Just Plain Pickled to Death

by Tamar Myers

  “Look,” I said, “the important thing is that we catch Sarah’s killer, right? Punishing Leah is a secondary issue.”

  “Leah is my daughter’s killer,” he said quietly. His voice was remarkably clear.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What? You can’t be serious!”

  He slowly pulled a small red book from underneath his rocker cushion. “It’s in here. It’s all in the diary.”

  “Let me see.” I reached for it automatically.

  He tucked the book back under the cushion. “I’ve decided not to show it to you.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve decided that this police friend of yours is the only one who needs to see it. It’s better for my daughter’s memory that way.”

  I hadn’t counted on that. I hadn’t for a second considered the possibility that Melvin would see the diary, and I wouldn’t. That was like letting a monkey loose in a secret munitions factory. Privacy might be preserved, but the whole place was liable to blow up.

  “Uh—Chief Stoltzfus is really swamped at the moment. At times like this he appreciates my helping him out. Why don’t I read the diary for him—only the pertinent parts, of course—and summarize it?”

  “Bull,” he rasped. Such a crude word from such an immaculate man.

  “Look, Mr. Weaver”—calling him “Uncle Jonas” seemed too intimate—”whether you believe me or not, I’m on your side. Your daughter was my sister’s best friend. Susannah has been deeply affected by this, and frankly, so have I. I’m supposed to get married on Saturday, and I’ll be damned if I’ll have a murder investigation hanging over our heads to screw things up.”

  This time his stare was less belligerent. “Your mother ever hear you talk like that?”

  “No, and she never will. My mother’s dead. You’d know that if you’d bothered to keep in touch with folks here.”

  He glanced around, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. “I’d forgotten how nice it is here. How peaceful. And real.”

  “Real?”

  “Back home—I mean, in Florida—nothing is as it seems. The folks there aren’t from there, even the trees and flowers they grow are from someplace else. And the land—you dig down two feet and there isn’t any dirt at all, just limestone. They say that if the polar ice cap melts just a foot, there won’t be any Florida at all. All the pink plastic flamingos will be washed away by the waves. No more shuffleboard courts, either.”

  “Is that so?” It was comforting to know that my Pennsylvania mountain valley had its particular advantages.

  He nodded. “Maybe I’ll stay a while. Know of any rooms to rent in the area?”

  “Is the pope Catholic?”

  He actually smiled. “I’m afraid your place would be out of my league, Miss Yoder. I was thinking more like a rooming house in town.”

  “Delores Brown sometimes has rooms to rent. She’s a Methodist, though, so her rooms don’t have a theme. And she’s nosier than a roomful of reporters. Still, I hear she’s reasonable.”

  The truth be known, Delores can hardly give her rooms away. I should feel sorry for the woman, because before the PennDutch hit it big, she was the only game in town. But face it—folks don’t want just a place to sleep anymore, they want entertainment. If they’re real discriminating, that entertainment is atmosphere with an attitude.

  “She in the book?” he asked.

  “Yes. But the poor dear’s hard of hearing and almost never answers her phone. If you want, I’ll drive over there this afternoon and ask her.”

  “Thank you.”

  He closed his eyes for a minute, and I thought maybe he had gone to sleep. Mennonite uncles are capable of falling into deep, coma-like sleep in less time than it takes to clear the dinner table. Therefore it took me by surprise when he reached behind him to get the diary and then held it out to me.

  “Okay,” he said, his eyes still closed. “You can look at the diary. But not those parts that are taped shut. And no showing it to anyone else.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I had never been so disappointed in my life. It was no big deal to buckle the taped pages and read what was written on them. Out of respect for the dead— and Uncle Jonas—I will not tell you what was written between those taped pages. Suffice it to say, Sarah had nothing approaching Susannah’s behavior, even at that age. Shoot, had I been dating Aaron Miller back then, and not Sam Yoder, I might have done those things myself—except for that open-mouth kissing. That’s going too far.

  Then I read the part I was meant to read. Suddenly the sixteen-year-old Sarah I knew, with the long blond hair and paisley hairband, was standing in front of me. She and Susannah were giggling, no doubt making fun of me for something. Trying to get a rise out of me. I snapped at them and they pranced out of the room, laughing loudly. The next thing I knew, Sarah had dark hollows around her eyes. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been combed for days. She clung to Susannah like a bean plant to a pole. Then she was gone.

