The Battered Body Read online

  Gillian perked up immediately. “That must certainly be me! I have an entire spectrum of organic herbal teas. Would you care to come inside and peruse my pantry?”

  Paulette nodded. “You can stay out here, Willow. Perhaps one of the rubber frogs from the garbage truck will turn into your prince if you kiss it with enough desperation. Come along, Milla. No sense you catching a cold with your ‘big day’ coming up.”

  As soon as the Diva of Dough, followed by a subdued Milla, entered Gillian’s house, Willow breathed a sigh of relief. James quickly introduced her to his friends and then offered her the last of the hot buttered rum. “I think you may need this more than anyone here.”

  “Thanks.” Willow accepted the tumbler. “I used to carry a flask of vodka with me everywhere. Paulette likes freshly squeezed orange juice in the morning before her five or six daily lattes from Starbucks, so I’d just make myself an OJ and add a little splash of survival vodka. It got me through ’til lunchtime, anyway.”

  “I’d need more than a flask if I were workin’ with that she-devil.” Bennett pulled on his mustache.

  “Well, I don’t even have that now.” Willow looked at the floor, shamefaced. “Paulette smelled the vodka on my breath one day and that was that. I guess it was good because only alcoholics drink at work like I was doing. So now I smoke instead.” She dug a pack of cigarettes out of her coat pocket and grinned abashedly. “I’ll just go out to the street for a minute.” She eyed Gillian’s front door nervously. “If she comes out, just tell her I went to catch one of those frogs. She’d love to think I was obeying her orders to the letter.”

  The four friends watched the young woman scuttle down to the sidewalk, where she bent her head down and cupped her cigarette with her left hand, clearly determined to get it lit despite the swirling wind and snow.

  “Poor thing,” Lindy said, and then she clucked her tongue. “No one should be treated like that.”

  “I told you what Paulette was like.” James lowered his voice. “And I tried to talk to her about being nice because this was her sister’s community and people are kind to strangers in these parts, but I guess she’s not called a diva for nothing.”

  “Well, the Diva’s going to miss the finale.” Lucy looked pleased by the idea. “Here comes Santa!”

  An old yellow school bus corroded by rust lumbered down the street. The spectators in front of Gillian’s house gave their heartiest cheers and the children began to shriek at the top of their vocal ranges as they hopped up and down in excitement. The bus, which was driven by a very authentic-looking Santa Claus in denim overalls and a red flannel shirt, was occupied by the mayor and her staff. Each adult wore a green elf hat, pointy ears, and a red clown nose. The elves hung out the open bus windows, jingling hand bells and smiling widely in order to display their fake “redneck” teeth, which protruded from their mouths in crooked rows of brown and yellow.

  Just below the line of windows, the bus had been spray-painted with the words Hillbilly School Bus. A chicken coop had been erected on the roof and several agitated chickens, ducks, and white geese strutted about on a pile of straw. A shotgun rack had been built behind Santa’s back and he waved at the crowd with a hand brandishing an empty whiskey bottle. Plush raccoons, squirrels, and rabbits hung from hooks inside the open passenger door while the mayor’s four basset hounds occupied the rear bucket seat. Every inch of the bus’s exterior was covered in a mismatched hodgepodge of Christmas lights.

  Santa and the elves sang “All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth,” paying no mind to pitch, tempo, or any other musical element that might produce a harmonious sound. In fact, each time the group hit a high note, the mayor’s dogs began to howl, which the bystanders found incredibly funny.

  “What’s the big prize this year?” Lindy asked.

  James laughed as the elves began to shower the crowd with red, green, and silver Hershey’s kisses.

  “The kid’s prize is a new mountain bike, complete with helmet and knee pads,” Lucy answered. “And boy, would I love to win the adult prize. It’s a thousand-dollar Christmas shopping spree. Vendors from all over the county donated gift certificates good in their stores for the next two weeks only. How much fun would it be to spend all that much money at once?” She rubbed her hands together excitedly.

