Doc shook his head. “I see you’ve been there as well.”
“Not me; one of the Zug wives. Anyway, Doc, I’m at the end of my rope, and it’s about to break.”
“First things first. What’s this about that rich young doctor of yours leaving the most desirable woman in all of Hernia? When did that happen?”
“This morning! His mother’s conversion into a devotee of apathy was apparently the last straw. That-and he thinks I’m being controlling when it comes to you-know-who.”
“He’s right on that score,” Doc said sternly. “A man should be in charge of his own genitalia.”
“What?”
He shook his head again. “And really, don’t you think that now you’re a married woman you should move past cute names like you-know-who? Belinda and I-”
“TMI to the max!” I cried, clamping my hands over my ears. “And anyway, I was referring to Little Jacob; that’s who the Babester thinks I have control over.”
“Hmm, he may be right on that score too. Some folks, I hear, can’t even agree on how to change a diaper. Here, let me give you a little test.” Doc reached over and tossed my napkin back into my lap. “Let’s pretend for a moment that that’s a diaper. Show me how you’d fold that.”
I stared at the square of white cotton-poly cloth. “To be honest, Doc, I wouldn’t, because I use disposables.”
“Well, how would you fold them?”
“You don’t fold them, Doc. They come preshaped with little tucks all around the leg holes for a snug fit so that nothing seeps out. And one doesn’t use pins anymore; the diapers self-fasten.”
Doc rubbed the snow-white stubble on his chin. “Dang, I guess I’m further behind the times than I thought. And since I’m obviously not the genius I’d like to think I am at relationships, perhaps we should move on to the subject of Miss Jay. Now, there was a woman who could make a train jump its tracks.”
“Excuse me?”
“I hate to speak ill of the dead, Magdalena, but Minerva J. Jay was Jezebel, Delilah, and Mata Hari rolled up in one very large package. I’m ashamed to say that no heterosexual man could possibly have resisted her.”
“You don’t mean-you do mean! Doc, how could you?”
“It was years ago, Magdalena. I was a much younger man, maybe just in my mid-sixties. I was still practicing veterinary medicine. At any rate, she brings in this stray kitten that’s been hanging around her garbage can. The poor thing has a broken leg that needs to be set, and even though large farm animals are my specialty, I do it. She asks me how much, and I say five dollars, on account of I don’t know what else to charge for something I’ve rarely, if ever, done. Then she notices I have a huge pile of paperwork in my so-called office and volunteers to help out-just for an hour or two on weekends.”
“I don’t remember that!” I could practically feel my blue eyes turn the color of Irish moss.
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Magdalena; it didn’t last long. She thought she noticed a bit of laxness in the way I reported my taxes and she threatened to go to the IRS.”
“Unless what?”
“Unless we did the mattress mambo, as you so quaintly put it.”
“You didn’t! I mean, how could you possibly perform the bedroom bossa nova with someone who was trying to blackmail you?”
Doc recoiled in genuine surprise. “I’m a man, Magdalena. More important, I’m a mortal-unlike someone in this room.”
I sighed. “Sorry. That really wasn’t any of my business. Anyway, Doc, Minerva was killed by a lethal combination of legal medications that somehow got into her bloodstream via our pancakes. Since only seven members of the Beechy Grove Mennonite Church Brotherhood were stationed in the kitchen that day, it stands to reason that one of them is responsible. Right?”
He nodded slowly. “Were the drugs altered in any way by heat? I mean, is there any chance Minerva downed them herself?”
“No, they were in fact cooked in the pancake batter.”
“And nobody else had access to the kitchen?”
“The volunteer servers pretty much stayed in the fellowship hall and the platters were passed back and forth through the door. This saved a lot of bumping into one another. However, we did allow quick passage through the kitchen to those who were desperate to use the restrooms.”
“Well, then I’d say-”
“But Doc, my kitchen volunteers were too busy mixing batter, frying, and flipping to have put up with anyone coming close enough to drop anything in those big aluminum bowls.”
“In that case, I’d have to say-”
“But they think I’m being unfair, that I’m not widening the investigation enough. So they scheduled an intervention lunch! Can you believe that? Meanwhile, I thought I was going there to put the screws to the Zug wives, since I can’t seem to make heads nor tails of their husbands.”
“Where was the intervention?”
“Wanda Hemphopple’s Sausage Barn. Just before I came here.”
“So you’d already eaten. I knew that lactating animals had increased appetites, but-”
“No, I didn’t eat; the whole thing was a bust. Literally. You see, Merle Waggler split his pants. Unfortunately, he goes about without skivvies, so were all able to see that it would be more appropriate if he was named Wiggler, rather than Waggler. Other than that, it was a waste of time.”
Doc chuckled briefly. “Who called this meeting?”
“Apparently the handsome young Elias Whitmore.”
“Pardon me? What did you say?”
“What do you mean?”
“You called this young fellow handsome.”
“I most certainly did not!”
“I may be losing some of my hearing, Magdalena, but I’m getting better at reading lips. Besides, you look practically smitten with him.”
“What a silly thing to say!”
“Yeah, well I’ve got a bad feeling about this kid; I’ve never liked him.”
“How come?”
“That house of his up on Buffalo Mountain, for one thing.”
“But it’s beautiful!”
“It’s crap.” Doc was at liberty to cuss, having freed himself from all religious strictures the day he joined the Marines back in the Civil War-or whenever that was.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Wrong with it? For one thing, it ruins the view from on top of Stucky Ridge. You’re not supposed to be able to see any houses on top of the mountain from up there. Nada. Not a one. And then there’s the noise. All that Holy Roller Christian rock music that kid plays, and the car lights bobbing back and forth. You can’t tell me there aren’t drugs being bought and sold.”
“You’re equating Christian rock with drugs?”
“Uh-well, no. But face it, Magdalena, these young people today have the morals of alley cats.”
“Meow?”
“Touché. But I still think this kid’s bad news, and if he’s the one who organized the so-called intervention, then I say focus your investigation on him. He’s trying to divert your attention away from the fact that he’s the one who murdered Minerva J. Jay.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“Doc, if I recall correctly, you predicted that a moon landing would lead to the moon veering out of orbit, and that it would most probably head to Earth and kill us all within two years.”
“Yeah, but ‘one swallow doth not a summer make.’ William Wordsworth, by the way.”
“Yes, but he was misquoting Aristotle, who said ‘one swallow does not make a spring’-of course not in English.”
Doc grunted. “And you wonder why I find you so dang attractive. Now’s your chance, Magdalena. Get rid of that interloper from out of state, then marry me. With your looks and brains, and my life experience-the world would be our oyster.”