by Tamar Myers
Inspector Spratt’s gentle voice intruded on my reverie. “What were you doing inside the house of the victim?”
“Snooping,” Stoltzfus snorted.
I gave him the evil eye. “Inspector Spratt asked me, dear.” I turned to the detective. “I wanted to ask Dr. Pierce a question.”
“What was the question?”
“Well, it’s kind of complicated.” I paused, to organize my thoughts.
Melvin jumped right in. “Everything you do is complicated, Yoder.”
“You see,” I wailed, “this man has it in for me!” Inspector Spratt gave Melvin a meaningful look, but of course it was totally wasted. Insects aren’t sensitive to human emotions, and besides, one of Melvin’s mantis eyes was focused on the ceiling, the other at my face.
“Miss Yoder, take all the time you need to collect your thoughts. No one is trying to hurry you.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes. Freni Hostetler, who is my cook, but also a cousin of sorts, has a daughter-in-law, Barbara, whom she despises. Only she doesn’t despise her anymore because something came unstuck in Barbara’s plumbing and she blossomed forth, as fertile as the Nile Valley.”
“Give me a break,” Melvin moaned.
“Please,” the inspector said softly. “Continue, please, Miss Yoder.”
“Well, not only did Barbara get pregnant, but she was all set to have triplets. In the meantime, however, Freni’s husband Mose also got pregnant.”
“Ha!”
Inspector Spratt and I both glared at Melvin. This time one of the wayward eyes must have made contact with the detective, because Melvin squirmed. Inspector Spratt nodded in my direction.
“He wasn’t really pregnant, of course. He just had appendicitis. Anyway, the same time Barbara went into labor, Mose had an acute attack, and we had to rush them both to the hospital. To make a long story short, Mose ended up going to Bedford Memorial, but Barbara gave birth at Hernia Hospital, which hardly even counts as a hospital if you ask me.”
“Which no one did,” Melvin said.
“Enough,” Spratt said curtly.
I gave Melvin a triumphant look, but I’m not sure if he caught it. “Well, now, where was I? Ah, yes. Dr. Bauer and Nurse Hemingway delivered the babies, but instead of triplets, there were only twins. Barbara and Jonathan—that’s her husband—seemed to take it okay, but not Freni. She’s sure that there really were three babies and that something happened to one.”
“Like what?”
I shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like the doctor or nurse could have just spirited one away. After all, Barbara and Jonathan were there the entire time. At any rate, Freni made me promise to investigate the situation, and even though it seemed a little silly to me at first, I went along. I spoke to both the doctor and the nurse, and they both stuck by the twins story. Then I started asking around—to other patients of Dr. Pierce—to see how competent he was. Maybe he made a mistake and counted wrong. Well, they thought he was a good doctor—at least they said they did. Of course, I would have spoken to Dr. Pierce directly, but it seems his office is closed. I did speak to his nurse, however, and she said he told her he’d suddenly decided to take a vacation.”
“A permanent vacation,” Melvin muttered, “thanks to you.”
Inspector Spratt pushed back from the table and stood. I hadn’t imagined he could look so stern.
“Chief Stoltzfus, please refrain from interrupting, or I will have to ask you to leave.”
Melvin’s mandibles mashed in agitation, but he said nothing. Spratt sat.
“Miss Yoder, when you arrived here, at the Pierce residence, was the front door unlocked?”
I nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir, it was. And I rang the doorbell lots of times. You can ask Susannah. Frankly, I don’t know what made me actually try turning the knob, but aren’t you glad now that I did?”
Spratt smiled. “Please, tell us exactly what you did when you found the door open.”
I checked his ring finger. It was as bare as my left big toe. Not even a tan line. I doubted if he were a Mennonite—not with a funny name like Spratt—but we are always ready to welcome new believers.
