The Death of Pie (3 page)

‘Oh, don't be so sure of that. That straight chair you're sitting on used to belong to my Granny Yoder. She's been dead for almost forty years and she still objects to just about everything that I do.'

The chief's boyish features lost a summer's worth of tan. ‘What do you mean by “still” objects?'

‘She's standing beside you right now looking like she's sucking on a lemon. I think she wants you to move.'

The poor lad shot up like a slice of toast. ‘Ma'am, are you teasing me?'

‘Well, I could say that I was toying with you, but you still haven't given me permission to use your given name.'

He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘By all means, please, call me Toy.'

‘Thank you, Toy. But sit over there – on that equally uncomfortable loveseat. I wasn't kidding about Granny Yoder. I know that a good Christian is not supposed to believe in ghosts – I prefer to call them Apparition Americans – but I can't help what I see. Right now I see that Granny Yoder has reclaimed her chair and that the five, three-inch hairs on the mole to the left of her nose are jiggling as she snorts in righteous indignation.'

While Granny snorted, Toy shivered. ‘Oh, man,' he said, ‘this is scary, ma'am – I mean, Miss Yoder – but at the same time, it's kind of cool. You should have a TV crew come in here and film a special. You know, where a priest tries to exorcise her. I saw a 3D movie about that. The special effects were awesome.'

Granny Yoder's ghost was not amused. ‘Granny eschewed exercise of any kind,' I said, ‘especially if it involved machinery. She claimed that treadmills were invented by the Devil – and that's with a capital D. As for 3D films, she believed them to be an unholy trinity. Now be a dear, and let us return to the more recently departed.'

‘Yes, of course. As you know, the Coroner's Office believes that Ramat may have been poisoned—'

‘
Excuse
me? I did
not
know this. All I know was that she was a guest judge at the festival last week and had been judging pies –
my
apple pie in particular – when she pitched face forward onto it and crushed it, along with my chances of winning a blue ribbon, I might add.'

Toy cocked his handsome head and scribbled furiously on an actual paper pad with the stub of a genuine wooden pencil. Just for that, I would allow the boy some latitude, no matter what he was writing. As if those weren't enough points in his favour, he appeared to be writing in cursive.

‘Oh, yes, just between you and me' – he glanced over at Granny's chair – ‘uh, and her, I'd say it's for sure that the method of murder was poison in a pie. I don't mind sharing this with you, Miss Yoder, because you are, after all, our mayor.'

‘Well, clearly she wasn't stabbed or bludgeoned, given that she was standing right there surrounded by everyone and his shadow, and no one noticed a thing.'

‘Miss Yoder,' Toy said, ‘sarcasm is like a barbershop quartet – a little of it goes a long way.'

‘In that case, please continue to share.'

‘Strychnine,' he said.

‘
What?
I didn't put strychnine in my pie. In fact, I didn't even bake my own pie— Oops! Well, if I had baked it, I wouldn't have put it in. And you know darn-tooting well that Cousin Freni didn't do it. That dear woman is seventy-eight years old and as close to a living saint as the Amish will admit to having.' Truth be told, the Amish will have naught to do with saints, and my elderly kinswoman can be as crabby as a seafood buffet.

‘Miss Yoder,' Toy continued, ‘I don't for a second suspect you of having anything to do with Ramat's death. To the contrary; I am here because I want you to help me solve it.'

‘
Moi?
' I said coyly, and batted my colorless eyelashes.

Toy crossed his legs, his right ankle resting on left knee. Goodness gracious me! The boy wonder from Charlotte wasn't wearing any socks, but not only that, it appeared that he either waxed or shaved his legs. I kid you not; there are eggs in my refrigerator that are hairier than his calves. Imagine that: a police officer wearing a blue regulation uniform, supplied by our generous little community (i.e. me), but refusing to properly clad his feet. The lad either had gumption, suffered from a phobia or was too lazy to do his laundry. Time would tell.

‘Yes, you,' he said. ‘I have heard many good things about your sleuthing skills.'

‘From whom?'

‘Never you mind. Suffice it to say that even the County Sheriff over in Bedford will vouch for you.' Upon hearing that, Granny's ghost fluttered her shrivelled lips in disapproval.

‘Will wonders never cease?'

He scribbled faster. ‘Magdalena,' he said, ‘you said something about it being a dark and stormy night. Was that supposed to mean something, or were you just trying to be funny, as I hear is usual?'

‘I was referencing a crossword puzzle. You might have picked up on that had you been listening, but you are a man, and as every woman knows, the first five words in a conversation are wasted on a man.'

‘What? Should I take umbrage at that remark?'

‘Absolutely not, dear. In fact, you get extra points based on your vocabulary.' I paused to gesticulate. ‘Stop that,' I said.

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Not you, Toy. I'm talking to Granny's ghost.'

‘Miss Yoder, if your grandmother's ghost bothers you so much, why don't you get rid of her? No kidding, it can be done.'

