by Tamar Myers
True, I wasn’t going to step one foot on the plane, but one should always look their best when they venture more than five miles from their home community. This is especially true of airports. Just ask Susannah. She went to the airport without having bathed for a week and accidentally got swept up in a party of British tourists. She was halfway to London before she could convince anyone that she was an American. It was only when Shnookums popped his head out of the nether reaches of her bosom and whined for his supper that she was able to make her case. No self-respecting Britisher would be caught dead with a dog that ugly.
After having worn Dr. Brack’s brace all day, it actually felt good to climb back in it after my shower. While it was off I felt like a willow sapling that had broken loose from its stake. Perhaps it was because I was tired, emotionally and physically, but I felt like I needed that brace to prop me up. Since my bogus wedding I had relied on Aaron Jr. far too much for support, but painful as that was, it was good to have it stop.
I would make a special effort to thank the braggart doctor for insisting I try his contraption. A brace is a lot easier to care for than a man, and in general less aggravating. It doesn’t leave dirty clothes lying around on the floor and it doesn’t snore. What else could one possibly want from a constant companion?
Freni interrupted my reverie by rapping on my door. The woman has knuckles of steel.
“You have a visitor, Magdalena. In the parlor.”
“Who?”
Please forgive me for saying this, but for just a second I hoped it was Aaron Jr., come crawling on his knees. I wouldn’t have taken him back, mind you. I just wanted to see him beg.
Freni shrugged. “An English woman. She didn’t give me her name.”
“Young? Old? Blond? Brunette?”
“Ach,” she squawked, “they all look the same.”
“You don’t know who she is and you let her in?”
“She said it was a matter of life or death.”
“And you believed her?”
I stormed out to the parlor, Freni on my heels. Just as I feared, it was the reporter with the soulful eyes. She was sitting in Grandma Yoder’s favorite rocker, but she popped to her feet.
“You! How dare you talk my housekeeper into letting you in!” I raged.
Freni gasped, all but depleting the room of its oxygen. “Housekeeper? Is that all I am to you? That does it, Magdalena, I quit!”
“Freni—” Too late. She was out of there like a Christmas tree on the twenty-sixth of December. I turned to the girl. “Now see what you’ve done? You’ve gone and hurt an old woman’s feelings just so you could get your scoop for that supermarket rag. Well, don’t think you’re getting away with it. There’s a special place you-know-where for reporters like you.”
The brown saucers didn’t have the decency to blink. “I’m not a reporter.”
“Autograph hunter then? Let me tell you, dear, you’ve picked an off week for autographs. Last week you could have had Bette, the week before Babs. Oh, and Mel was here in April,” I added just to taunt her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name is Leona da Vinci and I’m a student at Temple University.”
“Right, and I’m the Mona Lisa.”
“That’s her car, you know.”
“I have a black belt,” I said, assuming a pseudo-karate stance. “If you don’t hightail it out of here, I’ll let you have it.”
The nice thing about that threat was that it was true. I have a hideous, black plastic belt I got with one of my dresses from Dancing Joe’s Dress Barn, and since the Salvation Army had refused it in their last collection, Leona was welcome to help herself.
Da Vinci was invincible. “What have you done with Flower?” she demanded.
“There’s a nice little rest home halfway between Bedford and Somerset,” I said kindly. There is, after all, a special place in my heart for raving lunatics.
“I was with Flower the day she bought the Festiva. I know, they might all look the same to you, but it was hot and Flower dropped her lipstick on the driver’s side. The stain never came out. I bet a lab could prove it was hers.”
My brain has never quite worked fast enough to bless me with an epiphany, but this time it came very close. It was certainly less painful than the time I borrowed Susannah’s curling iron without her permission and then accidentally dropped it in the bathtub.
“Aha! So you’re the one who’s been pestering Freni with those calls.”
The brown eyes flashed. “I wasn’t pestering her. I was trying to find my friend, Flower. I’ve been trying to locate her for three days. I was finally able to track her here.” She took a bold step forward. “I know she’s here, because the Festiva is hers.”
I pushed Leona aside and sat in Grandma’s rocker. I wasn’t being rude, just practical. I do my best thinking in Grandma’s chair. The warped slat second from the left helps keep my mind focused.
“You have a friend named Flower?” I know, it was redundant of me, but it takes the slat a moment or two to work.
“Her real name is Wang Mei Hua. Wang is her family name. Mei Hua means Beautiful Flower in Chinese. Sometimes she goes by other names though—like Rose, or Lily, or—”
She paused to catch her breath, but by then the slat had worked its magic.
“Like Lotus?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did she have a small blue rose tattooed on her left wrist?”
“Yes! So she is here!”
I decided to break it to her slowly. “Not here, but I saw her in town. Tell me, how well do you know her?”
“Not very well—but well enough. You see, we’re both graduate students at Temple University. We’ve just started sharing an apartment. Actually, we haven’t even moved into it yet. That’s why I’m here.”
I shook my head. “It would be a four-hour commute, dear. Stick with the one you found in Philly.”
I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the brown eyes widened further. “You’re crazy, aren’t you?”
