by Tamar Myers
I am not a screamer by nature—just ask Aaron Jr.— but I let out a holler that was heard two counties away when Dorothy Dixon tapped on my window with the barrel of her gun. Then like the fool I never suspected I was, I stupidly rolled down the window at her request.
“You’re quite a clever woman, Mrs. Miller,” she said. “You know, you might even be bright enough to be a writer. Too bad you won’t get the chance to find out.”
I was still gasping, aftershocks from my mega-scream. “It’s—Miss—Yoder—now. How did—I mean—your car—”
“Oh, that. You thought we didn’t see you? Well, then perhaps you’re not as bright as I thought. Maybe you should aim for being an editor.”
“But I stayed way behind you!”
“You’re driving a bright red BMW, for crying out loud. Astronauts on the space shuttle could have tracked your progress.”
“You left a pretty messy trail yourself,” I said, and knocked my standing down from book editor to literary agent.
“Yeah, well, who knew that Flower had it in her? Blackmail! And just because Angus likes to take a few creative photos now and then. They bring in good money, you know. A lot more than the ones he sells to so-called legitimate publications. Or my children’s books, for that matter. And Angus is good.”
“How could he do that? He’s a father, for pete’s sake!”
She seemed positively shocked. “Angus never photographed our children. He’s a wonderful father. And I certainly never do anything to harm them.”
“Thank heavens for that at least. So, what was Flower to you, their nanny?”
“Very good, Mrs. Miller.”
“Yoder,” I snapped.
She smiled. “We sponsored Flower—her real name is Mei Wua—on a student visa. She worked for us as an au pair girl while she went to college. Then like you, she got to poking around. But”—she laughed pleasantly—”that’s all ancient history.”
“No it’s not,” I said, and reduced my IQ to that of a book reviewer. “Flower’s new roommate showed up, and she’s not the giving-up type. Not to mention there’s a coal room full of pornography back at the inn. Oh, yes, and let’s not forget the license plate we found with your husband’s fingerprints on it.”
She blanched. “You searched our room?”
I nodded which, of course, isn’t the same as lying. Frankly, I was impressed with their cleverness. Throwing the telltale tag away back home in Philadelphia was a stroke of genius. Well, she was a writer after all.
“But you know,” I said, thinking aloud, which is a very foolish habit, “it didn’t make a lick of sense for you guys to leave Flower’s body at the intersection of North Main and Elm. Why didn’t you just leave her in the Festiva?”
“The Amish boys,” she hissed. “Flower left us a message on the windshield of our car telling us to meet her downtown at midnight. She thought it would be safer there.”
“Little did she know,” I said sadly. Hernia doesn’t roll up its sidewalks at dark, it keeps them permanently rolled up.
“Angus had just—well, you know what.”
“Strangled her,” I hissed. “He strangled her with pantyhose. Were they yours?”
“They were my best pair!” she wailed. “Guaranteed not to run, but they did.”
“You poor dear. Go on.”
“Well, anyway, those stupid boys came along. There wasn’t time to put her back in the car. I had to jump in that damn car and drive it away myself. I don’t drive a stick shift, and it about gave me whiplash.”
“Remind me to cry, dear.”
“It wasn’t easy catching up with the boys after that, but we lucked out Tuesday night and followed them up here. They have one of those Smiley Faces on the back of the buggy. I didn’t think they were allowed.”
“Teenagers are given more latitude,” I said, and then regretted having opened my big mouth. She didn’t deserve an explanation.
“They were smoking cigarettes and drinking beer! Can you imagine that?” Her free hand tugged at her tube top, which apparently was too tight.
Her self-righteous attitude infuriated me. One boy was dead, the other had nearly died, both thanks to her, and she begrudged them a moment of teenage rebellion?
“You two-faced—”
“Get out of the car!” I could hear the safety click off.
I opened the door. I would like to say that I flung it open so fast that Dorothy didn’t have a chance to get out of the way. But I had nothing to do with knocking her down. The truth is, I owed it all to Dr. Brack.
When the gun discharged, the bullet hit a metal support in the brace I was wearing, ricocheted, and then grazed Dorothy’s left temple. She fell like a ton of Freni’s pound cakes. Except for a sore rib and a throbbing headache due to the noise, I was virtually unscathed.
