Fat-Free and Fatal (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (19 page)

Barbara and I shared a look.

“He’s not that bad, really,” mumbled Ophelia. “He acts like a big lech, but his wife would kill him if he really did anything, you know, serious. And she’s the real boss at the gallery.”

“Well, if Dan Snyder comes in again, call the police,” I advised her. I would have liked to advise her to quit her job too, but I doubted that she’d listen. Leo had her where he wanted her. I hoped she got her show.

“So what’s the deal, anyway?” she asked, excitement back in her voice. “How’s Leo mixed up in this murder?”

“He was in a class at the restaurant the night the woman was killed,” I told her. “So were we. And Dan Snyder is the dead woman’s husband.”

“Oh,” said Ophelia in a small voice. She looked down at the table, subdued. “Do you think Leo really might’ve killed her?”

I shrugged my shoulders, wishing I could give her an answer. I didn’t want to scare her. But if Leo
was
a murderer, I wanted her to be on guard.

“He’s one possibility,” Barbara said gently. “What do you think?”

She tapped her fingers on the table as she considered the question. “He drinks like a fish,” she said finally.

“And…” Barbara prompted.

“He doesn’t always remember what he’s done when he’s been drinking.” Ophelia looked up at us, her eyes wide with doubt.

“Listen—” I began.

“Are you ladies ready to order?” boomed a voice from behind me. I jumped in my seat. “Or do you need more time?”

I turned and saw an Occidental man in a short, belted kimono over blue jeans. Who thinks up these outfits? I wondered.

“Well,
I’m
ready,” said Barbara. “I’ll have the coquilles St. Jacques.”

“Excellent choice,” our waiter told her.

“Sushi combo for me,” Ophelia ordered happily.

“Very good,” he commented.

“Vegetarian plate,” I said.

He just grunted.

As he took our salad and drink orders a question occurred to me. A number of questions actually, one being how much this dinner was going to cost me. I hoped Barbara was planning on sharing the cost of Ophelia’s sushi combo.

“Is Leo a vegetarian?” I asked Ophelia once the waiter had gone.

“Uh-uh,” she replied, shaking her head. “But Ken is.”

“Ken?”

“Ken is Leo’s son,” she said. “He’s a real dweeb, you know, an accountant. He’s got glasses and this real weird body kinda like Leo’s, you know, short with a big butt.”

“Does he talk about growth hormones and pesticides a lot?” I asked.

She nodded. It sounded like our Ken.

“But I thought Ken was his buddy,” Barbara objected.

“Leo doesn’t want people to know he’s old enough to have a grown kid,” Ophelia explained. She shook her head. “Weird, huh?”

“Jeez-Louise,” muttered Barbara. “Who does he think he’s going to fool? He looks old enough to have grown grandsons!”

“If Leo’s not a vegetarian, why did he go to the class?” I asked, returning to my original thought.

“He’s got some kinda heart problem,” offered Ophelia. “He’s supposed to eat low-cholesterol stuff. But he doesn’t.”

“Maybe he went to hang out with Ken,” said Barbara.

“He probably wants a chance to hit on some new women,” Ophelia sighed. “He’s such a…”

“Jerk?” I suggested.

“‘Jerk’ is much too kind,” murmured Barbara with a grin. “I’d call him a grade A asshole.”

Ophelia giggled at that one. Once again, Barbara had established rapport with an interviewee.

The vegetarian plate was okay. A minuscule bowl of miso soup, a small scoop of cucumber salad and a few tiny pieces of teriyaki-grilled tofu and broccoli. Only $9.95. I had a feeling this was the last time I’d visit Sushi la Rue.

On the other hand, Ophelia supplied us with the name and address of Ken’s accounting firm. And Barbara split the fifty-dollar bill with me. I felt lucky.

We walked Ophelia back to the gallery and got in the Volkswagen again. The sky was just beginning to shimmer with early twilight. I put my hands over my eyes and we took off.

Halfway home, Barbara was still sounding off about Leo as I grunted agreement. Suddenly she stopped.

