by Tamar Myers
¼ teaspoon vanilla extract3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
Place the cream cheese into a mixing bowl, and beat until soft and smooth. Slowly add the sugar, and then beat in the sour cream followed by the double (heavy) cream. Add the vanilla extract and lemon juice, and mix until thick and smooth. Cover and chill in the refrigerator for two to three hours. Take the chilled mixture and beat until creamy, then transfer the complete mixture into an ice cream maker, and follow the manufacturer’s instructions.
16
I’d driven straight for the inn, and knowing the shortest route, I quite reasonably expected to get there first. So you can imagine my surprise when I stepped out of my car and was greeted by Harry.
“How did you do that?” I cried.
“Gosh, Miss Yoder, you heard that inside your car? Well, it was a good one. Didn’t last long, but great resonance. Heck, they earned me quite a reputation with the frat boys.”
“TMI!”
“No, MIT—Mid–North Dakota Institute of Techno-biology.”
“Mr. Dorfman, the sound quality of bodily functions is not much admired in Pennsylvania, and, as I told you before, neither are bare bellies.”
“You never said no such thing.”
“But I did. Just a few minutes ago. And pray tell, how didst thou get here so fast? Thee hadst to have broken the speed limit. I know whereof I speak, having broken the speed limit myself. As a God-fearing woman, I am supposed to obey the law, but I was helping the chief solve a crime, therefore, at least in mine eyes, I had pseudo-dispensation. But verily, thou didst drive like Jehu, son of Nimshi, except thou didst not drive a chariot, and thus, perchance, drove a great deal faster.”
“Huh? Was that English?”
“King James—to a degree. Now tell me, Mr. Dorfman, how did you get here so fast?”
“Well ma’am, once we caught the interstate in Grand Forks, it was pretty much smooth sailing all the way.”
“No, I mean just now. Between the historic district and here.”
“Uh—you must be talking about Harry, ma’am, ’cause I ain’t left your place since we arrived yesterday. I’m Harmon.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure as shooting.”
“My apologies, then. But please, cover yourself. Global warming notwithstanding, we are a conservative community, and do not bare our vulnerable parts outside the bondage—I mean bonds—of marriage.”
“That’s a shame, Miss Yoder, because you have yourself a great body. Them clothes you’re wearing don’t hide that fact neither.”
A compliment from any source, short of the Devil, is a gift to be appreciated. If only for a moment. To ignore the giver is to be arrogant, which is the third worst sin in Magdalena’s lexicon of the Ten Greatest Spiritual Boo-boos, right up there under sex and dancing.
“Thanks,” I said. “Just don’t get any ideas, because I’m a happily married woman.”
“You are? How come I ain’t seen a husband?”
“Because he’s staying at his own house across the road, on account of there’s a maniacal mantis on the loose—oh, never mind. It’s a long story.”
He shook his not so handsome head, his overgrown eyebrows flowing in the breeze he generated. “And some folks think we cornhuskers is backward.”
“Embrace the truth,” I said and tried unsuccessfully to move around him.
“Miss Yoder, I got something you hafta see.”
“Seen one, seen them all—which is not saying much, believe me.”
He pulled something out of his shorts pocket. Mercifully, in doing so, he hiked them up a bit.
“See this here cigarette?”
“Um—yes.”
“I found this in the paddock where my cows are.”
“That’s impossible. There’s no smoking allowed on my premises, and besides, if a cow ingested a cigarette, it could get very sick. It might even prove to be fatal.”
“Exactly. And that’s my complaint.”
“You mean you really did find it here?”
“Miss Yoder, I don’t know how it plays in Pennsylvania, but folks in North Dakota don’t lie.”
“Not even your politicians?”
“No, ma’am.”
“More’s the pity.” I closed my eyes for a second as the gravity of the situation sunk in. “You think it was deliberate? This cigarette, I mean.”
“Had to be. It was out near the middle of the paddock, and it’s fresh. Whoever it was, she wanted to stop us from competing.”
“She?”
“Look closely, ma’am. There’s lipstick on this end.”
