by Tamar Myers
“What did you say about my Melvin and Susannah?”
“I’m sorry, dear, I thought you knew. I mean, you work with the man, for pete’s sake. But don’t feel bad, dear—I found out just yesterday afternoon.”
She was panting like an overweight jogger. “This is for real, Magdalena, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so, dear. The knot is to be tied Wednesday morning at his mother’s farm. So you really didn’t have a clue, huh? Because Sam said you were throwing them a big party tomorrow night.”
“I’m throwing Melvin a party. It’s his birthday.”
I glanced at the square on my calendar in which I’d drawn a tiny pitchfork. “So it is. Tell me, whose idea was this party, his or yours?”
“I can’t help it, Magdalena. He says he still loves me.”
“He’s incapable of loving himself, dear. Besides, you know this marriage won’t last.”
“Because Susannah’s a slut?” she asked hopefully.
I let that pass. The truth is the truth, after all.
“Now what’s this about Susannah and Dr. Burk?”
She sighed—although come to think of it, it may have been a whimper. “I don’t know anything about your Dr. Burk, but I saw Susannah in a blue Saturn just a couple of hours ago.”
“You did? Where?”
“Headed north to Bedford on Highway 96.”
“Was she alone?”
“From what I could see. Then again, she is Susannah.”
“Just what is that supposed to mean?”
“Face it, Magdalena, your sister does things in cars Henry Ford never dreamed of. Just last month I caught her up on Stucky Ridge parked in one of those new VW bugs.”
“So? She borrowed it from a friend.”
“So, when I tapped on the window out tumbled the entire Hernia High baseball team and—”
“Okay, I get the picture. Let me rephrase my question. Was Susannah driving the blue Saturn?”
“It appeared so.”
“Just wait until I get my hands on her scrawny neck,” I hissed. “Maybe there won’t be a wedding after all.”
“She might still be in Bedford,” Zelda said, suddenly cheery again. “You know how your sister loves to shop.”
“Walmart, here I come!”
“In the meantime—as soon as Melvin gets back from Sam’s—I’ll do a little patrolling and see if I can spot your English doctor. He is English, isn’t he?”
“Yes, and so are you!” I wailed in exasperation. Although Zelda and I stem from the same stock, no Amish person in the world was going to claim familial ties with an agnostic who applied her makeup with a putty knife.
“Magdalena, can I ask you one favor?”
“Ask, and then I’m out of here.”
“Well—uh—it’s just that—you see—”
“Spit it out, dear.”
Before Zelda could master her mouth there was a loud rap on my door and I was forced to hang up.
Eight
“Come in!”
“I can’t, Magdalena, it’s locked.” The rapping was louder, more insistent.
“Hold your horses,” I hollered.
“You better hurry, Magdalena. This is important.”
I unlocked the door and stared down into Freni’s disapproving face. “Yes, what is it?”
“For shame, Magdalena, and in the middle of the day yet!”
“What? I was on the phone for crying out loud!”
“Ach, youthanisms,” Freni muttered. “Your mama would roll over in her grave.”
I sighed patiently. Mama has rolled over in her grave so many times the Bedford County Power Department has considered replacing their generator with her coffin. “Freni, what do you want?”
“Susannah is on the other line.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
I practically leapfrogged over Freni and snatched up the receiver that was lying face-up on the lobby desk. “Susannah!”
“Well, it’s about time!”
“Susannah, are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right, silly, but what about you? What took so long? Catch you on the throne, or did Freni stop along the way to pull her hose up?”
I have exceptionally keen hearing, but even a Cabbage Patch Doll could hear the woman screaming in the background. “Susannah, where are you?”
“I’m at The Material Girl out on Business Route 220, just past where it intersects with regular 220.”
“The what?”
“It’s a fabric store, silly. It’s right next door to Naughty Ed’s Haircuts and More. Actually, I’m at Naughty Ed’s, because the lady at The Material Girl wouldn’t let me use her phone.”