“Why, I never!” I gasped.
“But that’s okay,” she said quickly. “Flower is a little crazy, too.”
I swallowed at least a thousand calories of irritation. “Tell me all about her, dear,” I said wisely.
Leona pulled up a ladder-back chair and began.
Chapter Twenty-five
World’s Best Chicken Salad
1 whole stewing hen, plucked and cleaned, or 2 cups cubed cooked chicken
½ cup diced celery
½ cup chopped walnuts
½ cup mayonnaise
¼ cup chunky bleu cheese salad dressing (this is the secret ingredient)
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon onion salt
Pepper to taste
Combine chicken cubes, celery, and walnuts in a medium glass bowl. In a small bowl, mix remaining ingredients and spoon over chicken. Toss thoroughly. Cover and allow to chill for at least two hours.
For really moist and delicious chicken try the following: submerge whole chicken in large pot of rapidly boiling water. Return to full boil. Cover tightly and turn off heat. After one hour remove chicken. Allow to cool before removing meat from bones. Cube.
Chapter Twenty-six
“Flower gets these wild ideas, see. I mean we were both in this new restaurant called Freddy’s Pajamas, or something like that, having lunch, and they’re mopping the floor because some little girl dumped her milkshake. Flower comes over to my table and asks me if I’ll be her witness if she slips and falls. I said I would, but I thought she was speaking hypothetically.
“Not Flower. She falls down right there and starts to moan and groan. The first thing you know, the manager comes over and starts making a fuss over Flower, and the next thing you know, Flower gets to eat there free for a week.”
“I know a con woman when I smell one,” I said, and sniffed the oxygen-starved room.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t a major con. It’s not like Flo
wer threatened to sue or anything. She just wanted a place to eat.”
“I’d be ashamed to stick my head in Freddy’s Pajamas,” I said sternly, “and so should you.”
“Oh, but it worked, you see. And not only did Flower get to eat there for a week, I did, too. Then one day I was looking at this ad in the paper for an apartment, and it seemed just perfect, but when I called up the landlady said ‘mature couples only.’ That isn’t legal, is it?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. But it’s definitely sensible.”
The brown eyes narrowed. “It’s easy for you to say that because you’re old.”
“Now look here”—I caught myself—”did you get the apartment or not?”
“Oh, we got it, thanks to Flower. She got on the phone and told the landlady she was the Chinese Ambassador’s daughter! Can you imagine that?”
“She’s got nothing over my sister, dear. Susannah would have told your landlady she was the Chinese Ambassador herself. So tell me, how long was it after you met Flower that the two of you moved in together?”
“A week.”
I sat bolt upright. Either the warped rung had pinched a nerve, or Grandma’s ghost was prodding me.
“Let me get this straight, dear. You barely knew this woman, yet you decided to share an apartment with her. Isn’t that a little risky?”
“Do you know how hard it is to get a reasonable apartment within walking distance of school? Besides, it was either room with Flower, or move into a graduate dorm. Flower spoke good English. She said she had me between a wok and a hard place.”
I laughed pleasantly. “Still—”
“And do you know how many crazies there are out there? No offense, of course. I’m talking really crazy.”
“Well—”
“Sure she’s a foreigner, but she’s a lot like me. We’re both loners, you see. Flower likes to do her thing, and I like to do mine. We’ll make great roommates because we won’t be in each other’s face.” The brown eyes contracted to near-normal size. “I bet you never had to live with someone who gave you the creeps.”
“Don’t bet the farm, dear. So anyway, you agreed to rent this apartment—”
“We more than agreed. We paid the landlady first and last month’s rent and, just because we’re students, a damage deposit you wouldn’t believe. I’m on a stipend, Ms. PennDutch. It nearly wiped me out.”
“The name is Yoder, dear. You’re standing in the PennDutch. Now tell me, why did Flower come to Hernia?”
Leona da Vinci smiled. It was a lovely smile, not unlike the Mona Lisa’s.
“I thought that was a funny name, but Flower didn’t get the joke. Anyway, Flower said she had a business opportunity here. Some way she knew of making some fast money. She said we wouldn’t have to worry about the rent for a long, long time.”
That would have floored me, had I not been sitting. There were no businesses in Hernia except for Miller’s Feed Store and Yoder’s Corner Market, and they were not the sort of places to which the young came West seeking their fortunes. I told her the score.
“There’s this place,” she said, glancing around the room, “but it doesn’t look like the kind of place to make a quick buck, unless—say, you don’t suppose Flower—I mean, you’re not what they call a madame, are you?”
I recoiled in horror. “Bite your tongue. I don’t have a single drop of French blood.”
“Naw,” she said, answering her own question, “Flower made it sound like a whole lot of money, all at once. Maybe even thousands. Frankly, I don’t think your girls would get that much.”
I finally got the picture. In a strange sort of way I was flattered, although no doubt it was just another sign that my so-called marriage to Aaron had left me a fallen woman.
“I’m a good Christian woman who runs a simple country inn,” I said, trying to sound indignant. “But if I was who you thought I was, I would be able to pay better than you think.”
