by Tamar Myers
“I can’t move with this knife at my throat,” I said. He pulled the knife back a few inches to allow me room to stand. “Now, get up.”
“Billy, please,” I begged. “You can tie me up here if you want to. Gag me, even. And then take off. I won’t cause any trouble until morning.”
I thought I heard Billy Dee grunt in anger then. I closed my eyes and waited for the slicing edge of the knife, or at the least to feel the onslaught of his fists. I would rather have died with Mama and Papa in the tunnel, but if this was how I had to go, I prayed he would do it quickly.
But no pain was forthcoming. Instead, the knife seemed to drop into my lap, and then slid harmlessly to the floor. I heard the ping of its blade as it struck the linoleum. As for Billy Dee, by the sound of it, he too had hit the floor, just seconds after the knife.
I kept my eyes closed, afraid that if I opened them the horror would somehow return.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, not Billy’s, that much I knew. “Magdalena?”
I forced my eyes open and could hardly believe what I saw. “Doc!” I screamed.
The hand on my shoulder patted me gently.
“There, there, Magdalena, it’s all right now. The son of a bitch is out like a prizefighter. Of course I gave him twice the dose I gave Susannah.”
“What?”
Old Doc waved the syringe proudly. “I’m just glad the bastard didn’t hear me sneaking in and turn around. Anyway, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, like they say. When you hung up on me, I knew something was terribly wrong. Would have gotten here even sooner, but I had to wait two minutes until it was time for my damn cake to come out of the oven. Of course I didn’t get a chance to frost it.”
“What?”
Doc smiled magnanimously. “No big deal. It’ll be nice and cool by the time I get back. Best time to frost it anyway. Shall I make it chocolate or vanilla? Which do you prefer?”
“Caramel,” I said, just to be difficult.
Chapter Twenty-four
By tacit agreement, we waited until our second piece of cake before we brought up the previous night’s events and the circumstances leading up to them. The first piece of cake, both Doc and I understood instinctively, was to be savored. One can’t pay proper attention to aroma, texture, and taste when one is talking.
Having swallowed my first bite of the second piece, I felt free to fill Doc in on some of the missing pieces of the story.
“It was the quilt,” I said. “That was the main thing. It kept bothering me in the back of my mind, but I was just too stupid to see it. I should have known right away, of course, when I saw Linda clutching Mama’s dresden plate quilt.”
It is permissible to talk with cake in your mouth, if you’re on your second piece, so Doc did. “What’s so damn special about that quilt? As I recall, you keep quilts in all the rooms.”
“But that’s it exactly! Every room has a quilt in it, but it’s a particular quilt. Each room has a quilt with a different pattern on it. The quilt, the dresden plate quilt that Mama made, belongs in Billy Dee’s room, not Linda’s.
“So you see, when I saw it in Linda’s room, I knew something was out of place, but it just didn’t register.”
“Couldn’t Mr. Grizzle simply have loaned it to Linda?”
I shoved in a bite of Doc’s incredibly moist cake. “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what happened. Linda had mentioned to Billy Dee that she was feeling chilly, and so he offered to bring her a cup of herbal tea and an extra quilt. Of course, that was the perfect opportunity for Billy Dee to administer the poison.
“As soon as the poison started to take effect, Billy Dee grabbed the teacup and extra quilt and got out of there.”
“I see,” said Doc, “except that Mr. Grizzle, being your average, insensitive man, grabbed the wrong quilt.”
“Well, they do look sort of alike,” I surprised myself by saying in Billy Dee’s defense. “Linda’s original quilt was also a dresden plate pattern, but it wasn’t the one Mama made.” I swallowed hard and let the truth out. “Mama’s quilt isn’t nearly so nice.” Sorry, Mama, about that extra spin.
“More coffee, Magdalena?”
I nodded. “The weird part is, Doc, that Billy Dee seemed like such a nice man. He was always so polite to me, of course until last night.”
“Never fully trust anyone, Magdalena,” said old Doc sagely. “Want some more cake?”
I shook my head. “But Lydia, that was even more of a surprise.”
“Do tell,” Doc urged. “Melvin was rather cryptic when I called him this morning. Seems he’s not happy about having to share credit with you.”
“Ah, forget Melvin. He’s going out with Susannah tonight anyway. That’s payback enough.
“But back to Lydia. She too made a complete confession last night. I hate to say it, but Billy Dee was right on the money. Well, sort of. It was she who took the potshots at me. She’d stayed home that morning while Delbert attempted to take Garrett to the clinic. Apparently the Reams had had a fight that morning, because Garrett refused to clear some things up before his admission. Garrett, I mean the Congressman, changed his mind on the way there, but that’s another story.
“Anyway, when Lydia saw me set out for Freni’s across the field, she assumed it was Jeanette, possibly even meeting Garrett on a secret rendezvous. When she figured out it was me in the woods, she backed off. It was on her way back to the house, out by the barn, that she walked through some fool’s parsley, and the idea of poisoning Jeanette popped into her head.
“Although Lydia’s main objective was to get even with Jeanette, and to clear her out of the way for her husband’s presidential bid, she was not particularly reluctant to poison poor Linda as well. After all, Linda was concrete proof of her husband’s infidelity. Lydia, of course, knew that her husband wouldn’t eat that dreadful curry. He hates garlic, and she put four whole cloves in it.”