“Why aren’t you at Walmart?” I snapped.
“Don’t be such a goofball, Magdalena. I’m buying my wedding dress.”
“Then why aren’t you at The Marriage-Go-Round up by the turnpike?”
“Geez.” The woman in the background stopped screaming and I could actually hear my sister’s eyes roll.
Of course, how silly of me. Alas, The Marriage-Go-Round sells wedding dresses. Why settle for one of those when you can wrap yourself like a mummy in something straight off the bolt? Well, to each her own, I guess. I was never going to convince my baby sister that seams and hems had value, so I had best concentrate on the business at hand.
“Susannah, are you by yourself?”
“Well, I was—Ed, stop that—and I will be again, just as soon as you say yes.”
“I don’t have time to play games with you, dear. I have a parlor full of paranoid veterans who insist on doing just that.”
“Ah, Mags, you’re no fun. You know that?”
“Get to your point, dear.”
“Well, it’s like this, Mags. I need you to call The Material Girl and speak to a woman named Brenda. Tell her who you are and that you’ll pay for my purchase.”
“Will I?”
“Come on, Mags, you’re my sister. Think of this as your wedding present.”
“How much cloth are we talking about here, and how much is it per yard?”
“It’s silk, Mags. And it’s sky blue. You’ll love it, I promise.”
“How much?”
“A mere fifty yards.”
I gasped, and the pilot lights went out on both my hot water heater and my stove. Just ask Freni if you don’t believe it.
“It’s on sale, Mags. It’s been marked down to $29.99 a yard.”
“How much is the regular price?”
“$54.95.”
“Okay,” I heard myself say, “but this silk better be something special.”
“Really? You’ll call her? Oh, Mags, you’re the very best sister a girl could have. Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”
“No. Susannah—”
“Because you know I do, don’t you?”
“Well, I guess so. I mean, I’ve never given it a lot of thought.”
“Do you love me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my sister.”
“Then say it, Mags. Say ‘I love you.’ ”
“I—uh—well—it’s got to be as plain as the nose on my face.” I mean, how much more obvious can something be?
“Say it, Mags!”
“Just say it,” Naughty Eddy purred in the background.
“I love you!” I shrieked. “There! Are you happy now?”
“Oh, Mags, you’re such a teddy bear, you know that?” There was the sound of muffled voices, and I waited. “Mags, dearest, Naughty Eddy wants to speak with you.”
“Me?”
“He says he saw you last week at the I.G.A. here in Bedford, and you were fondling eggplants.”
“I was not!”
“Anyway, so he bought one, and now he wants to know what to do with it.”
“Tell Naughty Eddy to stuff it.”
Susannah giggled and said something to Naughty Eddy before speaking to me. “He wants to know where?”
“Susanna
h dear, I don’t have time to chat about recipes. I already said you could buy the silk. Now I have a question to ask you.”
“Fire away, favorite sis.”
“Did you drive to Bedford in a blue Saturn?”
“It’s no big deal, Mags. I didn’t steal it. That nice Dr. Burk loaned it to me. Isn’t it a beaut? Say, Mags, do you think the Saturn company could be a front for a religious cult? I mean, don’t those weekend gatherings seem a bit suspicious?”
“Cult, shmult! Susannah, shame on you! How many times do I have to tell you not to borrow other people’s cars?”
“Well, you won’t let me drive your Beamer,” she whined.
I thought of lecturing her on the concept of working for one’s possessions, but decided to save my breath. Except for her brief stint naming paint chip colors, Susannah has never worked a day in her life. That’s exactly why my parents in their wisdom left the farm to me. Of course, there was a codicil stipulating that should the day ever come when Susannah pulled her own weight, half the farm would revert to her. Since that is about as likely to happen as the NFL requiring its member teams to take flower arranging, the PennDutch is mine. In the meantime I supply my slutty, slovenly, and slothful sister with three squares a day, a bed if needed, and assorted bolts of fabric for her back. This was the first bolt of silk, however. You can count on that.
