Pennsylvania-Dutch - Too Many Crooks Spoil The Broth Part 18

Doc gave me a look that would have curdled b.u.t.ter-milk, had there been any out in the open. "I didn't say it wasn't poison. Respiratory failure is often the cause of death from fast-acting poisons. Both plant and animal poisons."

"Animal poisons? What kind?"

"Snakes, mainly. Some marine life as well."

"Spiders?"

Instead of getting angry again, Doc laughed. "Give it a rest, Magdalena. It wasn't a spider that did Linda in. Ed could tell that much already."

I breathed a sigh of relief. It's not that I didn't care about Linda, but I cared even more about avoiding a lawsuit for negligent housekeeping, or whatever it was they would have charged me with, had it been a spider. That is, had the spider in question been a homegrown one and not some fancy imported variety.

"If it's any comfort," said Doc needlessly, "that young lady died about as quickly as it's possible to die."

I flashed up a picture of young Linda, lying on Susannah's bed and clutching one of Mama's quilts. "She might have died fast, but it sure wasn't painless. I'd just as soon go in my sleep."

Wouldn't we all."

I was about to say something witty about the way old Doc would undoubtedly depart the Earth, but my mind flitted back to the scene I'd just conjured up. There was something definitely wrong with it. Something was very much out of place, but I couldn't seem to hold the scene in my mind long enough to figure it out.

"A penny for your thoughts," said Doc gently.

"They aren't worth much right now, that's for sure. I've been thinking about seeing Linda lying there on Susannah's bed, and something's just not right."

Doc smiled. "Besides the fact that she was dead?"

"Yes, besides that."

Just then Freni came into the kitchen through the back door. She seemed surprised to find anyone there, especially Doc.

"Afternoon, Freni," said Doc with what was undoubtedly forced joviality.

Freni jerked her head in acknowledgment. She was no more fond of old Doc than he was of her. The Doc/Freni feud, I'm told, goes back even to before I was born. I'm not even sure what it's about, but I am sure it's as clear as crystal in both their minds. Neither of them forgets anything, and both of them seem to have a genuine need to be generally disliked. Freni more so than Doc. Doc at least has Ed Houlihan and a few other old cronies to pal around with. Freni, now that Mama's gone, has only Mose and me.

"Thanks for bringing the ca.s.serole over last night," I practically sang out. I'm all for diverting confrontations.

"No problem, Magdalena, except, of course, that you weren't here."

"Sorry, Freni, but you did hear what happened to Shnook.u.ms."

"Grown men should have more important things to do than treating English dogs," said Freni, looking somewhere just past Doc's ear. "Anyway, Magdalena, I'm here to start supper. Same old crowd, I suppose." Freni opened the fridge and began rummaging around.

"You suppose right, Freni. Well, sort of, anyway. One of them's dead."

Her voice showed no sign of surprise. "And which one is that?"

"The young woman. Linda was her name."

"A shame," said Freni simply.

She started busying herself with supper preparations without clearing anything with me first, including her employment status. From the way she acted, Freni knew exactly what she planned to cook, and that was that. By the looks of what she had lined up on the table, Jeanette and Joel were simply going to be out of luck. Freni, it was clear, had come back with a vengeance.

Doc and I ate our second lunch in respectful silence. We were very careful, however, to chew our food slowly, so it should have been obvious, even to Freni, that we were not at all intimidated by her presence.

When we were quite done, I said good-bye to Doc, who had a four-o'clock appointment to spay the Methodist minister's Doberman. Then, after a quick prayer and a couple of deep breaths, I worked up enough nerve to sneak back into the parlor. The game was essentially still the same, except for the addition of a few more players.

"Then where were you, if you weren't hunting?" Melvin was asking the Congressman. Incidentally, Melvin used the same tone of voice with the Congressman as he did with me. I took some comfort in that.

The Congressman, on the other hand, did not seem to possess the bottomless font of patience that I am so famous for. "Look here, kid," said Garrett, "either I'm a suspect or I'm not. If I'm not, then my whereabouts today are none of your d.a.m.n business. And you can be d.a.m.n sure the Governor's going to hear about this. Delbert, give Paul a ring as soon as this cretin lets us go."

Perhaps I did feel just a wee bit sorry for Melvin. After all, he was a local boy, and probably really was some kind of kin if I looked hard enough. "Pardon me," I interjected, "but there's a phone call for you, Melvin. In the kitchen."

Melvin looked desperately grateful, although I fully expected him to chew me out later for having addressed him by his first name. At any rate, he followed me like a puppy dog into the kitchen. It was clear he wasn't actually expecting there to be a call waiting for him, and I thought briefly, and then discarded the notion, about revising my opinion of his intelligence.