I whipped a tissue out of my purse, and lifted the stub from his hand. There was indeed a splotchy ring of scarlet around the filtered end. “The only woman here who wears scarlet lipstick is Gertie Fuselburger. And hers is always partly worn off—not that I’ve been keeping track, mind you. But if I was going to paint my face like Jezebel, I’d at least keep up with repairs.”
“You gonna call the police, or do you want me to?”
“I will. But just so you know, in a way, I am the police.”
He rolled his eyes like a petulant teenager. “Somehow I don’t think so.”
“But I am!” I wailed, and then realizing that my wailing tends to annoy people—besides being humanly impossible—I decided to set my sights on results, rather than tend my wounded pride. “I’ll take care of it, I promise.”
“After I found this one, I searched the paddock real well. But just because I couldn’t find any more, doesn’t mean that my cows didn’t already eat them. No hard feelings, ma’am, if they come down sick, I’m gonna hafta sue.”
“What?”
“Cindy Sue is worth about two grand, but Cora Beth, on account of her historic scientific significance, I’d say is worth upwards of fifty grand. Maybe even as much as one hundred.”
“Does this cigarette contain marijuana?”
“Come again?”
“Is this coffin nail illegal in all fifty states as a recreational substance?”
“Ma’am, anyone ever accuse you of being Looney Tunes? ’Cause this here ain’t no nail; it’s a cigarette.”
I would have bitten off the tip of my tongue, but that thip thailed long ago. “I can see that, Mr. Dorfman. I’m asking if there’s marijuana in it. Because if you’ve been puffing your way into this fantasy, I’m issuing a citizen’s arrest.”
His brows bristled. It was like watching a pair of porcupines square off.
“You take back that insinuation, or I’m suing you for slander as well.”
Thank goodness for high school gym class. Although I hated it at the time—it was first period, and I had to attend all my classes with wet, stringy hair and smelling like eau de locker room—Mrs. Proschel made sure her girls were at least adequate touch-football players. (We suspected Mrs. Proschel was once an NFL linebacker, but that’s another story.) At any rate, when push comes to shove, I can shove with the best of them.
First I pushed, and when Harmon was dancing about, trying to catch his balance, I shoved him to the ground. Then I made a beeline to the kitchen. I know, what I did is not Christian, and I have since confessed this most un-Mennonite of sins to the Lord. But at least I’ve never smoked a cigarette—well, not an entire one. And my adultery, as well as all three of my drunken episodes, was inadvertent.
I slammed the kitchen door. “I can’t stand that man,” I bellowed.
“Ach!” Freni pointed to the oven. “Now the cakes have fallen, yah?”
“I’ll help them up as soon as I catch my breath.”
“Always the jokes, Magdalena. But what will we serve the English for dessert? Pudding from a box?”
“If it was good enough for the box, it’s good enough for them. Speaking of the English, where are our guests now?”
“They have all gone to inspect the show ring. Some of them are spectacle. They think we in Hernia cannot put on a real competition.”
“You mean skeptical, dear.”
&nbs
p; “Yah?”
“Then they are in for a surprise. Team Magdalena has turned the high school stadium into a world-class arena. We’re even selling popcorn. And Gummi Bears. You can’t get any higher class than that. But by the way, not all of the English are in town; one of the twins is standing by the driveway. If you go outside, you may wish to avert your eyes. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and it’s not a pretty sight.”
Freni wiped her hands on her apron, and then shuffled to the nearest window, where she gingerly pulled back the curtain. Apparently, the opportunity to spy on a half-naked man was too rare of an occurrence to pass up. I could see her eyes widen behind the bottle-thick glasses.
“Ach, du lieber! It’s Sodium and Gomorrah.”
“Close enough. Now turn around and don’t look back, lest you turn into a pillar of salt.”
She turned reluctantly. “Why does he do that?”
“Because he thinks it’s a warm day, and wants to tan. Plus he probably thinks that because we’re a small town, we’re all hicks. But even that’s no excuse. I wouldn’t go to North Dakota and take off my dress.”
Freni clucked like a hen that had just laid an egg. “How you talk! Your mama would roll over in her grave.”
