“You ain’t gonna go blind looking at a naked kid,” the girl said.
“That depends on whether or not I feel compelled to poke my eyes out.”
“Good one,” the boy said.
“Shut up,” the girl said.
“Don’t use that kind of language,” I said.
“Why not? You did.”
“I’m a grown-up; we have different rules.” I flashed them a benevolent smile. “Now, kids, you said that Alison Miller isn’t here, but do you know where she might be?”
The boy shook his head.
“Me neither,” the girl said.
I was about to deliver a short but pithy parting lecture, when a second girl bounded down the stairs, stumbled, and landed at my feet. She gasped when she looked up and saw me.
“Miss Yoder!”
“Levina Nichols, as I live and breathe. Does your mother know you’re here?”
“Of course she does; not that it’s any of your business. I come here all the time. This is my aunt’s house, you know.”
“Indeed, I do. And that’s why I’m here. I was hoping to find Alison. For some inexplicable reason, she seems to find you Nichols girls more entertaining than the fleshpots of Hernia.”
“Man, this lady’s nuts,” Jimmy said.
I favored him with a frown. “Nuttier than a PayDay bar, so be careful how you speak to, or about, me. There’s no telling what I’ll do when I’m provoked.”
“Weird,” Jimmy’s girlfriend said.
“Speaking of weird,” Levina said, “you try looking for Alison at that weird Amish kid’s house?”
“Mary Ruth Westheimer?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Alison isn’t there. I called.”
She shrugged casually. “Well, that’s what she said on her cell phone when that guy was giving us a ride. I thought she was talking to you- But hey, it’s not like she doesn’t lie to me too. Alison’s awfully smart.”
I counted to three in order to properly absorb the compliment to my stepdaughter, then I morphed into manic mom mode. How dare that child ask permission to stay with a nice Christian family for the weekend, when all along her goal was to hang out with the likes of the Nichols cousins? As I huffed and I puffed, possibly even pawed the carpet, the most salient point popped into my perennially alliterative mind.
“What guy? Who gave you the ride?”
“I dunno. Just some dude who was driving by.”
My instinct, which I suppressed, was to grab Levina by the shoulders and shake the words out of her. “When?” I demanded. “Where? I want details!”
“You ain’t gonna snitch to my mom, are you?”
“A snitch in time stops crime.” I slapped my wisecracking mug lightly. “But these lips are sealed, dear.”
“I ain’t your dear, and you gotta swear that you won’t say nothing to my mom. She thinks my aunt picked me up from school.”
“In her spare time between the three jobs?”
“Is that, like, sarcasm, Miss Yoder?”
“Undoubtedly so. But you have my word, Levina. All I want to know is the whereabouts of Alison.”
“Make her swear,” the resident Nichols girl hissed. “Like on a Bible or something-only we don’t got one of those.”
“She can’t swear swear,” Levina said, much to my surprise. “She’s one of them old-fashioned Mennonites. Kinda like being Diet Amish.”
“Oh.”
Levina turned back to me. “If you rat me out, Miss Yoder, you’ll be sorry.”
“Duly noted. Now spill.”
Levina was a big girl; not just chunky, but tall and raw-boned. One could easily imagine her in a Viking helmet-the kind with horns-yet her voice was soft and reedy, more befitting a ten-year-old than a young woman. Every few words, she paused to lick the corners of her mouth.
“We was ditching school, you see, on account of my aunt really didn’t have time to pick us up, and my mom-well, you don’t want to ride with her once she starts drinking. So you see, Miss Yoder, we was being safe.”
“Your logic is far better than your grammar. Continue, please.”
“So we tell my mom that we’re coming here after school, only we never show up at school-we ain’t the only ones who sneak into the woods when the bus driver ain’t looking.”
“Isn’t there supposed to be a teacher out front?”
“Yeah, there’s two of them. But Miss Hanson and Mr. Sullivan got the hots for each other, and they don’t never see what’s going on. Anyway, me and Alison was gonna walk from Hernia all the way into Bedford, but this truck pulls up, see, and this guy offers us a ride. We say sure, because it’s like ten or twenty miles into Bedford, so Alison gets in first, ’cause she says she knows this guy. I throw my backpack up on the seat beside Alison, but before I could climb in, he takes off.” Her tone turned plaintive. “Miss Yoder, I had to walk all the way here, plus that dude’s got my stuff, and it wasn’t just junk neither. My Gaps were in there.”
“What about Alison?”
“I ain’t seen her since then.”
“And you didn’t call me?” I wanted to throttle her thick neck.
“Hey, I didn’t think it was, like, any kind of emergency. Except for my Gaps being stolen. I mean, she knew this dude-at least she said she did.”
“Did you hear his name?”
