The Crepes of Wrath (19 page)

Gabe had barely closed his mouth when we were deluged by a gully washer of a rain. We made a dash for the nearest tree, but the second we reached it, the sun came out brighter and hotter than ever. Already the offending cloud was a mere cotton puff on the horizon.

“Just another coincidence, dear?”

“It certainly is weird, I’ll grant you that.”

We stepped out into the warm sunshine. “Frankly, dear, you got off easy. Mama can be as mean as a snake. Why once when I—”

The floodgates of Heaven opened yet again. This time a bolt of lightning hit the tree we’d just been standing under. There was a second loud crack as a large limb crashed to the ground, obliterating one of the tombstones.

“Now do you believe?” I demanded.

“I believe it would be stupid of us to keep standing here.” Gabe grabbed my arm. “Come on, we’ll be safe in my car. I’ve got a towel in my trunk. You can dry off with that.”

I went with him willingly. “I don’t suppose you have any food too?”

That was perhaps a silly question, but I was ravenous. Even a breath mint would be gratefully accepted.

“As a matter of fact, I do. How does a bagel with lox and cream cheese sound?”

“Well—”

“And if that’s not your shtick, I have both cheese and raspberry Danish. Oh, and I couldn’t remember if you like coffee, so I brought a thermos of hot chocolate as well.”

I wrenched free of his grasp. “Wait just a minute! How did you know I was up here?”

“Call it a hunch. I went over to the inn first thing this morning. I wanted to invite you up here for a breakfast picnic. Anyway, your car wasn’t there, so I was hoping you’d somehow managed to read my mind.” He grabbed my hand. “I guess you did.”

I freed myself again. Romantic as that notion was, it didn’t fly. A man who didn’t believe in ghosts, even when he met one, face to bird droppings, wasn’t going to drive up a mountain on a hunch.

“What if I hadn’t been here, then what?”

“Well, then I guess I would have eaten alone.”

I sneaked a peek at my Timex. “It’s not even seven o’clock. What were you planning to do, wake me?”

“Give me a break, Magdalena. You’re a farm girl. You’re used to getting up with the chickens.”

We rounded the copse of trees that separates the picnic area from the cemetery. I gasped when I saw the sleek blue car ahead.

“Is that your car?”

He laughed. “Do you see another?”

“I didn’t know you had a new car,” I managed to say calmly. My heart, by the way, was pounding like a madman on an xylophone. You wouldn’t believe the crazy thoughts that were flitting through my brain.

“It’s not a new car,” Gabe said. “It’s the same one I’ve always had. Are you okay, Magdalena?”

I slowed, forcing him to follow my pace. “Speaking of cars, dear, you don’t see mine, do you?”

He glanced around. “I guess not.”

“You
guess
not? What kind of an answer is that?”

“Okay, I don’t see it.”

“Then how come you’re not even the least bit curious about how
I
got up here?”

“I am. I figured you’d tell me all about it over breakfast.”

I tried not to panic as the thoughts began to gel.

“Show me the food.” If the coffee is hot, I’ll believe him, I told myself. There was no way Gabe could have followed the Keim car up the mountain from the Berkey farm, and then dashed home to make breakfast.

“Well,” Gabe said, “if you’re that hungry, why do you keep slowing down? Would you like me to carry you?”

Perhaps he meant it as a joke. Perhaps not. For all I knew he wanted to carry me to the nearest cliff and throw me over.

“Most definitely not.”

Gabe stopped. “Magdalena, what’s wrong?”

I tensed, ready to run. “You tell me.”

He shrugged. “It’s damn hard to figure out any woman, and you’re twice the woman of any one I know.”

“I’ll thank you not to swear,” I said. One must demand good manners, even in the face of death.

“That’s my Magdalena, always prim and proper.”

“I am not
your
Magdalena.”

It was the first time I’d seen a full-fledged frown on that handsome face. “Okay, enough of this horsing around. Out with what’s bothering you.”

I stepped well out of reach. “So, you want the truth, do you?”

“Nothing but.”

“Then you asked for it, because I saw your car last night parked behind the Berkey barn.”