I dropped my hands from my eyes.

“Kate,” she whispered urgently. “Look in the rearview mirror.”

I craned my head around instead.

Dan Snyder’s truck was right behind us.

THIS TIME MY field of vision wasn’t limited by a rearview mirror. I could see the blur that was Dan Snyder’s angry face through the Volkswagen’s back window and the windshield of his Chevy truck. I could even read the lettering on the truck’s grille. And the letters were getting clearer and larger. Much larger.

“Watch out!” I warned Barbara. “He’s gonna ram—”

But she was way ahead of me. She veered off into the emergency lane and screeched to a halt before I could even finish my sentence.

I stared at her, my mouth still gaping open. My wrist was aching from bracing myself against the dashboard. My heart was thumping like a marching band in my ears.

“Why are you so surprised?” demanded Barbara with a weak smile. “I keep telling you no one ever hits me.”

Suddenly, I believed her. But I didn’t have time to tell her so.

“Uh-oh,” she whispered, pointing.

Dan Snyder had pulled off the road too, about fifteen car lengths ahead of us. He jumped out of the cab of his truck and took a step in our direction.

Barbara looked at me, a hint of fear in her eyes now.

“Lock your door,” I told her as I locked my own. “We can always take off again if it looks like he’s getting violent.”

Just then another car pulled off the road in front of us and slowed to a halt close behind Snyder’s truck. It was a rental car and it looked familiar. Both doors opened at once. Edna stepped out of one side and Arletta out of the other.

Dan Snyder stopped dead in his tracks.

“Who the hell are they?” asked Barbara, her voice hushed with awe.

“The twins,” I answered. “You can unlock your door now.”

We watched from the Volkswagen as Edna, Arletta and Dan talked. We couldn’t hear them, but we could see the pantomime. Dan waved his hands around for a minute or two. Arletta shook her thin white finger at him. Edna folded her arms across her solid chest and glared. Heads bobbed. Mouths wiggled. Finally, Dan seemed to give in. He hung his head as Arletta continued speaking, then turned and followed her back to his truck. She gave his hand a little pat and he climbed into the cab.

Meanwhile Edna was heading our way. Barbara rolled down her window.

“All taken care of,” Edna told us gruffly, squatting down next to the car. “You can go on home now.”

It was a measure of Barbara’s awe that she did as she was told without question. We pulled back on the highway a few car lengths behind Dan Snyder. Somewhere behind us brakes squealed. I put my now cold and shaking hands over my eyes.

“Jeez-Louise,” breathed Barbara as she switched lanes. I heard a honk close by. “Those are some far-out ladies. Tell me about them. I want to hear everything.”

I did the best I could, telling her how I had met the twins at the health spa from hell. And telling her how they had saved my life. It wasn’t easy to talk. I was feeling sick with adrenaline overload. Or maybe it was the Sushi la Rue vegetarian plate.

It wasn’t until Barbara had left me off at the house that I began to wonder what the twins had been doing so conveniently nearby to us on the highway. It couldn’t have been luck, I decided as I walked up the stairs. They must have been following someone. But who? Dan Snyder? Or Barbara and me?

I opened my front door and fumbled for the light switch with a cold hand. Another, warmer hand was already there. I jerked back, startled for a moment.

“Kate?” whispered Wayne and the light went on.

I grabbed him around the waist and pulled him to me, then laid my head against his chest, absorbing his warmth.

“Been looking at condos for Vesta, today,” he whispered to the top of my head.

I looked up into his kind, unhandsome face and forgot all about Dan Snyder. “Yeah?” I said eagerly.

“Talked to some people about private nursing care, too,” he added.

“That’s great!” I shouted, then looked around guiltily for Vesta. She was nowhere in sight.

“Have you told her yet?” I asked more quietly.

Wayne shook her head. His brows came down, obscuring his eyes. I knew it was going to be hard for him to tell Vesta she had to leave. I just hoped he could do it. I wanted to beg him to tell her right now, but I restrained myself.

