Pennsylvania-Dutch - Too Many Crooks Spoil The Broth Part 19

"Yeah, well, that's still no excuse for being rude." I refrained from pointing out that Joel probably hadn't touched Billy Dee's venison stew, or the Congressman's beans, which had been doctored up with bits of bacon. There is no point in trying to change someone else's perspective, anyway. We all just see what we want to see. That goes double for the young. I decided to just ignore his comment.

"Say, Joel," I said, "you wouldn't be interested in playing a game of cards, would you?"

He looked at me in surprise. "Oh, not with face cards," I a.s.sured him quickly. "We Mennonites don't use those. I'm thinking of Rook. I could see if Susannah wants to play, and we could use the kitty as the fourth hand."

I was surprisingly un-tired, given the kind of day I'd had. I would have thought that having a second corpse show up in my inn would wear me to a frazzle, send me emotionally and physically escaping into the depths of dark, safe sleep. But not so. Maybe it was because I'd slept so late that morning, or maybe it was because I'm a psychological misfit, but I was still feeling as perky as all get out. Shamefully so. Maybe even high-not that I'm sure I know what that feels like.

Apparently Joel did not share my vim and vigor; either that or he simply had no interest in playing games with someone old enough to be his mother. He said he was feeling unusually tired and thought he might even be coming down with something.

We said good night again, and having nothing else to do, I went to my room, lay down on my bed, and began to read. I guess I should confess right now that I absolutely adore reading. I'm sure some people think that just because I live a simple life-style, I have a simple mind. If only they knew.

When I was in the third grade my teacher called Mama in and told her the school had determined that I had an I.Q. of 146 and they were recommending that I be promoted to the fifth grade. Mama refused to even consider such a thing. Having me skip a grade would lead to prideful and arrogant thoughts on my part, Mama told the teacher. I was never to know I was smarter than anyone else in my cla.s.s. And then, just to make sure she counteracted anything my teacher might be doing on the sly, Mama established her own program of teaching me all the fine points of modesty and humility.

It wasn't until Susannah was in high school, and she found out from her guidance counselor that she had an I.Q. of 142, that the light began to dawn. If Susannah was that smart, I reasoned, so was I. If not smarter. But by then I had lost confidence in myself and had long since put the idea of college behind me. Still, one day in an argument with Mama, the truth had come out. Just between you and me, Mama deserves a couple of extra turns in her grave for what she did.

Anyway, like I said, I love to read. My books have taken me far beyond the limits of my natural world, and I don't think I could survive my life here at the PennDutch Inn without them. Unfortunately, Hernia doesn't have a library, even a tiny one. Old Doc Shafer does, though. When I was a child he used to bring books by the bushel basket for me to read. Mama didn't mind at all, providing she got to sort through them first.

Nowadays, even the library in Somerset offers slim pickings when it comes to books I haven't read. Fortunately old Doc has a niece in Pittsburgh who visits him almost every other week, and she doesn't seem to mind at all making trips to the Carnegie Library for me. Occasionally she even stops at the Mystery Lovers Bookshop in suburban Oakmont and picks up a good whodunnit or two.

I had just started a book by Paul Theroux, my favorite travel writer, when the phone rang. I answered the phone on the seventh ring, but perhaps I should have waited longer. Even then I must have sounded crabby.

"Miss Yoder?" asked a timid voice.

"That depends on who wants to know."

"This is Melvin, Miss Yoder. Melvin Stoltzfus."

"Speak up, Melvin. I can barely hear you."

"Miss Yoder, I just got a call from the coroner, and there's a couple of questions I'd like to ask."

"Ask away, Melvin."

"Did you know that Linda McMahon was pregnant?"

"She never breathed a word to me about it," I said quite honestly. "Well, she was. Just about to enter her second trimester, as a matter of fact. Which brings me to my second question. Would you have any idea who the father might be?"

"Why, Melvin Stoltzfus, you should be ashamed!" I said with righteous indignation. "This is a Christian establishment, and I don't allow any hanky-panky. And anyway, you just said yourself that she was three months pregnant. If that's the case, it surely didn't happen here. For all I know, Billy Dee Grizzle is the father."

"Why do you say that?"

"Melvin, dear, I was being flippant."

"I'll have to question Mr. Grizzle about that in the morning," said Melvin, quite seriously. "In the meantime, there's something I think you should know."

"Go on, Melvin, I'm listening."

"Both Heather Brown and Linda McMahon were definitely poisoned."

"I said, go on, Melvin. I already suspected that."

"Both women were killed by the same type of poison, but the killer used two different poisons on Linda McMahon."

"Two poisons?"

I thought I heard Melvin take a deep breath. "Yes, two, but only one of the poisons killed her."

"Come again?"

