Hell Hath No Curry (30 page)

“Oh my. Two near deaths caused by embarrassment in one day—who would have thought? But not to worry. These lips are sealed. After all, been there, done that, as they say nowadays.

HELL HATH NO CURRY

253

But one can always learn from one’s lesson, right? Or else they wouldn’t be called lessons.”

“And what did you learn, Magdalena?”

“To always carry a spare set of sturdy Christian underwear, especially if traveling to Maryland. No offense to Marylanders, but most of the underwear they sell there is fit only for heathens, and fit heathens at that, which, alas, not many are.”

“What makes underwear Christian, Magdalena?”

“You know. I mean, it’s obvious.”

“Not to me. Describe them, so I know what to look for next time I go shopping.”

“Well, they have to be white—colors are just too provocative.

Especially red and black. And they must be one hundred percent cotton; synthetics are the Devil’s playground. And last, but most importantly, they have to cover everything. If your body squeezes over the top, or bulges out at the bottom, you may as well be wearing a sign that says ‘harlot.’ Oh, and it’s better if the underwear is hard to take off. Think of all the folks who might have been saved from following their carnal urges, if only their Hanes Her Way had put up more of a fight.”

“Why, I’ll be dippty-doodled, to borrow one of your colorful phrases, Magdalena! I’ve been wearing sturdy Christian underwear all along, and not knowing it. Does that earn me extra points?”

“Points for what?”

“Minibar privileges in Heaven, that kind of thing.”

“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

“You think?”

“Why, Thelma Unruh, shame on you! And here I thought we could be friends.”

“You thought no such thing, and you know it. We’ve never liked each other, Magdalena, and we never will.”

“You’re just jealous because I’m a successful businesswoman, and you’re only a wannabe.”

254

Tamar Myers

“A wannabe what?”

“Give it up, Thelma. No one is going to want to stay in that drafty old relic of a house you own, with that spooky wall running through it.”

“It’s about to get even spookier.”

“Why is that? You planning to hang Halloween decorations on it?”

“I’m about to build an addition with a corpse inside. Actually, I’m using some of the old brick so no one will be able to tell.”

“Thelma, if you don’t mind me saying so, that’s weird even for you.”

“Have you read ‘The Cask of Amontillado’?”

“By Edward Allen Poe. You see, I’m not quite the rube you think I am.”

“Oh, I’ve never thought of you as a rube, Magdalena. Just an arrogant buttinsky who needs to learn her place—
inside
my wall.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m going to kill you, Magdalena. But not right now. First I’m going stick you in the wall. Don’t worry, I’m going to leave one brick out, so that I can hear you scream—hopefully for a long while.”

That’s when I noticed that Thelma was driving with only one hand, and the other held a gun, one that was pointed right at the side of my abdomen. I jerked away, which she found rather amusing.

“At this close range—Miss Have Everything—I’ll blast your liver to smithereens. Your large intestine as well. Even if you survive, you’ll soon be begging to die.”

39

“Thelma—dear—what is this all about? What have I done to you?”

“Shut up. As if you don’t know.”

“Not you too! I can’t stand being told to shut up.”

“At least quit sniveling. It’s so unbecoming for a beautiful, elegant woman like you, who has everything.”

“There you go again with the everything. Would you care to explain?”

Thelma had slowed to well below the thirty-five-mile-per-hour city speed limit; apparently holding someone at gunpoint was not routine for her. If only I could manage to unbuckle my seat belt without being noticed, I could hurl myself to the pavement and try for a headfirst landing. My noggin, thanks to all the milk Mama made me drink, was as tough as a Kevlar helmet. Therefore, my best plan of action was to keep Thelma occupied until I could come up with a suitable distraction, one that demanded all of her attention. Perhaps if I passed gas . . .

“You’re not listening, Magdalena! You ask me to explain, but you look like you’re off on another planet.”

“I was. But I’m all ears now. Tell me why you hate my guts so much.”

256

Tamar Myers

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re rich, you’re gorgeous, you’re intelligent—need I say more?”

“Yes! Don’t stop there.”

“And you throw away hunky men like yesterday’s newspaper.”

“I only threw away two hunks—hey, how did you know about the second one?”