  “But you’re a county employee, just like the rest of us.” Bennett gave Lucy a perplexed look. “We’re excluded from winning the shoppin’ spree, so why get all worked up?”

  “A girl can dream, can’t she?” Lucy demanded crossly. “Anyway, if Gillian gets out to the street in time, she might catch the Hershey’s Kiss with the winning message on its tag.” She glanced through Gillian’s living room window. “How long can it take to make a pot of tea anyway?”

  “That crazy redhead’s probably whispering some Buddhist chant as the water boils,” Bennett said with a snort.

  The hillbilly bus slugged past Gillian’s house. Its exhaust issued a series of loud reports that caused the youngest children to scream in mock fear and the mayor’s bloodhounds to increase their frenzied keening. Amid the raucousness, Willow made her way back onto the porch. Her pale face was illuminated by Gillian’s lights and her white-blonde hair was nearly obscured by snow. She seemed immune to the cold, and James thought that she looked quite pretty with her cheeks tinged pink by the chilly air.

  “This parade is so cool!” she exclaimed. “Do you see how psyched all those kids are? Staying up late and being given all this free loot? And are those real chickens on the roof of that ancient school bus? You’d never see anything like this in New York. It’s all so … I don’t know …”

  “Fun?” James suggested.

  “Yes, but without the glitz and glam of a Macy’s parade.” Willow unwrapped a chocolate kiss and popped it in her mouth. “Take the candy, for example. In the city, we’d be looking inside this chocolate for razor blades or white powder. But here, you feel safe. Everything seems more genuine. More pure. I feel like I’d be welcome here no matter how much money I made or what I wore.”

  “That part’s true, but we’ve got plenty of crime here too. Trust me,” Lucy countered, and then quickly softened her tone. “But you’re right about the sincerity. I’m glad you were able to see our hillbilly Santa at any rate. After all the years I’ve seen this parade, I still don’t know who he really is.”

  “Maybe it’s not a costume.” Bennett winked and nudged Lucy.

  At that moment, raised voices could be heard emanating from within Gillian’s house. The supper club members exchanged worried glances, for one of the voices was clearly Gillian’s and she rarely shouted. James could also discern that Milla was yelling at both Paulette and Gillian and wondered whether he should go inside or let the women sort things out for themselves.

  Willow must have sensed that James was torn over what course of action to take. She touched his arm lightly and timidly said, “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. She’ll just turn on you if you’re in her line of fire.”

  “But Gillian’s my friend and Milla’s my …” He paused. “Well, Milla is Paulette’s sister. I guess she knows better than anyone how to handle the Diva of Dough.”

  Suddenly, Gillian’s screen door was flung open and Paulette strode outside, clinging to the fox-fur collar of her coat. James couldn’t help but notice that the blouse she wore underneath seemed to be covered by some kind of wet stain.

  “I’m soaked to the bone!” Paulette raged and turned a pair of angry gray eyes on Willow. “Get my umbrella open, you dolt. I’m already in danger of coming down with pneumonia, no thanks to the liberal, tree-hugging lunatic that owns this house. Milla! I mean it! I’m leaving this minute!”

  Without a word to anyone else, Paulette stomped down the stairs. Willow followed a half-step behind, holding a black umbrella covered by gold interlocked Chanel Cs over the Diva’s head.

  “I apologize for my sister’s behavior,” Milla said as she and Gillian stepped onto the porch. “I know ho
w much you love animals. I do too, and I had no idea she could be so cruel about them.”

  Gillian was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m sorry too. I should never have asked her if that fox fur on her coat was real. If only she hadn’t gone into all that detail about the fur farms and …” She choked back a sob.

  Milla squeezed Gillian’s shoulder and then shot an embarrassed glance James’s way. “It was a mistake to come over here—I just wanted Paulette’s first evening to be a positive one, and I knew there’d be good tea and wonderful company here. Oh dear, I hope we didn’t completely tarnish your time together.”

  James enveloped his future stepmother in a tight hug. “Don’t worry about it, Milla. You just added more color to a colorful night.”

  Milla smiled at him in gratitude and then trotted after her sister.