The diabolical duo were not professional criminals, and the gun I picked up from the ground was the only one they had. When he heard the misfired shot, Angus came running and was within range before he realized it. What Angus didn’t know is that I could no more have pulled that trigger than shared a bed with Aaron Jr. one more night. Some things are just not right— killing another human being and illicit sex rank right up there at the top.
Dorothy was stunned, but didn’t even have the courtesy to pass out. Restraining both Dixons would have been too much even for me, so I did the only thing I could. I hopped back in my car, and with the door still open drove it straight at Angus. He threw himself to the ground, as I knew he would, but it wasn’t a comfortable landing, and the last time I saw him—at the arraignment—he was still limping.
Samuel Kauffman was alive and lying in the backseat of the Dixonmobile. Dorothy had done a pretty good job of tying him up with hospital adhesive tape during their getaway ride. In fact, had she not been in the backseat, trussing him like a turkey, I doubt if they would even have noticed me following them. Needless to say, Samuel was frightened, but otherwise unharmed. In fact, his overall condition had improved so much that after a quick once-over by the doctor, he was reunited to the loving bosom of his family.
As for the terrible twosome, the state police picked them up on the turnpike less than an hour later. All three children had been left behind at the PennDutch. It was perhaps the nicest thing the Dixons had done for their children in ages.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It was a small family gathering, just Freni, Susannah, and I. Of course given the fact that Susannah was my sister, and Freni our double second cousin, and each of us was our own cousin, as well as a cousin to each other’s cousins, it was a crowded table after all.
“So,” Freni said, helping herself to another banana boat, my favorite comfort food, “you really are closing the inn for a week.”
“I have to,” I said, trying hard not to crack a smile, “I have no cook. You quit, remember?”
“Ach,” Freni said, “I was mad. I’m over it now.”
I patted her arm fondly, nearly causing the banana to fall in her lap. “I need a break anyway. I finally got through to London, and she said she understood. The truth is, she was thinking about canceling anyway. Will has his first polo match Thursday, and Harry gets his braces off the next day. She sounded happy to stay home.”
“Ach,” Freni said, “those English and their children.”
“Mags, how come you didn’t tell me she was coming?” Susannah whined.
“So, they are going to put the children in foster care?” Freni asked as she tore open a packet of saltine crackers.
“She would never do that!” Susannah gasped.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Not her,” I said. “Freni was talking about the Dixons. They’re in temporary foster care, but I think there’s an aunt somewhere that might come into the picture.”
“Yah,” Freni said with satisfaction. “Blood is thicker.”
“Than what?” Susannah asked.
I turned to Freni. Sometimes the Christian thing is just to ignore my sister. “You’ll be happy
to know that Shirley Pearson’s company is going to make a bid on the Miller farm. There might not be a WalMart there after all.”
“No WalMart?” Susannah wailed. “But they sell the cutest little lace panties!”
“Yah, the farm will be good news,” Freni said. She blushed. “Did you speak to the doctor?”
I patted her arm, and a slice of chocolate-covered banana flew across the room. Freni didn’t notice, and I pretended not to, either.
“Of course, dear. Dr. Brack will bemailing a custom- made brace to you within a week.”
Susannah howled with laughter. Shnookums howled, too, until I gently prodded my sister in the bosom with a fork.
“Shhh,” I whispered.
“It isn’t that, Mags,” Susannah said, only slightly subdued. “It’s the two of you and those stupid braces. You make it sound like there’s something to them after all.”
“One of those braces saved my life,” I said hotly. “In fact, Terry Slock was so impressed with it that he’s abandoned his idea of beginning a new religious cult and is going to do TV ads for Dr. Brack.”
“Ugh,” Susannah groaned, “what a waste.”
“Religion might have done him some good,” I said. “He dabbled in pornographic films, you know.”
Freni looked lost.
Susannah clapped her hands to her cheeks. “You’re kidding!”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Like what?”
I glanced at Freni. She was discreetly glancing away. There was no reason not to tell Susannah, since we were all girls, just having a bit of girl talk.
“Her Cup Runneth Over.”
“Oh, that.”
“You saw it?”
“No, but Melvin did. At a bachelor party. He said it was boring.”
I supposed that was good news. “Well, anyway, Terry said that in his brief excursion through that end of the business, he came across some of Angus Dixon’s filthy work. He tried to tell me the day of the flash flood, but he said I wouldn’t listen.”
