The Death of Pie (27 page)

‘Hey,' Wanda barked as we finally made it through her stubborn, sticky door. ‘You're not wanted here.'

‘Money is always welcome, dear. We'll be in booth fourteen. Send Swivel Hips to take our orders, because you need to join us – police business – so your company is mandatory. Pronto.'

‘In your dreams,' Wanda hissed. Trust me; Wanda is such an accomplished hisser that if she ever tired of being a restaurateur she could open an academy for snakes. Before she married a Hemphopple, Wanda was a Sissleswitzer, so hissing is hereditary in her family.

One of the few blessings of having feet the size of kayaks is that I can stop after moving forwards a yard, without having lifted a foot. Thus I was able to lurch to a standstill, whereas poor Alison, who possesses a normal size undercarriage, had to turn around and backtrack. At any rate, what I did next was to put my giant mitts up to my lipless mug – rather like a megaphone. Then at the top of my considerable lungs, I addressed the Sausage Barn customers, as well as the dead in the cemeteries for a radius of at least five miles.

‘Pleasant patrons, puissant pundits, portly pashas, pliable pupils, pork purists, this patron's patsies all, I beseech thee, lend me thine ears.'

Wanda may be short, but she is an athletic woman, having grown up with five older brothers. She would have tackled me had not Alison stepped adroitly in front of me, her knobby fists raised in a defensive boxer's position. That was the Queen of Bacon's fatal mistake – so to speak.

‘This woman's a liar!' she shouted. Alas, the phlegmatic diners continued to gnaw away at their sausages, having not even looked up from their plates.

‘Wanda Hemphopple is a cold-blooded murderess!' I screeched.

Trust me, there has not been a person born with louder lungs than yours truly.

The diners briefly debated whether a free floor show was worth the price of cold pancakes and congealed bacon grease. With few exceptions, their answer was ‘no.' The mastication of massive amounts of mammal muscle and carbohydrates continued.

As for Wanda Sissleswitzer Hemphopple, did she ever look fit to be tied! Her face was white while her ears and nose were red, and her eyes looked like at any given second they were going to pop out of her skull and sizzle on the floor like a pair of enchiladas dropped in a skillet that contained an inch of hot, melted lard.

‘You win, Yoder!' Wanda virtually ran down the aisle of her own restaurant, her arms up over her head like she was an already convicted criminal.

Now I ask you, was her bizarre response the result of God whispering her guilt in her ear or what? Truly, there was simply no way that I could go wrong following my gut instinct at this point. If we are to be faithful followers of the Lord then we are to pray for guidance, and then trust the still, small voice inside us. That said, Wanda, who really did look rather fetching in stripes, had her wardrobe all picked out for her until the Angel of Death came along with his pitchfork to show her to more permanent quarters.

As for that still, small voice of guidance, she – it was definitely female – was surprisingly loud, louder even than the GPS on my new Elantra. It supplied me with a plan that was designed to frustrate Wanda to the point of a spontaneous confession – if only Alison didn't unwittingly sabotage me.

In the meantime, I was exceedingly grateful for whatever placating ingredient pork contains, particularly bacon, which makes folks zone out to events around them, because despite the ruckus we caused, it seemed as if we indeed remained invisible to the greater portion of the portly pacifist purchasers of Wanda's pungent patties. Once inside booth fourteen, which backs up against the kitchen, we were out of sight from most of the other diners, and since Wanda had neglected to give Swivel Hips any orders, I knew that I had only a few minutes to work my Magdalena Yoder magic. The trick, as one might guess, is to act tough. Be brassy. Don't let 'em see you sweat.

It might surprise you that such a timid, soft-spoken Mennonite woman as me can pull this off. Well, I can only do it through the help of prayer,
and
because in all but the hottest weather I wear a wool skirt that comes well below my knees, sturdy Christian underwear which includes a knee-length cotton slip, and thick opaque hosiery. This adds up to three substantial layers of natural fibers between my knees, the result of which is that when they knock together, they do so quietly, and thus do not tip off my adversary to the fact that I am obviously terrified. The English say: ‘Keep calm and carry on,' whereas Magdalena says: ‘Appear calm and carry on.'

