Tamar Myers - Batter off Dead

“Okay, I get the picture. But surely they were shepherded right through without any dawdling.”

“You were there, Magdalena, serving pancakes out front. You saw how many people there were. That breakfast was a much bigger success this year than any of us had anticipated. And if you thought it was busy on your end, you should have spent more time in the kitchen. If someone had to walk through to get to the restroom, we didn’t have time to stop what we were doing and escort them.”

I nodded reluctantly. We’d actually made a killing on breakfast, no pun intended. The mixes were generic and had been about to expire, so I was able to pick them up for a song at Pat’s IGA in Bedford. I mean that literally. When I saw the dates on the boxes, I took them up to Pat and began to sing the opening aria by Aida from the opera by that name (it is something the Babester has forced me to listen to after you-know-what). At any rate, my singing voice has been compared to a cross between nails on a chalkboard and a basset hound in heat. Pat gave me not only three cartons of pancake mix, but as much generic syrup as I wanted as well.

“You see,” George said-reminding me that he was present-“Minerva’s killer could have been anybody. It could even have been the Baptist minister. He was there that morning, and he once called her the Whore of Babylon.”

“He did? When?”

George’s eyes darted from side to side, as if checking for spies that might have sneaked soundlessly into the room during that split second when our attention was diverted to Merle and his cloven britches. “I shouldn’t be saying this, so consider it confidential, please. All of you, please. Reverend Brimstone is one of my clients-I mean, my bank’s clients. At any rate, we were talking once about people we know in Hernia, and Minerva’s name came up. Has anybody checked to see if Reverend Brimstone is still in town?”

“He was at Little Jacob’s bris,” I said. “I felt obligated to invite him since he’s one of the town’s leaders, being a clergyman and all.”

“He’s definitely still around,” Frankie said. “I ran into his wife at Sam Yoder’s Corner Market over the weekend. Did you know that they actually buy those canned snails that Sam sells? Escarguts I think they’re called.”

“Close enough, dear.”

“Besides, if the Brimstones had left town, we’d have heard plenty. Those Baptists are not a quiet bunch.”

“Wow,” I said. Wanda seemed to have her tower of terror under control now, so I stepped back into the room-but just for a second. “I guess that does change things a bit. Rest assured I will expand my investigation commensurate with the information I have gleaned from this most productive, but hardly digestible, lunch. Perhaps next time we will actually eat.”

That said, it was time to make like a stocking in a briar patch. And run I did, for I had just experienced an epiphany of sorts.

I was starving by then, and Freni had taken off for the rest of the day, so what was a nursing mother to do? Perhaps drive the two miles up to the turnpike and hit the plethora of fast-food restaurants that have brought splashes of bold color and bright lights to our otherwise boring landscape of farms, forests, and small towns? While a triple cheeseburger and a large chocolate shake were rather tempting, it was doubtful the young staff at any of these establishments would be willing, or able, to deliver wise counsel along with my meal. Therefore, a home-cooked meal and the ear of an old coot were definitely worth the ten-mile drive to the far side of Hernia.

As usual, Doc Shafor and Old Blue, his bloodhound, were waiting for me at the end of his long drive. Doc is an octogenarian with the libido of an eighteen-year-old, and Old Blue is the canine equivalent of a man in his nineties, but whose sexual interest was nipped in the bud, so to speak, when she was just a pup.

“What took you so long?” Doc asked. That’s what he says every time I show up unannounced. “Lunch is getting cold.”

“How did you know I was coming?” That is my usual patter.

“Old Blue here could smell you coming the second your mind turned to it. Of course, she’s a mite confused by the baby. Do you mind if she gets a better whiff?”

I bent down and let the old girl, who is almost totally blind, snuffle her big black nose all over my son. Little Jacob, who was wide awake, gurgled with apparent glee. Although I love animals of all kinds-I once carried a pussy in my bra-I draw the line at slobber. Just as a string of drool was about to detach from the ancient pooch, I yanked up the car seat.

“Well, what’s for lunch?”

“Not so fast,” Doc said. “I want to get a gander at your son.” He peered at Little Jacob almost as intently as Old Blue had sniffed him. But since Doc is nearsighted, it seemed to be a bit much. My son, however, seemed rather pleased by the intense scrutiny and smiled broadly.

“Everything is still there,” I said. “So far there’ve been no recalls-knock on wood.”

“I was trying to determine whom he looks like. I’m betting that he’ll grow up to be the spitting image of his daddy.”

Half of me was elated, the other half disappointed. “Why do you say that?”

“His eyes have already turned a nice rich brown, and what little hair he has is coming in dark as well. But I can see that he has your personality; the kid’s got moxie. I have a special feeling about this one, Magdalena. Take it from an old geezer like me: your son is going places.”

“Is this, like, a prophecy?”

“Let’s call it a feeling. Hey, what do you think of Susannah running off with a bus full of nuns?”

“They aren’t really nuns, and they ran off with her.”

“The Eternal Sisters of Pariah-sheesh, what a name.”

“It’s the Sisters of Perpetual Apathy,” I said, “and by the way, your ex-sweetie has joined them.”

“Which one?”

It was a fair question. Doc remained celibate for the first fifteen years following the death of his wife. In the last five years, however, he has courted just about every single female in Bedford County between the ages of eighteen and 108. The latter literally died on him when he foolishly (they could have been arrested for jumping there!) took her tandem bungee jumping off the New River Gorge Bridge.

“I’m talking about Ida Rosen,” I said. “My mother-in-law.”

“No kidding!”

“I don’t have an imagination, Doc. I couldn’t possibly have made this up.”

“Do they have to take a vow of celibacy?”

“Think about it, Doc. My sister, Susannah, is in charge.”

“Oh, yeah. Shoot, I should have asked to go along-maybe as the bus driver.”

“Doc, remember that these are women who’ve dedicated themselves to apathy. Seducing them wouldn’t be nearly as fun as you think.”

“I could handle that; I’ve slept with Englishwomen before.”

“TMI!”

“What’s that mean again?”

“Too much information. Doc, how’s your head?” Doc had been critically brutalized about the time I found out I was pregnant. His assailant was Melvin Stoltzfus, who once was our former chief of police but now is an escaped murderer. It was at Doc’s house that I confronted the menacing mantis (he really does resemble one), and that I also learned that the despicable man was my biological brother. This, of course, makes him the uncle of the world’s sweetest, most attractive baby boy.

“I’m doing just fine, girl. It’s Old Blue you should be worrying about. This morning a chipmunk ran within six inches of her nose and she kept on sleeping.”

“Maybe her dreams were too good for her to want to wake up. I’ve had that happen to me.”