Butter Safe Than Sorry

“The screws?”

“It’s a slight exaggeration,” Agnes said. “The screws Magdalena uses fit into table-mounted brackets so that method can only be done at her house. On the road-like this-she prefers to use flaming slivers of bamboo inserted under the fingernails.”

“Oh cool,” Dorothy said.

Amy lived in a third- floor walkup apartment in what might euphemistically be referred to as a working-class neighborhood. The stairwell smelled predominantly of cabbage, with just a trace of urine. It was a heady but familiar bouquet, for I had interviewed many suspects in her circumstances while working previous cases.

Apparently the girl had just beaten us home, because she was still wearing her coat when she answered the door. I saw the hesitation in her eyes before she tried to slam it shut. Not only was this an invitation for me to stay, but it gave me an opportunity to slip one of my slender size elevens in the open space, making it impossible for her to close the door all the way.

She sighed and rolled her robin’s egg blue eyes. “You might as well come in, Magdalena. Lord only knows, if I don’t let you, you’d camp out there all night. You’d probably even light a fire and roast marshmallows.”

“And weenies. I enjoy grilling weenies-just like I do grilling people. I grill them until they split open at the seams and threaten to fall into the flames.”

“I didn’t know weenies had seams.”

“Hmm. Well, in any case, here I am as big as life and twice as ugly. Good call, though.”

“Some choice. And you may as well let Agnes in, as well as the Whore of Hernia.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Whore of Hernia? Now that’s rude! I’ll have you know she’s our resident harlot, not whore. You don’t take money for sexual favors, do you, Dorothy?”

The principal woman under discussion pushed me aside. “That all depends,” she said in a disgustingly throaty voice. She looked Amy up and down. “What did you have in mind, sister?”

“Ooh,” Agnes said, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Cool it,” I snapped to Dorothy. I gave Agnes the “settle down” sign with my hands. “Ladies, I’m here to discuss the day of the attempted bank robbery, not to pimp out my grocer’s wife.”

Amy laughed nervously. “ Magdalena, no Mennonite I know would use such language-not even an ex-Mennonite. Are you sure you’re not a fraud?”

I held out my wrist. “Prick me, if you will, and see my Mennonite blood. And just two generations ago it was Amish. But all that’s beside the point. We’re here because we saw you with Pernicious Yoder III. We heard you, in fact. The two of you were striking a deal.”

Amy turned the color of congealed bacon fat. “You were spying on me!”

“Indeed, as is my duty.”

“He’s my boss. I work for him, remember? It’s my duty to do what he says.”

“Even if you know it’s wrong?”

She peeled off her coat and threw it over the back of a sagging and somewhat hideous red-and-green-plaid armchair. Then she yanked off her shoes and tossed them toward an open doorway. The polite, neat, young cashier that I had been so fond of in the past was gone, replaced by a slovenly young thing who lacked principles.

“Look, Miss Yoder, I didn’t invite you here, and I certainly don’t want to hear you lecture. Either you leave on your own accord now, or I’m going to have to call the police.”

“The police?” Agnes began wringing her hands like she was trying to extract water. “ Magdalena, we have to go.”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Dorothy said impatiently. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse and set to work on shortening her bra straps. “Up you go, girls-Nancy, Louise. If calling the police is what she wants, you two need to be ready to greet them.”

Agnes was aghast. “They have names?”

“Don’t yours?”

“Of course not! Magdalena, do your whatchamacallits have names?”

“They’re called breasts,” Dorothy hissed.

Although Agnes was my very best friend in the entire world, I wasn’t about to squeal on Esmeralda and Hermione-and certainly not with Dorothy and Amy listening. Besides, an idea had been forming in my little pumpkin brain that could be beneficial to both Amy and me. To everyone in my family as a matter of fact. And not only that-and this is not a Christian attitude, and I have since repented of it-what I was about to propose would really stick it to Pernicious Yoder III.

“Ladies,” I said, clapping my hands, “this is no time for girl talk.” I turned to Amy with a smile that stretched painfully from ear to ear. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it.”

The lass recoiled as if I were the Devil. “What did you say?”

“I said that I’ll double your pay-whatever it is.”

