Hell Hath No Curry (21 page)

Doc Shafor lives on the other side of Hernia, in the shadow of Stucky Ridge, with a great view of Lovers’ Leap. When I slowed to turn into his long drive, and saw him and his faithful hound, Old Blue, coming my way, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. I lowered my window.

“Don’t tell me,” I said, “let me guess. Old Blue smelled me coming before I even left home, and after you prepared a delicious breakfast for me of ham and eggs and batter biscuits, the two of you have come to meet me.”

The old geezer grinned. “Wrong. Old Blue smelled you coming yesterday, which gave me time to get up at five this morning and bake you a batch of
yeast
biscuits. Whipped up some honey butter for you as well.”

“Will there be hot chocolate?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course there will.”

“Then hop in, dears.” Since both are a mite incontinent, you can see how much I adore the two of them.

We drove in amiable silence and, likewise, said little during the meal. Doc takes eating seriously, and given that he can cook 176

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circles around Freni, who is a great cook in her own right, I am serious when I eat his meals.

It wasn’t until I’d drained my second cup of cocoa, and he his third of coffee, that we got down to business. “So, Magdalena, is my hunch right? Have you finally come to seduce me?”

I shook my head. “I keep telling you, Doc, I prefer older men.”

“Older than eighty-two?”

“Much older than that. Try again when you reach a hundred.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Well, then, if it isn’t this fabulous gnarled body you’re after, why the long trek out here? You break up with your New York studmuffin again?”

“It’s for good this time, Doc.”

“You always say that. A month from now you’ll be sitting in that very chair telling me what a hottie he is.”

“That’s the second time this morning I’ve heard that word used in a vulgar way. How did you get to be so hip, Doc?”

“Which word is that?”

“Hot.”

Doc leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Oh boy, if that’s vulgar, then I better start training you a long time before Willard Scott wishes me happy birthday.”

“Just so you know, I’m wearing my ultra-Christian underwear.”

He laughed again.

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are. That’s what makes it so fun— Oops, I’ve offended you, haven’t I?”

I fought back the tears. “I’m fine. No, I’m not. But it doesn’t have anything to do with your teasing. Like I said, this time it really is over. With Gabe, I mean.”

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“Too much Ida? That, I understand. The time you sent us on that trip—”

“It’s not Ida. I actually kind of like her. You and her—well, there’s not many other people I can verbally spar with. Not equals, at any rate. No, it’s the faith card.”

Doc straightened. “He doesn’t believe your way?”

“It’s not
my
way; it’s the only way.”

“And you think he’s going to burn in Hell forever and ever.”

“What I think doesn’t matter. But yes, it’s what the Bible says.”

“Sorry, but I can’t help you with this one. I stopped believing in a punishing God the day my Belinda died.”

“God punishes us only because we sin.”

“Save your words, Magdalena. I don’t need to hear about a gift of salvation through the death of Jesus, because if we don’t choose the gift, then bam, we’re doomed. What kind of free will is that?”

“Doc, have you become a Democrat?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

I shrugged. I didn’t know if I was kidding or not. I was as mixed up as a Jell-O fruit salad; that’s all I really knew. That, and the fact that I hadn’t really come to talk about Gabe.

“I’m switching subjects completely, Doc.”

“Always a woman’s prerogative, but thanks for the warning.”

“As I’m sure you’ve heard, via Hernia’s stupendous grapevine, I’m doing some investigating into the death of Cornelius Weaver, our town’s second most notorious bachelor.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And yes, I’ve heard. He supposedly died of a heart attack, but there was a high dose of Elavil in his blood, right?”

I stared at him. “How did you know about the Elavil?”

“I have my sources. And yes, I know, they’re not real, but then again, at my age I have some man-made parts as well.”

“That Priscilla Livingood sure gets around.”

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“She’s just living up to her name. But she’s really a nice woman, Magdalena. I think you’d like her.”

“I do.”

“So, who are your other suspects?”

“Well, Alice Troyer, for one.”

