Melvin Stoltzfus has already made up his mind about something, it simply won't be possible for anyone, even Susannah, to change it."
"But you'll have her try?"
"She'll try, but like I said, don't count on his being reasonable. He was kicked in the head by a bull, you know."
"Pardon me?"
"Oh, nothing, just a joke. Now, unless you have any other requests, it's about time we got out of here. Chickens carry fleas, you know, and when it's cold like this, the fleas in the straw on the floor hop up on humans seeking warmth."
Lydia exited rapidly, and I followed. She might have been fleeing the fleas, but I was feeling ravenous again. Stress always does that to me. Fortunately, I still have the metabolism rate of a teenager, otherwise I'd be as big as Aunt Agnes was in her prime. When my mother's sister died, they buried her in the packing crate her Frigidaire had come in. Even then, I'm told, they had to band the box with metal straps to keep her from popping out.
"Have lunch yet?" I called out after Lydia.
She must not have heard me, because she didn't even answer. I can't blame her, though, even if she did. Women in
Lydia's league don't often face flea infestation from henhouses. Even their dogs are dipped more often than soft-serve cones at
Neubrander's Dairy Bar.
As for me, all I could think of then was food. Fleas, and come to think of it, praying mantises like Melvin Stoltzfus, would just have to wait until after I'd had something else to eat. With any luck I would find Joel still in the kitchen and convince him to whip me up some of his famous broiled bananas. Since they were the only dish that everyone had eaten the night before, and in fact had even had an encore, they must have been good. I couldn't wait to taste this interesting concoction.
20
JOEL TEITLEBAUM'S FAMOUS BROILED BANANA RECIPE
Several large, unripe bananas
An ample supply of lemon juice
Copious amounts of brown sugar
A generous amount of cinnamon
An inquiring mind
Butter or otherwise grease an ovenproof dish. Peel and slice the bananas into quarters.
Arrange seed-side up in the dish. Splash with lemon juice. Heap with brown sugar.
Sprinkle with cinnamon.
Broil in the oven, about six inches from the heating element, until the brown sugar begins to melt and caramelize (about 3 to 5 minutes). Spoon lemon juice- sugar syrup mixture from the pan over the bananas and serve hot.
21
Unfortunately Joel was not in the kitchen. Doc still was, however, and he was happily making himself a plate full of fried baloney and ketchup sandwiches. He asked me to join him, and of course I accepted.
"Want some fresh eggs to go with that?" I asked. Pertelote's issue was still warm to the touch.
Doc said he would, and I got out another pan and fried up Pertelote's egg and three others. I like my eggs greasy, slightly runny, and almost black with pepper. Doc likes them the same way.
"Called Ed Houlihan, while you were out," said Doc casually. Mr. Houlihan was the county coroner, a trained pathologist, and a contemporary of Doc's. They'd started in medical school together, before Doc switched over to veterinary medicine. Ed was the antithesis of Melvin Stoltzfus in that he had been at his job since back in the days when God was still young. As far as I knew no one had ever run against Ed in the elections, and I don't suppose they ever will. County coroner is not a glamorous job in these parts. That probably explains why Ed can afford to take four-day holiday weekends.
"Ed's back finally? The autopsies are done already?"
Doc waved his spatula in annoyance. "You young people have no concept of patience. You can't even butcher a chicken that fast. I just wanted to tell you that Ed said he'd give me a call when the results are in."
"When do you think that will be?"
"You're always in a hurry, Magdalena." He waved the spatula again. "Ed has to send a few samples from each of them down to Harrisburg, and you know how slow those boys are."
"I see." If they were anywhere near as slow as the boys in the Bureau of Motor Vehicles, neither Doc nor I stood a very good chance of living long enough for the results to come back.
"But in the meantime, it's pretty clear that both women died of respiratory failure. Miss Brown was apparently dead before her fall." Doc let that sink in for a moment.
My Stoltzfus blood fought valiantly to keep me in the dark, but then the light broke through. "You mean she was murdered?" I cried joyfully. The PennDutch was mine again; Jeanette's suit didn't stand a chance.
Doc nodded. "It would appear so. But it's not conclusive yet. Her falling down the stairs might have been the result of her dying, but that doesn't automatically mean she was murdered. She may have stopped breathing for a number of other reasons."
"And Linda? You said she died of respiratory failure as well. So then it wasn't poison?"
Doc gave me a look that would have curdled butter- 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. Some- thing 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 casserole 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 Shnookums."
"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 damn business. And you can be damn 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, "there's 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 substitute 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?"
