As usual, Doc Shafor and Old Blue, his bloodhound, were waiting for me at the end of his long drive. Doc is an octogenarian with the libido of an eighteen-year-old, and Old Blue is the canine equivalent of a man in his nineties, but whose sexual interest was nipped in the bud, so to speak, when she was just a pup.
“What took you so long?” Doc asked. That’s what he says every time I show up unannounced. “Lunch is getting cold.”
“How did you know I was coming?” That is my usual patter.
“Old Blue here could smell you coming the second your mind turned to it. Of course, she’s a mite confused by the baby. Do you mind if she gets a better whiff?”
I bent down and let the old girl, who is almost totally blind, snuffle her big black nose all over my son. Little Jacob, who was wide awake, gurgled with apparent glee. Although I love animals of all kinds—I once carried a pussy in my bra—I draw the line at slobber. Just as a string of drool was about to detach from the ancient pooch, I yanked up the car seat.
“Well, what’s for lunch?”
“Not so fast,” Doc said. “I want to get a gander at your son.” He peered at Little Jacob almost as intently as Old Blue had sniffed him. But since Doc is nearsighted, it seemed to be a bit much. My son, however, seemed rather pleased by the intense scrutiny and smiled broadly.
“Everything is still there,” I said. “So far there’ve been no recalls—knock on wood.”
“I was trying to determine whom he looks like. I’m betting that he’ll grow up to be the spitting image of his daddy.”
Half of me was elated, the other half disappointed. “Why do you say that?”
“His eyes have already turned a nice rich brown, and what little hair he has is coming in dark as well. But I can see that he has your personality; the kid’s got moxie. I have a special feeling about this one, Magdalena. Take it from an old geezer like me: your son is going places.”
“Is this, like, a prophecy?”
“Let’s call it a feeling. Hey, what do you think of Susannah running off with a bus full of nuns?”
“They aren’t really nuns, and they ran off with her.”
“The Eternal Sisters of Pariah—sheesh, what a name.”
“It’s the Sisters of Perpetual Apathy,” I said, “and by the way, your ex-sweetie has joined them.”
“Which one?”
It was a fair question. Doc remained celibate for the first fifteen years following the death of his wife. In the last five years, however, he has courted just about every single female in Bedford County between the ages of eighteen and 108. The latter literally died on him when he foolishly (they could have been arrested for jumping there!) took her tandem bungee jumping off the New River Gorge Bridge.
“I’m talking about Ida Rosen,” I said. “My mother-in-law.”
“No kidding!”
“I don’t have an imagination, Doc. I couldn’t possibly have made this up.”
“Do they have to take a vow of celibacy?”
“Think about it, Doc. My sister, Susannah, is in charge.”
“Oh, yeah. Shoot, I should have asked to go along—maybe as the bus driver.”
“Doc, remember that these are women who’ve dedicated themselves to apathy. Seducing them wouldn’t be nearly as fun as you think.”
“I could handle that; I’ve slept with Englishwomen before.”
“TMI!”
“What’s that mean again?”
“Too much information. Doc, how’s your head?” Doc had been critically brutalized about the time I found out I was pregnant. His assailant was Melvin Stoltzfus, who once was our former chief of police but now is an escaped murderer. It was at Doc’s house that I confronted the menacing mantis (he really does resemble one), and that I also learned that the despicable man was my biological brother. This, of course, makes him the uncle of the world’s sweetest, most attractive baby boy.
“I’m doing just fine, girl. It’s Old Blue you should be worrying about. This morning a chipmunk ran within six inches of her nose and she kept on sleeping.”
“Maybe her dreams were too good for her to want to wake up. I’ve had that happen to me.”
“Let’s hope. I don’t know what I’ll do when the time comes—” His voice cracked.
“I’ll be there, Doc; we’ll get through it.”
“You’re a good friend, Magdalena.”
“Tell that to my enemies, will you?”
“Well, you know what they say.”
“No, what do they say, Doc?”
“That a life lived without accruing any enemies was not a life worth living.”
“Really? I haven’t heard that one before. Speaking of enemies, Doc, I’d like to ask you a question, but it’s kind of sensitive.”
