Tamar Myers - Butter Safe Than Sorry

For a hoochie mama, Dorothy made a great getaway driver. Or maybe it was precisely because she had so much experience fleeing from irate wives. At any rate, when she spied the two of us running to beat the band, arms and legs flailing, and one of us puffing like the Little Engine That Could, our town’s legendary harlot hopped into the driver’s seat and revved up the engine. The second the door slammed shut on Agnes’s prodigious posterior, Dorothy stomped on the accelerator and we shot down the face of Evitts Mountain like an out-of-control carnival ride. Although I’ve no way to prove it, if I was a wagering woman (’tis a sin to do so), I’d lay money on the fact that we skipped a few hairpin curves, traveling as we did in a more or less straight line.

Nevertheless, if Pernicious Yoder III was following us, with Dorothy at the wheel, he was plumb out of luck. Not only did she know her way around Bedford, but she knew every nook and cranny. In one particularly dark and ominous cranny, she finally stopped.

“Okay, now what?”

“I think I peed my pants,” Agnes said.

“Oh Agnes, you didn’t,” I wailed, past caring what others thought of my distressed vocalizations.

“Was that fun, or what?” Dorothy said.

“You enjoyed that?” I said.

“Heck, yeah. I haven’t had so much fun since Sam and I were kids, and I used to drive getaway for him when he’d paint the overpass.”

“That was Sam? My cousin Sam of grocery-store infamy?”

“Why do you think the other kids called him ‘Cop’? It stood for ‘Champion Overpass Painter.’ ”

“But what he painted was mostly love messages to me!”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t control everything he did-although I did try my level best. That’s why I had to finally marry him. But even that couldn’t stop him from thinking of you; he’d call your name out at that critical moment.”

“What moment would that be?” Agnes said.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said.

“Oh shut up, Magdalena,” Dorothy said. “It’s you who makes me sick. As long as I’ve known you-which is my entire life-you’ve played the part of the hapless victim. First you thought you were too tall, too skinny, too ugly, yet all the while you really were the most beautiful girl this five- horse town-and I mean that literally-has ever seen. You could have gotten any boy you wanted, but oh no, you thought you were too good for any locals.”

“What?”

“It’s true, Magdalena,” Agnes said. “In high school all the boys were throwing themselves at you just like the skinny girls threw their Twinkies and Hostess fruit pies at me.”

“Well, I wasn’t even allowed to group date until I was sixteen, so there.”

“Then what did you do?” Dorothy said.

“Well, you have to admit, most of the Hernia boys were rather-”

“There you go,” she snapped, “dismissing the locals as beneath you.”

“Although she did end up marrying one,” Agnes said. “I mean, Aaron Miller counts, because even though he moved away for a long time, he was born and raised here.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“For nothing,” Dorothy said, “because he just proves my point. Aaron Miller just happens to be the most handsome man to walk the face of the earth. And who did he pick to commit adultery with?”

“Whom!” I screamed. “And that was only pseudo-adultery, given the fact that one party”-that would be I-“was as innocent as a wide-stanced senator.”

Dorothy snorted. “If you say so. But, Magdalena, as you well know, Aaron Miller is a bit like a five-dollar present that’s been wrapped in ten-dollar paper and topped with a twenty-dollar bow. To say that he’s short on charm would be putting it kindly.”

I may be as dense as balsa wood, but a lot more gets through than folks give me credit for. “Wait just one Mennonite minute. Are you saying that you and Aaron-well, you know? Now that would be adultery.”

“Yes, that’s what exactly what I’m saying. Last month when I flew to Minnesota to see my sister, I purposely looked up Aaron-just to see if he was still looking so hot-and you know what? He was an absolute stud muffin! Well, one thing led to another and we burned a hole in that mattress, I’m telling you.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so,” Agnes said, “smoking in bed is very dangerous.”

“We weren’t smoking cigarettes,” Dorothy said with a surprising amount of patience. “We were, however, extremely active. By the way, Magdalena, your ex-pseudo-husband and what’s her name were already separated and headed for divorce court. I may be an out-of-control nymphomaniac, but I’m no home wrecker.”IT

“And I’m still a virgin,” Agnes sobbed.

“There, there,” I said and, reaching into the backseat, patted one of her knees. “Maybe you and Dorothy can average your scores-help bring her down below a hundred.”

“Very funny,” Dorothy said, but she didn’t deny it. “What do we do now?”

“We drive over to Amy’s house and put the screws to her.”

“The screws?”

“It’s a slight exaggeration,” Agnes said. “The screws Magdalena uses fit into table-mounted brackets so that method can only be done at her house. On the road-like this-she prefers to use flaming slivers of bamboo inserted under the fingernails.”

“Oh cool,” Dorothy said.

Amy lived in a third- floor walkup apartment in what might euphemistically be referred to as a working-class neighborhood. The stairwell smelled predominantly of cabbage, with just a trace of urine. It was a heady but familiar bouquet, for I had interviewed many suspects in her circumstances while working previous cases.

Apparently the girl had just beaten us home, because she was still wearing her coat when she answered the door. I saw the hesitation in her eyes before she tried to slam it shut. Not only was this an invitation for me to stay, but it gave me an opportunity to slip one of my slender size elevens in the open space, making it impossible for her to close the door all the way.

She sighed and rolled her robin’s egg blue eyes. “You might as well come in, Magdalena. Lord only knows, if I don’t let you, you’d camp out there all night. You’d probably even light a fire and roast marshmallows.”

“And weenies. I enjoy grilling weenies-just like I do grilling people. I grill them until they split open at the seams and threaten to fall into the flames.”

“I didn’t know weenies had seams.”

“Hmm. Well, in any case, here I am as big as life and twice as ugly. Good call, though.”

“Some choice. And you may as well let Agnes in, as well as the Whore of Hernia.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Whore of Hernia? Now that’s rude! I’ll have you know she’s our resident harlot, not whore. You don’t take money for sexual favors, do you, Dorothy?”

The principal woman under discussion pushed me aside. “That all depends,” she said in a disgustingly throaty voice. She looked Amy up and down. “What did you have in mind, sister?”

“Ooh,” Agnes said, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Cool it,” I snapped to Dorothy. I gave Agnes the “settle down” sign with my hands. “Ladies, I’m here to discuss the day of the attempted bank robbery, not to pimp out my grocer’s wife.”

Amy laughed nervously. “ Magdalena, no Mennonite I know would use such language-not even an ex-Mennonite. Are you sure you’re not a fraud?”

I held out my wrist. “Prick me, if you will, and see my Mennonite blood. And just two generations ago it was Amish. But all that’s beside the point. We’re here because we saw you with Pernicious Yoder III. We heard you, in fact. The two of you were striking a deal.”