Zoe’s disdain for the gourmet dog treats continued the next morning, when Lucy suggested she take some along to Friends of Animals day camp to taste-test on the dogs there. “I don’t think so, Mom,” she said, with a sniff. “They’re my friends and I don’t want to insult them.”
“Libby liked them.”
“No, Mom, she didn’t. She buried them.”
“That means she likes them, right? She’s saving them for later.”
“If she liked them, she’d eat them right up.”
“Maybe she was full.” Even as she spoke, Lucy knew this was wishful thinking. Libby was a Lab and she would eat until she burst, that’s just the way Labs were. She’d eat sticks and rocks, she’d eat dead animals, she’d eat horse apples, she’d eat just about anything except the gourmet dog biscuits. The truth was unavoidable: the dog biscuits were a failure. “I guess I’ll have to find another recipe.”
“Try the Internet, Mom,” said Zoe, jumping out of the car. “I bet they have some good ones.” Then she was gone, running off to join her friends.
Lucy was a bit jealous as she drove on to work. If only there were day camp for grown-ups. She’d love to spend the day singing songs and practicing her backstroke and making something pretty in arts and crafts instead of slaving away over a computer trying to write an interesting story about the finance committee’s last meeting in time for the noon deadline.
“This came for you,” said Phyllis, handing her a business-size envelope.
Lucy took it, noticing there was no stamp and no return address. “Who brought it?” she asked.
Phyllis shook her head. The Aqua-Net was working; not a single tangerine curl budged. “Dunno. Somebody must have pushed it through the mail slot. It was on the floor when I got here this morning.”
That wasn’t unusual. Lots of people hand-delivered letters to the paper. There was no sense wasting a stamp if you were going to be downtown anyway, plus your letter would get there faster. Lucy put it with the stack of unopened mail, mostly announcements of local events, that was waiting on her desk and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“So how are things?” she asked Phyllis, taking advantage of the fact that Ted hadn’t arrived yet.
“I had some friends over for dinner last night. We had steak and whipped cream.”
“Yummy,” said Lucy, thinking Libby didn’t have it so bad after all.
“Don’t knock it. I’ve lost another five pounds.”
Lucy looked at Phyllis, resplendent in lilac slacks and a flowered blouse instead of the muumuus that used to be her summer uniform. “You look fabulous.”
Phyllis’s cheeks grew pink. “Thanks.”
The bell on the door jangled, announcing Ted’s arrival. Lucy gave him a big smile by way of greeting and headed for her desk, where she started opening the mail. Ted was all business on deadline day.
“How’s that story on the new teachers going?” he asked, setting a cup of coffee on his desk and opening his briefcase.
“It’s almost finished. I still have to talk to Buck Burkhart; I have an appointment with him at nine.”
Ted pulled out a notebook, flipping it open. “Okay. You’ve got new teachers, the finance committee meeting, the selectmen’s meeting, what else?”
Lucy had opened the letter on the top of her pile, the one with no return address. “Maybe there’s more to this hazing than we think. Listen to this: ‘players were subjected to a number of indignities including being forced to drink copious amounts of alcohol and having their heads shaved.’ That last part is true enough. Sara told me they’d shaved their heads but she thought it was voluntary.” Lucy returned to the letter, her eyes bulging at the next sentence: “‘They were then forced to undress and required to play the game of Twister in the nude.’”
You could have heard a pin drop. Ted and Phyllis were speechless.
“It’s another one of those anonymous letters,” she said, by way of filling the silence. “And I think it’s got the ring of truth, if you know what I mean. It’s weirder than fiction.”
“Naked Twister?” Phyllis’s ample bosom was heaving. “Kids today sure know how to have fun. We thought spin the bottle was hot stuff. What did we know?”
“I don’t think it’s funny,” said Lucy. “What do you think, Ted?”
Ted was examining the letter. “I wish the sender had signed it. Then I’d have a better idea what to think. This could be the work of a loony. Or somebody who has a grudge against the school. It could even be somebody who didn’t make the team.”
“I don’t think so, Ted. It sounds real to me. So did the first letter, for that matter.”
The bell on the door jangled just then, announcing Sue’s arrival. “Why so serious? Did somebody die?”
Lucy was relieved to see that Sue didn’t seem to be holding a grudge. Indeed, she looked inordinately pleased with herself as she set down a foil-covered plate on the counter.
“Hardly,” said Phyllis, fanning herself with a press release. “Somebody wrote a letter saying the football team plays naked Twister.”
“Naked Twister? I never thought of that. It sounds like fun.” Sue was smiling, just thinking about it. “With the right person, of course. I don’t know if Sid would be up for it. He’s not really all that flexible, anyway. It would have to be somebody younger, somebody like Johnny Damon. Or maybe that football player, Tom Brady. Now there’s a cutie.”
“Sue!”
“Just teasing,” she said, removing the foil and revealing a pyramid of frosted chocolate squares. “Voila! You must try these.”
They all took a step forward, drawn by the aroma of chocolate.
“Those look delicious.”
“Are they brownies?”
“Do they have carbs?”
“Yes, to all three. Now taste them.”
“I can’t,” said Phyllis, rushing out of the office.
“Atkins,” said Lucy. She picked up one of the luscious-looking squares of chocolate.
“MMMph,” said Ted, practically inhaling one and reaching for a second. “Mmmm.”
“Ted tends to overreact,” said Lucy. “He never met a food he didn’t like.” She took a bite and found herself swooning and moaning with pleasure. “These are better than sex,” she said, when she’d recovered her senses.
“That’s inspired, Lucy! That’s what I’m going to call them. Better-Than-Sex Brownies. I think they’re going to be a sensation at the bake sale.”
“What’s in them?”
“Trade secret.”
“They’re not low-carb, are they?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Chris won’t like that.”
“Chris will love them. They’re going to sell like hotcakes. And we can charge a small fortune for them. Trust me. Once the word goes out people will be flocking to buy them. They’ll be coming in droves. In busloads. Screaming for Better-Than-Sex Brownies.”
“Some people might find the name offensive,” said Ted, reaching for a third.
“You don’t want to spoil your appetite,” said Sue, snatching the plate away.
“Please,” said Ted, a hint of a whimper in his voice.
“Take it back about the name.”
“It’s not offensive at all,” he said. “I was wrong. Very wrong. Now can I have another? Please?”
Sue was magnanimous in triumph. “Of course you can. In fact, I’m going to leave you the whole plate.”
Ted seemed to go a bit weak at the knees and grabbed the counter for support.
“I must go now,” said Sue, striking a Superman pose. “I have a few more recipes to try.”
“You’re not happy with these?”
“A true artist is never satisfied,” she said. “To paraphrase Picasso, or perhaps it was Cezanne, I believe I am only beginning to know chocolate.”
“It’s certainly a noble quest,” said Lucy, as Sue departed. The bell on the door was still jangling when Lucy took another brownie. Ted had apparently entered a chocolate coma and was reclining in his chair, his feet on the desk and a smile on his face. A definite first for deadline day, thought Lucy, as she prepared to leave the office for her interview with Coach Buck.