I shrugged again.
She clutched Derrick. "You're not writing this down, are you?"
"Hmm," Derrick said scribbling faster. " Mennonite Matriarch Confesses to Worldly Vice'... too tame, you think?"
"Definitely back page, dear. How about `Pastor's Wife Falls Into Fish Pond and Gives Birth to Frog Child,' " I said. Years of experience have taught me that tabloid titles and content need not be at all related.
Susannah, who had been standing quietly by, cleared her throat. "Once I saw her eating in a French restaurant in Pittsburgh. I didn't pay that much attention, but it could have been frog legs. Maybe you could throw in something about cannibalism."
Lodema's eyes rolled back in hysteria. "Magdalena, help me," she begged.
I smiled beneficently. "Perhaps we could start with an apology."
"I'm sorry!" she wailed.
"Like I said, that's a start. Now - " Someone was tapping me on the shoulder, I whirled.
"Melvin!"
"And Zelda," a high-pitched female voice said.
I stopped and peered behind my nemesis. Sure enough, Melvin had brought his half-pint, painted sidekick with him. Something big was about to go down. Perhaps they were here to arrest Lodema for slander. Derrick too, come to think of it.
"I'd be happy to testify in court," I said.
Melvin arranged his mandibles in a close approximation of a smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Do you know what time it is, Yoder?"
"Watchless as usual, I grabbed Lodema's wrist. "Oh, my gracious! It's two thirty-seven!"
"Two-thirty on the dot, I said. Had you forgotten that?"
"No - well, I wouldn't have, but Lodema here fell into a fish pond and gave birth to a tadpole"
"No kidding?" Melvin, who had long since left the fold, looked at the pastor's wife with new respect.
"Yes, kidding, you - "
"Ah, ah, ah, no name calling, Yoder. Not when I'm about to make an arrest. Who knows, the cuffs might accidentally end up on you."
"Arrest?"
"They give free hearing tests at the high school, Yoder."
"I mean" - I desperately rolled my eyes to indicate the despicable Derrick Simms - "you're going to arrest someone now?"
"Yes, now. Read the warrant, Zelda."
Dutifully, she began to read. When she came to the name of the arrestee, I clapped my hands over Derrick Simms's ear.
-29-
" - Alma Louise Cornwater for the premeditated murder f Geroge Reagan Mitchell."
Derrick was stronger than I hoped, and was able to force my hands away, but not until after Alma's name was read.
"He's a tabloid reporter!" I screamed.
"Is that so? Well, you win some, and you lose some. It looks like Miss - "
Derrick's ears, which were rather large, were easy targets. Unfortunately the man has the reflexes of a fly, and once warned, was able to duck.
"Alma Louise Cornwater," he said gleefully. "Any relation to Barry Cornwater of Arizona?"
"That's Goldwater, dear. You wouldn't, per chance, be related to Melvin?"
"Ah, Alma Goldwater. Is that with two D's, or one?"
"Three," I said. "She's Lithuanian. Lodeam, be a dear and tell Mr. Simms all about the mole they removed from Anna Lichty."
Lodema's face lit up like Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh when the Pirates are in town. Next to me, Anna Lichty is Hernia's favorite subject. Imagine carrying a six-pound mole around for twenty years. Not the animal, of course, but the skin condition. Boggles the mind, doesn't it? Then when the mole is finally removed, one of the surgeons faints because the mole, when seen from the reverse side, bears the exact likeness of the Virgin Mary. I know it's hard to believe, but Anna kept it in a huge pickle jar, so I saw it for myself. Hearsay has it that when Harriet Hammond saw the heavenly hunk, her herpes was healed. Rumor even has it that the Vatican has made inquiries into buying the disgusting thing, along with Ripley's Believe It Or Not.
"I don't want to hear about some damn growth," Derrick Simms growled. `I want to hear about the Goldwater murder."
"Oh, you'll want to hear about this," Lodema said, her voice rising with excitement.
She was right. Next week's edition of the National Intruder read: "Holy Moley: Vatican Vies for Virginal Visage." There was nothing in it about Lodema, or the murder of George Mitchell. Much to my relief, there was nothing about me either.
Alma had class, I'll say that for the gal. she remained absolutely calm while the maniacal Melvin manacled her. It was only when she was being led away to the squad car that I saw her lips quiver.
"Freni," she said, avoiding eye contact with me, "I hope it's not against your religion or anything, but would you please do me a big favor and call home."
"Yah," Freni said, choking back a sob. Tears streamed down her faintly fuzzy cheeks.
I practically leaped in front of Alma and Melvin. Had the mud puddles not been frozen, I would have lain across them and let her walk on my back. Melvin and Zelda, however, were out of luck.
"I can call."
"You've done enough," Alma said flatly.
"It wasn't my fault that the coroner called Melvin a second time and reported your thumbprint on the knife blade."
Police Chief Melvin Stoltzfus produced one of his more smarmy smiles. "You see, Yoder, my little plan worked."
"That wasn't a plan! That was a pack of lies. You said you knew everything about Alma and the knife. I just assumed that somehow you'd heard that she'd lost her paring knife."
"And then," Melvin said, mandibles barely moving, "you volunteered the information that East Coast Delicacies, presided over by the deceased, stole her recipes. That was the clincher, Yoder. Since we already knew Miss Cornwater was up at the time of the murder, we have everything we need to make a case: motive, method, and opportunity."
"You still haven't proved that the knife is hers," I wailed. "And even if it was, somebody else could have stolen it from her drawer."
To her credit, Zelda at least shrugged her broad shoulders and glanced at Melvin.
It was a small opening, but I can squeeze through a wormhole, if I have to. "You see/ Zelda thinks it's possible. I mean, what about Marge Benedict?"
