“I was about to throw myself into my husband’s arms,” I said, “and possibly even do unseemly things in front of our firstborn. To whom am I speaking, by the way?”
Gabe reached for me, but I stepped adroitly away. “It’s not too late, hon,” he said.
“We’ll talk later,” I said to him, and mashed my cell phone hard against my ear. “If you don’t tell me who this is, I’m hanging up.”
“This is Agnes Mishler, for crying out loud! I’m your best friend.”
“Oh. So you are. Look, Agnes, dear, this is not a good time to give you the recipe for chicken walnut salad-”
“This isn’t about a recipe, Magdalena; it’s about Wanda Hemphopple.”
“Just consider the source, dear, and let her remarks-whatever they were-slide off you like rain from a greased duck.”
“Oh no, she didn’t say anything bad about me. But she’s here, and she says that she knows who killed Elias Whitmore. Is he really dead, Magdalena?”
I grew up with the knowledge that the Hernia grapevine was somehow quicker than the telephone, but even I was stunned. “That’s impossible. He was killed just last night. Late last night.”
“Squashed to death with a steamroller, right?”
“Slap me up side of the head and call me Debbie Sue!”
“What?”
“Never mind; I just always wanted to say that. What else did Wanda tell you?”
“That’s it, except that she needed to use the little girls’ room.”
“Agnes, I keep telling you that you’re not a little girl, so using that expression is demeaning. Do you think that the president of the United States visits the ‘little boys’ room’?”
“You’re digressing, Magdalena. You’re fiddling on your soapbox while Rome burns.”
“Touché for the mixed cliché. What is Wanda doing now?”
“I offered her some coffee and a store-bought cinnamon roll, but she’s very agitated. She keeps pacing the kitchen. And every now and then she looks this way-into the living room. That’s why I’m having to whisper.”
“I’ll be right over,” I said. “Have your uncles entertain her, if you must, but whatever you do, keep her there.”
Although Agnes lives in the country, and on the opposite side of Hernia, thanks to some creative driving, I was there much quicker than one might think, if one were to go by the posted speed limits.
30
Wheat Germ and Buttermilk Cakes with
Peach and Cinnamon Maple Topping
1½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
½ cup wheat germ
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon baking soda
1¾ cups buttermilk, or more as needed
4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, melted
1 large egg
Cinnamon Maple Topping (recipe follows)
1. Combine the flour, wheat germ, sugar, salt, and cinnamon in a large bowl. Sieve the baking soda into the flour mixture. Stir to blend.
2. In a separate bowl, whisk the 1¾ cups buttermilk with the butter and egg until blended. Add to the flour mixture and stir just until blended. If the batter thickens too much while standing, stir in a little more buttermilk, about 1 tablespoon at a time, to thin slightly.
3. Heat a large nonstick griddle or skillet over medium heat until hot enough to sizzle a drop of water. Brush on a thin film of vegetable oil, or spray with nonstick cooking spray. For each pancake, pour ¼ cup batter onto the griddle or into the skillet. Adjust the heat to medium-low. Cook until the tops are covered with small bubbles and the bottoms are lightly browned. Carefully turn and cook the other side until lightly browned. Repeat with the remaining batter.
4. Serve the pancakes warm with the warm topping.
MAKES ABOUT TWELVE 4-INCH PANCAKES.
Cinnamon Maple Topping: Melt 1 tablespoon unsalted butter in a medium skillet over medium-low heat. Peel and cut 2 large peaches into thin wedges. Add the peaches to the butter and cook, stirring, to coat and heat through. Sprinkle with 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice and ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon. Stir to coat. Add ½ cup maple syrup, or more, to taste, and stir to blend. Gently heat. Do not boil.
31
Agnes Mishler would love to live in town, but she feels responsible for her two elderly uncles. They have to live in the country; after all, the Mishler brothers are nudists who spend a great deal of time outside playing badminton, horseshoes, and shuffleboard. Even on this relatively balmy late April morning, I could tell at a glance that neither man had converted to the Jewish faith since last I’d seen them.
I waved at the uncles as I zoomed past them, and then I abruptly squealed to a stop in front of Agnes’s back door. The uncles fled like a pair of wild albino chimpanzees, but Wanda and Agnes struggled to be the first to reach me. Wanda, being a good deal thinner-and meaner, I might add-made it through the kitchen door first.
“Don’t listen to a word she says, Magdalena. I don’t know anything about this case; I was just going on a hunch. Don’t you have a saying about that?”
“Hunching is not good for your back,” I said. “If you don’t believe me, just ask that fellow at Notre Dame.”
“Remind me to laugh, Magdalena. Honestly, I don’t know why people say you’re such a wit.”
“They do? Well, if so, they’re wrong by half.”
By then Agnes had squeezed through her own kitchen door and caught enough breath to speak. “Tell her everything, Wanda, just like you told me.”
When Wanda recoils, her beehive hairdo shoots like a launched rocket ship. “Nobody-and I mean nobody-tells Wanda Hemphopple what to do.”
“Fine, then I’ll tell her myself. You see, Magdalena, Wanda here has been having an affair with-”
“I was having a late cup of coffee after closing hours when Chief Ackerman happened to stop by.”
“What time was that?” I interjected.
“Three-maybe three thirty. Anyway, he looked really tired, and like he could use some coffee as well, so I let him in. That’s when he told me about Elias Whitmore and the steamroller.”
“Just like that? He’s a policeman, for crying out loud; he can’t be spilling the beans to civilians.”
“And what are you, Magdalena, an officer of the law?”
“There’s something dripping from your chin, Wanda. Here, let me give you a tissue.”
She actually reached for it, but Agnes intervened at the last second. “She’s being sarcastic as well. Ladies, we’re wasting precious time. Wanda, tell her what else happened so that we can get on with it.”
Wanda sighed like a teenager when asked to clean up her room. “Okay, just don’t be so pushy. Anyway, it didn’t exactly happen just like that. Maybe I fudged just a little. But he did come in for coffee, and he was asking questions, like had I seen anything unusual drive by, on account of the Sausage Barn sits right on the main road into Hernia. And I said that as a matter of fact, I had. When I was locking up the garbage cans after closing-you gotta do that, or else the raccoons will get in-I heard kind of a roar, and I looked up, and there was this flatbed with a steamroller on it, just flying by.”
“Did you get a good look at the driver?”
“Only a glimpse. He was wearing a hat-like a baseball cap. And he was real short. Or maybe he was slumping. So even if he’d been driving slowly, there wouldn’t have been anything to see.”
“What time was this? I need to know exactly.”
“Sometime between eleven thirty and twelve.”
“And then after you told the Chief what you saw, he told you about Elias?”
“Not right away. First he had a good cry in booth eight. Then I served him a piece of cinnamon apple pie à la mode, and then he told me about Mr. Whitmore. He said it would be on the news anyway the next day, so what was the point of holding back? Nice boy, that chief. If I was ten years younger-no, make that fifteen-”