Gabe didn’t even have the decency to blink. “I was home all evening.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I’m saying you’re mistaken.”

“Oh, is that so? Am I mistaken about the fact that you called yesterday and begged me not to spy on those Amish kids?”

“I didn’t beg,” Gabe said quietly. “I certainly didn’t use the word ‘spy.’ ”

“That’s exactly what you said! I couldn’t figure out why then, but now it all makes sense.”

“What does?”

“You’re from New York, aren’t you?”

“So?”

“The big city,” I said. “Drug pushers. I may not watch television, Gabe, but I read the papers.”

He gaped at me, frozen in time, like one of those fossilized people they found in Pompeii.

“You might want to be careful of flies, dear.”

Gabe came to life, slapping his forehead with a broad palm. “So that’s it! You think I’m a drug pusher just because I’m from New York. From the outside.”

“If the shoe fits.”

“There are other outsiders,” he growled. “Like the Hamptons.”

“
They
didn’t try and stop me from doing my job.
Their
car wasn’t parked behind the Berkey barn. And—”

“It wasn’t my damn car!”

“And,” I said, my voice rising, “you still haven’t explained how you found me up here—unless you’d been following me.”

“I said it was a hunch.” Each word was spit out like a nail.

I smiled sardonically. “Men don’t have hunches.”

“The hell they don’t!”

“I’m not putting up with your swearing any longer.” I turned and headed for the road.

“Magdalena, come back!”

“When pigs fly.”

“You’ll be sorry.”

I kept walking.

“You’re not going to try and walk all the way down this mountain, are you?”

“Why not?”

“What about the rain? You could get hit by lightning.”

“As if you’d care,” I said childishly. I looked up. There was no longer a cloud in the sky. Mama was undoubtedly pleased with my decision.

“Magdalena, be reasonable.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing. And anyway, for all you know, I walked up here. Walking back down should be a piece of cake.”

“Enjoy your cake,” he said. I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was no longer following me.

I am a healthy woman, still in my prime, but it was adrenaline that propelled me down Stucky Ridge and into town. Well, to be truthful, I guess I could have rolled down the mountain—it’s that steep—but from the bottom of the incline I had to walk a good quarter of a mile until I hit Slave Creek, and then another quarter mile into town. From there it was two point two miles to the PennDutch, but I wasn’t about to walk that far on an empty stomach.

Thank heavens Yoder’s Corner Market was on my side of town and opened early. I am also eternally grateful that no one drove by as I straggled up Main Street looking like something the cat dragged in.

That’s exactly what Sam said when he saw me. “Is that you, Magdalena? For a second there I thought it was something the cat dragged in.”

I grimaced. “I thought you were going to start
buying
your meats.”

“Very funny. What happened to you?”

“Mama.”

Sam nodded. He’s my first cousin and knew Mama. No further explanation was necessary.

“So what can I help you find today?”

“Your restroom.”

Sam nervously brushed a lock of phantom hair back across a bald forehead. “I don’t have a restroom.”

“Yes you do. It’s that little room in the back off the storeroom.”

“That’s for employees only. They’re liable to complain if I open it to the public.”

“You’re the only employee, Sam.”

Sam sighed. “Use it. But put the seat back up when you’re done.”

I left the seat down. In fact, I weighted it down with the heavy ceramic lid of the tank. On top of that I stacked the plunger, the wastebasket,
and
a stack of
Playboy
magazines. Alas, Jacob Troyer had been telling the truth.

I also took my time sprucing up. My clothes were mostly dry by then, and a tug here and a tug there did wonders. So did Sam’s comb, which was lying on the sink and hadn’t been used in decades. When I emerged—except for my missing prayer cap—I looked quite presentable.

“For shame, Sam,” I said, surprising him in the canned fruit section.

He flushed, from neckline to neckline. “A Lodge buddy gave them to me. I didn’t buy them.”

“Don’t be so embarrassed, dear,” I said, enjoying every second of his discomfort. “I’m your favorite cousin, remember? We played post office together when we were six.”

His color deepened to that of Freni’s beet-pickled eggs. “You aren’t going to tell Dorothy, are you?”