  I closed the diary and hugged it to my chest. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. Sarah Weaver had come alive in those pages, and I felt ashamed for having pried further than I needed to. However, there was nothing in what I had read that pointed to her mother’s killer. And as for Auntie Leah—who hasn’t sometimes been too busy doing some task to tolerate an interruption? What she did was lamentable, but surely not a crime. Here, judge for yourself. (To be honest, I had to straighten some of the grammar and correct the spelling mistakes. Although pretty girls can be very bright, Sarah Weaver was not one of them.)

  July 2nd... drove to Hernia where Mama grew up. Only have to be here for a week, thank God. This place is zilchville. We’re actually on a farm, if you can believe that. Cows and everything. Uncle Aaron is real nice, but Auntie Catherine—Mama thinks she’s trashy and she’s right. Met a girl who lives across the road. Her name is Susannah. She’s real cool and you’d like her (but not too much, I hope!). Mama says I can take her with us to the picnic. I wish you could come. I’m going to miss Harry. Harry, I miss you! OOOOXXXX!

  July 3rd... the other aunties and uncles arrived today. Uncle Elias is black! I almost forgot. Cool! Auntie Magdalena is weird though. You can’t understand what she says. I don’t remember Auntie Leah being so tall (ha!). She has no neck! She looks silly next to Uncle Sol, who looks like Elmer Fudd if you ask me. Auntie Vonnie is still crabby (even Mama says she is!). But Uncle Rudy is gross. Tell you later, Harry. Yuck, yuck, yuck! Oops! I almost forgot the Bloughs. They’re cool. Auntie Lizzie wears makeup!!! Oodles of it! (Susannah does too, and she’s going to show me how!) Don’t worry about the boy cousins, Harry. They are all WEIRDOS!!! OOOOXXXX times ten!

  July 4th... picnic up on Stucky Ridge. Great view. No cute boys (I told you not to worry, Harry!). Just cousins. Yuck! Thank God Susannah was there. We threw pine cones at the mean boy cousins. Mama went to the cemetery by herself. When she came back she was crying. Auntie Vonnie and Uncle Rudy got into another fight again. So what else is new? Sorry, but I think Auntie Magdalena is strange! Reminds me of a lost puppy. Get this—Hernia doesn’t have fireworks, they have a revival meeting! The preacher was a weird man who sweated a lot and played the accordion. Gross! Susannah brought her boy friend and a “date” for me. Don’t worry, Harry, this guy was GROSS, GROSS, GROSS! His name is Melvin Stiltfuzz, or something like that. It was gross just sitting by him. He tried to hold my hand and I pinched him. OOOOXXXX

  July 5th... spent most of the day across at Susannah’s house. She has a real mean older sister named Magdalena. Susannah showed me how to put on makeup. You’d love it, Harry! Not the makeup—I mean me in it, of course! When I went back to Uncle Aaron’s I found Mama in the field (pasture?) by herself. She was crying again. She wouldn’t tell me what was bothering her, but I think I know. It’s something really gross! If Daddy ever found out—well, he better not! I made Mama laugh with my makeup. I thought she’d be mad, but she wasn’t. She made me wash it off before supper though. She said
only Auntie Lizzie would understand. Oh, that stupid boy Melvin tried to come by after supper. I told him to take a flying leap—so you see, you shouldn’t worry, Harry. OOOOXXXX

  July 6th—Susannah and I made her sister drive us into Bedford for a matinee. Magdalena wouldn’t come in with us. Says she’s never seen a movie. Can you believe that? Susannah likes Robert Redford— but he’s so old! I like John Travolta. But not better than you, Harry! After the movie we went someplace for pizza. That stupid Melvin was there again. What a jerk! Auntie Leah made supper tonight. She’s a good cook—better than Mama—but I was too full to eat any. Mama didn’t eat either. She was upset about something. The same thing I think. It’s just too gross. Daddy would die if he knew. I hope you haven’t forgotten to feed Wiggles. Thanks for taking care of him! OOOOXXXX

