by Tamar Myers
Susannah was undeterred. “Well, wherever it is, maybe Danny got snowed in there and left a message for me on his office machine.”
To his credit, Arnold Ledbetter snickered softly. “Well, there aren’t any messages to that effect on his machine now. I just checked it. Miss Entwhistle, I have absolutely no idea where he is—no, wait. One day last week, when I was passing by his office, I thought I heard him ordering two plane tickets for Aruba.”
“Aruba!” I said.
Susannah giggled giddily. “Isn’t that romantic?”
“But I wouldn’t even have been there to see the wedding! That is really unfair of you, Susannah!”
Okay, so I probably would have refused to go, no matter the location, but a gal has a right to be invited to her sister’s wedding. Especially if it’s in the Caribbean.
“I didn’t think you cared,” Susannah had the nerve to say. “Anyway, when I told you earlier that we had planned to elope, you didn’t get all in a huff. Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Because eloping to Canton and eloping to Aruba are not the same thing.”
Susannah smiled sweetly. “I would have sent you a postcard. You know, one of some muscular guy sitting alone on a beach. Wish you were here. That kind of thing.”
I confess that the sticky-sweet sentiment just expressed swept me away and I forgave her on the spot. After all, Susannah has never once given me as much as a birthday card. Too moved for words, I patted her arm affectionately.
Arnold Ledbetter peered up at us through his half-moon glasses. “Ladies, I’d like to stand here and chat, but I don’t have all afternoon.”
I shook myself loose from my reverie. “We understand,” I said.
“Well, I don’t,” Susannah said. “Danny said we were eloping this morning, and he would have been there unless—”
“Unless what, dear?”
“Unless he meant tomorrow morning?” Arnold suggested.
Susannah frowned. “Well, maybe. I do tend to get my days mixed up.”
“She’s not really used to days,” I explained.
“Then I’m sure that’s the reason for the mix-up,” Arnold said, and without further ado he dismissed us by strolling off down the hall.
Just to be on the safe side, I persuaded Susannah to stop in at the sheriff’s office and file a missing-person report. Much to my horror, the secretary had already gone home for the day, leaving only Marvin to deal with. A root canal would have been more fun.
“No can do,” Marvin said before I even finished telling him what I wanted.
“Why not?”
“The guy has to be missing forty-eight hours, that’s why. Anyway, what does his missing have to do with you? You the next of kin?”
“Certainly not!”
“I am,” Susannah said. “I mean, I would have been if he wasn’t missing. Isn’t that the same?”
Marvin stared at Susannah. It was the car headlights staring at the deer. “You love this guy?”
The deer stared back. “Would that make a difference?”
The man with the deer-sized ears smiled. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“Then let’s say I don’t love him.” A crude but observant person might have noticed that Susannah’s bottom twitched then, and her posture improved considerably.
Marvin’s ears twitched in response to Susannah’s bottom. “Then let’s say it does make a difference.”
“How big of a difference?” Susannah tottered suggestively forward on her clogs.
“Well, maybe I’ll just have to let you wait and see.” He winked with his left eye, which for some strange reason caused his right ear to wiggle.
“This is disgusting,” I said to both of them. “Even animals are more discreet.”
Neither of them heard me.
I tugged at a swirl that was Susannah’s sleeve. “What about Danny Hem? I thought you were engaged to him.”
“Who?”
“Danny Hem,” I almost shouted. “Mr. Big Bucks. Drives around in a silver Mercedes, not some dilapidated county vehicle. He was going to make you a rich woman this morning, or have you forgotten?”
“What?”
“Rich,” I said. “Lots of money—dough, moola, greenbacks, dinero.”
Susannah merely grunted and continued to totter closer to Marvin, who was twitching eagerly closer to her. It was like watching a pair of puppets propelled by internal magnets.
I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears. “We have a missing person here,” I reminded them. “There are more important things in life than hormones, you know.”
“Name one,” they said in unison.
“God,” I said. “Good health. Friends.”
