Fit to Die by J. B. Stanley Page A

helplessly.
    The fireman pushed a bowl of stew underneath the old woman’s nose. “Ma’am, it’s mostly chicken, corn, beans, onions, and tomatoes and stuff. There’s nothin’ bad in there.”
    “What kind of stuff?” the old woman demanded suspiciously.
    “You know, like spices.”
    Fortunately, Mrs. Emerson, the minister’s wife who had been so upset over Chilly Willy’s T-shirts, stepped in and coaxed the couple into accepting their bowls of stew.
    “You just have to know how to handle people,” she said proudly to her companion in line as the older couple shuffled off to find seats. Mrs. Emerson’s companion turned out to be Savannah Lowndes.
    “Well, I wish we could handle some of this town’s more pressing problems, like that wretched ice cream store.”
    “We could always pray that our townsfolk get tired of ice cream and that man has to move to Richmond,” Mrs. Emerson responded with a deadpan look. “I’ll ask the other folks in my Youth Leadership Group to pray with me.”
    “Excuse me,” a third woman stepped toward the two middle-aged matriarchs. James tried to shrink backward in line as he recognized the heavily made-up stick figure belonging to Ronnie Levitt.
    “Hi!” she chirped. “I’m Veronica Levitt, the proprietor of the new Witness to Fitness and I completely agree with you ladies.”
    Mrs. Emerson and Mrs. Lowndes smiled widely. “Welcome to our delightful berg, my dear.” Mrs. Lowndes drawled.
    “I just wanted to say, that when my business becomes a success around here, no one will feel the need to visit that little old ice cream shop.” Ronnie lowered her voice conspiratorially. “People trying to eat healthy foods shouldn’t be buying frozen custard, if you see what I mean. I vow to make Quincy’s Gap a happier, healthier place!” James half expected her to shake a pair of pompoms as she uttered this passionate oath. “I might just have to design my own T-shirts. I don’t think Willy’s are very attractive, do you? And he’s bought enough to outfit the entire town.”
    “Those shirts are entirely reprehensible!” Mrs. Emerson declared.
    Mrs. Lowndes smirked. “Indeed. It looks like we’ll just have to make certain your business succeeds where his does not. We women will stick together and take care of this little problem ourselves.”
    “Yes we shall,” Mrs. Emerson said, puffing out her chest like a bullfrog. Then she turned to receive her stew and the three women moved off to find a seat together, whispering in tones too hushed for James to hear over the general din within the garage.
    James had just gotten his own steaming bowl with a side of cornbread when Bennett appeared from out of nowhere and asked James to join him and a new co-worker of his at a nearby table. Relieved to have someone to sit with, James wove through the rows of satiated diners where two seats had been saved by the strategic placement of one of Bennett’s letter bags. Across from the two empty chairs sat a man in his late thirties whom James had never seen before. When Bennett moved his bag, the man looked up and gave James a reserved smile.
    “Carter, this is my good buddy James Henry. James, this is Carter Peabody. He just moved here and has taken over Pat Salisbury’s route. Pat retired last week.”
    “Nice to meet you, Carter.” James felt immediately comfortable in the presence of another shy soul. Of course, Carter had the looks of a weathered surfer, right down to the sun-streaked hair and freckled nose. He seemed to be of average build with a hint of a paunch, but overall, James was certain women would find Carter very appealing. Perhaps his bashfulness was just a pretense. James cast sly glances at the newcomer as he ate his stew and Bennett warned Carter about the nastier canines on his new mail route.
    “I like dogs,” Carter responded simply after Bennett was finished. “Especially big ones, like the K-9 units on the cop shows. I’ve got a Border collie named