  “What happened in there?” Bennett asked Gillian.

  “That woman said such horrible things about the mink and fox fur farms where they get fur coats like hers. She told me how the animals … how they gnaw at their own limbs because they’re so upset to be in such tiny cages.” Gillian sniffed as another tear rolled down her cheek. “She told me she was proud that the fox cub used on her coat had obviously been electrocuted before he could cause any damage to his pelt.” After blowing her nose, Gillian balled the tissue into a tight wad inside her fist.

  “Don’t think about it any more,” Lindy stopped Gillian from dwelling on the morbid subject by putting her arm around her sniffling friend and pivoting her toward the front door. “Let’s all go inside for a bit and talk about something else, okay?”

  Gillian nodded and allowed Lucy to pick up the tray bearing the teapot and cups.

  “Well, you must have done somethin’ to fight back against the Wicked Witch of the North,” Bennett said, searching Gillian’s face. “She left here pretty steamed, so I’d say she didn’t get the last word anyhow.”

  “Steamed is right,” Gillian replied and blew her nose with finality. “I poured an entire cup of jasmine pearl oolong tea on her. I thought she might be able to sympathize over the plight of an electrocuted animal if she felt a little heat herself. I knew it wouldn’t burn her. The water hadn’t boiled yet. Still, now I’ve wasted a particularly delicate handful of tea leaves on that fur-wearing monster! And I cannot stand waste!”

  “I just can’t believe that someone who makes such tantalizingly sweet and beautiful cakes can be so, well, sour.” Lucy closed her thermos and went inside.

  James was the last one on the porch. He took a brief look down the street, where the school bus had already turned the corner and was heading down Main Street at a steady crawl, and then blinked. For a moment, he was positive that he had seen a small, red elf duct taped to the yellow vehicle’s rear emergency exit door.

  “Glowstar?” James called in confusion, and then he shook his head. How could the library’s elf have found his way onto the hillbilly school bus? Who would kidnap their elf and then tape him onto the last vehicle of the Christmas Cavalcade?

  “Nah,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “It couldn’t be Glowstar. Must be some other elf.” Still, he couldn’t help watching the small red form as it disappeared into the distance. Its plastic face looked very familiar. James knew that come Monday, he’d have to at least mention the sighting to the Fitzgerald brothers. He also knew that they wouldn’t rest until the mystery of the missing elf had been solved.

  Lucy’s Hot Buttered Rum

  1 pound butter

  1 pound brown sugar

  1 pound powdered sugar

  1 quart vanilla ice cream, softened

  1 tablespoon cinnamon

  1 tablespoon nutmeg

  1 bottle dark rum

  6 ounces boiling water per serving (approximately)

  To prepare batter: Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Stir in the sugars until they dissolve. Remove from heat and blend in the ice cream, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Pour the mixture into a container and freeze.

  To serve: Remove the batter from the freezer. Allow it to soften. Place 2 rounded tablespoons of batter in a coffee mug. Add 1 to 2 tablespoons dark rum. Add approximately 6 ounces of boiling water (more or less depending on the size of the mug) and stir until the batter is melted. Sprinkle with cinnamon, nutmeg, or both. Prepare to feel warm and fuzzy all over.

  “I’ve never been thin, Dr. Ruth,” James admitted as he stared at the kind face of Ruth Wilkins, Bennett’s nutritionist. “And I don’t need to look like Brad Pitt. I just want to feel comfortable in the tuxedo I’m wearing to my father’s wedding—in all my clothes, actually. I’d like to be healthy, but not in exchange for eating a bunch of tasteless food for the rest of my life.”

  The nutritionist nodded and uncapped her pen, keeping it poised above a yellow legal pad. “You can just call me Ruth, Mr. Henry. ‘Dr. Ruth’ always makes people think of the famous sex therapist, and that’s not quite my area of expertise.” She shrugged self-effacingly, laced her fingers together, and smiled encouragingly. “Why don’t you start off by telling me what kinds of foods you like? And you can be honest with me. I’m not going to pass judgment on what you enjoy eating. I’m not here to ask you to change your tastes in food, but to help you achieve your goals.”