"You see, Miss Yoder, the poison that killed the women was a very fast-acting type of digitalis. It causes respiratory failure within a matter of minutes. Respiratory failure is when "

"I know, Melvin. Go on."

"Well, Harrisburg plugged their computer into Washington's and came up with the interesting fact that this particular form of digitalis is found only in one species of plant, and that plant is native only to Morocco."

"Morocco?"

"The lower slopes of the Atlas Mountains to be precise. the Arabic name for the plant is gouza. It's a very unusual plant in that it produces green flowers. It's these flowers that are the most toxic part of the plant. Although they are more lethal if consumed fresh, when dried and put into tea they also remain deadly."

It sounded like Melvin was reading a pamphlet the C.I.A. had faxed him. Perhaps he was. "And what about the second poison, the one that didn't kill her?"

"Ah, that. That was just common old Aethusa cynapium."

"Sounds common enough to me."

"You know, 'fool's parsley.' "

"Fool's parsley! That stuff grows everywhere you don't want it to. I'm forever trying to get it out of the garden."

"Exactly. So that one at least was easy to come by."

"How toxic is it?"

'Well, let's see. It contains something called cynapine, and cicutoxin."

"Speak English, Melvin."

"It's apparently not nearly as toxic as that Moroccan plant. People have been known to die from it, but sometimes the symptoms don't even show up for as much as three days. Although they could show up in a few hours, depending on how much the person ate and their general state of health."

"I see. What are the symptoms, Melvin?"

"Well, the coroner didn't say too much about that one, since it isn't the one that killed her... no, wait, he did say something about the first symptoms being a general tiredness, a gradual weakening of the muscles."

I tried to remain calm. "Melvin, if it takes a while for the poison in fool's parsley to kick in, isn't it possible that others besides Linda might have eaten some? That the poison might be slowly working in some of us right now?"

I thought I heard Melvin scratch his head. "I suppose that's possible, Miss Yoder, but it doesn't make any sense, does it? The killer used two poisons, remember? If any of you had been given the Moroccan poi-son, you'd be dead as a doornail by now."

"But Melvin," I foolishly persisted, "what if there are two killers? What if the one who used the Moroccan poison only wanted Miss Brown and Linda dead, but the second one wanted to kill more than just the two I women? What if there are two independent killers, with two different agendas, Melvin?"

I'm sorry to say this, Mrs. Stoltzfus, but your son laughed just then. "Magdalena! Susannah was right. You do have an active imagination. Two killers in one place at the same time, with different motives? Do you know what the odds are of such a thing happening?"

What did odds have to do with anything? What were the odds of anybody dying in the Penn Dutch Inn to begin with? I mean, even Mama and Papa didn't die here, and as for Grandma Yoder, she was ninety-seven and should, by rights, have died in a nursing home. What were the odds that Miss Brown would check in, and then "check out" before she even had a chance to check out? So, what did it matter what the odds were, when Susannah walked in and found Linda dead, clutching in her hands a quilt that wasn't even supposed to be in that room to begin with.

"Forget odds!" I practically screamed. "Use your noggin. Why on earth would someone give a person a slow-acting poison if they were going to give them a fast-acting poison later on? And how come Miss Brown got only one poison when Linda got two?"

"I didn't appreciate your comment about my head," Melvin snapped. "And as you are a civilian, Miss Yoder, I don't think we need to carry this conversation any further." He hung up.

"But, Melvin, I think I know who one of your killers is," I said anyway.

Immediately, I tried to call Melvin back, but the line was busy. I called at least six more times in the next ten minutes, but it was always the same.

Finally I gave up and rang old Doc instead. He picked up on the first ring. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Doc?" But I never got to say any more than that. Because at that very second the door to my bedroom opened and Billy Dee Grizzle stepped in. In his hand he carried the same hunting knife he'd used to skin the buck.

23.

"Put the phone down," he said softly. I obeyed.

"Now come here." I got off the bed, where I'd been sitting, and tried to take a step in his direction. But I found that my feet had suddenly been rooted to the floor. I willed them to move, but they would have no part of it.

"I said, get over here." I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Billy Dee took a couple of steps forward, the knife plainly in view. "I'm sorry to say this, Miss Yoder, but if you don't cooperate, I'm going to have to slice you wide open like that buck this afternoon." He ran the tip of the knife lightly across his clothing, from his throat down to his groin. "Then I'm going to gut you."

I screamed then, at least in my mind, but no sound came out that I could hear. Like Susannah, I had become a silent screamer.

Billy Dee sprang forward and grabbed me by the hair with his left hand. Then he spun me around and slipped his right arm around my neck. The tip of the knife now rested against that soft spot between the back of my left ear and my skull. "Walk!"