“Don’t listen to those women’s libbers, Magdalena; Viagra is really your friend.”
“Doc! It isn’t about sex! It’s about Melvin. As far as the authorities know—well, they
don’t
seem to know anythin
g
about his whereabouts.
Nada
. Zip. Not one thing. He could still be in Hernia, hiding out in someone’s barn, or he could be in Timbuktu. Aren’t you afraid living out here on the edge of town all alone?”
“I’m not alone; I’ve got Old Blue, remember?”
“No offense, Doc, but she’s a senior citizen as well.”
“And so was Moses when he led the Exodus. And Abraham when he became the father of a great nation. What’s your point?”
“Nothing, I guess.”
“I’ve always said you were a reasonable woman, Magdalena.”
We continued to walk in companionable silence to the house. Sure enough, the table was set for two, but since I know that he still sets it for his deceased wife, Belinda, I didn’t put too much truck in Old Blue’s ability to predict the arrival of guests. Still, there was enough food to feed two Mennonites—or two buckeyes of any faith—or four cradle Episcopalians from New England.
I lunched on a hot roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes and homemade gravy. On the side Doc served some green beans he’d canned the previous summer, as well as a carrot and raisin slaw, and pickled beets. For dessert he cut me a slab of the world’s densest butter pound cake, over which he spooned fresh strawberries, which he claimed had been flown into Pittsburgh all the way up from Chile.
When I was stuffed to the gills he told me to belch, which I did, and then he served me a cup of hot chocolate with ladyfingers on the side. “Now, tell me why you’re here,” he said.
“What do you mean? To see how you are, of course. You’re my friend.”
“Yes, but I’m also a dirty old man who hits on you every time you set foot on my property. Plus, I know a story when I hear it.”
“Okay.” I slurped loudly with forced languidness and then settled back in my chair, my left hand resting on Little Jacob’s chest. The dear baby had fallen asleep again; I’d fed him lunch just before I sat down to eat my own meal. “It’s this: the Babester has left me, and I’m having one St. Louis Airport—Concourse A—of a time trying to figure out who killed Minerva J. Jay.”
Doc shook his head. “I see you’ve been there as well.”
“Not me; one of the Zug wives. Anyway, Doc, I’m at the end of my rope, and it’s about to break.”
“First things first. What’s this about that rich young doctor of yours leaving the most desirable woman in all of Hernia? When did
that
happen?”
“This morning! His mother’s conversion into a devotee of apathy was apparently the last straw. That—and he thinks I’m being controlling when it comes to you-know-who.”
“He’s right on that score,” Doc said sternly. “A man
should
be in charge of his own genitalia.”
“What?”
He shook his head again. “And really, don’t you think that now you’re a married woman you should move past cute names like
you-know-who
? Belinda and I—”
“TMI to the max!” I cried, clamping my hands over my ears. “And anyway, I was referring to Little Jacob; that’s
who
the Babester thinks I have control over.”
“Hmm, he may be right on that score too. Some folks, I hear, can’t even agree on how to change a diaper. Here, let me give you a little test.” Doc reached over and tossed my napkin back into my lap. “Let’s pretend for a moment that that’s a diaper. Show me how you’d fold that.”
I stared at the square of white cotton-poly cloth. “To be honest, Doc, I wouldn’t, because I use disposables.”
“Well, how would you fold
them
?”
“You don’t fold them, Doc. They come preshaped with little tucks all around the leg holes for a snug fit so that nothing seeps out. And one doesn’t use pins anymore; the diapers self-fasten.”
Doc rubbed the snow-white stubble on his chin. “Dang, I guess I’m further behind the times than I thought. And since I’m obviously not the genius I’d like to think I am at relationships, perhaps we should move on to the subject of Miss Jay. Now, there was a woman who could make a train jump its tracks.”
“
Excuse
me?”
“I hate to speak ill of the dead, Magdalena, but Minerva J. Jay was Jezebel, Delilah, and Mata Hari rolled up in one very large package. I’m ashamed to say that no heterosexual man could possibly have resisted her.”
“You don’t mean—you
do
mean! Doc, how
could
you?”
