Butter Safe Than Sorry

John nudged Bill aside. “Same reason as you, I imagine: we don’t think that Mr. Yoder killed Amy. We think it was a setup. If they get away with this, and he gets sent to the pen, then there go our jobs.”

“Yeah,” said Bill. “Ain’t no one gonna take a chance on me the way Mr. Yoder did-me not having a high school diploma and all.”

“I told you to get your GED,” John said, “but all you wanted to do was party.”

“Quit yer complaining,” Bill said.

“No, you quit,” John said.

“Shut up,” Bill said.

I clapped my hands. “Children! Focus, please. Who is this ’they’ that you referenced?”

Bill stepped forward and gave his buddy a not so playful tap on the biceps. “Hey, what’s with this refer-whatever? You been holding out on me?”

John shook his head as he rolled his eyes so far back they resembled two freshly peeled hard- boiled eggs. “You see what I gotta put up with? What she’s talking about, Bill, is the people I was talking about who really did kill Amy.”

“Yeah?” said Bill. “So you do know who they are! Like I said, you were holding out on me.”

John growled. “No, you dumb piece of-”

“Stop it!” I commanded. “Put a zipper on it, the both of you.” Believe me, it was the first and last time a Mennonite has ever uttered such strong words. “Bill, your friend John and I think that someone other than Mr. Yoder killed Amy, but we don’t know who. That’s why I’m here-to find out. So, for now, I’m going to ask the questions and you two are going to supply the answers. Capisce?”

“No, thanks,” Bill said. “Mama made that stuff once and I threw up.”

“Hunh?”

“He thought you meant ‘quiche,’ ” John said.

I quickly did some mental gymnastics, converting run-of-the-mill questions into pointed queries that Bill might understand. “What did the men look like who tried to rob the bank last month?”

“Two of them was old.”

“What?” I would have fully expected the word “Amish” to be part of any one-sentence description.

“To Bill anyone over thirty is old,” said John.

“What else?” I coaxed.

“One of them was-uh-I guess they say ‘overweight’ these days,” said John.

“But I call them ‘fat,’ ” said Bill. “He was so fat that he was sweating in them fake Amish clothes of his.”

Finally, there it was; the A word. “What do you mean by ‘fake’?”

“Well, maybe them clothes was real, but he weren’t no real Amish man; I could see that he was wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt under that white shirt of his. And red socks. Ain’t no Amish man that wears red socks.”

“You’re right about that,” I said.

“And they was mean.”

“Of course, they were mean,” John said, and shook his head again. “One of them shot little Amy, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but I could tell they was mean a-fore that. There was something in their eyes, something you don’t see in no Amish man. These fellars was out to get what they wanted, come hell or high water.”

I shuddered. “Please, dear, watch your language. ‘Fellars’ is such a bastardization of the word ‘fellows’ that it offends me to no end.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Is there anything else you two can think of that set these men apart from real Amish men?”

“No,” said John.

“Their shoes,” Bill said.

“What?” I said.

“Two of them was wearing Amish work shoes-like the kind you might wear if you was gonna plow some field, but one of the men was wearing a fancy foreign type-maybe Eye-talian.”

“Bill is very fashion conscious,” John said, without a trace of irony.

“I’ll make note of that,” I said, without a shred of sarcasm. “Was it the heavyset man who was wearing the fancy shoes, or one of the other two?”

Bill scratched his head as he pondered my brain teaser. “I think it was the fellar with the mustache-yeah, that was him. Them shoes had little tassels on them. I always wanted to get me a pair of shoes with tassels, but my mama said no. Now she’s dead, but I still have to answer to John.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I ain’t so smart, that’s why.”

“I won’t argue that, dear-” I slapped my cheek for being so cheeky. “But why John?”

“Because I’m his older brother,” John growled. “You have a problem with that, Miss Busybody Yoder?”

“Not at all. In fact I stand here chastised.”

“We ain’t Catholics,” Bill said.

Whilst I was intrigued by his enigmatic statement, we hadn’t another moment to waste in idle prattle. “We need to fan out, men, and look for evidence.”

“What kind of evidence?” John said.

“What do you mean by that? What kind were you looking for when you broke in?”

“We were going to look for something we could use as blackmail if we lost our jobs.”

“Yeah,” Bill said. “I told ya John was smart.”

Thank heavens irritation has very few calories, because I had to swallow enormous chunks of the stuff before I could speak. “What we’re going to look for now is something-possibly a letter, or a document-that shows that Pernicious Yoder III is already being blackmailed. That’s why he hasn’t pursued the robbery case any further. Perhaps it was even an inside job.”

“Hmm. What you say makes sense, but we can’t both be helping you.”

“Why not?” I said. “Are you in need of a coffee break?”

“Bill can’t read.”

“Oh. Excuse me for a minute while I eat crow.”

“Ya ain’t really gonna eat a crow, is ya?” Bill asked. The concern in his voice was touching. “Them’s nasty birds that eat roadkill and the like. Mama said that eating them will make ya sick. Except she weren’t right about that-but it still don’t taste good.”

“You ate crow?” John said. “When?”

“When you was off in the army,” Bill said, without a second’s hesitation. “We didn’t have nothing to eat and it was Thanks-giving. I plucked them birds before I brought them home and told Mama they was pigeons.” He started to sob great wrenching sobs that shook his body and made me feel like I hadn’t eaten nearly enough crow.

“Now you see what you’ve done?” John said. “How could you?”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Miss Yoder, I’d just as soon that you and us don’t work together. You go your way, and we’ll look for stuff on our own. If we find anything I’ll let you know. But if you don’t hear from me, just stay the St. Louis International Airport, Concourse A away from us.”

I gasped. “You’ve heard of that place too?”

“ St. Louis International Airport, Concourse A, yes,” he said. Then, with his arm around his brother ’s jerking shoulders, he led him away from me.

If one deigns to root around in a strange man’s drawers, then perhaps one should not complain too loudly about what one finds therein. That is an opinion I might well have offered before the fact.

“Help, help! Turn on the lights! I’ve been violated.”

To their credit both John and Bill came thundering into the room, and a second later the overhead light came on.

“What is it?” John’s tone was one of pure concern.

“It’s that-that disgusting thing!”

“That thing is a flashlight,” he said. He picked it up, flipped on the switch, and shone it full in my face. “Let there be light,” he said smugly. “Miss Yoder, you have a very active imagination. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“I plead the Fifth. Still, I don’t like searching alone-not when we can search together. I mean, there’s safety in numbers, right?”

“Yinz never makes any sense,” Bill whined.

“Oh, all right,” John said. “But I still think we oughta be looking for something to blackmail that old coot with.”

I sighed. “Separate searches, same room?”

“Works for me,” John said.

And it did. Not five minutes later he found exactly what he’d been looking for: something with which to blackmail Pernicious Yoder III.

25

Sea-Salted Coffee Toffee Bars

Ingredients

First layer