“Thank you,” I whispered instead.

We made love to the Celtic jigs and airs of The Chieftains that night. Vesta didn’t bang on the wall. Afterwards, I wondered why. Either she was asleep, I thought dreamily, or she knew something was up. Then
I
was asleep.

“Does your husband know you’re an adulteress?” Vesta demanded the next morning as I crunched seven-grain flakes with soy milk. Maybe she hadn’t been asleep after all.

“I don’t have a husband,” I muttered sleepily, not bothering to look up.

“How about your customers?” she went on. “How about your friends?” She leaned forward, her voice deepening along with her smile. “How about your mother?”

My stomach clenched. “How about giving it a rest?” I suggested and took my cereal out onto the back porch.

After I had finished breakfast I did a little paperwork, then got back to designing my new eyeball mug for ophthalmologists. The nose mugs for the ear-nose-throat specialists had been a big success, the feet mugs for the podiatrists a lesser one. I was planning mugs, neckties and scarves for all specialities. Almost all of them anyway. I hadn’t been able to think of a pleasant image for the dermatologists, and the ones I had thought up for the gynecologists were probably X-rated.

By noontime I was working on the matching ophthalmologist necktie, which would feature staggered rows of wide-open eyeballs on a navy blue background. C.C. was yowling in the background for lunch. Vesta was pacing up and down the hallway, ranting to herself. My stomach tightened another notch with each shrill word she uttered. I thought about going to that claustrophobic little room I called my office at the Jest Gifts warehouse. I wished I had a bigger one. Wayne managed his restaurants from a regular office. Maybe I should rent one, too.

The doorbell rang, interrupting my thoughts. I leapt out of my chair gratefully.

I was even more grateful when I opened the door and saw the twins standing there.

“I hope we’re not intruding,” Arletta warbled. “We thought we might take you to lunch.”

“Don’t want to be in the way,” Edna added brusquely.

“Are you kidding!” I cried and gave them each a warm hug. “Come in, come in. I called your motel earlier, but they said you were out.”

Twenty minutes later we were at the Starship Cafe, looking at “Star Station, Planet Earth” menus again. I had offered to cook lunch, but the glance that Edna and Arletta had exchanged had told me they weren’t up for vegetarian food. On the way to the cafe they had quietly interrogated me about Vesta. I was surprised. I had expected more questions about Sheila Snyder’s murder.

“Who were you guys following last night?” I asked finally, setting my menu down on the silvery tablecloth.

Arletta peered at Edna through her thick glasses. Edna shrugged her sturdy shoulders.

“Dan Snyder,” she growled.

I nodded eagerly. “And…?” I prodded.

“We picked up Snyder’s trail around five o’clock at the Good Thyme,” Arletta chirped. I had a feeling she’d been reading more hardboiled mysteries lately. “He proceeded to the Conn-Tempo Gallery in a black Chevrolet truck. You and your friend…” She peered at me inquiringly.

“Barbara Chu,” I supplied.

“Thank you, dear,” she said thoughtfully, then continued. “You and your friend Barbara were proceeding on foot down the street with a tall young woman…”

“That’s Ophelia. She works for Leo at the Conn-Tempo,” I told Arletta.

“Thank you,” Arletta repeated with a smile. In the guise of answering my question, she seemed to have asked a couple of her own.

Edna took over. “Snyder noticed the three of you. He whipped into a parking space and waited. When you and your friend got into the Volkswagen and took off, he was on your tail.” She paused for a moment and tilted her head quizzically. “Why’d you put your hands over your eyes?” she asked.

Our waiter arrived a few minutes of explanation later, dressed in silver tights and a maroon tunic. His legs weren’t perfect, but his face was pleasant and smiling.

I ordered the Planetoid Pasta Salad. Arletta got the Martian Chicken Marinade. And Edna asked for a Halley Burger, named for the English astronomer.

Then we got back to business.

“So, what have you found out about the Snyders?” I asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“Aren’t well liked by the locals,” Edna replied.