She shook her thick, dark blond mane. “Nah. But you could just tell them two knew each other. She weren’t afraid of him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
By now, my legs were wobbly, so I elected to sit on an overstuffed chair-one that bore the remains of someone’s breakfast. Crushed Cheerios and sticky milk stains were suddenly meaningless.
“Levina, do you know what Alison’s dad-uh, my hus-band-looks like?”
“Yeah, who doesn’t? I mean, he’s really good-looking for an old guy, Miss Yoder. At least that’s what the other girls say. I wish my dad-”
“Was it him?”
Her locks got another workout. “Nah.”
Denial is not just the name of an Egyptian river. Who knew that I could be so good at it? Ever since my wedding night, I’d been living with the fear of Melvin Stoltzfus resurfacing in Hernia, but up until this moment, I had not entertained the possibility that Alison’s whereabouts might be linked to the murdering mantis. Neither had I considered this an explanation for Gabe’s disappearance.
I exhaled deeply several times, all the while praying for strength. “Levina, did this man with the pickup truck have a huge head set on a spindly neck, and did his eyes bulge and look in separate directions?”
“You mean like that police chief we used to have?”
“Exactly!”
“Nah, it weren’t him. This guy was more regular-looking.”
“Regular-looking? What does that mean? Can’t you remember anything else?”
She gave my questions a second or two of thought. “Honestly, Miss Yoder, I didn’t look at him all that much. Him being old and all, there weren’t no point. Then when he took off with my Gaps, I was so ticked I gave him the finger.”
“A lady doesn’t offer the finger, unless they’re ladyfingers, and in which case they should be served with hot chocolate that’s topped with whipped cream.”
“Geesh! You’re even crazier than I thought.”
“Coming from you, that is indeed a compliment.”
“And who the heck says indeed all the time? That’s just plain weird. I mean, ain’t that Spanish or something?”
“Definitely something. Now focus, dear. What color was the truck? Was it a pickup? What make? Did you see the license plate?”
Despite the fact that it was still April and cool outside, the big gal was wearing shorts, and a tank top that exposed a considerable portion of her midriff. But it was downright cold inside the Nichols apartment, and I could see the gooseflesh on her tummy and hefty biceps.
“It was a truck. That’s all I know. A pickup, I guess-you know, like one of them trucks that
’s been hauling them cow trailers into town all week. It might have been white, or a light color like that. Oh yeah, and it smelled like cow manure.” She actually used a less polite word, one Ida might have uttered, had she tried to say “sit.”
Although mine is an unscientific poll, let it be known that it is easier to squeeze water from a stone than it is to extract facts from a fourteen-year-old on a subject about which she is uninterested. It was time to quit while Levina merely disdained my mental state. After all, I might need to put the screws to her again.
“Thank you, dear, you’ve been very helpful.”
“Yeah, I guess I have. So, you gonna pay me?”
“Pay you? For what?”
“You know, like they pay them TV whatchamacallits.”
“They’re called interments,” the cousin pronounced with utmost confidence. “It’s a fancy word for tattletales.”
Suddenly, the goose that had been puckering Levina’s tummy pranced over my grave.
32
With Ida and Agnes to support me, I filed a missing person’s report with the Bedford County sheriff and, of course, our own young Chris Ackerman. Sheriff Dewlapp explained that since there was no ransom note, Alison would be treated as a runaway, which meant that the FBI would not immediately be involved. He did, however, issue an all points bulletin for the county, and sent a photo and description of her to every sheriff’s department in the state, as well as to several counties in Maryland. As for the Babester, because he was an adult, he would not be officially considered missing for another thirty-six hours.
Although I didn’t like it, I understood the sheriff’s position. What I couldn’t understand was Gabe’s position on his precious mother. Why had he agreed to have her live with him when he was single? And now with us? If it was to cut his meat for him- well, I’ve heard that capuchin monkeys have been trained to do similar things for the blind.
“So maybe,” Ida said, pointing a stubby finger at the sheriff’s midsection, “my son has run avay from his vife.”
“Excuse me?”
“That would be me,” I said. “I’m the vife.”
“Such a bossy voman you heff never seen.”
Sheriff Dewlapp stroked his neck. “Well, my wife can be pretty, uh, directive-but I would never consider skipping out on her. Not without at least leaving a note.”
“Yah? But mit a note you vould?”
“I’m not saying that-”
“You might as well save your breath, sheriff. The elder Mrs. Rosen hates my innards. You see, I’ve committed the terrible crime of getting her son to love me. Plus, I refused to take her along on our honeymoon.”
He smiled. “That bad, are you, Magdalena?”
“Even worse. Her precious baby boy and I danced the mattress mambo-if you get my drift. More than once, in fact. Not that it’s anyone’s business.”
“Oy, such a mouse on dis von. Eez it any vonder my Gabeleh’s gone back to New York?”