“Well, we came in. I called Dr. Pierce’s name, but of course he didn’t answer. Then Susannah’s dog got loose and—”
“Wait, please. Back up. What’s this about a dog?” Melvin turned the color of Freni’s pickled beets. Who knew bugs could blush?
“My sister has a hideous little hound that goes everywhere with her. You wouldn’t believe the places that mutt’s been. Why, just today that itty-bitty beast burrowed in the biscuits, to say nothing of Wanda Hemphopple’s beehive hairdo. But most of the time, you wouldn’t know Shnookums was there. You see, my sister carries him around in her purse—well, actually, most of the time it’s in her brassiere.” It was my turn to blush, for having said the B word to a man.
Melvin groaned. From the sound of it, he was about to expire. I found this strangely exhilarating. The many times I have found myself fantasizing about Melvin’s demise—it is a sin, I know that—I never once considered death by mortification. That opened a whole new realm of possibilities.
Inspector Spratt laughed. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, Miss Yoder, but you’re a hoot.”
“And a holler,” I said, and then, remembering that fervid month following my faux nuptials, blushed again.
“Yeah, I just bet you are. Okay, now, where were we?”
“I was about to describe how that loathsome rat leaped from my sister’s bosom, and before we could stop him, he’d run upstairs. Of course, we had to chase after him, and when we did we discovered Dr. Pierce’s body. Believe me, we never would have set foot outside the foyer if it hadn’t been for Melvin’s dog.”
“My dog?” It was amazing how fast Melvin could rally. It had taken but a microsecond for the mantis to go from mortified to mad.
“Well, he’s your wife’s dog, and what’s hers is yours, right?”
Melvin knew exactly what I meant. Any inheritance that couple hoped to come into was going to have to come from me, not Melvin’s mother, who was a poor Mennonite farmer’s widow.
“Right,” he said sourly.
I turned to the inspector. “So when we found Melvin’s dog sniffing at the corpse like it was a bowl of kibble, I called 911. That’s why you’ll find my fingerprints on the phone.”
He nodded. “Well, that seems to do it for now. I assume I’ll have no trouble reaching you at your inn?”
“I’m there night and day—well, normally. And here’s my private number.” I handed him a card. I’d show that Gabriel Rosen a thing or two. He might have a lover and baby stashed upstairs at his newly acquired farmhouse, but this gal has a few tricks stashed up her modest, elbow-length sleeves.
In a rare occurrence, both Melvin’s eyes managed to focus on the same spot. In this case, Inspector Spratt’s forehead. “You’re letting her go? Just like that?”
Inspector Spratt smiled patiently. “She’s answered all my questions.”
“But she-she-she—” Melvin sputtered like a campfire in a drizzle.
I sailed regally out of the room. Proper exits are so important, don’t you think? At any rate, I found Susannah in the foyer shamelessly flirting with a uniformed officer.
“You leaving with me? Or you leaving with him?”
Susannah winked at the young man in blue. “But I hardly know him.”
“I meant your husband, dear. The man who once mailed his favorite aunt a carton of ice cream.”
“But at least it was Rocky Road, her favorite flavor.”
“Susannah!”
“All right. I’m coming with you. That is, if you’ll drop me off at the Material Girl.”
“The fabric store?”
“My sweetykins hates even going near that place, but Sergeant Walters here says they have some job openings.”
Sergeant Walters cleared his throat. “My sister owns it.”
I frowned. “That’s
a bit out of the way, and I’ve got a million things to do.”
“Please, sis? You don’t have to wait around. I’ll hitch home from there.”
“Okay, but just to drop you off.”
I gave Susannah the lift she desired, and as promised, didn’t stay. Naughty Eddy’s Haircuts and More is located right next door to the Material Girl. Not only does Naughty Eddy live up to his name, but he seems to take a perverse pleasure in trying to get naughty with me. As for the safety issue, my baby sister has hitched to Alaska and back. Yes, I know, hitching can be very dangerous, but so can Susannah. She is, after all, armed with that dog.