‘I ought to sue you,' Wanda said. At least she waited until we'd had a chance to maneuver our way over, and around, the grease blobs on the benches of booth fourteen. One learns not to slide in but to claim a spot and then keep it. This technique is helpful when it is time to launder ‘post Sausage-Barn garments.'

‘Sue away, dear,' I practically sang. ‘Whatever floats your boat. I'm sure that if you're patient you can even learn to do it yourself; you're certainly not the stupidest woman I know. Lord only knows, you'll have plenty of time to earn a law degree in the big house.'

‘What's the big house?' asked my wide-eyed protégé, Alison.

‘The state prison,' I said. ‘I heard that it has a great library, and that they even teach remedial reading to the inmates.'

‘Very funny,' snarled Wanda.

‘Is it irony when she uses the word “funny” in that context?' Alison said.

‘Well done,' I said. ‘Alison, why don't you talk like that all the time? You're a very intelligent young woman; there's nothing shameful in letting people know it. And by the way, Wanda was being sarcastic.'

‘Right – that's it, sarcasm. But Mom, boys don't like girls that are smarter than them. It threatens their – you know.'

‘Masculinity?'

‘Hey!' Wanda snapped. ‘Enough of the sickening family chitchat. This is about
me
, remember?'

I smiled – in a sarcastic sort of way. ‘How could I forget, dear?'

‘What is
that
supposed to mean?'

‘That fact that it's all about you is the reason why you murdered Miss Ramat Sreym.'

‘Mom,' Alison said, ‘nobody says “miss” anymore; everyone says “ms.”'

‘I'm not
everyone
. Now, please be a dear and study the menu.'

‘
What
menu? We ain't got no waitress, thanks ta ya yelling bloody murder.'

Alison has excellent, uncorrected vision. Still, there are times when she couldn't find a missing elephant if it was standing right in front of her – not that this example has been tested often, mind you.

‘Sweetheart,' I said, while praying for patience, ‘the things that pass for menus here are those greasy, plastic-covered, thingamabobs tucked behind those sticky, syrup pitchers.'

‘Get back to talking about
me
,' Wanda snarled.

‘With pleasure,' I said. ‘Wanda, am I your friend?'

‘Huh? What kind of question is that? What does that have to do with me?'

‘Yes or no?'

‘Both, stupid. You're my friend, but sometimes I could wring that scrawny chicken neck of yours.'

I recoiled in surprise. I had no doubts about her being Ramat's killer, but as for wringing my scrawny chicken neck – now that was going too far!

‘The feeling is mutual, pal,' I said in a huff. ‘However, I do have other friends, and as for your neck – it's anything but scrawny. In fact, stumpy is more like it. It would take a winch and a thick chain to wring a neck like yours, so I guess that our feelings aren't so mutual after all.'

‘Well I never!' Wanda said, crossing her long, muscled arms over her boxy chest. A charitable biographer might someday record that Wanda Sissleswitzer Hemphopple's proportions were more suitable to an orangutan than to a member of the Homo Sapiens species.

‘As for you, Alison,' I said pleasantly, ‘why have you reverted to talking like one of the people your Auntie Susannah hangs out with? You know, like thugs, dropouts, thieves, murderers – folks of that ilk?'

‘Aw, Mom,' Alison said, before delivering a world-class sigh, one so strong that it actually caused ripples to form on the grease layer of our genuine Formica tabletop. ‘Ya gotta quit with the nagging if ya want me talk right all the time. Besides, Auntie Susannah is in prison, so it ain't fair ta go comparing me ta her.'

‘Susannah, bonannah, fofannah!' Wanda cried. ‘Yinz supposed to be talking about
me
, you idiots.
Me, me, me!
I'm the one who killed Ramat Sreym, remember? It was so easy to add poison to the pie. She wrote about everyone in Hernia in that dreadful book of hers, except for me, the
one
person in this place who is at all interesting.'

‘Yeah?' Alison said. ‘What makes you so interesting, Auntie Wanda?'

‘Hush, dear,' I said. The poor girl was a newcomer to the area; I didn't want her to stir the pot of a crazy woman, especially one who'd just confessed to murder.

‘For one thing, your mom dangled me by my feet down into a well, so that a little girl could climb out by holding on to my hair. Actually, it was a pair of twins: Hans and Gertrude. It was covered by all the news channels. I'm surprised you didn't see it. Isn't that true, Magdalena?'