“Your wife’s a Methodist, dear. I’m sure this kind of thing won’t surprise her at all. I was, however, thinking of mentioning it to Lodema Schrock.”

Sam’s pale gray eyes bulged beneath frosty lashes. “You wouldn’t! She’ll tell her husband and then I’m off the Mennonite Buddies Bowling League for sure.”

“In third grade you dipped my braids in the inkwell,” I reminded him.

“They no longer had inkwells when we were growing up, Magdalena. I put gum in your braids.”

“Same thing. Mama had to cut them off. My hair was still blond then and for weeks everyone called me Little Dutch Boy.”

“The Bible says to forgive seventy-seven times.”

“I stopped counting at one hundred. That was the time you put the live toad in my peanut butter sandwich.”

“I only did it because I liked you.”

“What?”

“I’ve been crazy about you for as long as I can remember. If we weren’t first cousins—well, I even thought of asking you to run away with me to South Carolina. We could have gotten married there.”

If my mouth had hung open any wider, I could have swallowed pigeons as well as flies. Not that there are that many of the former in Sam’s store.

“What’s the matter, Magdalena? Cat got your tongue?”

I shook my head vigorously, dissipating some of the shock. “Maybe the cat does have my tongue. After all, it dragged me in.”

“Come on, Magdalena. Admit it. You liked me too, didn’t you?”

“I detested you, Sam,” I said politely.

“Ha-ha! You’re such a teaser. That’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you.” His face grew pensive. “You don’t think it’s too late, do you? I mean, you’re not married and as for me—well, Dorothy’s a strong woman. She can take care of herself.”

“Forget it, Sam. I wouldn’t marry you if you were—well, the third or fourth last man on earth.”

Alas, that seemed to give him hope. “We wouldn’t have to get married. We could just—well, you know, be close.”

“You mean have an affair?”

Sam nodded hopefully.

I gasped. “Samuel Nevin Yoder! I’m not only shocked, I’m disgusted. Adultery is a sin! And just the thought of doing the horizontal hootchie-cootchie with a cousin—”

“So your answer is ‘no’?”

“Is your produce fresh?”

He may as well have dyed his face red. “You’re not telling
this
to Dorothy, are you?”

Perhaps it’s because I have big feet, but I can think fast on them. “Not if you sell me a buggy full of groceries—my choice—at cost.”

“Done!” he said, too eagerly.

“
And
give me some information.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. The red flags that went up matched his complexion. “What sort of information?”

“It’s about Gabriel Rosen, you know, that retired doctor who bought Aaron’s farm.”

As Sam relaxed his color lightened two shades. “Oh him. What do you want to know?”

“How well do you know him?”

Sam shrugged. “He comes in just about every day. Buys a little of this and that. Never even looks at the prices.” Sam chuckled. “Yesterday he bought anchovies. Said it was for a picnic. That can has been sitting on that shelf for almost eight years. I know, because I ordered them special for Lily Bontrager when she was on her pizza-making kick, which was the year Pete Hershberger dropped his bowling ball on my toe and broke it. I had to back out of the finals on account of that. Anyway, Lily read the recipe in some magazine, but when she came in to pick up the anchovies and saw that they were little fishes, she changed her mind. I forgot to look, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the tin had expired.”

“How could one tell?” I asked wryly.

He chuckled. “Beats me. Never eaten the things myself. Special orders like that I usually pitch after ten years.”

“How considerate of you. But back to Dr. Rosen, does he seem suspicious to you?”

“How do you mean?”

“Does he talk too much? Ask too many questions?”

“He’s not as bad as you,” Sam said without the hint of a smile.

“Remember, dear, I’m still in the catbird seat. What Dorothy and Lodema don’t know
yet
could hurt you.”

“He seems like an okay guy,” Sam said quickly. “Not like some of the other folks from the coast—the kind that stay to themselves. Claim they have to shop in Bedford where they get more choices.”

“Like the Hamptons?”

Sam spit on his own floor. I paid close attention to where the globules landed.

“
They
should have stayed in the big city. Did you know they had the nerve to laugh when I told them the only kind of asparagus I carry in the winter comes in cans?”