She seemed neither impressed nor convinced. “There has got to be some kind of business opportunity around here. Flower might be a little crazy, but she has a good head on her shoulders.”
For some reason Shirley Pearson’s food company popped into my brain. “Are you sure Flower is Chinese, and not Japanese?”
“Positive. Flower hates the Japanese. Her grandfather was killed by the Japanese in the Sino-Japanese War.”
“I beg your pardon?” There had been so many wars in my lifetime it was hard to keep track. Perhaps this one had taken place over the summer when I was busy with my wedding plans. In that case, I had a good reason for being so distracted.
“The Japanese invaded Manchuria in 1931, but what we call the Sino-Japanese War broke out in 1937—”
I waved a hand. “I know all that. I was just testing you.”
She smiled again. “I’m a history major.”
“Is that so? And what was—is Flower’s major?”
“Economics. But from what you just said, Flower screwed up this time.”
As you well know, I positively hate the “s” word, but I forced myself to laugh pleasantly nonetheless. Susannah tells me most people anymore don’t even realize it’s a vulgar word.
“Tell me, dear, what brings you here looking for Flower. Is there some sort of emergency?”
The brown eyes clouded. “You might say so. The landlady says her check is no good. If I don’t come up with her half of the rent by Saturday, we’re out of there.”
I thought fast. I normally tithe one-tenth of my considerable income. Of course the bulk of this goes to Beechy Grove Mennonite Church, but there are some private charities to which I contribute from time to time. Granted, they usually have tax-exempt status, but there was no reason an exception couldn’t be made. After all, I can’t take it with me, and I was never going to have children—a very regular visitor had just confirmed that. And Susannah was already well provided for with a trust fund I’d set up the year before.
“I can lend you the money, dear.”
She nearly fell off the ladder-back chair. “Excuse me?”
“It’ll be strictly a loan, of course. But I won’t charge you any interest, and you can pay me back at your convenience.”
“Miss Yoder, I—uh—don’t know what to say.”
“A simple thanks would be nice, dear.”
“Thanks!”
“But not that simple.”
She elaborated on her thanks and I graciously accepted her efforts. Then we briefly worked out some of the details of my loan.
At last I cleared my throat. “I have some very bad news for you, Leona.”
She looked startled. “There’s a catch to this loan stuff?”
I shook my head. “That’s on the level. This is about your friend, Flower.”
“What about her?”
I sighed. When it came down to it, there was only one way to say it.
“Your friend is dead.”
I was relieved to see shock, not grief on her face, since I am far better at directing than I am comforting. I poured her a glass of lemonade and had her sit in the parlor’s one easy chair.
“You stay right there, dear, while I make a few phone calls.”
She nodded.
I was in for a few shocks of my own. Melvin was actually pleasant to me.
“Hey, I’m glad you called,” he said. “I was just about to call you.”
I pinched myself. “Ouch!”
“You’re always so funny, Miller.” He laughed.
“It’s Yoder now, Melvin, haven’t you heard?” No doubt he’d heard at least a dozen versions.
“Oh that—well, I guess I did hear, but it doesn’t matter one bit to me. I hope you believe that.”
“Apparently I’m so naive I still believe in the Tooth Fairy.”
“Confidentially, so do I. Say, Yoder, how would feel about going on the Jerry Springer Show?”
“What? And air my dirty bloomers on national TV? I’d rather be stranded with you on a desert islan
d.”
“I guess I’ll just have to tell them no,” he said, still remarkably cheery. “I told them I was your manager.”
“You what?”
“They were going to let me sit on stage with you. It would have been my fifteen minutes of fame.”
“Get a life, Melvin! I didn’t call you to discuss your personal goals. I have some very important information for you.”
“And I have some for you, Yoder. Who should go first?”
“This is my dime, Melvin. This is about the young Chinese woman who was found dead at the intersection of North Main and Elm streets early Sunday morning.”
“Still jumping to conclusions, are we, Yoder? We don’t know that she was Chinese.”
“Yes, we do. I have someone here who can identify her. The victim’s name is—well, in English it means Flower.”
His stunned silence was music to my ears.
“And that’s not all, Melvin. This woman has identified the victim’s car.”
“She didn’t have a car,” he said triumphantly.
“Oh yes, she did. Jacob Zook pulled it out of Miller’s Pond a little more than an hour ago.”
The prolonged silence that followed was almost pathetic.
“And get this, Melvin, the key is still in the ignition.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Yoder, for wanting to take a drive in a dead woman’s car—hey, can I drive your BMW?”
“The day you grow a beard!” I said carelessly. “And I don’t want to drive Rower’s car. I mentioned the key because it might contain important fingerprints.”
“Don’t be silly, Yoder. We’ve got the victim’s fingers. We don’t need another set from the key.”
“I’m talking about the murderer’s prints!” I screamed. “He or she was the last one to touch the ignition key.”
Either I could hear the laborious process of Melvin’s brain at work, or the ceiling fan at the Hernia police station needed oiling.
“Good work, Yoder,” he said, knocking my freshly clad socks off. “You hold tight, and I’ll be right there.”