"Don't look so scared, Amy. All I'm asking is that, from here on out, any comments you make--to
anyone
--concerning the--uh--unfortunate event be cleared by me first."
I couldn't believe my ears! The
unfortunate
event had almost gotten the poor girl killed. Why on earth would Pernicious put a gag order on something that was a matter of public record anyway?
The answer had to lie in inbreeding. When we become our own cousins, there is a danger that our thinking will become muddled, especially as we age, which Pernicious, by his own admission, felt he was doing. Shortly after her fiftieth birthday Cousin Feodora Yoder became convinced she was married to her toaster oven. It was a harmless delusion until she took it to bed, where it shorted out, causing second- degree burns on parts of her body that even the Good Lord hadn't seen.
But Amy was nodding like one of those toy dogs folks used to put in the rear windows of their cars. "Yes, sir. I understand, sir."
"Good. Then we have a deal." Pernicious bent stiffly to give her a quick pat on the knee. "Now sing, Amy."
"Well--"
"Why don't you stand, first--like you're in choir practice?"
"All right." Amy appeared to struggle to her feet, but once up, she puffed out her diaphragm, threw back her head, and belted out the most awesome, spine-tingling version of "How Great Thou Art" that I have ever heard. I could tell that Pernicious was impressed, but I'm sure that angels in Heaven were as well; in fact, quite possibly they were a mite jealous.
Amy's voice was glorious. There is no other way to describe it--okay, maybe it was a bit like Streisand on steroids. So inspired was I, so uplifted spiritually, that I forgot who and where I was and gave myself over to the moment. That is to say, I stood up and sang along with her.
Unfortunately, it's been said that my voice is reminiscent of a female donkey in heat, and if it doesn't attract any handsome burros, it at least sets dogs to barking as far as a mile away. That night was no different than any other, which meant I may have hit a few sour notes. Perhaps I hit only sour notes and at an unearthly, earsplitting pitch--but just perhaps.
What matters is that when Pernicious Yoder III glanced out the picture window and saw yours truly violating his bush, he was not a happy man.
13
For a hoochie mama, Dorothy made a great getaway driver. Or maybe it was precisely because she had so much experience fleeing from irate wives. At any rate, when she spied the two of us running to beat the band, arms and legs flailing, and one of us puffing like the Little Engine That Could, our town's legendary harlot hopped into the driver's seat and revved up the engine. The second the door slammed shut on Agnes's prodigious posterior, Dorothy stomped on the accelerator and we shot down the face of Evitts Mountain like an out-of-control carnival ride. Although I've no way to prove it, if I was a wagering woman ('tis a sin to do so), I'd lay money on the fact that we skipped a few hairpin curves, traveling as we did in a more or less straight line.
Nevertheless, if Pernicious Yoder III was following us, with Dorothy at the wheel, he was plumb out of luck. Not only did she know her way around Bedford, but she knew every nook and cranny. In one particularly dark and ominous cranny, she finally stopped.
"Okay, now what?"
"I think I peed my pants," Agnes said.
"Oh Agnes, you didn't," I wailed, past caring what others thought of my distressed vocalizations.
"Was that fun, or what?" Dorothy said.
"You enjoyed that?" I said.
"Heck, yeah. I haven't had so much fun since Sam and I were kids, and I used to drive getaway for him when he'd paint the overpass."
"That was
Sam
? My cousin Sam of grocery-store infamy?"
"Why do you think the other kids called him 'Cop'? It stood for 'Champion Overpass Painter.' "
"But what he painted was mostly love messages to me!"
"Yeah, well, I couldn't control everything he did--although I did try my level best. That's why I had to finally marry him. But even
that
couldn't stop him from thinking of you; he'd call your name out at that critical moment."
"What moment would that be?" Agnes said.
"I think I'm going to be sick," I said.
"Oh shut up, Magdalena," Dorothy said. "It's
you
who makes me sick. As long as I've known you--which is my entire life--you've played the part of the hapless victim. First you thought you were too tall, too skinny, too ugly, yet all the while you really were the most beautiful girl this five- horse town--and I mean that literally--has ever seen. You could have gotten any boy you wanted, but oh no, you thought you were too good for any locals."
"
What
?"
"It's true, Magdalena," Agnes said. "In high school all the boys were throwing themselves at you just like the skinny girls threw their Twinkies and Hostess fruit pies at me."
"Well, I wasn't even allowed to group date until I was sixteen, so there."
"Then what did you do?" Dorothy said.
"Well, you have to admit, most of the Hernia boys were rather--"
"There you go," she snapped, "dismissing the locals as beneath you."
"Although she did end up marrying one," Agnes said. "I mean, Aaron Miller counts, because even though he moved away for a long time, he was born and raised here."
"Thanks," I said.
"For nothing," Dorothy said, "because he just proves my point. Aaron Miller just happens to be the most handsome man to walk the face of the earth. And
who
did he pick to commit adultery with?"
"Whom!"
I screamed. "And that was only pseudo-adultery, given the fact that one party"--that would be I--"was as innocent as a wide-stanced senator."
Dorothy snorted. "If you say so. But, Magdalena, as you well know, Aaron Miller is a bit like a five-dollar present that's been wrapped in ten-dollar paper and topped with a twenty-dollar bow. To say that he's
short
on charm would be putting it kindly."
I may be as dense as balsa wood, but a lot more gets through than folks give me credit for. "Wait just one Mennonite minute. Are you saying that you and Aaron--well, you know? Now
that
would be adultery."
"Yes, that's what exactly what I'm saying. Last month when I flew to Minnesota to see my sister, I purposely looked up Aaron--just to see if he was still looking so hot--and you know what? He was an absolute stud muffin! Well, one thing led to another and we burned a hole in that mattress, I'm telling you."