“Ha. Right now, my mama is probably telling fortunes in a tent. Either that, or swinging from a trapeze. Either way, I don’t think she’d be bothered by a reference to partial nudity. After all, I didn’t say anything about removing my slip.”
“It is not good to be so bitter, Magdalena. It hurts only you—and the ones you love. Your daughter needs a normal life, yah?”
Despite the fact that she was lecturing me, my heart overflowed with love for Freni. She’d called Alison my daughter! Plain and simple. The words “step” or “foster” hadn’t even been mentioned.
“Freni,” I cried, as I attempted to throw my arms around her, “I love you.”
“Ach!”
Freni, responding to five hundred years of inbred reservation, ducked, while my arms closed around an empty prayer cap. The second I caught her, I plopped the cap back on her head.
“I’m sorry, dear. But now that I know that my birth mother wasn’t a Mennonite, my body has been acting in strange ways. You don’t suppose my birth mother could have been from Kazakhstan, do you?”
“More riddles. But speaking of Alison, she asks me to give you a message.”
“Oh?”
“She called from school and said that Mary Ruth Westheimer has invited her to spend the weekend at her house. She said that since it is Friday, and they wear the same size clothes, could she go straight home on the bus with her friend?”
“What did you tell her?”
Mary Ruth is “Church Amish,” as opposed to “House Amish.” That is to say, her family is so liberal that they constantly totter on the brink of becoming Mennonites. They even allow Mary Ruth to attend public school, although her distinctive dress still sets her apart. Alison, always the champion of the underdog—that’s how she sees herself—immediately took the girl under her wing, and they have become fast friends. A weekend spent with the Westheimers would benefit both girls, and absolutely no harm could come of it. Perhaps if I could steal a minute from the competition, I would drop by and snap a photo of Alison decked out in Amish clothes. The next time she tries to wear a hoochie-mama outfit to school, I could threaten to blackmail her with it.
“I said that her mama would call the school if the answer was no. Otherwise, she could let the good times roll, yah?”
“A good enough try at slang, albeit several decades behind the times. Well, dear, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hoof it upstairs to the guestrooms to do a little legally sanctioned snooping under the guise of housekeeping.”
“But all the guests are on ALPO plan; they must clean their own rooms.”
“So they get a break today, and I won’t charge them a penny less, if that makes them feel any better. And if the bare-bellied North Dakotan heads upstairs, whistle for me.”
Then, before my wise mentor and friend could talk any sense into me, I hightailed it from the kitchen.
17
If one is to snoop into guests’ drawers, ’tis wise to be schooled in the ways of the world. One is sure to find things that would make Beelzebub blush: lingerie every bit as revealing as a spider web; magazines with pictures so obscene that one must flip through them a second time in order to grasp the gravity of the situation, so that one might properly pray for the owner’s redemption; and handheld, battery-operated gizmos that make even the best washing machine, the ones with the most unbalanced load imaginable, obsolete—if you know what I mean. Such are the burdens that an amateur sleuth like me must bear. And in all humility, I bore them cheerfully.
The Dorfman brothers, it was immediately clear, had diametrically opposed tastes in magazines, and packed a paucity of underwear.
Jane and Dick Pearlmutter, despite their highfalutin ways, bought most of their clothes from JCPenney, and the only thing one might consider contraband among their possessions was an open packet of gum. After all, I eschew gum-chewing, and prohibit my guests from bringing it on the premises, on the grounds that it makes one look like a horse, besides being impossible to remove from asphalt, let alone shag carpets.
Vance Brown, the dairyman, and his trollop of a wife (I say this with objectivity, not malice), had acquired most of their clothes from Wal-Mart, and might have passed my inspection with flying colors had I not noticed a lump in one of their pillows. Normally, this might have gone unnoticed, as I am not averse to supplying my guests with lumpy pillows. (They build character, don’t you agree?) However, this particular lump extended beyond the case. Grateful yet again that I had thought to wear surgical gloves, I gingerly withdrew the suspicious item, and held it at arm’s length.