“Do you want me to work for you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Running an inn involves a great deal of bookkeeping and accounting, as well as greeting customers, and frankly, I don’t have the time to do either anymore.” I swallowed a tablespoon of annoyance before continuing. “With your bubbly personality and keen mind, I see you as a great fit.”

“Really?” Amy said.

“I think I’m going to puke,” Dorothy said.

“It couldn’t have been the crumpets,” Agnes said. “But just so you know, Dorothy, I have a good lawyer.”

I ignored the ignoramus asides. “Really,” I said. “You’ll be making twice the money; think about it.”

“Yes, but he offered me a promotion-with a new title: Chief Assistant Clerk in Training. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for that title?”

“Far too long, I’m sure. I tell you what: I was originally going to hire you as Chief Front Desk Manager in Training, but I am going to give you an instant, on the spot, promotion to Front Desk Supervisor.”

“But that’s a shorter title.”

“Exactly. The shorter the title, the higher the position. Think about it-Vice President Biden, but President Obama. In no time at all you’ll be working your way up to plain old just supervisor.”

“I’d take the deal if I were you,” Dorothy said. “ Magdalena ’s husband is a hunk-and then some. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“Ooh,” Agnes squealed, “pop her one.”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Amy said. “But what exactly is it that you want from me?”

I took off my shoes as well as my coat. “Make me a cup of hot cocoa, dear. And don’t forget to float lots of those miniature marshmallows on it-oh, and I’d like some ladyfingers to go with it. You know, for dunking.”

“Some what?”

“Ladyfingers. They’re a kind of cookie.”

“I’ve never heard of them. But I have some windmill cookies with almond slivers in them. And I might still have some gingersnaps.”

“Bring them both, dear. After all, I’m one of those folks with a one-word title.”

“Which is?”

“Boss.”

“ ‘Bossy’ is more like it,” someone said, but I ignored whoever it was. With hot cocoa and two kinds of cookies in my near future, I could afford to be generous.

14

Amy was adamant about having never seen any of the bank robbers before. She said that about a quarter of her customers were Amish, most of them men. All told, she said, she knew the names and faces of at least eighty percent of the people she dealt with, because they were repeat customers. First Farmer’s Bank was a workingman’s institution, where laborers came to store their hard-earned money in lieu of tucking it in the mattress. It didn’t offer fancy services, and it had no gimmicks.

When I grilled her about the way Pernicious reacted to the attempted robbery, Amy got green in the face, and for a moment, it looked like she was going to lose the two gingersnaps and one windmill cookie she’d eaten. Wisely, I held my plate well away and aloft.

“I can’t ascribe motives to someone else’s behavior,” she snapped.

“Of course you can, dear. Why, just now I’d say you’re trying to cover something up.”

“I bet she’s having an affair,” Dorothy mumbled.

Agnes gasped. “Is that true? I swear, there’s more hankypanky going on in this world than I ever dreamed of.”

“Why don’t you two take a walk?” I said. “You know what they say about a watched pot and all that.”

“She’s not a pot,” Agnes pouted.

“Of course not,” I said, “but the same principle applies to weenies.”

“Weenies?”

“Grilled weenies,” I growled. “Now am-scray, the two of you!” I could see the light click on in her head. “All right,” she said, “but you don’t have to be rude about it.”

“ Magdalena ’s nuts,” Dorothy said, but I chose not to take offense. After all, it wasn’t every day that a genuine harlot called me names.

“Now where were we?” I said when we were alone. “Oh, yes, did Pernicious threaten you in any way?”

“Miss Yoder, are you related to him? I mean, you know, yinz have the same last name.”

“Yinz? Amy, you’re originally from Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah, I moved to Bedford when I was twelve.”

“I see. To answer your question, virtually all Yoders in North America are descended from a pair of brothers who emigrated from Switzerland almost three hundred years ago. But since both our forebears settled in Pennsylvania, we are more closely related to one another than to those Yoders living in other parts of the country.”

“Uh-huh. Well, it wasn’t Mr. Yoder who threatened me.”

“Was it the clueless guard?”

When she shook her head, her mousy brown hair parted in greasy clumps. “No. It was some guy on the phone-a foreigner, I think.”

“You mean like Al Qaeda?”

“No, more like Al Canadian.”

It was then that I realized that Amy, as sweet as she was, did not genetically descend from Alfred Einstein. “What? You mean, French?”