I commanded my feet to walk. Like reluctant and disorganized troops, my feet at last obeyed, and I lurched forward. With each step, I could feel the tip of the knife p.r.i.c.k into my skin. With each breath I took, I could smell Billy Dee's breath, which was saturated with alcohol. Like a monstrous pair of mating beetles, we staggered in tandem to the door.

"The kitchen," he grunted. Maybe it was Billy Dee's breath, or maybe simply because my mind was no longer able to sustain such heights of terror, but I felt a sort of awakening. A tap had been turned back on, and energy that had been temporarily dammed up was flowing back through me. I no longer had to command each foot to move, remember to take each breath.

As soon as the kitchen door closed behind us, Billy Dee let go of my hair. With his left hand, he pushed me toward the center of the room. "Now turn around," he ordered. I turned.

"Don't even think of running, Miss Yoder. I can hit a stump at fifty yards with this thing."

I just looked at him. He seemed almost embarra.s.sed. "You know, I kinda liked you, Miss Yoder. It's a pity you had to go and get yourself involved."

I thought of one or two smart things to say, but bit my tongue.

"Course, now that you are involved, I ain't left with any choice, am I?"

I tried to look motherly, but apparently Billy Dee was beyond guilt. "And it was such a d.a.m.n good plan, too, Miss Yoder. Letting Jeanette feel just what it's like losing a daughter. Much better than killing her, herself, don't you think?"

Thankfully, after what seemed like an interminable pause, even Billy Dee decided it must have been a rhetorical question. "I didn't mean to kill my only kid," he said quietly. "I sure as h.e.l.l didn't deserve to go to jail for it. And I sure as h.e.l.l ain't going again.

"You know, I ain't much of a thinker, but this was one h.e.l.l of a thought-out plan. Ever since that b.i.t.c.h told me six weeks ago that we was coming down here to protest the Congressman, I knew I had me my chance. We can't afford to let chances pa.s.s us up, now can we, Miss Yoder?"

I shook my head. Anything to encourage him to keep on talking. His knife was a lot sharper than his tongue.

"And I've been doing my homework the whole time, too. When I found out that the Congressman had taken him a trip to Morocco, I knew just what I was going to do. You see, they have this wildflower there. Kind of a strange-looking green thing they call oh, what the h.e.l.l, I can't remember the name of that d.a.m.n thing. Some d.a.m.n Arab word like "

"Gouza," I said.

"Yeah, that's right." He seemed almost to welcome my interruption. "Anyway, I got me a buddy, still in the merchant marines, who puts into Tangiers every now and then. He owed me a favor. A big one. And he's got connections, the kind you wouldn't know anything about. So I had him send me some of the stuff. Of course it ain't as potent when it's been dried, but as you can see," he chuckled morbidly, "it's still strong enough to do the job."

"It sounds like you went to an awful lot of trouble," I said. I tried to sound admiring, not critical.

Billy stared at me. "I mean," I hurried to explain, "there are probably a whole lot of poisons you could have gotten closer to home. Without sending off to Morocco."

He burst out laughing. "But don't you see? That's what I mean about it being one h.e.l.l of an idea. I knew Jeanette and the Congressman had it in for each other. No siree Bob, that was no secret. Not on Jeanette's part, anyway. She was always making out how she'd been wronged by him. Called him a sleaze. Right in front of Linda." He tapped his forehead with a finger. "Didn't take no genius to figure out that she had been blackmailing him neither."

"Blackmail?"

"Yes, ma'am. Even poor Linda knew about it, and she hated her old mama."

"Linda told you that?"

"A little sweet-talking goes a long way, if you know what I mean."

I wanted to slap the smirk off his face. "That's absolutely disgusting, Billy Dee. Linda was just a child."

"Anyway, once I knew the Congressman was being blackmailed, I knew I had me the perfect scapegoat. What with his drug habit and all, he couldn't afford no blackmail. Coming up with the Moroccan thing was the easy part."

"You knew about the Congressman's drug abuse too?"

"Like I said, Miss Yoder, I did my homework. Then I made sure that another interested party knew just as much as I did. Kinda gave her a motive to match her husband's."

"Not Lydia!"

"h.e.l.l, yes. And that's a d.a.m.n shame too. Pretty woman like that shouldn't have to hear such things."

"But why would Lydia go after Linda? You'd think it would be Jeanette or Garrett she'd want to punish."

"And what better way to punish them both, Miss Yoder?"

"But what about the baby, Billy Dee? You knew Linda was pregnant, didn't you? How could you kill your baby? Especially after having lost Jennifer Mae?"

For a few seconds Billy Dee's upper lip quivered. "Leave Jennifer Mae out of this, Miss Yoder! I didn't, know Linda was pregnant until just a week or so ago. By then it was too late, of course."

"How was it too late?"

"The wheels of justice had already begun to turn, Miss Yoder." He laughed. "You see, justice must be served, Miss Yoder, at all costs."