Just Plain Pickled to Death (5 page)

As I was reaching for the two-dollar tip, I noticed that she had the tiniest hands imaginable on someone that large. Mere child’s hands they were.

Thanks to my inn’s popularity, the phone all but rings off the hook. I know, I should hire a full-time receptionist, but I refuse to, as long as Susannah is in residence. Freni Hostetler, who is in her seventies, does all the cooking, and I do everything else—except for the ALPO guests. Those folks elect to pay extra for the privilege of participating in the Amish Lifestyles Plan Option, and consequently they get to do their own laundry and maid service. Susannah, however, does nothing—at least nothing connected to running the inn. You would think that answering the phone wouldn’t be too strenuous for her nails, but unless her personal radar informs her that an incoming call is from a virile male, the phone can ring its bell to a nub and she’ll ignore it.

“PennDutch Inn, but I’m closed for business this week,” I said crisply.

There was a lot of static on the line, but I was able to piece together enough words to ascertain that a Middle Eastern potentate wanted to rent the entire inn for himself and his harem.

“When?”

“Starting tomorrow. For a week.”

“Sorry, no can do.”

I was in the act of hanging up when I heard an obscene amount of money being offered.

“I beg your pardon? Would you mind saying that again?”

The static cackled the same obscene figure—more than ten times what I would make by renting out the PennDutch at my regular rates.

“Sorry, but a ragtag gathering of grotesque giantesses doth gyre and gimble in the wabe.”

“Eh?”

“What I mean is, I’ve already got a full house,” I said sadly.

More static.

“No, there is not a casino attached to the inn. What I’m trying to say is that I have to turn your lucrative offer down on account of my soon-to-be-husband’s aunties have taken over the place.”

Before I hung up I accepted an offer from him for twice as much money as his previous one, but for the following week instead. In the meantime the persistent potentate was going to purchase a small New Jersey town in which to stash his happy harem.

The receiver was in its cradle for exactly three seconds before the phone rang again.

“Oh second thought,” I said smoothly, “I think a deposit of ten thousand is in order.”

There was silence instead of static.

“I mean, what if your ladies decide to make veils out of my curtains?”

“Magdalena? Have you gone totally off your rocker?”

“Melvin? Melvin Stoltzfus?”

“That’s Chief of Police Stoltzfus to you. And what the hell kind of game are you playing?”

Thank the good Lord I don’t own one of those newfangled telephones that shows your picture on a screen. Undoubtedly I was three shades darker than pickled beets.

“Why did you call, Melvin?” I asked evenly.

“Oh, that. I called to officially inform you that Sarah Weaver is dead.”

I am not surprised by anything Melvin can say. Which is not to say I’m never dismayed.

“Is there a point to this, Melvin?”

“I just got the coroner’s report back, and like I said, Sarah Weaver is definitely dead.”

“I see.” What else could I say?

“And she’s been dead a long time.”

“You don’t say. Anything else?”

“It was murder.”

“That crossed my mind too,” I said. “Any idea as to how she died?”

“The coroner wants to send some tissue samples off to Harrisburg, but he’s pretty sure the cause of death was a blow to the head. Possibly a hammer.”

“That’s it?”

“A blow to the head can be fatal, you know.”

I bit my tongue.

“Where did you get that barrel of sauerkraut from, Magdalena?”

I put my hand over the speaker holes before sighing a long, deep sigh that would have made Magdalena Fike proud.

“I already told you, Melvin, so I’m only going to tell you once more. The sauerkraut was a gift from Aaron’s father. He’d had it in the back of his root cellar for years and finally decided to get rid of it. He and Aaron brought it over yesterday morning. Freni is very particular about the kraut she serves, so she decided to give it a preview taste. After all, the barrel looked ancient. That’s when she found the body.”

“Was it in the barrel at the time?”

“No, Sarah had gotten out to take a brief stroll— Melvin!”

“I am being thorough, Magdalena. Asking as many questions as I can think of is part of my job.”

“Then why don’t you ask them of Aaron’s father? He’s the one who made the sauerkraut and then gave it to me as a gift twenty years too late.”

I felt a sudden need to do a little whimpering of my own. What kind of family was I marrying into? The ideal father-in-law, I had imagined—when I was but a mere idealistic girl—would give brood sows and freshened heifers as gifts, not sauerkraut. Given enough time, I can make my own sauerkraut.

“I’m one step ahead of you, Magdalena,” Melvin crowed triumphantly. “I plan to see old man Miller this afternoon.”

It was my turn to crow. “No, you’re not, dear. Aaron has taken his father into Bedford to buy him a new suit. If they can’t find what they want there, then they’re off to Somerset. At any rate, I don’t expect them back until after supper.”

Melvin said something that even Uncle Elias would have found difficult to decipher. After I made him repeat it four times I realized it was some sort of profanity and unless I wanted to risk undergoing an autopsy of my own, I was better off without a translation.

“You could come over tomorrow after church,” I said graciously. “Papa Miller is going to be joining us for Sunday dinner.”

He exploded with an expletive I recognized as one that Susannah used.

“Or why not just chat with him at the funeral luncheon on Monday? There is going to be a funeral, isn’t there?”

“Don’t count on it, Magdalena,” he said, and to his credit, he said it without gloating. “Not by Monday. These things take time. This is a murder investigation, you know.”

A blood-red flag had just been raised inches from my eyes. Fate was waving it tauntingly.

“I’m getting married a week from today, Melvin, after the funeral,” I screamed.

Clearly it was going to be up to me to see that I did.