But it was too late. The pathetic puppets had begun to paw each other.
I thought I would puke.
Chapter Twenty-two
Take it from me, nothing settles the stomach like a good hot meal. Fortunately Pauline’s Pancake House lives up to its name, and the same menu is used all day long.
“Jumbo tall stack, real butter, double order of bacon, and three smoked sausages,” I said pleasantly.
There was a staccato burst of gum popping and then a moment of silence. “I see you’re hanging around town. You’re fixing to move in on my territory, aren’t you, hon?”
I smiled politely at Pauline. The poor dear had undoubtedly been on her feet all day. Even the beehive atop her head had wilted and was slouched over to one side. If given the chance I would clue her in on industrial-strength bobby pins.
“Western Pennsylvania’s been snowed in, dear. I’ll make tracks as soon as the roads clear. I promise.”
I have yet to hear a diesel truck backfire louder than Pauline’s gum. “Shoot it to me straight, hon. You’ve got your eye on the old Pork and Cork on Taylorsville Road, don’tcha?”
I shook my head.
“No use lying to me, hon. I’ve seen that hungry look before.” She plopped herself down on the red vinyl seat across from me. “But it ain’t gonna work out for you, and I’ll tell you why. It ain’t gonna work out for the same reason it didn’t work out for Buzzy Reaves—he used to own the Pork and Cork. And here’s why.” She leaned halfway across my table, as if to divulge a secret. “Folks don’t want to go out that far from town to eat. Just as soon eat in Canton if they gotta go that far. Only the Aymish live out that far, and they don’t eat our food, you know.”
“Is that a fact?”
“God’s honest truth. And if it’s Aymish food you want to serve to the tourists, you’re too late. Place called the Dutch Kettle, just over the county line and across the interstate, packs them in by the busload.”
“Competition is the backbone of a thriving economy,” I said, just to tease her.
Pauline was not easily amused. “You’re liable to get your butt stomped if you try that here. A woman by the name of Jenny Wilson owns the Dutch Kettle, and I hear tell she’s one mean woman.”
“You don’t say.”
She nodded, the gum popping in rhythm. “So give it up, hon. Go back to Pennsylvania where you came from. And don’t even think about opening up a restaurant within city limits. This here’s a one-restaurant town.”
I tried to flash her my friendliest smile. Unfortunately this attempt has at times frightened infants and on several occasions motivated people to offer me aspirin.
“Pauline, dear, I own a very successful bed-and-breakfast back in Hernia, Pennsylvania. It takes up all my time, and it supplies me with all the money I care to spend. As soon as the roads clear back home, I’m out of here. In the meantime, I’d like my supper.”
The popping paused. “You ain’t just pulling my strings, hon?”
“Negative, dear. So relax, before you get them tied in a knot.”
“Seen you coming out of Marv’s office a minute ago,” she said, sounding calmer. “What’s up?”
I grimaced involuntarily. “Bad choice of words, dear. I went in there with my sister to report a missing person.”
“Anyone
I know?”
“Yes. Danny Hem.”
There was a gasp and the gum came flying at me. However, in a remarkable display of hand-and-eye coordination Pauline caught the errant wad and popped it back in.
“You mean Danny Hem of Daisybell Dairies?”
“That’s the one. Apparently he and my sister, Susannah, were going to elope this morning, but he never kept the date. We checked, and he’s not at home. He’d taken the entire week off from work, but we checked there anyway to see if there were any messages. There weren’t. Oh, and his car is missing too.”
“Aruba?”
“What?”
“Did he say he was taking your sister to Aruba?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
I waited patiently for Pauline to stop laughing. “Well?”
“That slime bucket never changes. When he first blew into town—after his uncle died and left him the business—he sweet-talked me into eloping too. And guess where we were going to honeymoon?”
“Not Timbuktu?”
“Aruba, imagine that! I’d say at least five Farmersburg gals, and who knows how many in Canton, have been promised Aruba, and not gotten as much as a rutabaga.” She found her own joke immensely funny and had to catch the gum several times before she calmed down enough for it to stay put.