“New York?” The sheriff seemed to pay close attention to Ida for the first time.
“Yah, dat eez vhere vee leef.”
“Dat eez vhere you leef,” I snapped. “Gabe leefs here.”
“Ladies, please, I don’t speak Jewish.”
“It’s not Jewish, sheriff. It’s English with an accent-one that seems to get worse by the minute. And if you believe her preposterous story that my husband ran out on me, then don’t think for one minute that I’m going to continue to contribute to your reelection fund.”
“Why, Magdalena Yoder, is that a threat?”
“Don’t be silly, dear. We still have freedom of speech in this country, and I’m simply exercising that right. Besides, I didn’t say that I wouldn’t continue my support, I merely told you not to think it.”
“Miss Yoder-uh, Rosen-for someone who disapproves of dancing-with the notable exception of the bossa nova-you have mighty fine footwork.”
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely. You ever consider being a lawyer?”
“What? And lie?”
“With your record of stretching the truth, they might even waive law school. All you’d have to do is take the bar exam.”
“That is really not fair to lawyers,” Agnes said stoutly. “Many of them are more ethical than Magdalena.”
“Et tu, Brute?”
“I told youse to stop speaking Jewish,” the sheriff snapped. “Now ladies, I’ve done all I can do for the moment. Go get yourselves a bite of supper or something.”
We chose the bite.
Agnes was the only one who was hungry, but since the Sausage Barn is as good a place as any to collect one’s thoughts and put together a plan, I acquiesced to dropping by. In a similar vein, Ida needs no special venue in which to vent her intense dislike of yours truly.
Only Wanda Hemphopple seemed to disapprove of our plan. “What are you doing here, Magdalena?” she demanded. “We only serve breakfast, and it’s almost suppertime.”
“Too true, dear. But the breakfast you do serve is available until ten p.m.”
“Humph.”
“That’s harrumph, dear.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Look it up in Webster’s, if you don’t believe me.”
“As it so happens, I did look it up. They’re both in there, and ‘humph’ is exactly what I mean in this context.”
Agnes, ever the friend, stepped in to rescue me. “Can we please dispense with the semantics before I starve to death?”
Ida stepped back in alarm. “Oy, and now dis von is anti-se-mantic. Vhen vill it ever shtop?”
I extended a rakelike arm, and pulled the little woman back into the conversation. “Wanda, what will it be? A big fat tip for some mediocre food and bad service, or no coins for your coffer, which, by the way, seems to be mighty hungry tonight as well?”
Wanda glanced around at her practically empty restaurant, and then zeroed in on me with a glare. “Okay, I’ll seat youse, but just so youse know, the Fat’s Where It’s At Platter is unavailable this evening on account of the new fry cook threw up in the grease catcher, so there’s nothing with which to adequately grease the griddle.”
“Grease the griddle, wear a girdle,” I said gamely, in an attempt to patch things over. Just because Wanda hates my guts, is no reason that I shouldn’t be concerned that our relationship might deteriorate to the point where she despises me.
“Was that supposed to be a joke?” she snarled. “Because if it was, I don’t get it.”
“Magdalena, Magdalena,” Agnes chided. “Fat jokes are so not in.”
“But it wasn’t a joke; it was merely a witticism, and not aimed at anyone in particular. Honestly, Wanda, you’re almost as touchy as that Pearlmutter woman.”
“Jane Pearlmutter? The one whose Holstein took first place in the competition?”
“The very one. It makes you wonder what that very handsome husband sees in her. By the way, how do you know who won? I mean, the competition has only been over for a couple of hours. Were you there when the prize was presented?”
“Humph. Some of us have to work, Magdalena. Besides, this is Hernia we’re talking about. I bet you a dozen people either called with the news, or stopped in before the guilty party itself showed up.”
“The Pearlmutters were here?”
“You sound surprised. You think them New York types are too highfalutin for my establishment?”
I glanced at Ida. “I certainly wouldn’t say that; I’d be more likely to say that the word ‘establishment’ is a bit highfalutin for a place like the Sausage Barn.”
“Oh yeah? They must have liked my food, because they weren’t gone more than twenty minutes when they came back for more. You should have seen what they carried out with them.”
“Wanda, dear, asking for a doggie bag is not the same as endorsing one’s cuisine. Maybe they just didn’t want to offend you by leaving it on their plates.”
She rolled her eyes-and I’m not exaggerating when I say tha
t the left one almost got stuck in the “up” position. “These were orders to go, you idiot.”
“When did you start offering carryout service?”
“Only for the last eight years. I’m sure it’s skipped your notice because you’re too busy licking the last speck of my terrible food off of your plate.”
“Well, I must say that no restaurant in the tri-county area can cook bacon like your guys. Nice and crisp on both ends, with just a little play in the middle.”
Tamar Myers Page 18
