I snapped my purse shut. "Don't give me that, Sam. You're a Methodist now, for Pete's sake."
Sam slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead. "Ooh, that hurt, Magdalena. You know that when I married Dorothy she refused to change churches. Anyway, mark my words, it's the Congressman, not the hippies, who came here to stir up big trouble."
"So marked," I said.
Sam and I are definitely not kissing cousins. He wouldn't even help me carry the groceries to my car, and he refuses to let the shopping carts leave his store. When we were kids, he was the one at family reunions who put frogs down my back, or pushed me in the mud when I was wearing my Sunday best.
Mama and Papa may have entertained hopes that Sam and I would someday marry, but I certainly never did. Still, it came as a shock to all of us when Sam married Dorothy Gillman, a Methodist from New York State. Of course it was just as well that he did. Anybody with poor-enough judgment to marry a woman who used mascara, wore slacks, and painted her toe-nails a bright red was definitely not worth pining over. At least that's what Mama told me.
I put Sam's rudeness and bad judgment out of my mind and drove reluctantly over to the police station to see Chief
Myers's assistant. When accosted, my people have traditionally turned the other cheek. This can make for a lot of sore cheeks, and doesn't necessarily put an end to the violence. I suppose there is merit in that, but it is no longer one of my ways.
Still, I had never before had occasion to visit the police station, and had no idea what to expect. I certainly didn't expect to see Melvin Stoltzfus, the Melvin Stoltzfus, sitting behind Chief Myers's desk. Jeff was going to pay for not telling me the name of his assistant. I squelched a brief fantasy about Tammy wearing slippery shoes when she peered over the edge of the falls.
"Melvin?"
"Yes, ma'am. Acting Chief Melvin Stoltzfus."
"It's Magdalena. Magdalena Yoder."
Melvin rotated his head slowly to look up at me with the largest eyes I have ever seen on a man. Something about the way in which he deliberately did it reminded me of a praying mantis. Perhaps it had something to do with his being kicked in the head by that bull. I hadn't remembered Melvin Stoltzfus looking quite like that before.
"Magdalena! I remember you. Aren't you Susannah's older sister?"
"I plead the Fifth Amendment."
"What?"
"Never mind. Melvin, any word yet on what exactly did happen to Miss Brown?"
"Who?"
"Miss Brown," I repeated patiently. "You know, the woman who, uh, unfortunately passed away out at my place last night."
Melvin stared at me for an interminable length of time. I had the distinct feeling he was sizing me up, undoubtedly trying to decide if I was a juicy-enough morsel for him to pounce on and devour.
"Well, Melvin, did the coroner's report come in yet or not? Chief Myers said you would know."
One of Melvin's eyes seemed to rotate ever so slightly, and independently, in its socket. "In the first place, the coroner's report would be confidential at this point, if foul play was suspected. But in the second place, for your information, since we're just coming out of Thanksgiving weekend, you can expect things to be a little behind schedule."
"How much behind schedule are we talking?" If Miss Brown was a childless orphan, a delay would actually be welcome.
But if she had doting parents or a dozen grieving children any or all of whom might at that very moment be seeing a lawyer, I'd best hustle my bustle off to see Alvin.
"Can't say how much behind schedule," said Melvin. His tongue darted out and flicked lightly over his al- most nonexistent lips for a few seconds. "Some things are confidential."
"I agree," I said recklessly.
Melvin's roaming eye stopped in mid-rotation. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Foolishly, I couldn't resist one-upping Melvin Stoltzfus. I told him about Miss Brown's bogus phone numbers.
"Of course, that doesn't mean anything," Melvin scoffed. "I often get wrong numbers."
"Go figure," I said sweetly. "Look, Melvin, one of the numbers being wrong I can understand. But both of them?"
"You sure that this Jumbo Jim's chicken place was ; the same number that was on her registration form?"
"As sure as you're a Stoltzfus."
"And how much did you say a bucket of extra crispy cost?"
"I didn't, Melvin."
"Was this Miss Brown all you wanted to talk to me about?"
"No. I also want to report an attempted murder out at my place."
"Apparently you haven't been listening, Magdalena. The coroner's report still is not in. It may be negligence on your part that we're looking at, not murder. You should be talking to Alvin, not me."
Alvin, Melvin, shmelvin. I've raised chickens with higher I.Q.s. "I'm not talking about Miss Brown anymore," I said, with perhaps a slight note of exasperation in my voice. "What I mean is, today somebody tried to kill me."
"I see." He pulled some forms out of a drawer, picked up a ballpoint, and sat poised like he was getting ready to take a timed exam.
"Don't you want to hear the details?"
He smiled placidly. The skin on the left side of his face was pulled tight and there appeared to be an indentation just inside his hairline. Perhaps that's where he had been kicked in the head. "Before we get into the details, I need some background information on you."
"What information? Melvin, you've known me all my life."
"Name?"
"You already know that!"
Melvin was as persistent as a sweat fly in August. "Name?"
"Oh, all right. Magdalena Yoder."
"Middle name?"
"Won't an initial do?" It's bad enough that my mother named me after a packet of flower seeds. She could at least have nixed the Latin.
"Middle name?"
"Portulaca. But breathe that to a single soul and - "
"Age?"
"Thirty-nine."
"Age?"
"Forty-three. But what does this have to do with my being shot at?"
"Sex?"