  James released the tight grip he’d been applying to his leather armchair, which faced Dr. Ruth’s desk and was adjacent to a coffee table filled with synthetic food. Bennett had called the nutritionist “doctor,” so James had also come to think of her as Dr. Ruth. He picked up a piece of fake food from the table next to him—a plastic chicken drumstick—and examined it curiously.

  “I like meat and potatoes,” he answered as he replaced the chicken leg and scooped up a pile of peas, which had the consistency of hardened Play-Doh. “I’m not a big seafood fan, but I do like a lot of green vegetables as well as all kinds of fruit.” He paused. “I love salty stuff like cheese puffs, peanuts, buttered popcorn, and Doritos. And I’ve got a sweet tooth as well. I feel like my meal isn’t really done until I’ve had something sugary, especially after supper.”

  “That’s not uncommon. Many people need dessert to provide a sense of closure to their meal.” Dr. Ruth took a few notes. “It sounds like you eat a nice variety of healthy foods. That makes my job easier.” She gave him an approving smile. “It’s also encouraging that you have a specific aim, such as wanting to fit more comfortably into your clothes. When is your father’s wedding?”

  “In less than two weeks. On Christmas Eve,” James said.

  Dr. Ruth tapped her pen thoughtfully against her notepad. “Healthy weight loss is gradual, Mr. Henry. You might lose four or five pounds by the wedding, but not fifteen or twenty. I don’t want you to go into this with unrealistic expectations.”

  James nodded. “Oh, I know. The wedding just gave me the motivation I needed to make an appointment with you. I probably won’t lose any weight now that my father’s future wife’s sister is in town. She’s a famous baker, and she’s going to be making the wedding cake. Somehow or other, I promised to taste a sample of all of her favorite recipes and pronounce which cake I think should be served at the wedding.”

  “That’s quite an honor,” Dr. Ruth said with an amused grin. “And actually, you could still lose weight while being the official cake taster. Two or three bites are not going to make a difference as long as you’re not combining those high-calorie samples with other unhealthy treats in the course of one day.” She turned to a wooden letter tray near her right elbow and pulled out a sheet of computer paper. Sliding on a pair of reading glasses, she looked up at James over the lenses and asked, “The baker’s name wouldn’t happen to be Paulette Martine, would it?”

  “That’s her. The Diva of Dough,” James replied, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from his tone.

  “I’m doing a television show with her this Thursday. The crew from the CBS affiliate in Charlottesville is driving up here to interview us about how we approach holiday feasts. I’m supposed to talk
about practicing moderation in order to avoid weight gain, and Paulette is going to illustrate examples of decadent foods that are worth blowing a diet for. Of course, I don’t support diets, but a change of lifestyle. Still, it should be an interesting show.” She picked up a framed photograph on her desk and showed it to James. “Channel 19 plans to run clips from the show on their evening news program as well. I’m hoping to gain a few more clients from the deal so that I can keep up with the cost of tuition.”

  As James examined the photograph of Dr. Ruth’s three sons, who all resembled NFL linebackers, he wondered whether he should warn Dr. Ruth about Paulette’s waspish manner. The nutritionist, a petite brunette with lovely skin and glistening blue-green eyes, was markedly gentle and soft-spoken in comparison to Paulette Martine. James hated the idea that Paulette might browbeat Dr. Ruth in front of thousands of television viewers. “Well, I’ll definitely tune in,” he said. “But look out for Paulette. She’s got a rather venomous tongue.”

  Dr. Ruth returned her family photo to the corner of her desk and nodded. “I’ve watched Madame Martine’s Diva of Dough show several times. I’ll be focusing on the nutritional content of her beautiful cakes, but like I told you, I don’t recommend depriving oneself of desserts or food treats, so Paulette and I shouldn’t find ourselves at odds. After all, life isn’t about eating broccoli. Healthy eating entails choosing a wide variety of foods, including an occasional Twinkie or a bag of salt and vinegar chips.”