“So Susannah was just used?”
“Like this gum.” Pauline plucked the offending wad from her mouth and stuck it firmly to the underside of my table. “Now, was that two orders of bacon and one of sausage, or the other way around?”
“Two bacon, one sausage. Leave a little play in the bacon. I don’t like it so crisp that it cracks. And be sure the sausages are evenly browned.”
I would like to say that Pauline was a professional and my order arrived as dictated. Unfortunately the bacon shattered on impact, and as for the sausages, the limp pink links that lolled across my plate reminded me of something I once read about in Susannah’s diary.
If I was a young Amish woman, I’d be nervous too if an Englisher drove up, unannounced, after dark.
“Yah? Who is it?” Barbara asked through a closed door. “It’s me, Magdalena Yoder. We met at the cemetery, remember?”
“Yah?”
“I came to talk with you, if that’s all right. Your family too.”
“My family has gone to visit a neighbor. Could you come back tomorrow?”
“Why yes, I suppose I could. But I’d be happy to talk with just you. It involves the death of your fiance, Levi, and it’s rather personal.”
The door opened a crack. “Miss Yoder, I have nothing more to say about Levi’s death; I thought I made that clear at the cemetery.”
Pointed shoes have several uses, and I managed to keep the crack open as I spoke. “Yes, I realize the subject must be very painful for you, but I know that you knew Levi’s death wasn’t an accident. I also think that you know it wasn’t possession either.”
The door opened wide enough for me to slip in. Perhaps it was the absence of the black outdoor bonnet, but Barbara Hooley looked different from the way I remembered her in the cemetery. Although the white everyday prayer cap covered most of her hair, which had been pulled back tight in the traditional knot, the hair in front of the cap was a pale golden blond. She was tall and thin, like Susannah, but far from flat-chested. What Yoder blood she had did not show up in her nose. In the eyes of the outside world, Barbara Hooley was a knockout.
“This way,” she said and led me through the kitchen to the front sitting room.
As in all Amish sitting rooms, the furnishings were functional rather than decorative. No framed photographs or paintings hung on the walls in the conventional sense. There was, however, a plethora of calendars, each with a brightly colored picture attached. Calendars are first and foremost functional, the bishops have ruled. I selected a sturdy wooden rocker beneath a calendar depicting the Grand Canyon in a February snowstorm.
Large baby-blue eyes, the color unaltered by contacts, gazed steadily at me. “Miss Yoder, my family will be coming back soon. What is it you wanted to say?”
“I’ve been investigating the deaths of your fiance and Yost Yoder, dear, and I am positive that neither of them was an accident. I am just as positive they weren’t possession.”
“Nor suicide,” Barbara said firmly. “So that only leaves murder.”
“I quite agree, dear. And although I can’t prove anything yet, I have a pretty good idea why both men were murdered, and who was behind it.”
“Please, go on.”
“You know as well as I do that the answer to both questions somehow involves Daisybell Dairies. Someone there didn’t want the cheese cooperative to succeed, and went to extreme measures to see that it wouldn’t. Just who is actually pulling the strings I’m not sure.”
“Mr. Hem, the new owner?”
I rocked silently for a moment. “Maybe, maybe not. He doesn’t seem all that competent to me.”
“Do you think it could be Mr. Ledbetter, then?”
“It could be. Anything’s possible. Do you know him well?”
She nodded. “Before the boycott, I worked at Daisybell Dairies. I graduated eighth grade when I was fourteen, and as soon as I turned sixteen Papa let me go to work. I worked there almost four years. Anyway, I was there when Mr. Craycraft died and his nephew took over.
“When Mr. Craycraft was alive he was always in charge. Even though Mr. Ledbetter was the general manager, everyone knew who was the boss. If there were any problems Mr. Ledbetter couldn’t handle, we knew where to turn. Mr. Craycraft liked it that way. He said he liked staying in touch.