“Magdalena, everyone knows you dumped that handsome Jewish doctor, and for the stupidest reason imaginable.”

“That he isn’t
saved
? That’s practically the most important thing in life—no, it
is
the most important thing. We are all born to be saved—that’s our main purpose in life—otherwise God would have created us all saved in the first place. And don’t confuse me by throwing free will into the mix. Who needs free will anyway, if the result of a wrong choice is eternal damnation?”

“I’m not going to argue with your bad theology, Magdalena.

Nor am I going to recommend that you see a much-needed psychiatrist. I just want to know, how on earth do you plan to convert that hunky doctor by pushing him away? I hope you realize that if he burns in Hell, it’s going to be your fault.”

“Why I—I—I—”

“You seem to be stuck, Magdalena. Pat that buxom chest of yours, and knock some new words loose.”

I rehearsed silently until I was able to spit out what was on my mind. “Who are
you,
a murderer, to be giving me spiritual advice?”

Her laugh had an avian shrillness about it. “God works in mysterious ways. Now, enough about you. I want to know how long it took for Veronica to sing like a canary.”

“Oh, she ratted you out immediately.” Of course it was a lie, but I was fighting for my life, not to mention Gabe’s salvation.

“That really ticks me off! It was her idea to begin with. We were taking an organic gardening class together, and when she found out who I was, she kept suggesting things for us to do to-HELL HATH NO CURRY

257

gether. And all the while she’s asking me how I
really
felt about Cornelius, and did I know that his heart was barely functioning, and that if he married Priscilla, then all his money would go to her.”

“So? How
did
you really feel about Cornelius?”

“Well, I hated him, of course. He should’ve stayed with me; I would have loved him like no other woman could. I hated Priscilla too. That’s what Veronica kept harping on—what a selfish, conniving witch Priscilla was. A total user. According to Veronica, that schemer with the fake body parts would have killed him anyway, sooner rather than later, by having too much sex. Someone other than her may as well benefit from Cornelius’s millions.”

“I don’t understand. Why did Veronica have to involve you?

She was only giving him Elavil. That hardly requires a team effort.”

“Ha! That woman couldn’t pour water out of a boot, if the instructions were written on the heel. As much dope as she smokes, she may as well have a head of cauliflower between her ears. Take what just happened, for example. There I am, all settled down in my comfy recliner, watching my favorite TV show—you really should watch TV, Magdalena—when Veronica calls me to say she has you shackled to her fridge, and can I come over to babysit you while she runs into Bedford to buy rope and dynamite. It’s a good thing I spotted you walking along the highway; otherwise Veronica would have been busted, and I’d have to kiss my share of the money good-bye.”

“Boo-hoo.”

“I’ll ignore that, Magdalena, but only because I’m so pissed at Veronica, I can hardly see straight. I swear, I’ve had to think of everything. I’m the one who thought of Elavil and wrangled a prescription. All she had to do was give it to him.”

“Why, that liar!”

“I’ll say. We made a blood pact not to rat each other out.”

“Did you, dear?”

258

Tamar Myers

“Are you mocking me now?”

“Moi? Au contraire. Mais vous êtes une femme folle avec un visage
que seulement une langoustine pourrait aimer.”

“What are you babbling about now?”

“I was saying how lovely you look in that color. Puke green was always rather flattering on you.”

Thelma Unruh gasped in indignation.

We were crossing Main Street at Hopkins, and the speedom-eter was only flirting with twenty. We were also just a block from the police station, and hopefully young Chris Ackerman. It was now or never.

I took a deep breath of my own. “Look out for that dog!”

The rest, as we say, is Hernia history. Thelma swerved and completely lost control of her car, but not before I’d thrown myself onto the pavement. That’s the day the lights went out in Magdalena—but for only a few seconds. When I came to I saw the rear end of Thelma’s car protruding from what remained of Hernia’s police department. Cute Chris Ackerman was in the building at the time but managed to throw himself out of harm’s way. Thelma, on the other hand, was knocked out cold for hours.

I must have looked a sight, covered as I was with bruises and bandages. Ida certainly noticed.

“
Nu,
vhat happen to you? You fall off your high horse?”

“Yes, and it was quite a fall. All the king’s horses, and all the king’s men—well, what can I say? It was fun having them put me together again.”