‘Baloney,' I said. ‘Yes, you lowered your hair – under great protest, I might add – but it was at a sinkhole, and it was a killer who climbed out on your locks of dread.'

‘Just the same, smarty,' Wanda said. ‘I was a heroine; I was the toast of this crumby little town. In fact,
Entertainment Delights
devoted a segment to me, and one of the late-night comedians even put me in a joke.'

‘It wasn't you; it was Hernia. We were the butt of the joke for having such an unusual name. The supposedly funny host asked if we would be willing to change our name to Haemorrhoid.'

Alison chortled.

‘Sweetie,' I said, ‘do you know what a haemorrhoid is?'

‘Nope. But it's gotta be funny if that guy said it was. They pay those TV dudes like millions, ya know. Yinz guys are always yapping about how we young folks are going to move away if this town don't have more to offer us. So, here's yer chance ta shake things up a little.'

‘Ha,' Wanda said, ‘your sassy-mouthed kid is on to something.'

Even Mennonite blood can boil if one's child is maligned. ‘Don't you call my daughter names, you whackadoodle – dear. And as for
Butter Safe Than Sorry
, that novel was
literature
,' I said. Yes, I confess: I said it just to be cruel, and I didn't stop there in my taunting. Once the Devil gets hold of your tongue it's hard to shake him loose. ‘Anyone who was
anyone
was featured in that great American novel.'

‘Trash, trash, trash!' Wanda yelled, pounding the genuine Formica with both fists. ‘Don't you ever say that again, Magdalena, or I'll have to kill you, too.'

Suddenly I could feel Alison's warm, skimpily-clad body pressed up against my left side. ‘Mom, is she – like –
serious
? You guys aren't just joking around anymore, are ya?'

‘I'm deadly serious, sister,' Wanda said. ‘It isn't fair, I'm telling you; why does my life have to be so damn hard but yinz get it so easy? Huh? Tell me that!'

I try not to be a judgmental person, but there are at least three things with which I'll hold no truck. These things are: people who text while driving, people who spit their gum out on sidewalks, and people who make snap conclusions about my life.

‘Come again?' I said. ‘I'm not sure I know what you mean.'

‘Oh, yes you do, Miss Money Bags. Look at me, working my butt off running this grease pit, married to a broken-down, impotent, flat-footed bald lush who could take out half of North Korea with his morning breath, while here you are, married to a handsome Jewish doctor – and everyone
knows
that Jews are rich – who is so fertile that he knocked you up when your womb was as dry as the Gobi Desert – your words, not mine – plus you're plenty wealthy on your own, what with that brilliant idea you had of turning that picturesque farm your parents left to you into a thriving bed and breakfast, which continues to attract Hollywood celebrities as well as high-ranking politicians from Washington, although, frankly— Now, where was I?'

‘You're here in your greasy spoon, plumb exhausted, after delivering that record-setting run-on sentence, dear,' I said.

‘Ha! There, you see, Magdalena? That's why I love you as well as hate you. You're as tart as a not-quite-ripe cherry. You're the kind of cherry that's too sweet to discard, but if one adds enough sugar then it's all right for pie.'

‘How about some mud for your eye,' I said drily. ‘That might help improve your vision, because Lord only knows that the romantic picture that you've painted leaves out all my back-story.'

Alison must have been feeling calmer on account of all our jibber-jabber, because she pulled away a fraction of an inch. ‘Like what, Mom?'

‘Hmm. Well, like the fact that I, like you, was adopted. However, I didn't even find out about my adoption until I was in my forties, and that was only
after
my birth brother threatened to kill me.'

Alison shivered. ‘And then what?'

‘Well, dear, obviously he didn't kill me.'

‘Oh.'

‘Anyway, the people who adopted me were kind but very strict. I loved them very much, and they loved me. Mama – your grandma – gave birth to your Auntie Susannah, and I loved her too. Then one day, when I was twenty years old, your grandparents were killed in a car accident. It happened in that mile-long tunnel under Allegheny Mountain. The car that Grandpa was driving got rear-ended by a milk tanker, and they were pushed into a semitrailer truck carrying state-of-the-art running shoes. As a result they were squished to death, flatter than a plate of Swedish pancakes.'