“But when Mr. Craycraft died, things changed. Suddenly Mr. Ledbetter was acting like the boss, even though the nephew, Mr. Hem, moved right up here from West Virginia. If you ask me, that’s what started the bad feelings at the dairy, not what happened to Elsie Bontrager.”
“Ah. That’s very interesting. Did you know Elsie well?”
Barbara smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. Harrison Ford wouldn’t stand a chance with her. “Elsie was exactly my age and in my special group of friends. I’ve known her as long as I can remember.”
“What was she like?”
“She was beautiful,” Barbara said, and I could hear the wistfulness in her voice. Undoubtedly the woman had never looked in a mirror.
I smiled. “I mean, her personality. Would you say she was reliable?”
“Ach, Elsie was the salt of the earth. Some people think she made up the whole terrible story, but I know she didn’t. Elsie only spoke the truth.”
“Yes, dear, I’m sure. How would you describe her after the incident?”
The perfect face frowned. “That was the worst part for me. Seeing her changed so. She wasn’t the same Elsie at all anymore. It was almost as if—”
“She’d been possessed? Is that what you mean to say?”
Barbara stared at me. “Yes, that’s what I mean. That’s exactly what I mean. People began saying that she was ‘off,’ that the experience itself was so horrible that she was coping the only way she could. She was making herself crazy. But I don’t agree. It was something more than that, Miss Yoder. It had to be. Elsie was such a strong girl that even if what they say happened did, I don’t think it would be enough to make her act that way.”
I felt a shiver run up my spine. “You just said ‘if what they say happened.’ Do you think it might have been otherwise?”
Barbara shrugged. “I just mean that I never heard it from Elsie’s lips directly. One day Elsie wasn’t at work, and then I heard from someone who heard from someone who heard from someone. You know how that is.”
“Yes, of course.” It was that way the day Mama and Papa died. For some reason the sheriff who had been there at the scene never did talk to Susannah and me directly. News of our parents’ death spread like wildfire, and by the time Reverend Detweiler, our minister, drove out to break the news, we were among the last to know.
“Barbara, forgive me for being
personal here, but did Mr. Hem ever—you know, try—with you—”
“Miss Yoder! Of course not!”
“I’m sorry, dear, it was just something I needed to know. So, if he didn’t bother you, then I suspect he may not have bothered Elsie, either.”
“But Elsie was beautiful!”
“And what are you, dear, chopped liver?”
She stared at me.
I decided to rephrase it in lingo she might understand. After all, not everyone gets exposed to the same cultured folks that I do at the PennDutch.
“Barbara, dear, in case no one has ever told you, you are very beautiful. There are movie actresses who spend thousands of dollars trying to look like you, but never get anywhere close. Believe me, I know. I’ve met a few.”
She colored. “Ach, Miss Yoder, please don’t. That is Hochmut. Pride.”
“Why? Is it a sin to be naturally beautiful? I don’t think so. After all, beauty is a gift from God.”
“But not to be shown off in public,” she said quickly.
It was time to change the subject. “Were you there when Sheriff Stoltzfus came out to investigate Levi’s death?”
“No. By the time I got there, Mr. Stoltzfus was gone.”
“But you have met him, right?”
“Yah. On other occasions.”
“What do you think of him?”
She sat quietly for a few minutes, composing her thoughts. I knew it was against her principles to speak unkindly of anyone. Finally she cleared her throat.
“I had a kitten for a pet once. Not a regular kitten, but a wildcat Papa found in the woods. I named him Samson. When he was little, Samson acted just like a regular kitten. But when he grew up, I learned that Samson couldn’t be trusted. After he killed three of Mama’s chickens, Papa made me give him away to the zoo in Columbus.”
“I see. Theoretically speaking, Sheriff Marvin Stoltzfus could be killing a few chickens on the side, eh?”
She gave me the blank stare I deserved.
“So, do you suppose your family will be moving away, or do you plan to stick it out?”
She shrugged. “We are praying about it, Miss Yoder. It is a very difficult decision for my parents to make. Still, if so many of us move to Indiana...”