“City slickers!” I snorted. “So tell me, Sam, did Gabe—I mean, Dr. Rosen—ever mention drugs to you? The illegal kind, of course.”

Sam shook his head vigorously. At least he didn’t need to worry about messing up his hair.

“Magdalena, Magdalena, Magdalena.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“Always jumping to conclusions, aren’t you?”

“It’s the only form of exercise that doesn’t make you sweat,” I said defensively.

“You think the doctor had something to do with Lizzie Mast’s death, don’t you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, dear.”

“What’s the matter? Your foot taking up all the room?”

“Very funny, coming from someone who is about to be famous—or should I say, infamous—for keeping dirty magazines in his bathroom.”

Like I said, he could have saved his skin a whole lot of trouble by staying red. “Those magazines,” he said, studying the canned pears, “were given to me by the
same man you’re so clumsily trying to investigate. From what I hear, Magdalena, the two of you are sweet on each other. Why don’t you just interrogate him?”

“
Gabe
gave you those?”

He nodded. “We got to talking one day. Mentioned he had them. Said he was throwing away his entire collection now that he’d met a
real
woman. I hinted that I might like to take a peek at them—you know, read the articles—before he trashed them. Next thing I knew he showed up with the magazines. Maybe fifty of them. I didn’t keep them all. Spread them around to guys in my bowling league.”

“What? You spread smut to the BMs?”

“That’s MBs, Magdalena, but hey, now that you mention it, I’ve got nothing to hide. If I get dropped from the church team, so do Elmer Reiger, Orville Weibe, and Walter Sawatzky. If that happens, Reverend Schrock will have your head on a platter just like John the Baptist’s.”

Sometimes it’s wise to get while the going is good. “But we’re still on with the buggy full of goodies at cost, right?”

Sam smiled. “I think you just talked yourself out of that.”

Sometimes it’s necessary to paddle faster. “Okay, so maybe you’ve single-handedly contaminated the church’s bowling team, but you’re the only one who has propositioned me. If I recall correctly, it was Dorothy’s father who set you up with this store and it’s in Dorothy’s name. A few well-chosen words to her and you’re out on your ear like last decade’s anchovies.”

“Okay,” Sam growled, “you win. But they have to be big items. Say bigger than a grapefruit. No filling up the buggy with spices. Those cost a fortune. Even I have to pay through the nose.”

“Deal. Now, may I use your phone?”

Same shook his head.

“I’m not calling for help,” I said. “I don’t want to use up my free spree today. I’m calling for a ride.”

“It doesn’t matter. My phone’s out of order.”

“Give me a break.”

“Come here,” he said and led the way to his cubicle of an office. I followed, gingerly picking my way over the spittle. “See,” he said triumphantly, showing me the cracked remains of an ancient princess phone. “Dropped it last week.”

“That’s your only phone?”

He nodded.

“Why don’t you get a replacement?”

“I will—
sometime,
” he added with a sly smile. “Not having one keeps Dorothy off my back. Anyway, why don’t you use the public phone on the corner?”

“It’s back in order?”

Sam frowned. “Never been out of order, far as I know.”

“That’s funny. Jacob Troyer said it was out of order. He stopped at the PennDutch to use mine.”

“Jacob Troyer, the good-looking Amish man?” That may seem like a silly question to you, but I know of eleven Jacob Troyers in this county. Five of them are Amish, but none comes close to being as handsome as the Jacob I meant.

“That’s the one. Said his sister-in-law was giving birth to twins over in Ohio.”

“She’s originally a Mast, isn’t she? They’re always having twins. Sort of a two-for-one special going on in that family.”

“Ah, that reminds me! What if, during my spree, I put an item in my buggy that’s part of a two-for-one special. Does that mean that after the spree I still get the second item free?”

“You get what’s in your buggy, Magdalena, that’s all! In fact, maybe I was being too generous. I think I’ll just—”

“Hold that thought!” I said and skeedaddled out the door while I was still ahead. Sure, I had something on Sam, but he was a Yoder, remember? As one, he was capable of cutting off his nose to spite his face, and still have plenty of proboscis left.