voice trailed away as if she realized for the first time just how unpopular her chosen religion was.
She parked next to my truck. “Better take a hot bath when you get home,” she suggested as I opened the car door.
I shivered inside the blanket. “Like I need someone to tell me. Thanks, Cassie. I'm really sorry I disrupted your ceremony.”
“It's all right, Tori. In a strange way, it was actually kind of fun. One thing you should know-we believe in the threefold law, and that means that whatever you do returns to you threefold. It's something I think about every day as I go about my business.”
With that gentle and somewhat mysterious warning in mind, I drove home. My wet boots squished with every step as I entered my kitchen and flipped on the light switch. Noel, sleeping on top of the refrigerator, flew into a panic when she saw me in my strange garb.
“I know,” I said. “It's not the real me.”
Praxythea, a vision of loveliness in peach satin, came in from the front hall, wiping sleep from her eyes. “Oh, thank goodness it's you. I heard a noise and…” She stopped in the doorway, and her mouth gaped in astonishment at the sight of me. “What in God's name happened to you?”
“Don't ask,” I warned. “And that should be ‘What in Goddess's name!’”
With all the dignity I could muster, I wrapped my blanket tightly around me and swept out of the kitchen.
CHAPTER 20
“YOU'RE A VERY LUCKY LADY,” PRAXYTHEA said as she poured a cup of coffee for me.
The aroma of vanilla and hazelnuts rose from my steaming cup. Where had she found gourmet coffee in Lickin Creek? I winced and repositioned the ice bag I'd tied on my head. “I don't feel very lucky.” Below the knot on my forehead where a would-be rescuer had clobbered me with a pole, a black eye was threatening to erupt. I was also covered with bruises, and my stomach smarted where most of the skin had been scraped off. At least I didn't have to worry about getting a tetanus shot. I'd had one a few months ago thanks to an unfortunate incident at the launderette.
“I meant, think about what would have happened if those women had been less understanding and had called the police. After your very recent brush with the law over the same offense, it's quite likely you'd be drinking your coffee in a jail cell this morning.”
I hadn't thought of what I'd done at the cold-storage house as trespassing, but she was right. All my efforts to solve a crime and help Luscious had only succeeded in losing me my cat and nearly ruining my reputation.
Praxythea refilled our cups and placed another of her freshly baked homemade cinnamon buns on my plate. I decided she was nice to have around.
“Tell me what it was you were wearing when you came home last night,” she asked.
“It's called a ‘goddess dress.’ Cassie said she orders them from the Red Rose catalog.”
“Let me get a pencil. I want to write that down.”
I was pretty sure I knew what Praxythea would be wearing on her next TV appearance.
The grandfather clock out in the hall struck the hour. Reluctantly, I pushed away from the table. “I've got to get going. Trinity Evangelical is having its Christmas luncheon and greens sale today, and I promised to take some pictures for the paper.”
Praxythea jumped up. “That sounds so delightfully old-fashioned! I'd love to pick up some fresh greenery to decorate the house with. Some holly for the mantel and maybe some pine boughs for the staircase. Is it all right if I come along?”
“I'd like the company.”
I dressed in a hurry and we drove across town to the church. Judging by the number of vehicles in the parking lot and along the side streets, at least half of Lickin Creek was in Trinity Evangelical today. The sign on the door announcing the Christmas pageant had been canceled was a sad reminder of the tragedy that had happened here a few days earlier.
As we entered the basement auditorium, a woman seated at a folding table said, “That'll be five dollars, please, if you're going to have lunch.”
“I only came to take pictures…” I began, but Praxythea whipped out her wallet and paid for two lunches.
“Your names, please,” the woman asked. “I need to put you on the list.”
“Praxythea Evangelista.”
“The TV psychic?” When Praxythea smiled her acknowledgment, the woman jumped up from the table and came around to shake her hand. “Take my picture, please,” she said to me. “My kids aren't going to believe this without proof.”
I obliged, and she returned to her station.
“Name, please?” she asked, looking at me.
“Tori Miracle.”
While not expecting the same enthusiastic welcome she'd given Praxythea, I was a little disappointed when she asked, “Any relation to the Merckles over in Big Pond?”
“No. And it's Miracle.”
“It's a miracle the Merckles aren't all in jail. Have a nice lunch.”
“I'm not hungry,” I told Praxythea. “I just finished breakfast.”
“You can pretend to eat a little. I'm sure the money's going for a good cause.”
We picked up brown plastic trays and got in line. Although it was just now noon, at least a hundred people had already been through the line and were now eating at the long tables that filled the hall.
We carried our heavy trays over to a table and sat on metal folding chairs. “Good grief, there's enough food here for an army,” Praxythea said, staring aghast at the heaping plates and bowls in front of her. “And what's worse, I don't even know what most of it is. Except for the fried chicken.”
“I tried to warn you,” I said. “One thing about living in Pennsylvania is that the natives take food seriously. Since I've been here for several months, I can probably identify most of it for you.
“The slices are scrapple. Don't ask what it's made of if you want to enjoy it. And this is corn pudding. These cute little things are ‘pigeons,’ or steamed potato dumplings, and if you're afraid we don't have enough starch, we also have a side order of deep-fried potato balls.”
Praxythea picked something out of the oyster pie and sniffed it. “Are oysters typically found in Pennsylvania- Dutch cooking?”
I nodded. We were just getting started. I went on with my description of the food. “String beans with ham, sauerkraut with dumplings, corn bread, lettuce salad with hot boiled bacon dressing-”
“Why are the eggs pink?” Praxythea stared at the bright yellow and pink sliced eggs on top of her salad.
“They're soaked in beet juice. And of course we have the usual assortment of sweet-and-sours. Different kinds of chow chow, apple butters, preserved fruits, and homemade pickles.”
“They don't eat like this on a daily basis, do they?”
I said, “Look around you. Does anybody here look undernourished? Even the air in Pennsylvania is fattening.”
Although I had finished off several cinnamon rolls only a short while ago, the aromas drifting up from my tray were making me hungry. Conversation stopped, and we concentrated on eating. Praxythea ate everything, the first time I'd ever seen her do more than nibble daintily at her food.
We were settling down to Montgomery pie and coffee when Primrose Flack mounted the steps to the stage and took the microphone. “Good afternoon. It is really wonderful to see such a terrific turnout for our Christmas luncheon. The greens and baked goods will be on sale shortly in the next room, but before that we have a real treat in store. Our own choir soloist, Lydia Wrigley, is going to sing Andrew Lloyd Webber for us.” She led the applause as
