Biggie and the Devil Diet - By Nancy Bell Page 0,41

he said.

I took a close look at the wreath. "I never saw any black flowers before."

"It's my own invention," Butch said. "Isn't it just gorgeous? What I did was, last night I set a bunch of red carnations in a coffee can full of black ink. They just drunk up that ink like it was water, and by morning it had turned them all black. I may get a patent on this. It could revolutionize the funeral business."

"Butch, you're a wonder," Biggie said. "But how did you know so soon that he was dead?"

"Biggie, you know how word travels in this town. Arthel Reid, the new undertaker, called me just as soon as he got his hands on the body. We help each other like that, doncha know. Professional courtesy."

"Anybody else around?" Rosebud asked.

"Sure. They were all sitting around the dining room table when I got here. Well, ta-ta, gotta go. The Methodists are having the bishop this Sunday, and they want to load the church up with flowers." He waved two fingers at us and headed for his truck.

Rob Parish answered the door looking as dorky as ever. His hair, black and straight, hung over his forehead, and his rumpled white dress shirt had a big ink stain on the sleeve. His too-short pants rode up enough to show the white socks he wore with a pair of black Oxfords. He frowned when he saw us but motioned us to follow him into the living room. A mess of papers covered the top of the coffee table.

"Where is everybody?" Biggie asked.

"Who knows?" he said. "All over, I guess. My darling wife is still sleeping it off, and Laura took a pill and went back to bed right after lunch. What do y'all want?"

"Just a courtesy call," Biggie said, taking a seat in one of the wing chairs by the fireplace.

Rob sat on the couch in front of the coffee table. "Well, I'm working here."

"Oh, go right ahead. Don't let us disturb you." Biggie's not easily discouraged. She sat for about five seconds before she asked, "What's that you're working on?"

He pawed through the papers, not looking at Biggie. "It's a book I'm writing."

"Oh, a book! Then you're an author! How exciting. What's it about?"

"It's a novel— a serious novel."

"My gracious, aren't you smart. Do tell me about it. I'm so interested in reading."

I hid a smile. Biggie never reads anything except the newspaper. She's too busy doing other things.

"It's about good and evil, love and hate, power and corruption."

"My, oh my," Biggie said. "Tell me more."

Rob couldn't resist. The way I saw it, probably not many people asked him to talk about his work.

"Well, there's this young man, he's a kind of Christ character. Good, you know, and pure. Well, he sells his soul to the devil for gold and power."

"How original," Biggie murmured.

"Yes, I thought so. So, anyway, he meets this rich man, and the man has a daughter. She's very beautiful but evil. The boy is bewitched by her charms, and soon they are married. The rich man gives his daughter a fortune for a dowry."

"How nice," Biggie said.

Rob frowned at her. "No, you miss the point. It was not nice at all. The young groom had planned to use the money for good, but his wife has other ideas. She spends recklessly on frivolities. The young man begs her to stop, but she only spends more, so he goes to the father for help. He tries to reason with him, earnestly pleading that the money be used for humanitarian purposes. The father laughs in the young man's face, for he is Beelzebub himself, you see. In the end the girl becomes a drunken shrew. She mocks the boy and makes his life a living hell."

"And what happens to the father?" Biggie looked sharply at Rob.

"Justice prevails." Rob picked up the papers and began sorting them in neat piles. "I haven't got it all worked out yet."

"One more question, honey," Biggie said. "This is so interesting…. I was just wondering, does the old man have a wife?"

Rob's face took on a goofy look. "Yes, he does. A beautiful creature, as good as she is kind. Try as they might, the old man and his evil daughter cannot corrupt her. In the end, she and the young man—"

"Well, that sounds just wonderful." Biggie stood up and went and stood at the French door that led to the patio. "Oh, there goes Grace. Sorry to rush off, honey, but