulled up a handful of grass and dropped it again. Her face softened into sadness. “Those poor kids. Who knows what she does to them in private.”

She lay down full-length on the ground, her pink jumpsuit a crisp contrast to the bright green grass. “It will take them years to find their self-worth. It did me.”

I lay down beside her and stared up at the twilit sky, waiting for more. But Barbara was quiet. Barbara was never quiet. I began to worry.

“You came out pretty well, if you ask me,” I said softly.

She laughed. “I put on a good show, don’t I?”

I didn’t know what to say. I reached out and patted her hand.

“Thanks, kiddo,” she murmured and sat up.

I sat up too and scanned her face once more. I relaxed when I saw her eyes crinkling with their customary humor. She snaked an arm around me and squeezed my shoulders briskly.

“Hey,” she said, her voice filled with mischief. “I could use an ice cream cone. How about you?”

“Barbara!” I objected. “What’s the use of a low-fat, vegan cooking class if you top it off with an ice cream cone?”

But before I could stop her, Barbara was up and off to the ice cream parlor she had spotted on the corner. I watched her hurry up the street, almost colliding with Alice, who came jogging down the other way. Then I smiled and lay back down. My disapproval would make the ice cream cone taste all the better to her.

Ten minutes later, I had closed my eyes and drifted into a half dream about new gag gifts. A whistle jerked me awake. I sat up and looked around me. Paula and Gary were sitting on the bench where Iris had been. A young woman in shorts and a halter top was walking by. And Leo and Ken were standing across the street in front of the restaurant. Leo, I should have known.

He took a sip out of something in a brown bag and shouted, “Great legs, honey!”

I once knew a dog whose vocal cords had been cut to prevent him from barking. His mouth would move, but all that would come out was a little mewling sound. It had seemed heartbreaking to me at the time. Now, I was wondering if the same operation could be performed on Leo, preferably without anesthetic.

The young woman gave Leo the finger without breaking stride. I chuckled at the forlorn expression on his face, and issued a silent
Right on, sister
. Spoken aloud, the words of support would probably be meaningless to this young woman of the nineties.

Paula Pierce wasn’t chuckling. She rose and crossed the street, bearing down on Leo, oblivious to a BMW which slowed down to let her by. Leo saw her coming and quickly headed back into the Good Thyme Cafe. Whatever he had found to drink, it hadn’t slowed his reflexes.

I lay down again and stared at the darkening sky.

“Hey, the pecan praline was great,” I heard a few minutes later. Barbara was smiling down at me. “It’s time to get back, kiddo,” she added.

It was past time. We rushed back into the Good Thyme and down the dark hallway, now lit only by the glow from the kitchen. Someone had turned off the hallway’s one dim light bulb.

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” Barbara whispered as we were almost to the kitchen.

“Me too,” I whispered back. All that iced herbal tea was weighing heavily on my bladder. I could hear more than one voice coming from the kitchen. Apparently, Meg hadn’t resumed the lesson yet. Were they waiting for us to reconvene?

Barbara crossed the hallway, giggling.

“Is this the ladies room?” she asked, pulling open the first door she got to.

“You’re the psychic,” I teased softly, walking up behind her. “You tell me.”

“Whoops,” Barbara said as she took a step in. “I think this must be the pantry. I tripped over something.”

I followed her in, felt for the light switch and flipped it on.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw that we were in fact in the pantry. The walls of the small room were lined with shelves holding an assortment of oversized jars, bags and boxes.

Then I looked down and saw what Barbara had tripped over. It was a red high-heeled shoe.

I didn’t want to look any further, but my eyes traveled without permission to the foot the shoe had fallen from, and then moved swiftly up one long, crumpled leg to the seat of a pair of red shorts, passed the buttoned back of a red-and-white striped top, and came to rest on a mass of blow-dried hair lashed with loops of white electrical cord to what I now realized had to be Sheila Snyder’s neck. A Salad Shooter hung from the end of the electrical cord like a haphazardly placed bow on a hard-to-wrap package.

No!
my mind screamed. The room shimmered, then swayed as my stomach turned over.
No
, I told myself, closing my eyes,
I will not pass out
. Or vomit. My ears began to buzz.

A gurgling sound broke into the buzzing. I opened my eyes. Was Sheila still alive?

I TOOK A deep breath, and the room stopped swaying. I let the breath out and pushed past Barbara, dropping to my knees beside the body.

I grabbed Sheila’s wrist to feel for her pulse. The instant I touched her flesh, I knew I wouldn’t find one. Her body was too inert to be alive, her arm too heavy. But I desperately pressed my fingertips to her radial artery. I was right; no pulse. I laid my ear against her back and listened for breathing, in vain. I wondered frantically if I should turn her over. Bile rose in my throat. I didn’t want to see her full face. I had already glimpsed its blue-gray edge under her mass of blow-dried hair.