Chapter Five

Magdalena Yoder’s Wedding Feast, from Soup to Nuts

Great-Granny Yoder’s Onion Cheese Soup

1 cup onions (finely chopped)

½ stick butter

¼ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon pepper

4 cups milk

2 tablespoons cornstarch

4 cups chicken broth

½ teaspoon dry mustard

2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese

Saute onions in butter, salt, and pepper until trans-parent. In measuring cup or small bowl, whisk together one-half cup of cold milk with the cornstarch. Pour mixture over onions, stirring constantly. Add chicken broth and remaining milk. Add dry mustard. Sprinkle shredded cheese over top while continuing to stir. Cook over low heat until the cheese is melted. Serve in bowls and garnish with croutons.

Serves 4.

Chapter Six

Auntie Leah had decided to take a nap, so I was up to my elbows in sandwich fixings—trying desperately to get lunch on the table for the mass of milling, masticating Millers—when Freni finally showed up.

“I quit,” she said.

“What?”

She threw down an apron that she hadn’t even bothered to put on. “And you didn’t even have the nerve to tell me!”

“Tell you what, dear?”

“Don’t you give me the runaround, Magdalena Portulaca Yoder. I diapered you when you were a baby.”

It was true. Besides my doctor, Freni is the only other living soul who has seen me naked. Not even Susannah has seen me in the buff. At Hernia High, because of the large concentration of Mennonites and other conservative folks, we didn’t have to dress for gym.

Freni, who is Amish, is not only a kinswoman but a lifelong friend of the family. Prior to my parents’ death, she and her husband, Mose, had both been employed on our farm. After Mama and Papa died they stayed on, and when I sold off most of the land and turned the farmhouse into a bed-and-breakfast inn, they became my staff. Mose tends the grounds and our two milk cows, and Freni cooks. They are long past retirement age but will not hear of it. Still, for reasons known only to her, Freni feels compelled to quit on a weekly—if not daily—basis.

I sat down on a kitchen chair that had been made by my great-grandfather. “Okay, Freni, spill it. What have I done to offend you this time?”

Freni’s back stiffened. “Who said you offended me?”

“Don’t I always manage to offend you?”

Freni whisked off her black traveling bonnet and patted the net prayer cap back into place over her coiled braids.

“You asked me to cook for your wedding, Magdalena—”

“I didn’t ask, Freni. You offered. It was your wedding present.”

“Yah, but you accepted, and that’s the same thing.”

I ignored her logic. After all, Freni thinks cheese is a vegetable. Enough said.

“What is the real reason, Freni? If it’s because of Sarah, then I understand. Believe me, I can appreciate how much of a shock that was.”

Freni tapped a black brogan impatiently. “It isn’t Sarah—it’s Barbara!” She was talking about her daughter-in-law.

That hiked my hackles for the second time in as many days. It was none of Freni’s business who I chose to sing a solo at my wedding. I knew, of course, that Freni saw it differently. She comes as close to hating Barbara as the Bible will allow. Barbara’s sin is that she is married to Freni’s only child, John. That, and the fact that Barbara hails from the heathen hinterland of Iowa.

“Freni Hostetler! You should be ashamed of yourself. Poor Barbara has never done anything to hurt you.”

Freni’s eyes flashed volumes.

1 shrugged casually. “Well, then, I guess if you’re not going to cook for my wedding, I’m just going to have to ask Auntie Leah. The breakfast she made this morning was simply delish.”

“Leah Troyer?”

“The very one.”

Freni looked as though I’d just slapped her. She pulled a chair out for herself and sat down heavily. Her breath was coming in irregular gasps.

“Of course, her cooking couldn’t hold a candle to yours.”

Her breathing became more regular.

“And the folks who are expecting a genuine Freni Hostetler feast will be disappointed.”

Her breathing returned to normal, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“You have quite a reputation hereabouts, you know,” I said. It was the truth, depending on how you took it.

“And even in other states, yah?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Well, in that case I will have to do my duty, no matter now unfair some things may be.” She cast me an accusing look.

“Duty above all else,” I said charitably. “Now, how about you help me by finishing up these sandwiches while I go wake Auntie Leah? She’s napping and asked for a twelve o’clock wake-up call.”

Before I could get up, Freni leaned over and grabbed my left wrist. Despite her age, she has the grip of a sumo wrestler.

“You be careful of this bunch of Millers, Magdalena,” she whispered. “They are a strange lot.”

I sat back down. The sandwiches could dry out and Auntie Leah oversleep for all I cared.

“What do you mean, Freni? These people are Aaron’s cousins.”

She maintained the viselike grip. “Yah, they are his family, but he isn’t like them. You can thank God for that.”

“Freni!” I tried prying her fingers loose, but they were like bands of steel. “What is going on? What about the Millers?”

“Ach, where do I begin?”

“How about the beginning?”

Freni let go of my wrist, but her hand hovered above it, ready to pounce again if I tried to escape.

“How well do you remember the year Sarah Weaver disappeared?”

I shrugged. “Well, I was about twenty-six then. I think I remember it pretty well.”

“Do you remember that her mama disappeared a month before she did?”

“Of course. At the time you told everyone that she had run off with the devil himself and was having a weekend of unbridled lust in the Poconos.”

Freni glared at me. “Ach, how you twist my words. I said no such thing.”

“Well, you did accuse her of hanky-panky with the accordion-playing evangelist who had come to town. Not all Baptists play that kind of drop-the- hanky, you know.”

“I did see the two of them riding together in his truck,” Freni snapped. “They could have been heading for the Poconos.”

“We digress,” I said pleasantly. “Tell me more about that summer. Wasn’t it around the Fourth of July when Rebecca disappeared?”

Freni wrested control of the situation by waiting just until I opened my mouth to urge her on. “She ran off, like I said. And it was the end of July. The week of Aaron and Catherine’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and—”

“Aaron and Catherine who?”

Freni stared at me like I had just spoken Japanese. “What?”

“Who were the Aaron and Catherine who were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary?”