“Did you ask to borrow Dr. Burk’s car?” Susannah’s definition of “borrow” tends to be looser than Webster intended.
“He offered. He came storming out of the inn as mad as could be—even madder than Melvin gets when I forget to warm his milk—”
“Skip that part!” I shouted.
“Well, and so he’s heading for his car, right? And I’m about to ask him for a lift, but then suddenly he says”— she giggled —“shall I skip that part too, Mags?”
“Shall I forget to call The Material Girl?”
“Aw, you’re no fun! Well, anyway, when he was done swearing he looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time and said, ‘Here, you better take the keys. I’m likely to do something really stupid behind the wheel.’ So I took them.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, basically. Oh, he mentioned something about taking a walk to let off steam. At least that’s what I think he said. He’s got a really weird accent, Mags. Is he from Argentina?”
“He’s from Minnesota, dear, but at least now we’re getting somewhere. Did you see which direction he headed?”
“Nah. I was out of there like a bat out of hell.”
“Don’t use the h word,” I said sternly.
“Oh, Mags, you’re such a prude. But hey, I came through for you, didn’t I?”
“You did fine.”
“Great, because I have another teensy weensy little favor to ask.”
“Don’t even think it, dear, because I am not going to wrap myself in a silk bandage, like I was a five-foot, ten-inch wound.”
“Oh, no, Mags. It’s nothing like that. Besides, you’d wouldn’t look good in a free-form dress.”
“Yes, she would,” I heard a man’s voice purr.
“Tell Evil Eddy to put a lid on it, dear, and I’ll choose to take that last remark of yours as a compliment.” I sighed perfunctorily. “So what’s this final little favor? You want me to snap a few photos of the happy couple?”
“Nah, that would be asking too much. We just want to know if you’d spring for our honeymoon on Aruba.”
“What?” I tried choking the receiver on my phone, but the hard plastic wouldn’t budge, much less give me the satisfaction of a scream.
“It’s just for five days, Mags. Pweeze. Pwetty prweeze.”
“Can the baby talk, toots! You have a lot of nerve even thinking such a thought, when you didn’t even invite me to your pre-wedding party.”
Susannah screamed as loud as she did the time Shnookums fell out of her bra and into a pot of warm cookie batter. “Who told you about the party?”
“Sam Yoder, that’s who. He said Melvin had been buying the store out getting ready for tomorrow’s shindig.”
“But it was supposed to be a surprise,” she wailed.
“For who?”
“For you, you idiot!”
“What did you say?”
“Oh, Mags, you’ve done so much for me over the years. Since Mama and Papa died you’ve been like—well, a mother. And all along I’ve given you nothing but grief.”
“Oh, pshaw,” I said, frankly rather embarrassed. “The day before I got married you were nice to me for an hour, and you were nice again for twenty-two minutes the day Aaron left.”
“You see? That’s what I mean! All I do is take, take, take, and I hardly ever give, so this party was going to be my present to you.”
“It was?”
“Everyone’s coming, Mags—even Freni.”
“Freni doesn’t know a thing about this, dear. She’s as hurt as I am.”
“Not anymore, Mags. I explained the whole thing, and she’s coming.”
“Our Freni is going to an English party?”
“She wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mags. And it’s not for me she’s coming. She’s coming for you. Everyone is going to be there on account of you.”
“Oh, my. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll come! Melvin and I were going to ‘kidnap’ you, which would have been a lot of fun, but maybe not so wise. Now we don’t have to.”
“And lucky for you. Okay, I’ll come. And you’re sure the party is for me?”
“Don’t be silly, Mags. Now, about Aruba—”
“In your dreams, dear,” I said sweetly. I called the airlines just the same.