“Ah yes, one of this tiny burg’s many claims to fame. A professional Mennonite comedienne. Won’t wonders ever cease?”

“She’s no longer a Mennonite—at least I think she’s not. Anyway, we didn’t talk about religion; we talked about the fact that Cornelius led her to believe she was the one he intended to marry.

They even went ring shopping in Pittsburgh.”

“Let me guess—the ring had to be sized before she could wear it.”

“How did you know?”

“Oldest trick in the book. Hook them with promises, bed them, and then shove them out the door.”

“Doc!”

He chuckled. “Not me, Magdalena. I don’t promise them anything—except for a good time.”

I blushed to the tips of my stocking-clad toes. “Spare me further details. Like I was about to say, Alice Troyer is livid. But still, she pointed the finger at Caroline Sha.”

“Now
there’s
a looker!”

“Excuse me?”

“The fact that she’s bald only emphasizes her perfect features.

Great body too.”

“Yes, but you said ‘
there’s
a looker,’ as if I wasn’t even in that category. So what am I, Doc, chopped liver?”

He slapped his knee. “So Ida
has
rubbed off on you. Magdalena, you poor insecure soul. I’ve been hitting on you since the day you turned eighteen. How many times have I said you were beautiful?”

“A million?”

“And one. And how times have you disagreed?”

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“A million and two?”

“Bingo.”

“But I’m starting to believe it, Doc.”

“Get out of town and back! What brought that on?”

“Doctor J. P. Skinner, I guess.”

“The plastic surgeon?”

“Yes. He said I was—well, you know.”

“I don’t. What did he say?”

“But you do know.”

“
Say
it, Magdalena.”

“I can’t. It’ll sound silly.”

“Say it loud, say it proud.”

“No, I’m embarrassed.”

Doc snorted. “You have got to purge yourself of that pride hang-up; it doesn’t become you. Any other suspects on your list?”

I nodded. “Thelma Unruh—did you know she plans to turn that monstrosity of a house into a bed-and-breakfast? She actually thinks she can make it work because of that stupid wall.”

“She probably can.”

“What?”

“I’ve often thought of buying that house and doing the very same thing. Of course I wouldn’t, not as long as you’re operating the PennDutch.”

“But they’re just bricks, for crying out loud.”

“Bricks that someone tried to use as a stairway to Heaven.

Besides, it’s a great house for a B and B. High ceilings, great crown molding, and a fireplace in every bedroom.”

I gasped. “Oh my stars! You’ve slept with her too! What kind of a man-slut are you?”

Doc roared with laughter. “Did you say ‘man-slut’?”

“I learned that from Susannah. It means—”

“I know what it means. Not that it’s any of your business, but I haven’t bedded either of the young ladies.”

“But you just said—”

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“You jumped to conclusions. You do that a lot, you know.”

“That’s how I get my exercise. But if you didn’t do the twin bed twist—”

“Still using euphemisms for sex, I see. And dance terms, no less—but that was really scraping the bottom of the barrel. At any rate, sex is another word you need to say loud and proud.

S-E-X. And for your information, an old goat like myself can go a-courtin’, and have himself a grand old time, without it involving sex.”

Don’t ever throw down a gauntlet in front of me and not expect some kind of reaction. While I may have the heart of a Mennonite pacifist, my mouth is nondenominational. If Doc wanted me to say the S word, so be it.

“Sex!” I shouted. “Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. Sexy sex. Sex in Essex, sex in Wessex, sex in excess, excess sex in Essex and Wessex.”

Doc grinned. “You’re downright weird. Now try the B

word.”

That was a little more difficult. My first two words were not
Mama
and
Papa,
but
modesty
and
pride
. The first was desirable, the second to be loathed. It is pride that leads us to believe that we are without sin. It is pride that leads to the destruction of one’s soul.

That said, difficult topics are often best expressed in song. I threw back my comely head, and to the tune of “America the Beautiful,”

tackled the B word.

Oh beautiful, my blue-gray eyes,

My lustrous light-brown mane,

For bounteous bosoms majesty,

My chest is not a plain,

Magdalena, Magdalena,

I have a great body.