  July 7th... Auntie Vonnie is crabby, but that’s no excuse, if you ask me. Maybe someday I’ll tell you. Did you know that the Fikes have five children, but they only brought two. The others were old enough to stay home. I wish I had! They say they’re black, but they don’t look like it to me. Well, Betty does. She’s the baby of all the cousins. I think she’s ten. Anyway, they’re the only ones staying here, besides us—and Uncle Aaron and Auntie Catherine of course! The others are staying with other relatives at night, but in the daytime they all hang out here. Not me! I spend as much time across the road at Susannah’s as I can. I want to stay there over night, but Mama won’t let me. She says she needs me. She doesn’t, you know! Be glad you’re not here. Oh, to¬night was that stupid anniversary dinner for Uncle Aaron and Auntie Catherine. What a crock! All they ever do is fight, and what’s so special about twenty- five years anyway? Someday we’ll be married longer than that. OOOOXXX

  There were no more entries until two days after the Weavers were scheduled to go home. Clearly they hadn’t.

  July 11th... I still can’t believe it! It was the worst thing I ever saw! It was worse than the movies. Oh, Mama, what happened after that????? Where are you, Mama? I know you didn’t run off to the Poconos. That was Auntie Catherine. Everybody knows that. She is just trash, like you said. Mama, I can’t tell anybody because I’m afraid! What should I do??? I can’t even tell Susannah. She would never believe it. Not in a million years. Please God, make my Mama alright. If you do, I promise not to wear makeup anymore. I won’t even go to movies. I won’t kiss Harry again—not until we’re married anyway.

  July 12th... Mama come back! Where did you go? I should have done something to stop you. I’m stronger than I look, Mama! Mama, I love you. Please God, please, please, please!!!!!!!!!!

  July 14th... I don’t know what to do!!! I found a note in bed. It was taped to a rock under my pillow. I’m not supposed to tell anyone what I saw. No one! I can’t believe it. Why is this happening? Why to Mama? Why to me? God, why won’t you answer my prayers??? I stopped wearing makeup. I’m sorry for everything else that I ever did. Please bring my Mama back! I will love you forever. I will even be a missionary. Or a nun—except that we’re not Catholic. You know what I mean. PLEASE!!!!!!!!!

  July 17th... I don’t understand grownups! I’m supposed to be one soon but I don’t understand them at all. I tried talking to Auntie Leah—I wasn’t going to tell her everything. But she was too busy cooking dinner. She said Auntie Catherine can’t cook because she’s too depressed. What about me??? Nobody can talk to Auntie Vonnie. She’s too mean! I hate her. Auntie Lizzie has gone back home. Auntie Magdalena (weird, weird, weird!) leaves tomorrow. Their other kids need them back. What about me and Daddy? What do we need? Mama!!!!!!!!!! I hate God! He isn’t fair at all!

  July 24th... I WANT TO GO HOME!!! Daddy says we can’t because Mama might come back anytime. I know she won’t. I know it because of what I saw. I wish they’d go. Why are they still here? I promised I wouldn’t tell. I wish Harry was here, but he won’t answer my letters. I called last night—after every one was in bed, but he wouldn’t answer the phone. Maybe his parents wouldn’t let him. I know they never liked me. Now they must think I’m crazy. Maybe I am.

  July 25th... Susannah doesn’t think I’m crazy. Today I almost told her. Thank God I didn’t. When I got back to the house there was another note. It was on a rock again. I slept on the floor under my bed. Mama, I am so scared. Mama, I love you.

  July 29th... What’s the use? I wish I was dead already. Then I wouldn’t have to be scared anymore. Then I could see Mama. Oh God, why did you let this happen?

  I found Uncle Jonas still in the rocker, his eyes still closed.

  “Mr. Weaver?” I whispered He opened his eyes slowly.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Weaver. All at once this makes it seem so real.”

  “It’s been real to me every day for twenty years.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Mr. Weaver, can I please show this to Susannah?”

  He said nothing.

  “Mr. Weaver, please. My sister needs to see this. She was there when we found Sarah. Please?”

  He nodded silently, and I went off to do one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life.

  I stayed with Susannah until almost supper. Even with the diary to refresh her memory, Susannah could remember very little about that week. If Sarah had divulged any critical information to her, Susannah was unable to retrieve it. What she was able to recover was a whole lot of emotion.