"If you don't mind me saying so," Agnes said, "smoking in bed is very dangerous."
"We weren't smoking cigarettes," Dorothy said with a surprising amount of patience. "We were, however, extremely active. By the way, Magdalena, your ex-pseudo-husband and what's her name were already separated and headed for divorce court. I may be an out-of-control nymphomaniac, but I'm no home wrecker."IT
"And I'm still a virgin," Agnes sobbed.
"There, there," I said and, reaching into the backseat, patted one of her knees. "Maybe you and Dorothy can average your scores--help bring her down below a hundred."
"Very funny," Dorothy said, but she didn't deny it. "What do we do now?"
"We drive over to Amy's house and put the screws to her."
"The screws?"
"It's a slight exaggeration," Agnes said. "The screws Magdalena uses fit into table-mounted brackets so that method can only be done at her house. On the road--like this--she prefers to use flaming slivers of bamboo inserted under the fingernails."
"Oh cool," Dorothy said.
Amy lived in a third- floor walkup apartment in what might euphemistically be referred to as a working-class neighborhood. The stairwell smelled predominantly of cabbage, with just a trace of urine. It was a heady but familiar bouquet, for I had interviewed many suspects in her circumstances while working previous cases.
Apparently the girl had just beaten us home, because she was still wearing her coat when she answered the door. I saw the hesitation in her eyes before she tried to slam it shut. Not only was this an invitation for me to stay, but it gave me an opportunity to slip one of my slender size elevens in the open space, making it impossible for her to close the door all the way.
She sighed and rolled her robin's egg blue eyes. "You might as well come in, Magdalena. Lord only knows, if I don't let you, you'd camp out there all night. You'd probably even light a fire and roast marshmallows."
"And weenies. I enjoy grilling weenies--just like I do grilling people. I grill them until they split open at the seams and threaten to fall into the flames."
"I didn't know weenies had seams."
"Hmm. Well, in any case, here I am as big as life and twice as ugly. Good call, though."
"Some choice. And you may as well let Agnes in, as well as the Whore of Hernia."
I put my hands on my hips. "Whore of Hernia? Now
that's
rude! I'll have you know she's our resident harlot, not whore. You don't take money for sexual favors, do you, Dorothy?"
The principal woman under discussion pushed me aside. "That all depends," she said in a disgustingly throaty voice. She looked Amy up and down. "What did you have in mind, sister?"
"Ooh," Agnes said, "I think I'm going to be sick."
"Cool it," I snapped to Dorothy. I gave Agnes the "settle down" sign with my hands. "Ladies, I'm here to discuss the day of the attempted bank robbery, not to pimp out my grocer's wife."
Amy laughed nervously. "Magdalena, no Mennonite I know would use such language--not even an ex-Mennonite. Are you sure you're not a fraud?"
I held out my wrist. "Prick me, if you will, and see my Mennonite blood. And just two generations ago it was Amish. But all that's beside the point. We're here because we saw you with Pernicious Yoder III. We heard you, in fact. The two of you were striking a deal."
Amy turned the color of congealed bacon fat. "You were spying on me!"
"Indeed, as is my duty."
"He's my boss. I work for him, remember? It's
my
duty to do what he says."
"Even if you know it's wrong?"
She peeled off her coat and threw it over the back of a sagging and somewhat hideous red-and-green-plaid armchair. Then she yanked off her shoes and tossed them toward an open doorway. The polite, neat, young cashier that I had been so fond of in the past was gone, replaced by a slovenly young thing who lacked principles.
"Look, Miss Yoder, I didn't invite you here, and I certainly don't want to hear you lecture. Either you leave on your own accord now, or I'm going to have to call the police."
"The police?" Agnes began wringing her hands like she was trying to extract water. "Magdalena, we have to go."
"Oh, give it a rest," Dorothy said impatiently. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse and set to work on shortening her bra straps. "Up you go, girls--Nancy, Louise. If calling the police is what she wants, you two need to be ready to greet them."
Agnes was aghast. "They have names?"
"Don't yours?"
"Of course not! Magdalena, do your whatchamacallits have names?"
"They're called breasts," Dorothy hissed.
Although Agnes was my very best friend in the entire world, I wasn't about to squeal on Esmeralda and Hermione--and certainly not with Dorothy and Amy listening. Besides, an idea had been forming in my little pumpkin brain that could be beneficial to both Amy and me. To everyone in my family as a matter of fact. And not only that--and this is
not
a Christian attitude, and I have since repented of it--what I was about to propose would really stick it to Pernicious Yoder III.
"Ladies," I said, clapping my hands, "this is no time for girl talk." I turned to Amy with a smile that stretched painfully from ear to ear. "Whatever he's paying you, I'll double it."
The lass recoiled as if I were the Devil. "What did you say?"
"I said that I'll double your pay--whatever it is."
"Do you want me to work for you?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Running an inn involves a great deal of bookkeeping and accounting, as well as greeting customers, and frankly, I don't have the time to do either anymore." I swallowed a tablespoon of annoyance before continuing. "With your bubbly personality and keen mind, I see you as a great fit."
"Really?"
Amy said.
"I think I'm going to puke," Dorothy said.
"It couldn't have been the crumpets," Agnes said. "But just so you know, Dorothy, I have a good lawyer."
I ignored the ignoramus asides. "Really," I said. "You'll be making
twice
the money; think about it."
"Yes, but he offered me a promotion--with a new title: Chief Assistant Clerk in Training. Do you know how long I've been waiting for that title?"