I made a quick stop at Pat’s I.G.A. in Bedford, and then drove straight home. I have a job after all. Being proprietress of the PennDutch Inn is a full-time occupation. It involves much more than just riding herd on a bunch of privileged folk who have more money than they can ever spend. Who do you think cleans the rooms of those folks who can’t be talked into the A.L.P.O. plan? Seventy-five-year-old Freni? Sure, she helps, but I’m the one who hauls the equipment around, and does the grunt work. Besides, Freni is needed most in the kitchen.
It was almost noon when I parked my sinfully red BMW in the shade of a large maple and hightailed it in through the back door. I may not be the world’s greatest cook, but that story about me burning water is just a rumor. And anyway, how hard can it be to cook those new frozen entrees Pat’s been stocking lately? Anything to stop the Moregold twins from taking over my kitchen. Bubble and squeak indeed! That’s all I did for the next two hours.
Much to my relief the kitchen was as empty as Aaron’s heart the day he told me he already had a wife up in Minnesota. There were no pots on the stove, no smells wafting from one of two commercial size ovens.
“Thanks heavens!” I said aloud.
A second later I heard a faint thud. I wouldn’t even have given it a second thought, had it not been followed by cries of distress. I flung the frozen entrees on the kitchen table and raced through the dining room and into the foyer. There, at the base of my impossibly steep stairs, lay Daphne Moregold.
Twenty-two
I gasped, but before I could run to her aid, Edwina Moregold came thundering down the stairs, a look of horror on her plump and usually placid face.
“Sis,” she screamed, “are you all right?”
Daphne moaned.
“Sis, speak to me! How bad are you hurt?” Daphne moaned again. I didn’t hear any intelligible words, but, apparently, Edwina did.
“Your back? Did you say it’s your back?”
“Yes, my back. Ooooooo.”
At that point my heart, which had dropped into my stomach, was being rapidly devoured by gastric juices. This was not the first time I’d encountered a woman prone at the bottom of my stairs. Miss Brown, however, had been dead, and incapable of suing. What’s more, she was already dead when someone threw her down the stairs.
I suppose a reasonable person might ask why, since a tornado demolished the original inn less than a year ago, I would go to the trouble to have a new set of impossibly steep stairs installed? The answer is simple: I’m sentimental. No, I’m not referring to Miss Brown, who resembled a burlap bag of potatoes when she literally hit bottom. I’m talking about the history of the inn. Its integrity, if you will. The inn is the site of my ancestral home, and it was those steep stairs—well, a set just like them—that generations of Yoders, Hostetlers, Kauffmans, and Masts used to get to the second-floor sleeping rooms. Why, once I even thought I saw the ghost of Grandma Yoder standing on those stairs, her face skewered into such a mean look of disapproval, for a second I thought she’d been resurrected from the dead.
One must keep in mind the elevator. Yes, it is rather small, and doesn’t give the smoothest ride in the world, but it is there and available for all guests. And it is free. Therefore, I do not feel in the least bit responsible for those guests who elect to take the stairs. Still, I have a generous and comprehensive insurance policy just in case. Alas, this appeared as if it might be one of those cases.
“I’ll call 911,” I said generously. If my premiums skyrocketed, so be it.
Edwina looked startled. “What’s that?”
“It’s like an emergency rescue service. They’ll get the hospital to send an ambulance out. They even dispatch the police if need be.”
Before I could stop her, Daphne struggled to a sitting position. “There really is no need for that. I’ll be all right.”
“All the same, dear, you shouldn’t move until a trained professional has seen you.”
The twins exchanged glances. Then in a gesture that tugged at the strings of my rapidly shrinking heart, Edwina stroked her sister’s hair.
“You see, Miss Yoder, we neglected to purchase travel insurance, and I’m not sure our U.K. insurance plan covers us here. We operate on rather a different system.”