I had just gotten off the phone with The Material Girl when I noticed Samantha Burk standing in the lengthening shadows of my lobby. Of course I jumped. Who knew how long the concert pianist had been skulking about; little people have an unfair advantage in the art of espionage.
“Yes, dear, can I help you?” If my tone was not as sweet as my words, it’s because the silk Susannah wanted was not on sale. Some bumbling clerk or prank-playing child had switched the signs on her beloved bolt of blue with one of black. There was no way my baby sister was going to marry decked out in the color of sin, even though it was eminently appropriate to her lifestyle. So, I just paid more for a dress—to use the term loosely—than I had for my first car. Perhaps it was fortunate my sister didn’t plan to cut or stitch her swath, because I knew a good seamstress who, after the wedding, could turn those fifty yards into five or six real dresses. Perhaps I would even make a profit—if my sister didn’t spill anything, and if the mangy mutt minded his manners.
“Miss Yoder, here are the books you wanted from Mystery Lovers Bookshop.”
“Thank you, dear. How much do I owe you?”
“Consider them a gift. I mean, sort of a thank-you for driving me around before.”
“Well, that’s very nice of you, dear. Just don’t expect me to come down on my rates.”
She smiled weakly. “Miss Yoder, have you heard anything about John?”
“Well, actually I have. Your husband didn’t drive away in a fit of anger—”
“But the car! It’s gone, and I heard it tear out of here, tires squealing and everything.”
“That was my sister Susannah off on a shopping spree. Apparently, your husband loaned her the car.”
Her small brow puckered. “Are you sure? I mean, John’s not in the habit of lending anything to anyone.”
“I’m positive. Susannah might lie like a politician, but not when she’s about to ask for a favor. And she just asked for a doozy. No, it seems your husband decided to cool off by taking a walk.”
“A walk? John hates being outside.”
“Well, that’s what he did,” I said firmly.
“Where would he go?”
I shrugged. “The woods? The pond across the road? There’s lots of nifty places to explore here.”
“John isn’t in to explo
ring.”
“I see. What is he in to?”
“History.”
“Well, like I said before, there is that old grist mill on the Berkey farm, and Settlers’ Cemetery is a very interesting place.”
She shook her head, and not a hair stirred. “John is a student of the classics.”
“I thought you said he was a professor.”
Dainty lips parted. “He was. But the pursuit of knowledge is a lifelong passion for him.”
“Perhaps you should have taken your vacation in Greece,” I said, secure in the knowledge that my no refund, “a head laid is a dollar paid” rule is pinned to each of my guests’ pillows.
“We were there just last month doing researching for a book John’s writing on the military campaigns of Antigonus Monophthalmus.”
“Gesundheit, dear.”
She frowned. “John was looking for someplace quiet and relaxing to write up his notes. He wasn’t counting on being carjacked.”
Every hair on my bun bristled. “Carjacked? I told you my sister borrowed your car. In fact, your husband insisted she take it.”
She stepped back deeper into the shadows. “Well, that is most unlike John, I assure you.”
“Could we possibly be in denial, dear?”
“I beg your pardon!”
“Obviously, you and your husband had more than just a tiff.”
She said nothing.
“Look, dear, I want to help you.”
Silence seemed to be her strength. I flipped the switch on the wall beside me, and she looked like a fawn caught in my Beamer’s headlights.
“Oh,” she gasped.
“You do want my help, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Miss Yoder—uh—this is so personal.”
I tugged on a lobe. “These ears have heard just about everything.”
“Yes, but—”
“Look dear, I have a sister who’s slept with more men than Richard Simmons. And did I mention the fact that half of Hollywood has spilled their guts to these babies? So you see, there’s nothing on this good earth that would surprise me. Now them”—I nodded in the direction of the parlor door, behind which the veterans congregated— “they might have their water glasses pressed up against the door as we speak. Far be it from me to speak ill of paying guests, but that bunch in there is one of the weirdest I’ve had stay here yet.”