"What about her?"
"Not only did she hate George Mitchell, but she obviously doesn't have any scruples. She stole Alma's recipes to impress George."
Melvin sneered. "I suppose you're going to tell me that the human dartboard has a motive as well?"
"Carlie? As a matter of fact - "
"Can it, Yoder. Don't tell you how to do your job, so you don't tell me. Got it? I'm going to prove that Miss Cornwater killed George Mitchell. In the meantime, Zelda here will make her very comfortable at the Hernia Hotel. Won't you, Zelda?"
The poor woman gave me a pained look. She might be in love with Melvin, but she has got to recognize that he is a doofus. Even Melvin's mama can't help but see the truth. It broke my heart the day poor Elvina Stoltzfus confessed in church that she had not given birth to her son, but found him under a cabbage. What saddened me so was that less than half of the congregation believed the desperate woman.
"You feed her three squares a day," I admonished, "and no stripsearching."
"Ach!" Freni was the color of bleached flour, and poor Susannah looked like she was about to jump out of her skin, leaving a pile of polyester behind.
"He'll be good," Zelda said firmly. "Besides, I search the female prisoners."
Susannah and Freni sighed in unison.
Melvin stretched and yawned, quite obviously satisfied with a job well done. If he'd been a rooster, instead of an insect, he would have crowed.
"Thanks for everything, Yoder. I couldn't have done it if you hadn't sung like a canary."
Freni shook a plump finger at me. "Yah, a canary. Well, Miss Big Bird, I quit!"
"I'm sorry," I wailed. "I was tricked."
"It's all right, Miss Yoder," Alma said softly. "I shouldn't have come down so hard on you."
I gave Alma a quick hug. "I'll do anything I can to help. You need bail money? I'm loaded. Whatever you need, I'm there for you."
"Thanks."
Susannah grabbed the sleeve of Melvin's coat. For a second I thought she was going to try and talk some sense into him.
"You going to call me, Lamb Pie?"
"Not now," Melvin muttered, and rudely shoved her aside.
"Bye," Alma said bravely as she climbed into the back seat of Hernia's only official squad car.
"Don't worry!" I called to her. "I'll find the killer!"
I turned to Freni and Susannah. "I mean it. I won't leave one stone unturned until I find the person who really killed George Mitchell."
Susannah touched my shoulder in a rare display of affection, and then went back inside.
"Yah, just like a sparrow," Freni hissed, and trotted after her.
"That's canary!" I yelled, and then burst into tears.
Perhaps there are a few who would disagree, but I see myself as essentially a cheerful person. Jovial might be taking it too far, although surely good-natured would be an appropriate term to describe yours truly. There certainly isn't a lick of truth to the rumor that I am a cantankerous and mean-spirited woman. Grandma Yoder maybe, but not me.
Therefore, it surprised even me when I couldn't shake the cloud generated by Alma's arrest. For example, an hour after it happened, one of the guests - Ms. Holt, I think -spilled coffee on the seat of Papa's favorite chair in the den. The old Magdalena would have been upset, maybe even demanded that Ms. Holt get married, have a child, and subsequently hand over her firstborn in payment of the blotched fabric. The depressed me hardly noticed.
"Mags, darling," Susannah said, doing her best to cheer me up, "I've decided to run away, get a million tattoos, and join the circus. What do you think of that?"
"Peachy keen," I mumbled.
"But that's not all, Mags. Melvin Stoltzfus is coming with me. He's going to join as The Mantis Man."
"Whoop-tee-doo," I said, twirling my index finger.
Even Shnookums got into the act, nipping me playfully through the folds of Susannah's flowing fabric.
"Nice dog," I said, and scratched him obligingly behind the ears.
The next thing I knew Freni was plying me with cake and hot chocolate. "Ach, so I don't quit, already."
"Suit yourself, dear."
"So, I'll never quit. Will that make you feel better, Magdalena?"
I shrugged, too worn-out and dispirited to say anything more. My life was at the bottom of the outhouse, so to speak. My parents were dead, my pseudo-husband was living with his real wife, and now this? An innocent woman was on her way to the hoosegow, and all because I'd had the weakness of character to give in to Freni's request. I should never have agreed to that silly contest. Allowing a bunch of disparate and desperate strangers into my establishment was one of the stupidest things I'd ever done. It isn't even the love of money that is the root of all evil, it's competition.
"Ach!" Freni fluttered around me pretending to plump pillows, but since I keep only two in the den, she soon ran out of things to do. After a while she gave up and, more true to her character, clomped sullenly back to the kitchen. The dear woman does not handle rejection well.
Who knows how long I sat there in my stupor - maybe two hours all told - when I became aware that I was once again not alone. Perhaps it was the pheromones he exuded, but I could sense General Gordon Oliver Dolby's presence, even with my eyes closed. And I hadn't heard him enter the room either. I'm telling you, that man could walk like a cat.
"Miss Yoder?"
I attempted to will him away.
"Miss Yoder, I need to fly to Pittsburgh this afternoon. Would you care to come along?"
I opened one eye.
"Of course it's only a little Cessna 182, but you might find it fun."
I opened the other eye. "You have your own plane? I mean, you flew it here from Baltimore?"
"Yes, ma'am. I never go anywhere without my wings."
"But - but - you drove up in a car."
"Yes, ma'am, with Pennsylvania plates. I rented it at the Bedford County airport."
That's what I get for not requiring my guests to record their license plate information. They are, after all, an upscale crowd. In recent years most of my guests have flown into Pittsburgh, where they rent cars, or else they drive in from the East Coast. Except for Bill and Hillary, of course, who - never mind, I'm not at liberty to discuss that.