I’ll swing my hips

And purse my lips,

But stay away from me.

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Doc clapped. “Brava, brava! That was an inspiring rendition of ‘Magdalena the Beautiful’—although I must admit I didn’t care for the last stanza.”

“Would you like me to sing another verse?”

“No, that will do just fine.”

“Veronica Weaver said I had a lovely voice.”

Doc smiled but said nothing for a long, painful period of time.

While silence is golden, it can also be damning. Maybe Veronica was wrong and I really did sound like a donkey in heat. Or maybe I sounded like a choir of angels, and Doc thought I was getting greedy with my gifts.

“Speaking of Veronica,” he finally said, “how is the old biddy?”

“Apparently out of pot,” I said, and clamped a hand over my mouth.

“What did you say?”

“A parent who cares a lot.” Okay, so it was a white lie, but who was it going to harm? The truth, however, could hurt my reputation a lot. In any case, I wasn’t bearing false witness against my neighbor.

“I like you better when you stick to the truth,” Doc said.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Even pretending you didn’t understand what I just said is a form of lying. Magdalena, we’re old friends. We should be able to always tell each other the truth, because we trust the other not to judge.”

I hung my head in shame. “Okay, I confess. I was curious about marijuana. I wanted to see what it was like to get stoned.”

“Thank you. I respect that.”

“You’re not horrified?”

“Why should I be? Imagine that every one of us was required to wear a small electronic screen strapped to his or her forehead, with electrodes connecting it to the brain.”

I waved my hand like a schoolgirl who’s finally got her first right answer.

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Doc sighed. “Yes, what is it?”

“Do the Amish have to wear those screens too? As you know, they don’t use electricity.”

“The screens are battery powered—they only take three C batteries. Anyway, every thought you have, no matter how private or absurd, will flash up on your screen.”

I waved again. “Do my thoughts appear on just my screen, or everybody’s screen?”

“Just shut up, Magdalena, and I say that lovingly. The point I’m trying to make is that everyone, and I mean
every
one, is going to have stuff flashing up on that screen that will shock the socks off their families and friends. I guarantee you, every single person on this planet has strange and bizarre stuff popping into their minds, even for just a millisecond. Whether or not they choose to dwell on it, that’s another matter. That’s why the church has ruled that the mere presence of a thought is not a sin in itself.”

I swallowed hard. I think even Doc would be shocked by some of the weird things that flit through my mind. Once I imagined that I was able to transport myself back to caveman times—which, of course, never were, because they’re biblically incompatible—and I had a huge box of matches and a flashlight. The cavemen were so impressed by my “magic” that they made me their queen, so I was able to tell them all about the Lord and convert them, even though there weren’t any Christians then, because I wanted them to be saved just in case they, the cavemen, really did exist. That way they wouldn’t be going to Hell. Then there was that time during Reverend Fiddlegarber’s inaugural sermon, which was delivered outdoors on a windy day, when I pictured him flying, naked under his choir robe, over our heads as he . . .

“Earth to Magdalena,” Doc said.

I shook my head. “But the reverend has such big ears. And he insists on wearing a black robe with these enormous sleeves—

none of our previous ministers ever wore a robe. Anyway, if he HELL HATH NO CURRY

183

flapped both his arms and his ears just so during a strong gust, don’t you think he could achieve liftoff?”

“Nah, I’ve already thought of that.”

“You
have
?”

“Like I said, we all have strange thoughts. But the reverend would have to flap his arms as fast as a hummingbird flaps its wings, which is two hundred beats per second. Besides, he doesn’t have hollow bones.”

“Too bad, because lately I’ve been wishing he would just fly away.”

“You’re no longer satisfied with your pick?”

“Ding, dang, dong, Doc. When am I ever going to learn?”

“Hopefully, you’ll never be through. So, Magdalena, back to your task at hand. You’ve mentioned, Priscilla, Alice, Thelma, and Caroline as your suspects. Anyone else?”