"Never! I mean it's none of your business."
"Sex?" After Melvin had garnered all my personal statistics, except for my bra and shoe size (which are not the same, no matter what Freni says), he finally let me tell him about the incident.
"You don't allow hunting on your land, do you?" he interrupted me at one point.
"Of course not."
"Then that couldn't have been a hunter on your land."
"How's that?"
Melvin was on a roll. "And you don't know why anyone would want to kill you, do you?"
"To spare me these questions?"
He began to rub his hands together rhythmically. "If you don't know why someone would want to kill you, then there probably wasn't anyone trying to kill you. And we know it wasn't a hunter. So, either you are mistaken about being shot at or you are lying to me, Magdalena, and just wasting my time." He rolled his huge eyes into position and gazed up at me like a monstrous mantis. "And I know you don't lie, Magdalena Yoder. Do you?"
"You forgot Portulaca."
"Do you?"
There was no stopping such persistence. I decided to get out of there before he devoured me. "I don't suppose you know the name of the hotel Chief Myers is staying at in Niagara Falls, do you?"
Melvin turned his head slowly to an impossible angle. Quite possibly he was trying to point with his chin. "The sign on this desk says 'Melvin Stoltzfus.' That's me. I'm in charge while the Chiefs away. Got any more questions?"
"No, so in that case I guess I'll just be going. Thanks for everything."
The bulging blue-gray eyes seemed to have focused on me before his head had fully turned back into position. "It's quite all right, Magdalena, but next time try not to let your imagination get the best of you."
"Bull!" I said. That said it all.
14
Susannah and Shnookums were in the kitchen when I returned. I didn't actually see Shnookums, but since he is never a dog's breath away from her, I knew he was there. Susannah, at least, appeared to be making toast and coffee.
"What's the matter? Can't sleep anymore?" I asked pleasantly enough.
Susannah rolled her eyes, which for her is a fairly tolerant gesture. "I am not the lazy thing you think I am, Mags. 'I've been up for at least forty-five minutes, doing my nails."
A quick glance at the wall clock told me it was seven minutes till one. Just as I'd thought. Only sinners are capable of sleeping past noon.
"And besides which," she continued, "I'm working right now. I'm making lunch for Her Highness."
"What? Is Jeanette back already?"
"Not that Her Highness. Mrs. Ream."
"Lydia came back already?"
Susannah opened the fridge and got out some cottage cheese and hard-boiled eggs. "She never left in the first place.
Scared me to death when I saw her. I was coming downstairs for a Pepsi and Little Debbies when I ran into her on the stairs. We both nearly fell down those damned stairs and broke our necks we were so frightened."
"Susannah!"
"Well, do you want to hear the juicy details, or what?"
I sold out my principles for the juicy details. "Do tell."
Susannah talked while she fixed Lydia's plate. "I asked Mrs. Ream why she was back already and she told me she'd never left. Said she hadn't been feeling so well after breakfast, a stomach thing, and thought she should stick close to the house.
She also said she'd started to feel a little better and had gone out for a short walk. Just to look at the barn and stuff. Only I don't think that's the whole truth."
"What do you mean?" I have to hand it to Susannah. She attracts interesting bits of news like black wool attracts lint.
"Well, for one thing, there's that fight she had with her husband this morning. I think it's Garrett, not diarrhea, that kept her home. Although, how can you tell the difference?"
"Susannah?"
`Well, you know what I mean." She poured coffee from the percolator into a small serving pot. "Anyway, after I recovered from shock on the stairs, I noticed there were some pine needles caught in her hair." Susannah paused and waited for me to say something.
Eventually I obliged. "So?"
"So! Mags, the only pine trees we've got on the farm are back in the woods. It's all maples up by the house, and there aren't any trees by the barn. So don't you think the woods is a wee bit far to go if you've got the runs?"
"You've got a point," I said excitedly. "And if Lydia was ill the woods, she might have seen someone, or at least could verify that shots had been fired."
Susannah put a little pot of homemade boysenberry jam and a salt and pepper set on the tray. "Except that she came back from her walk several hours after you claimed you were shot at."
"Not claimed - was!"
"All right, was. My point is that she couldn't have heard the shots or seen anyone, because she wasn't even in the woods then."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Say, you're not the only one with news. Guess who I saw in town?"
"Your old boyfriend, Sam?" Susannah pointed to the bags of produce that I still had not bothered to put away. After all, there was no hurry. How limp can Sam's bok choy get?
"That's not who I mean. I saw" - I paused for dramatic effect - "Melvin Stoltzfus!"
"Our new acting Police Chief."
"You knew?"
"It was in the paper, Mags. You really ought to get more in touch with the world."
"That's not fair! I read."
"Yeah, books. But not important stuff. Isn't Melvin cute?"
"Cute? You think Melvin Stoltzfus is cute?"
"You're always too hard on people, Magdalena. You're far too picky. Even Mama used to say so. Melvin's got the most adorable eyes. You know - bedroom eyes they call them."
"I wouldn't think there'd be room for his eyes in my bed," I said, perhaps cruelly.
"There you go! Running people down. That's why there's never been anybody in your bed, Magdalena. And probably never will be."
"That's not true at all. I don't sleep with men because I'm not married. It's as simple as that. And even if I were to throw my morals to the wind and be a slut, like some people I know, I wouldn't go to bed with someone who has to use his fingers to count to ten."