Tamar Myers - Batter off Dead

“When I went over to Sam’s to get the cream for your tea, I found him staring at you through a pair of binoculars.”

I leaped to my feet with so much force that my suckling babe-if I may use such a provocative term-was dislodged. As a result, Little Jacob went from being an unobtrusive third party to the center of attention. Come to think of it, the ensuing din might have been my saving grace, because I actually called Sam a doo-doo head-maybe even several times. Never in my life have I sunk to such a low level of vitriolic verbiage. Potty Mouth should have been my middle name, not Portulaca.

It took a good ten minutes to calm everyone down, and some of us were still less calm than others. “Just wait until I get my hands around his scrawny neck,” I said through gritted teeth.

“I thought you were a pacifist,” Chief Chris Ackerman said.

“Indeed I am, but these are extenuating circumstances, are they not?”

“So you get to pick and choose? Honestly, Magdalena, you sound just like everyone else; I’m really disappointed.”

“But I’m only human!” I don’t mean to be immodest, but my cry of distress rang out over the surrounding valleys of the southern Alleghenies like the rumble of approaching thunder.

“Be careful, Magdalena; that eerie sound you’re making might wake the dead.”

“Then, boy, are we in for a lot of trouble. It might surprise you to learn that not everyone buried here-those that knew me, I mean-found me to be as delightful as you originally did.” I emitted more distressing sounds for good measure.

“Oh, all right, I’ll give you what you want: I still find you delightful. Compared to most Hernians, you’re a breath of fresh air.”

“Thank you. Now tell me, why aren’t you angry that I took the key?”

“Because I trust your instincts, Miss Yoder. I figured that if you thought it was important enough to swipe, then it must have been. By the way, I have to say that it was very clever of you to spontaneously substitute one of your own keys for the one Minerva left me. As you might have guessed, I didn’t discover the switch until I got all the way out there to the Land of the Weird and Godforsaken Sinkholes. In order to gain access to Miss Jay’s house, I had to get both a court order and a locksmith, and they were a waste of time and money; you won’t find anything useful to the investigation there.”

“Perhaps this breath of fresh air will see things through fresh eyes.”

“Like I said; you’re delightful.”

I sighed heavily. “Alas and alack, our seven suspects don’t share your sentiments.”

“They hate your guts?”

“You could have the decency to sound surprised. Besides, I’m not sure they all do, as I spoke to only one Zug twin.”

“Right, but unless we can figure out which one is which, I think we should treat them as one person. Nonetheless, what are your impressions of them?”

I waited while, off to my left, in the woods, a mourning dove sounded its plaintive coo. “I’ll start with George Hooley,” I said. “Did you know he was gay?”

Chief Ackerman put both hands on his hips in mock surprise. “Say it ain’t so!”

“Of course you did; everyone does. Still, somehow Minerva managed to blackmail him. At least that’s what he claims.”

The chief scribbled on his pad. “That’s serious stuff. Can you get proof?”

“I’ll try. But I don’t think George did it. Murdering someone requires a mind that is able to think outside the box, and George is stuck in a rut so deep he can hear Laotian voices at the bottom.”

“Not Mandarin?”

“George isn’t straight, remember? When he digs a hole, it doesn’t go down to China. As for James Neufenbakker, he may have been a Sunday school teacher-my Sunday school teacher-but that man’s got a temper worthy of a Bush.”

“Is that a straight euphemism?”

“No! I meant George Bush. Anyway, James-or Jimmy, as I call him-practically chased me off his porch. He also called Minerva a trollop.”

“Hmm, do you think that means he slept with her?”

“Chris, dear, is that what you call your-uh, paramours?”

“My what?”

“Lovers,” I said reluctantly, “but my, how I hate that word. It’s just so-well, so accepting of the whole notion of sex without the bondage of holy matrimony.”

The chief shook his impossibly handsome head. “First of all, I don’t call my lovers trollops-although I have called a few of them sluts. And second, while I believe you meant to say the holy bonds of matrimony, I think I prefer your slip of the tongue. And third, I was suggesting that Mr. Neufenbakker’s strong negative reaction might be a decoy to keep us from discovering an ongoing physical or emotional relationship with our victim. Such affairs are often hard to end satisfactorily, and sometimes one or both parties suffer deeply.”

“Dr. Chris Ackerman, I presume,” I said, unable to keep all my sarcasm at bay.

“Well, I did take freshman psychology at the junior college before I joined the police academy,” Chief Chris said proudly.

More power to him; better a half-wit than a dimwit, I always say. Still, we had a lot more ground to cover. I laid little Jacob over my shoulder and gently patted his back.

“Gwerrp.”

“Good boy.” I continued to pat lightly. “Frankie Schwartzentruber, however, really does have a reason to be upset with Minerva. That woman hit on her husband.”

“That old battle-ax is married?”

“Was is the operative word. Decades ago. Frankie has a long memory, but like they say, there is no statute of limitations on crimes of passion.”

“Who says that?”

I may have swallowed hard, but I didn’t look away. “Well, somebody has to start those sayings, so why can’t it be me?”

Young Chris smiled. “I figured as much. Go on.”

“There’s not much else to say. I tried to talk to Merle Waggler, and although he admitted he didn’t like Minerva, he and I-Look, the man’s an anti-Semite, and I kind of got into it with him.”

“You fought with him?”

“We argued. At school. But it was on behalf of Alison, who was being teased, so it was completely justified.”

“What about Elias Whitmore?”

“He’s a real hottie, isn’t he?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, really cute. Good-looking. Isn’t that the lingo these days?”

“ Magdalena, I’m a police officer, and you’re a married woman assisting me on the case. We can’t use language like that.” He glanced around as if to make sure that no one had heard us-except maybe for the mourning dove in the woods, and two sparrows hopping between the headstones twenty feet away.

“Sorry. I don’t know what came over me; it was like a hot flash of Presbyterianism. Anyway, that kid is so popular. His house is like an ashram or something-but Christian, of course. See that brown square there, poking above the trees on Buffalo Mountain? About an inch from the end?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s his rooftop porch. You can see all the way to Maryland from there. Anyway, despite being a Christian guru, Elias really hated Minerva J. Jay. He blames her for his father’s death.”

Chris rubbed his hands together. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Maybe. Elias’s father was a drunk who tried to walk the straight and narrow path a number of times-at least to hear him tell it-but each time, Minerva pushed him off. Supposedly she thought she could get her hands on his fortune easier that way. Oh, and Elias volunteered the fact that Minerva was poisoned. You didn’t mention that to him, did you?”

“Absolutely not. Very interesting. What about the Zug twins?”

“I have failed,” I wailed.