  We cried most of the time. Sometimes, oddly, we’d laugh. She’d known Sarah only a short time, but the two of them had bonded in a way that I envied. I envied it then, I envy it now. I told Susannah I loved her, and I knew she would be all right when she told me she loved me back—and then made a face at me.

  “Ooh, you’re weird,” she said, her face streaked with mascara. “All that mushy stuff. You’re not—you know?”

  “No, and if I was, I wouldn’t go for you. You look like a raccoon. A raccoon who ran through Freni’s clothesline!”

  She hit me with her pillow. I grabbed it away from her and hit her back. Perhaps too hard. At any rate, Shnookums, who’d been napping in her bra, awoke with a yelp.

  “Now look what you’ve done!” Susannah screamed. “That’s animal cruelty. I’m going to report you to the SPCA!” She wasn’t kidding, bless her.

  “Report me, and I’ll tell Aaron’s aunties what you did with the hand vac last year!”

  Her eyes got as big as dinner plates. “How did you know? Magdalena, you wouldn’t dare!”

  I said I would and left her in a fit of hysterics. Laughter, that is. It would take more than that— maybe a year or two of serious counseling—but my baby sister was going to be all right. I felt like at least one of the weights had been lifted off my chest. Now it was time to get back to the work of finding Sarah’s killer. I was going to find whoever it was if it killed me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Magdalena Yoder’s Wedding Feast, from Soup to Nuts

  Auntie Leah’s Pork Chops with Sauerkraut und Apples

  4 pork chops

  2 tablespoons flour

  salt and pepper to taste

  3 tablespoons bacon grease

  1 large onion (diced)

  ½ cup brown sugar

  2 cups sauerkraut (juice included)

  2 apples (peeled, cored, and sliced)

  1 tablespoons sesame seeds

  Dredge pork chops in flour, and then salt and pepper them. In a heavy skillet brown the chops in bacon grease. Add diced onion and cook a few minutes more. Dissolve brown sugar in kraut juice and return to kraut. Mix in apples and sesame seeds, and spoon over chops. Cover tightly and cook over low heat for 45 minutes.

  Serves 4.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A promise is a promise. Before supper I made a quick dash into Hernia to see Delores about her rooms. The poor dear must be hard up for entertainment. She laughed so hard she had to turn the volume down on her hearing aid.

  “Imagine you coming in personally to see me about a room. If that don’t beat all.”

  “It’s for a guest who can’t afford my place,�
�� I shouted. That should have said it all.

  “I could have a fancy place like yours—an inn, you call it. Yes, ma’am, I could have one. All I would have had to do is capitalize on those poor people.”

  “Those poor people are my people. Why don’t you capitalize on your own?”

  “Eh?”

  I repeated my suggestion, taking great care to enunciate carefully while I stared into her eyes. She took the hint and turned up her hearing aid.

  “You don’t need to shout, Magdalena.”

  I smiled amiably. “I wasn’t shouting, dear. I was merely making a practical suggestion—from one businesswoman to another. Why not make use of your Methodist connections? You could turn your place into a retreat for other Methodists.”

  “They already have one.”

  “Then play up your Methodist heritage and share those quaint qualities with the rest of us. Why, you could call it Wesley World! Now that has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  Delores is a mere slip of a woman, all suntanned wrinkles and bottle-blond hair. Her pale eyes look like they might have been bleached as well.

  “Methodists aren’t in,” she said, focusing those colorless corneas accusingly on my countenance.

  “We accept converts,” I said gaily. “Of course, we are one of the more restrictive denominations. You’d have to give up drinking and dancing for starters.”

  She grimaced. “So, how long does this guest want to stay? Remember, I’m a rooming house, not a motel. I don’t take one-nighters. Too much sheet washing.’

  “He wants to stay indefinitely. He’s Jonas Weaver. You remember him, don’t you?”

  “You don’t mean Rebecca’s husband? The one who went missing?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh me oh my! If that don’t beat everything. I just heard today—it isn’t true, is it?”

  I was surprised it had taken her so long to hear. Deafness is no barrier to gossip in a town like Hernia. Clearly Norah Hall and her cronies had fallen down on the job.