“So now she’s a shlut!”

It wasn’t easy, but I overcame my urge to tell her to shlut up.

“Is Gabriel here, please?” I asked pleasantly.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Vhat do you vant mit my son?”

“To marry him, and to give him all the foster children his heart desires. I would offer to bear the fruit of his loins, but I’m HELL HATH NO CURRY

259

afraid my orchard has never produced a crop, and alas, it probably never will.”

“Den he is not here.”

“Ma!”

The world’s handsomest man gently pushed the world’s most undesirable future mother-in-law aside. If possible, his face was made even more handsome by the concern in his eyes.

“Magdalena, I heard. How are you feeling?”

“Like I threw myself from a moving car and landed on asphalt—wait a minute, that’s what did happen.”

“Oy, a smart mouth.”

“Ma!”

“Let her talk, Gabe. I know you probably hate my guts at the moment, but my plan is to win you back, and love you every day for the rest of my life. I even plan to tolerate the pipsqueak.”

“
Gvalt!
I tink I am having a heart attack.”

“This is the place to have it, dear. Your son is, after all, a heart specialist.” I looked past her. “Look, Gabe, I know I treated you awful, and it must have felt like I was terribly condescending. I was wrong about so many things, especially about us not being able to make it.”

“Like a camel wit a sheep, yah?” Ida waggled a stubby finger in my face. “Not an equal yoke, you say. Vell, Miss Yoder, the yoke is on you.”

“Shut up, Ma—please.”

“
Vhat
did you say?”

“Ma, this isn’t your business. Either you shut up, or you leave.”

I thought Ida would faint. In fact, I am ashamed to say that I was hoping she would, and that Gabe would refrain from catching her. Instead, she merely sputtered like a campfire under a slow drizzle, and when she was out of steam, she fled from the foyer in utter frustration. She didn’t even leave any s’mores behind.

“Gabe, I’m sorry—”

260

Tamar Myers

“Don’t,” he said, and pressed his mouth so hard against mine, it would have been useless to even attempt to protest.

The wheels of justice hereabouts turn so slowly that many of them are dust covered, but Veronica Weaver was eventually convicted of first-degree murder and permanently confined to a Pennsylvania penitentiary. I heard just last week that she won their Martha Stewart Award for growing prize-winning organic vegetables in the exercise yard.

Thelma had a better lawyer and received forty years, instead of life. However, due to prison overcrowding, she is spending the next four decades in a Maryland prison. The good news is that, while she was unconscious, Thelma saw the Light. Unfortunately (but this is only hearsay) sturdy Christian underwear is unavailable for Maryland inmates. The poor dear was quoted in
Christian
Convicts
magazine as saying, “Having to wear heathen undergar-ments is tantamount to a double sentence.”

We were married on May twenty-seventh, high atop Stucky Ridge. It was a Jewish-style wedding, presided over by the rabbi from Pittsburgh, but the bride was definitely still very much a Christian. The way I figured it, if it was good enough for Mary and Joseph, it was good enough for me.

Jewish weddings, I learned, are truly family affairs. Traditionally the bride’s family delivers her en masse, if you’ll pardon the pun, to the groom, who waits beneath the chuppah. The chuppah is a cloth raised aloft as a canopy, and symbolizes the marriage bed. The one we used was a prayer shawl that had belonged to Gabe’s father, and that his mother had saved specifically for her son’s wedding—just not his wedding to me. Chris Ackerman held one of the corners, my cousin Sam another, and Gabe’s nephews, Benjamin and Jerry, the other two.

Since this was only a Jewish-
style
wedding, certain liberties were taken. Standing in for my parents were Doc Shafor and Freni HELL HATH NO CURRY

261

Hostetler. Susannah was my maid of honor, and a very proud and happy Alison was a bridesmaid. My half sister, Zelda, also served as a bridesmaid. Gabe’s cousin Mordechai, a Long Island morti-cian, was his best man.

Although we had no flower girl, we did have a secret ring-bearer. In order to make it up to Susannah, for having called her pedigreed pooch names on several occasions, I agreed to let her carry him in his usual hiding place. The ring was securely fastened to his collar; not a dog collar, but that of a miniature tuxedo.