Doc hadn’t gotten a chance to appreciate any of Lydia’s finer qualities. “Yeah,” he said, “but she sure as hell didn’t care if she poisoned the rest of you. That woman deserves to fry until she’s a nice golden brown.”
I chuckled, perhaps inappropriately. “Whatever her ultimate punishment is, Doc, she’s suffering plenty in the meantime. Worst case of flea bites I’ve ever seen. It was like those fleas were just waiting for a nice, cultured English woman to come along and be their dinner.”
Doc smiled with satisfaction. “What about the Congressman’s aide, Mr. James, isn’t it? At dinner the other night you intimated that he and Mrs. Ream might be sweet on each other.”
I held out my cup for more coffee. “So I was wrong, Doc. That was all an act, at least on her part, to exercise control over him. Delbert, on the other hand, might well have a thing for Lydia. Melvin thinks it might have been Delbert shooting at Jeanette that first day out in the woods. He does, after all, carry a revolver to protect the Congressman.”
Doc put down the coffeepot. “Or, it simply might have been the Congressman who shot at Jeanette, using his aide’s revolver. Unfortunately, we’ll probably never know the whole truth. Both of those men are as slippery as three-day-old meat.”
I was glad it was just cake we were eating and not a main meal. “At any rate, Doc, I think it’s possible that Delbert does carry a torch for Lydia. He was pretty broken up when Melvin arrested her. Anyway, he seemed much too eager to come across as gay, if you ask me.”
“Like he was sending up a smoke screen?”
“Exactly. But Lydia actually despises the man. Seems she blames him for keeping her husband supplied with drugs, and for keeping the secret of his affair with Jeanette for so long. By her own admission, she would have been happy to have him chow down on her vegetable curry as well, but she forgot that he’s allergic to garlic and therefore wouldn’t touch the stuff, even though he likes the taste.
“Unfortunately, poor Joel, who isn’t even on her hate list, had to suffer. But he’s doing all right now in the hospita
l. Jeanette’s still in critical condition, but I’m pretty sure she’ll pull through. After all, only the good die young.”
“Which means you were safe all along,” Doc teased.
I felt a goose walk over my grave.
“Maybe. But you know, I would have eaten Lydia’s vegetable curry if I had been there.”
Suddenly I felt angry, both at Lydia, who had violated my trust, and at Freni, whose fragile ego had given rise to the whole situation to begin with.
“One thing’s for certain, Doc, I’m never letting any guests in my kitchen ever again. Not even if I have to cook every meal myself.”
“Good idea,” Doc agreed. “There should never be more than one cook at a time in a kitchen. Two maybe, at the very most. Like they say, too many cooks spoil the broth.”
“Make that crooks, Doc.”
We both laughed, and I poured some more coffee. “Say, Doc, I might just be going on a date this weekend,” I said shyly.
Doc beamed. “I haven’t asked you yet, but sure thing, kid.”
I patted his free hand warmly. “Thanks, Doc, but it’s with someone else.”
Doc’s face clouded over. “Sam didn’t leave his wife, did he?”
“Get real, Doc. Jumbo Jim called me this morning. We talked for almost an hour.”
“You mean that hot dog fella down in Baltimore?”
“Chicken, Doc. And that’s the one. Turns out he got my number from information. He wants to come up this weekend and meet me. He thinks we might have a lot in common.”
“Why? Is he rich?”
I tried to look aghast but found myself giggling instead. “I don’t know if he’s rich, Doc. But we both run small businesses, and he’s my age—”
“Ah, so that’s it! You don’t have time for an old, bald man. Think I’ve lost the spark, eh?”
“Grass doesn’t grow on a busy street, Doc,” I said quickly. I had no idea what that meant, but I’d heard Susannah say it once or twice when she had bald boyfriends.
“And there’s no snow on the roof when there’s a fire inside,” added Doc. He seemed to have perked up.
“Like I said, Doc, this is only a maybe. He might not even show up.”
“Here’s hoping he doesn’t,” said Doc, as he served me up another slice of his deliciously moist cake.
I ate it anyway.
Chapter Twenty-five
Doc Shafer’s Cocoa Mocha Cake
2 cups sifted flour
1½ cups sugar
4 tablespoons cocoa powder
1 tablespoon instant coffee powder
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
¾ cup softened butter
2 eggs
1 cup milk
Mix the dry ingredients together in a large bowl. Add butter and eggs. Stir. Add milk and beat well until the batter is smooth. Pour the batter into two 8-inch layer pans that have been greased and floured. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cakes comes out clean. Ice when cool.
DOC’S CARAMEL ICING
2 cups brown sugar
1 cup heavy cream
3 tablespoons butter
½ teaspoon vanilla
Pinch of salt
Cook the sugar and cream over low heat for about a half hour. The cooking is done when a sample of the mixture forms a soft ball when dropped into cold water. At that point, remove the pot from the heat and stir in the butter, vanilla, and salt. Continue to stir until the mixture reaches spreading consistency.
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 Daugther
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