“So, what else is new?” Freni and Susannah chorused.
I glared pleasantly at them in turn. “I sort of miss the young man. I hope he has a brilliant new career selling braces.”
“TV ads with his shirt off,” Susannah drooled. “The man is a hunk.”
“He’s an aging baby-boomer, for pete’s sake. Besides, you already have a boyfriend. You shouldn’t be lusting after anyone else.”
Freni read the pain in my voice. “Ach,” she said sympathetically, “it hurts about your Aaron, doesn’t it?”
“Only a stabbing pain in the gut whenever I think about it. I felt relieved this morning when I finally put Pops on the plane. Maybe now I can start putting that all behind me and concentrate on the future.”
“To new beginnings,” Susannah said and raised her water glass.
I obliged her by clinking my glass against hers. “To new beginnings.”
“Yah,” Freni said and took a bite of banana.
“To my marriage to Melvin,” Susannah said, and in the process knocked my socks off.
Shnookums howled mournfully
Chapter Twenty-nine
Banana Boats
bananas
peanut butter
chocolate syrup
family and friends
Peel bananas and cut in half lengthwise. Spread one of the halves with a thick layer of peanut butter. Press the two halves together and drench with chocolate syrup. Eat in presence of family or friends.
Discover Tamar Myers
An Amish Bed and Breakfast Mystery with Recipes Series (PennDutch)
Too Many Crooks Spoil the Broth
Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Crime
No Use Dying Over Spilled Milk
Just Plain Pickled to Death
Between a Wok and a Hard Place
Eat, Drink, and Be Wary
The Hand that Rocks the Ladle
The Crepes of Wrath
Gruel and Unusual Punishment
Custard’s Last Stand
Thou Shalt Not Grill
Assault and Pepper
Grape Expectations
As the World Churns
Hell Hath No Curry
Batter Off Dead
Butter Safe than Sorry
PennDutch Mystery Box Set 1-3
Belgian Congo Mystery Series
The Witch Doctor’s Wife
The Headhunter’s Daughter
The Boy Who Stole the Leopard’s Spots
The Girl Who Married an Eagle
Den of Antiquity Series
Larceny and Old Lace
Gilt by Association
The Ming and I
So Faux, So Good
Baroque and Desperate
Estate of Mind
A Penny Urned
Nightmare in Shining Armor
Splendor in the Glass
Tiles and Tribulation
Statue of Limitations
Monet Talks
The Cane Mutiny
Death of a Rug Lord
Poison Ivory
The Glass is Always Greener
Non-Series Books
Angels, Angels Everywhere
Criminal Appetites (anthology)
The Dark Side of Heaven
About the Author
Tamar Myers was born and raised in the Belgian Congo (now just the Congo). Her parents were missionaries to a tribe which, at that time, were known as headhunters and used human skulls for drinking cups. Because of her pale blue eyes, Tamar’s nickname was Ugly Eyes.
Her boarding school was two days away by truck, and sometimes it was necessary to wade through crocodile infested-waters to reach it. Other dangers she encountered as a child were cobras, deadly green mambas, and the voracious armies of driver ants that ate every animal (and human) that didn’t get out of their way.
At sixteen, Tamar's family settled in America, and she immediately underwent culture shock: she didn’t know how to dial a telephone, cross a street at a stoplight, or use a vending machine. She lucked out, however, by meeting her husband, Jeffrey, on her first day at an American high school. They literally bumped heads while he was leaving, and she entering, the Civics classroom.
In college Tamar began to submit novels for publication, but it took twenty-three years for her to get published. Persistence paid off, however, because Tamar is now the author of three ongoing mystery series: One is set in Amish Pennsylvania and features Magdalena Yoder, an Amish-Mennonite sleuth who runs a bed and breakfast inn; one, set in the Carolinas, centers around the adventures of Abigail Timberlake, who runs an antique and collectable store (the Den of Antiquity); and the third is set in the Africa of her youth, with its colorful, unique inhabitants.
Tamar now calls North Carolina home. She lives with her husband, a Basenji dog named Pagan, two rescue kitties: a very large Bengal named Nkashama, and an orange tabby cat who goes by the name of Dumpster Boy. Tamar enjoys gardening (she is a Master Gardner), bonsai, travel, painting and, of course, reading. She's currently working on her next Amish mystery.
tamarmyers.com