"Melvin, dear, I began, theres something important I should tell you." "Dear," in case it's escaped your notice, is a form of address reserved exclusively for use by middle-aged women when they want to be condescending. Although usually this form of condescension is employed by sales clerks, we hoi polloi have rightful access to it as well. Of course, as we all know, at about age fifty-five we need to subst.i.tute the word "honey" for "dear" when we stoop to condescend. The principle remains the same, however.

As a truly acculturated man under forty, Melvin responded much better to condescension than he ever had to confrontation. "Yes, Miss Yoder?"

I told Melvin about Lydia's conversation with me in the henhouse. By the time I was through, Melvin Stoltzfus looked like he was about ready to cry. He was clearly out of his league. "What do you think I should do, Miss Yoder?"

"Pray more," said Freni. I'm sure she meant it.

"Have you considered calling in the big boys?" I hadn't meant to be insulting. "What I mean is, can't you just turn this over to the county? You know, call the Sheriff in on it."

Melvin shook his head, probably to hide the fact that he was blinking. Given the size of Melvin's eyes, he wasn't fooling anyone. "Jeff, I mean the Chief, put me in charge while he's away. I'm supposed to handle everything that comes up within this jurisdiction. He's counting on me, Miss Yoder. I'm supposed to follow normal procedure."

Well, then, what is normal procedure in this case?"

It wouldn't have surprised me if Melvin had consulted a handbook, but he didn't. "I am authorized to detain everyone who was on or had access to these premises, for the next twenty-four hours, or until the coroner's report is returned. At which time I must "

"Freni!" My kinswoman and sometime cook was trying to sneak out the back door. What with supper just hours away, I couldn't afford to let that happen.

"I'm just going out to get some eggs;" said Freni haltingly. Most Amish women are terrible liars.

I smiled. "No need to, dear. I just collected them all a half hour ago." Freni's face turned a nice, deep red, which actually went quite well with her blue gingham dress. "W-w-well," she stammered, "t-this recipe requires a lot of eggs. I'm going to need some more. Maybe some have been laid since then."

Maliciously I opened the fridge door. "Do you need more than four dozen?"

"I was only here for ten minutes last night," said Freni. "All I did was bring a ca.s.serole. And this is the thanks I get? Being accused of murder?"

"No one's accused you of anything," Melvin tried to explain, but Freni would have none of it.

"Your grandmother and I are cousins," she said. I'm sure she meant the term loosely. "But we're more like sisters. And your grandfather and I are cousins on the Bontrager side. I've known you all your life, Melvin, long before that bull kicked you in the head, and you have the nerve to accuse me of murder?"

"Freni!" This time it was Mose. I hadn't seen him come in, so compelling was Freni's performance.

I let Mose try and calm Freni down while I attempted to do the same with Melvin. That comment about having been kicked in the head clearly seemed to have upset him. Perhaps there was truth to the rumor. Undoubtedly Melvin had heard it before.

"Don't pay any attention to what she said, Melvin. Freni Hostetler is as high-strung as a telephone pole on Mars. She speaks first and thinks later. But deep inside she's a p.u.s.s.ycat."

"Cats have claws, Miss Yoder. Anyway, what do you think I should do now?"

"Detain all the guests," I advised, "but let Freni go home for the night when she's done here. It's not like we don't know where to find her. What's she going to do, make a mad dash for the Maryland border in her buggy?"

Much to my surprise, Melvin accepted my advice. He told everyone except Freni that no charges had been levied yet but that none of them was to leave the township of Hernia until the coroner's report came in. I was surprised again when virtually no one complained about having to spend another night at the Inn. Perhaps it was because they were all paid up through the end of the week. At any rate, even the Congressman seemed to have calmed down a bit.

To Freni, Melvin said not another word. The Hostetler farm, incidentally, lies just over the township boundary, a fact undoubtedly known to Melvin. I think Freni should have been grateful that he seemed to have dropped the matter, but of course she wasn't. She didn't even bother to put her supper makings back into the fridge before she left.

"I will not be spoken to like that by Sarah Stoltzfus's grandson, Magdalena. Your mama would turn over in her grave if she knew that little Melvin had accused me of murder."

"Leave Mama out of it, Freni!"

"And don't you use that tone of voice on me, Magdalena. I won't stand here and take that."

"Then go home, Freni."

"Good. I will. I quit!"

"Until next time, Freni."

Fortunately, at that point Mose managed to shuffle his wife out the door. Needless to say, I felt sorry for him. He was forever having to extricate his wife from unpleasant situations-situations caused by distinctively un-Amish behavior on her part. Freni needed either to see a therapist or to seriously consider becoming a Baptist. A pacifist, she was not.

I looked at the mess Freni had left spread out on the table. Whatever it was she had planned for supper, it was beyond me. Something .with pig's knuckles and spiced apple rings, no doubt, but certainly not a menu that would gamer even the majority approval of our guests.

"What can I make for supper that everyone will like?" I asked myself. Several times. It is a well-known fact that talking to one's self is proof of high intelligence.