What on God’s green earth could even the most depraved English do with a pulley and a length of rope? Well, whatever the answer, the Browns were not going to see it again. Fueled by righteous indignation—it is an excellent source of energy, by the way—I tugged open a stubborn window and dropped the offending article on the lawn, from which I fully intended to retrieve it later and tote it off to the burn barrel.
Then it was on to Gertie Fuselburger’s room. Because she’d made such a fuss over me, I’d given her the best room—one with a marvelous view of Miller’s Pond and, if one leaned out far enough, a sliver-wide glimpse of Stucky Ridge. Of course, I reminded Gertie to tie herself to a bedpost when viewing the mountain, lest the same thing happen to her that happened to that televangelist, Reverend Dilbert Gillwater.
Dear dogmatic Dilbert had riled the nation the day before by announcing that God had spoken to him personally, warning him that unless American women agreed to be subservient to their husbands, the Good Lord was going to punish them by simultaneously releasing the bubonic plague in seventeen of our country’s largest cities. Then, obviously quite pleased with himself, Reverend Gillwater took a gander at Stucky Ridge without first tying himself securely to the bedpost. When he met his Maker, one of our nation’s most controversial figures was wearing a pair of women’s black lace panties and fishnet stockings. Only one of his crimson pumps made it all the way to the ground with him. Later the other pump caused me a tremendous amount of tsuris when it plugged up the rain gutter.
Now where was I? Oh, yes, not only did Gertie get the best room, but she got the best grade from yours truly. No trashy magazines hidden between the Hanes Her Way pairs and the polyester half slips from Sears. And certainly no cigarettes, as I’d suspected. Even the contents of her American Tourister train case—in classy avocado green—were not incriminating. The only thing in there that even approached makeup, was a small tube of lip balm. The color? Clear.
“Why, shoot a monkey,” I said. Yes, it is a terrible expression, given that monkeys are primates, and we are said to be primates as well. Fortunately, those of us in the know are aware that this supposed cousinship simply isn’t true.
“Are you originally from
North Carolina, Miss Yoder?”
I whirled. The grand old dame herself was standing in the doorway, her thin body in silhouette.
“North Carolina? No, ma’am—actually, I can’t say that for sure. For all I know I was conceived in a linen closet in Buckingham Palace and should be calling Prince Philip ‘papa.’”
Gertie smiled. It must have taken a lot of effort to lift and rearrange all those wrinkles.
“I’ve heard that expression back in Wilmington. But it may be something just my family said. Sometimes they could be quite colorful in their speech. If I dare say so, just like you.”
I recoiled in surprise. “Moi?”
“A true original. Although you can be a bit verbose at times. Some might find it objectionable, but I rather enjoy it. Of course we Southerners are quite fond of words.”
“That’s it!” I held my right arm out, all the better to examine my wrist. “I have Southern blood running through these veins. I should have known it. I visited Charleston on vacation a few years back, and found shrimp and grits absolutely delicious.”
“In that case, we are sisters under the skin. I told you we’d get along famously.”
If something is going very right, you can be sure it’s really going wrong. I will be the first to admit that I am a pessimist by nature. It is, after all, the wisest way to be. We pessimists have everything to gain, whereas optimists have a fifty-fifty chance of being disappointed.
“Aren’t you going to at least ask what I’m doing in your room?”
“Whatever for? This is your inn, after all. I have every reason to believe that your motive for being here is legitimate.”
“But suppose it isn’t?”
Her laugh sounded like a can of loose coins. “Well, then I would at least find it quite interesting.”
“I was looking for cigarettes.” I waited for her to be shocked.
“Really? Did you find any?”
“Nary a one.”
“That’s because I gave up smoking the day I turned sixty. I looked in the mirror to give myself an honest appraisal, and when I saw how much damage cigarettes—and the Carolina sun—had done to my face, I threw almost an entire pack of Marlboros down the john.” She cackled. “My reaction was a trifle dramatic, and not at all wise. The toilet plugged and overflowed, and I spent a good deal of my birthday mopping the floor. Since that day, ten years ago next month, I haven’t had a puff.”