“Still, your sister needs to be checked out. Tell you what, I have a friend who is a doctor. He’s a heart doctor, but still he’s a doctor. I’ll give him a call and see if he can come over and check you over. He lives right across the road.”
I would have thought the twins would have been grateful—well, Daphne at least. Instead, they appeared annoyed.
“I can manage just fine,” Daphne said. With Edwina’s help she managed to stand. “A little bed rest is all I’ll be needing.”
“Nonsense, dear. I’ll have Dr. Rosen over here in a jiffy.”
“Really, I’m quite fine.” Daphne took a small step forward and winced.
“You see? You’re not fine. You’re in pain. Now don’t move a muscle.” I ran to the phone.
Heaven only knows what Gabe was up to, and why it took him so long to answer. I was beginning to think he wasn’t home, or worse yet, up to no good with the mother of that baby I’d heard. But, and this is based on personal experience, even that shouldn’t take more than the equivalent of ten rings.
“Rosen here,” he finally said.
“Well, it’s about time, dear,” I said crossly. “I thought New Yorkers were known for their speed.”
“What?”
“As in a New York minute. Obviously, you were raised elsewhere.”
“Actually, I was raised in Manhattan. But I was born in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Perhaps that makes the difference.”
“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”
“I was just teasing a little. But I really was born in Bridgeport. Moved to Manhattan when I was three.”
“That’s nice, dear, but I have a situation over here. I could use your help.”
“What kind of situation?”
“A woman fell.”
In the ensuing silence, lasting peace came to the Middle East, and Calista Flockhart gained fifty pounds.
“Fell?” he echoed finally. “How?”
“I didn’t do it, if that’s what you mean! But she claims to have fallen down my stairs.”
“And what exactly do you want me to do?”
“Why, check her out of course.”
“Magdalena, I’m a cardiologist, and a non-practicing one at that.”
“I don’t know about New York City, but here in these parts neighbors help each other out.”
“Well, I’m all for helping a neighbor out, but this sounds more like an official doctor’s visit.”
“Who said anything about official, dear? I wasn’t planning to pay you.”
He laughed. “You’re really something, you know that?”
“Yeah, I’m a scream.”
As if on cue that dam baby started crying in the background. It again! I’d been trying to block that infant out of my mind, because where there’s a baby, there most often is a mother. Although at one point in our fledgling relationship Gabe had stated, in no uncertain terms, that he was unattached, that didn’t necessarily mean that was the case. Just look at Aaron, to whom I had offered the flower of my womanhood. Just a month later I had nothing to show for it but potpourri and a broken heart. Men are capable of lyi
ng, you know. Besides, I have ears that can hear com grow, and I know what I heard.
“What’s that noise?” I demanded.
“What noise?”
“Don’t play games with me, buster. It’s a baby, isn’t it?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“And I suppose its mother is there as well? In a manner of speaking?”
“No. I’ve never seen her mother.”
Her? Then an awful thought crossed my mind. “Just whose baby is it, and where did you get her?” “For the moment that’s my business. But if it will make you feel better, I acquired her legitimately.”
“Is that so? When did you get her?”
“Yesterday.”
I gasped. “Yesterday!”
“Is there an echo on this line?”
Be calm, I told myself. You owe it to Freni and Barbara to not let your feelings for this man get in the way of clear thinking.
“How old is your baby?”
“Eight weeks.”
“Eight weeks?” Even a doctor couldn’t pass an eight-week-old baby off as a newborn. Still, I’ve read in the newspaper where folks have tried things just as stupid. There is the true case of an Ohio woman who kidnapped a newborn boy from the hospital, took him home, and then called paramedics and claimed she had just given birth. It was one thing for the kidnapper
to try to explain the neatly tied umbilical chord, but even the dullest paramedic knows that babies are not born circumcised.
“Two months is what I said.”
“Can you prove that?”
“As a matter of fact I can.”
“Why haven’t you mentioned this baby before?”
“It was meant to be a surprise.”
“For whom?”
“I’ll be right over.”