Tamar Myers - Batter off Dead

“Let’s hope. I don’t know what I’ll do when the time comes-” His voice cracked.

“I’ll be there, Doc; we’ll get through it.”

“You’re a good friend, Magdalena.”

“Tell that to my enemies, will you?”

“Well, you know what they say.”

“No, what do they say, Doc?”

“That a life lived without accruing any enemies was not a life worth living.”

“Really? I haven’t heard that one before. Speaking of enemies, Doc, I’d like to ask you a question, but it’s kind of sensitive.”

“Don’t listen to those women’s libbers, Magdalena; Viagra is really your friend.”

“Doc! It isn’t about sex! It’s about Melvin. As far as the authorities know-well, they don’t seem to know anything about his whereabouts. Nada. Zip. Not one thing. He could still be in Hernia, hiding out in someone’s barn, or he could be in Timbuktu. Aren’t you afraid living out here on the edge of town all alone?”

“I’m not alone; I’ve got Old Blue, remember?”

“No offense, Doc, but she’s a senior citizen as well.”

“And so was Moses when he led the Exodus. And Abraham when he became the father of a great nation. What’s your point?”

“Nothing, I guess.”

“I’ve always said you were a reasonable woman, Magdalena.”

We continued to walk in companionable silence to the house. Sure enough, the table was set for two, but since I know that he still sets it for his deceased wife, Belinda, I didn’t put too much truck in Old Blue’s ability to predict the arrival of guests. Still, there was enough food to feed two Mennonites-or two buckeyes of any faith-or four cradle Episcopalians from New England.

I lunched on a hot roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes and homemade gravy. On the side Doc served some green beans he’d canned the previous summer, as well as a carrot and raisin slaw, and pickled beets. For dessert he cut me a slab of the world’s densest butter pound cake, over which he spooned fresh strawberries, which he claimed had been flown into Pittsburgh all the way up from Chile.

When I was stuffed to the gills he told me to belch, which I did, and then he served me a cup of hot chocolate with ladyfingers on the side. “Now, tell me why you’re here,” he said.

“What do you mean? To see how you are, of course. You’re my friend.”

“Yes, but I’m also a dirty old man who hits on you every time you set foot on my property. Plus, I know a story when I hear it.”

“Okay.” I slurped loudly with forced languidness and then settled back in my chair, my left hand resting on Little Jacob’s chest. The dear baby had fallen asleep again; I’d fed him lunch just before I sat down to eat my own meal. “It’s this: the Babester has left me, and I’m having one St. Louis Airport-Concourse A-of a time trying to figure out who killed Minerva J. Jay.”

Doc shook his head. “I see you’ve been there as well.”

“Not me; one of the Zug wives. Anyway, Doc, I’m at the end of my rope, and it’s about to break.”

“First things first. What’s this about that rich young doctor of yours leaving the most desirable woman in all of Hernia? When did that happen?”

“This morning! His mother’s conversion into a devotee of apathy was apparently the last straw. That-and he thinks I’m being controlling when it comes to you-know-who.”

“He’s right on that score,” Doc said sternly. “A man should be in charge of his own genitalia.”

“What?”

He shook his head again. “And really, don’t you think that now you’re a married woman you should move past cute names like you-know-who? Belinda and I-”

“TMI to the max!” I cried, clamping my hands over my ears. “And anyway, I was referring to Little Jacob; that’s who the Babester thinks I have control over.”

“Hmm, he may be right on that score too. Some folks, I hear, can’t even agree on how to change a diaper. Here, let me give you a little test.” Doc reached over and tossed my napkin back into my lap. “Let’s pretend for a moment that that’s a diaper. Show me how you’d fold that.”

I stared at the square of white cotton-poly cloth. “To be honest, Doc, I wouldn’t, because I use disposables.”

“Well, how would you fold them?”

“You don’t fold them, Doc. They come preshaped with little tucks all around the leg holes for a snug fit so that nothing seeps out. And one doesn’t use pins anymore; the diapers self-fasten.”

Doc rubbed the snow-white stubble on his chin. “Dang, I guess I’m further behind the times than I thought. And since I’m obviously not the genius I’d like to think I am at relationships, perhaps we should move on to the subject of Miss Jay. Now, there was a woman who could make a train jump its tracks.”

“Excuse me?”

“I hate to speak ill of the dead, Magdalena, but Minerva J. Jay was Jezebel, Delilah, and Mata Hari rolled up in one very large package. I’m ashamed to say that no heterosexual man could possibly have resisted her.”

“You don’t mean-you do mean! Doc, how could you?”

“It was years ago, Magdalena. I was a much younger man, maybe just in my mid-sixties. I was still practicing veterinary medicine. At any rate, she brings in this stray kitten that’s been hanging around her garbage can. The poor thing has a broken leg that needs to be set, and even though large farm animals are my specialty, I do it. She asks me how much, and I say five dollars, on account of I don’t know what else to charge for something I’ve rarely, if ever, done. Then she notices I have a huge pile of paperwork in my so-called office and volunteers to help out-just for an hour or two on weekends.”

“I don’t remember that!” I could practically feel my blue eyes turn the color of Irish moss.

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Magdalena; it didn’t last long. She thought she noticed a bit of laxness in the way I reported my taxes and she threatened to go to the IRS.”

“Unless what?”

“Unless we did the mattress mambo, as you so quaintly put it.”

“You didn’t! I mean, how could you possibly perform the bedroom bossa nova with someone who was trying to blackmail you?”

Doc recoiled in genuine surprise. “I’m a man, Magdalena. More important, I’m a mortal-unlike someone in this room.”

I sighed. “Sorry. That really wasn’t any of my business. Anyway, Doc, Minerva was killed by a lethal combination of legal medications that somehow got into her bloodstream via our pancakes. Since only seven members of the Beechy Grove Mennonite Church Brotherhood were stationed in the kitchen that day, it stands to reason that one of them is responsible. Right?”

He nodded slowly. “Were the drugs altered in any way by heat? I mean, is there any chance Minerva downed them herself?”

“No, they were in fact cooked in the pancake batter.”

“And nobody else had access to the kitchen?”

“The volunteer servers pretty much stayed in the fellowship hall and the platters were passed back and forth through the door. This saved a lot of bumping into one another. However, we did allow quick passage through the kitchen to those who were desperate to use the restrooms.”

“Well, then I’d say-”

“But Doc, my kitchen volunteers were too busy mixing batter, frying, and flipping to have put up with anyone coming close enough to drop anything in those big aluminum bowls.”

“In that case, I’d have to say-”

“But they think I’m being unfair, that I’m not widening the investigation enough. So they scheduled an intervention lunch! Can you believe that? Meanwhile, I thought I was going there to put the screws to the Zug wives, since I can’t seem to make heads nor tails of their husbands.”