“It was years ago, Magdalena. I was a much younger man, maybe just in my mid-sixties. I was still practicing veterinary medicine. At any rate, she brings in this stray kitten that’s been hanging around her garbage can. The poor thing has a broken leg that needs to be set, and even though large farm animals are my specialty, I do it. She asks me how much, and I say five dollars, on account of I don’t know what else to charge for something I’ve rarely, if ever, done. Then she notices I have a huge pile of paperwork in my so-called office and volunteers to help out—just for an hour or two on weekends.”
“I don’t remember that!” I could practically feel my blue eyes turn the color of Irish moss.
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Magdalena; it didn’t last long. She thought she noticed a bit of laxness in the way I reported my taxes and she threatened to go to the IRS.”
“Unless what?”
“Unless we did the mattress mambo, as you so quaintly put it.”
“You didn’t! I mean, how could you possibly perform the bedroom bossa nova with someone who was trying to blackmail you?”
Doc recoiled in genuine surprise. “I’m a man, Magdalena. More important, I’m a mortal—unlike
someone
in this room.”
I sighed. “Sorry. That really wasn’t any of my business. Anyway, Doc, Minerva was killed by a lethal combination of legal medications that somehow got into her bloodstream via our pancakes. Since only seven members of the Beechy Grove Mennonite Church Brotherhood were stationed in the kitchen that day, it stands to reason that one of them is responsible. Right?”
He nodded slowly. “Were the drugs altered in any way by heat? I mean, is there any chance Minerva downed them herself?”
“No, they were in fact cooked in the pancake batter.”
“And nobody else had access to the kitchen?”
“The volunteer servers pretty much stayed in the fellowship hall and the platters were passed back and forth through the door. This saved a lot of bumping into one another. However, we did allow quick passage through the kitchen to those who were desperate to use the restrooms.”
“Well, then I’d say—”
“But Doc, my kitchen volunteers were too busy mixing batter, frying, and flipping to have put up with anyone coming close enough to drop anything in those big aluminum bowls.”
“In that case, I’d have to say—”
“But they think I’m being unfair, that I’m not widening the investigation enough. So they scheduled an intervention lunch! Can you believe that? Meanwhile, I thought I was going there to put the screws to the Zug wives, since I can’t seem to make heads nor tails of their husbands.”
“Where was the intervention?”
“Wanda Hemphopple’s Sausage Barn. Just before I came here.”
“So you’d already eaten. I knew that lactating animals had increased appetites, but—”
“No, I didn’t eat; the whole thing was a bust. Literally. You see, Merle Waggler split his pants. Unfortunately, he goes about without skivvies, so were all able to see that it would be more appropriate if he was named Wiggler, rather than Waggler. Other than that, it was a waste of time.”
Doc chuckled briefly. “Who called this meeting?”
“Apparently the handsome young Elias Whitmore.”
“Pardon me? What did you say?”
“What do you mean?”
“You called this young fellow handsome.”
“I most certainly did not!”
“I may be losing some of my hearing, Magdalena, but I’m getting better at reading lips. Besides, you look practically smitten with him.”
“What a silly thing to say!”
“Yeah, well I’ve got a bad feeling about this kid; I’ve never liked him.”
“How come?”
“That house of his up on Buffalo Mountain, for one thing.”
“But it’s beautiful!”
“It’s crap.” Doc was at liberty to cuss, having freed himself from all religious strictures the day he joined the Marines back in the Civil War—or whenever that was.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“
Wrong
with it? For one thing, it ruins the view from on top of Stucky Ridge. You’re not supposed to be able to see any houses on top of the mountain from up there. Nada. Not a one. And then there’s the noise. All that Holy Roller Christian rock music that kid plays, and the car lights bobbing back and forth. You can’t tell me there aren’t drugs being bought and sold.”
“You’re equating Christian rock with drugs?”
“Uh—well, no. But face it, Magdalena, these young people today have the morals of alley cats.”
“Meow?”
“Touché. But I still think this kid’s bad news, and if he’s the one who organized the so-called intervention, then I say focus your investigation on him. He’s trying to divert your attention away from the fact that he’s the one who murdered Minerva J. Jay.”