The very intelligent, of course, talk back to themselves. "Why bother to even try," I heard myself eventually answer. "Just make them tomato soup and grilled peanut sandwiches. Given the circ.u.mstances, they should be happy to get anything."

And for the most part, they were.

22.

Jeanette didn't even come down to supper. I can't say as I blamed her. When Mama and Papa died, I went about a week without eating. Anyway, I took a bowl of soup and a grilled peanut b.u.t.ter sandwich up to her when supper was over.

"Thanks," was all she said. I couldn't believe it. I'd expected at least one heavy-duty criticism, maybe even a repeated accusation, but such was not the case. "Let me know if you need anything," I offered. I meant it.

"Thanks," she said again. I went back downstairs feeling more than a little uneasy. This was not the same Jeanette who had flung accusations at me in the parlor just hours before. This woman was almost a stranger.

Her subdued responses aside, there was something very different about the woman. I couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but I thought it might even have something to do with the way she looked. The intense energy, albeit negative, that Jeanette usually projected, was curiously absent. This Jeanette looked about as perky as I must look when I wake up from a too long nap.

Of course I didn't dwell on Jeanette. She was a big girl, after all. And anyway I had problems of my own to contend with.

"How dare you?" screamed Susannah when I got back to the kitchen.

"How dare I what?"

"Melvin just called, and he's canceling our date tonight altogether."

"Somebody should be grateful."

"What's that supposed to mean? Magdalena, this is all your fault. If you hadn't gone and opened your big yap, I'd be in Breezewood right now, buying popcorn for the movie."

"Did you wash the quilt and Linda's sheets like I asked?" With Susannah, you stand at least a fifty-fifty chance of deflecting her if you abruptly change the subject.

"Yes, I washed them. And that's another thing, I don't see why that had to be my job."

"You do want clean bedding for tonight, don't you?" Susannah stomped her right foot and slapped the kitchen table so hard it must have jarred poor Shnook.u.ms. At any rate, he yelped. "Oh no, I'm not, Magdalena, I'm not sleeping up there where somebody just died."

"Then pick a spot on the floor in the parlor," I told her. "You're for sure not sleeping with me."

"Magdalena!"

I reminded Susannah that Grandma Yoder had died in my bedroom, in fact in my very bed. That did the trick. Susannah had always been a little afraid of Grandma Yoder, although I can't say that I blamed her. Grandma Yoder had been a gaunt, hollow-eyed, perpetually angry woman as far back as I can remember. She died when Susannah was only five, but my sister remembers seeing the old woman standing at the foot of her bed on at least two occasions after that. And, as I've already shared with you, I've seen her about myself a number of times. Apparently these were facts Susannah had forgotten.

"Your room, where sweet young Linda expired, is in the new wing. Grandma was never in there," I reminded her. "And besides which, since you'll be by yourself, you can watch TV all night."

Susannah was cooperative after that. Even by the time I got done with the few supper dishes, without Susannah's help of course, virtually everyone else had retired to their rooms. Or so I thought. I nearly let out a scream when I came back from checking the front door and found Joel Teitlebaum crouching on the floor behind the checkin desk.

"What on earth are you doing?" I asked, when I finally had control of my vocal cords.

Joel stood up sheepishly. He held up a fistful of postcards. "I was looking at these, trying to pick out a couple to buy, when they all kind of just slipped out of my hand."

I took a couple of deep breaths. 'Well, you almost scared the life out of me. I thought everyone had gone to their rooms."

Joel tucked most of the postcards back on the rack. "I'm off to bed myself, soon as I pay for these. It's been a: long day, even if it is early."

"You were fond of Linda, weren't you?" I wasn't being nosy, just sympathetic in my own way.

"Yeah, Linda was okay," said Joel. That's one thing I like about young people today. They're seldom maudlin.

"I'm sure you'll miss her. I'll bet you two were really close."

Joel cleared his throat before speaking. "Miss Yoder, I'm afraid you've got the wrong guy. It wasn't me and Linda who were close, it was Linda and Billy Dee."

"I see." I should have seen earlier. How uncharacteristically stupid of me. After all, I had seen Billy Dee and Linda having a tete-a-tete over the quilting frame in the dining room, while Joel sat alone in the parlor munching sunflower seeds.

"Good night, Miss Yoder," said Joel. He seemed more embarra.s.sed now than he had a minute ago, when I'd discovered him on his hands and knees.

"Good night, Joel. And thanks for pitching in the other night with your famous broiled bananas. I hear they were the hit of the house. In fact, I was told they were the only thing that appealed to everybody."

Joel blushed. "Yeah, well, I got the recipe from a West African roommate. They're very easy to make. I'm just glad everybody liked them. I felt sorry for Mrs. Ream. n.o.body ate her vegetable curry except for we three vegetarians. You'd have thought her own husband would have given it a try."

"I heard it looked pretty bad," I said in Billy Dee's defense.