‘Nonsense! Granny's ghost is part of the package deal that I offer my guests, just like her uncomfortable furniture. All of this furniture is in a late Victorian style called Eastlake, and it has never been reupholstered. That means that there are springs sticking up hither, thither and up one's yon. I've been told that sitting on a patch of prickly pear cactus makes more sense than trying to relax anywhere in this parlour.'

Toy rubbed his chin. ‘Let's see: a ghost, no place to get comfortable – why would anyone want to stay at your inn?'

‘But don't you see?' I cried. ‘There is genius behind this madness. People like getting abused, just as long as they can pay through the nose and view it as a cultural experience. Why else would anyone travel to France? And this is the same reason why very expensive restaurants serve you microscopic portions, and why megastars make you wait two hours before they begin their sold-out concerts.'

The poor boy rubbed his hands through his hair and moaned. ‘Gee, Miss Yoder, you sound so jaded.'

‘Experienced, dear. Please bear with me, because this discussion is germane to your investigation. Coincidentally, it
was
a dark and stormy night when Ramat checked into the PennDutch, but she had made her reservations well in advance. This was about a year ago. Anyway, she was also quite willing to pay four hundred dollars extra per day for ALPO.'

‘Isn't
Alpo
a brand of dog food?'

‘In this case it stands for Amish Lifestyle Plan Option. By signing up for that brilliant idea of mine, she got to have the privilege of tidying up her room, setting and clearing the table at meals, washing the dishes, sweeping the porches and mucking out the cow barn. For a premium of just two hundred dollars my cousin Mose would help her try to milk Bessie, our most cooperative cow. However, we do ask all the guests to sign a disclaimer stating that they've been informed that Bessie has particularly sensitive teats and has kicked upon rare occasions.'

Who knew that the polite young police chief from Charlotte was given to fits of prolonged staring? ‘M-Miss Yoder,' he finally stammered, ‘you're really a piece of work. You do know that, don't you?'

‘I shall take that as a compliment. Now, moving right along, not only did Ramat throw herself into her chores, and with a certain
joie de vive
, I might add, but she bought a genuine faux Amish get-up from my little gift shop in the lobby in which to perform these tasks.'

The stubby pencil hovered in midair above the tiny pad while Toy cleared his throat. ‘Forgive me, Miss Yoder, but how can something be both faux and genuine at the same time?'

I was impatient to get on with my fascinating tale, so I waved one of my shapely, yet humongous hands in a somewhat dismissive gesture. ‘These garments are genuine in that they are sewn by real Amish women and they adhere to the image that the undiscerning tourist usually carries in her mind. But, you see, the undiscerning tourist generally prefers something a little – uh – sexier than what an Amish woman would wear. And with a zipper, instead of hooks and eyes.'

‘The Amish can't wear zippers?'

I shook my head. ‘Too modern.'

‘Wow! Go on, please.'

‘Now where was I?' I knew exactly where I was: I was in my parlour engaged in an important conversation, and major conversations must be conducted as if they were musical symphonies. ‘The point of all this,' I said, waving my hands like a conductor, ‘is that from a financial standpoint, Ramat Sreym was the perfect guest. Therefore, I didn't mind answering a few questions from her now and then.'

Toy made some unattractive noises with his larynx.

‘Really, dear,' I said, ‘must you? Young people today can be so vulgar.'

‘Sorry,' Toy mumbled. ‘I will try to contain myself.'

‘Well, at first she'd ask only the occasional question. But you know me – or perhaps you don't. That is, I was born with a genetic disorder – one that I inherited from both parents – which is sometimes referred to as
Perilous garrulous.
This disease forces me to talk. Trust me; this condition has been my undoing on many occasions. Blab, blab, blab, my, my but how I carry on. So before I knew it, Ramat had all the dirt on Hernia that she needed to write that filthy, bestselling piece of trash. Of course, I hadn't the slightest idea that she was going to use the pearls that fell from my loose lips to sink my ship, or that of anyone else in this village. Like I said, I never read fiction. When that piece of trash shot to the top of the bestseller list, manipulated as it was by the publisher, our village's chief financial officer – that's my double first cousin once-removed, Sam Yoder – thought it might be a good idea to ask her to be a judge for our annual pie-eating contest. Of course, he didn't expect her to stay; even a rude negative response from her could be turned into good publicity for the festival by Sam. Can you imagine how gobsmacked we were when her publicity agent said that it was a fabulous idea? No doubt she had a sequel in mind:
Ramat and the Hicks of Hernia, Part II
. Something like that.'

Toy chuckled. ‘Hernia! I still can't get over the name of this village.'

‘Please, dear, show some respect. It was named in honor of my great, great, great-grandfather, Jacob Yoder, who got a hernia while building his log cabin up on Stucky Ridge. As you know, there's a picnic area up there now, as well as a cemetery. There's also a brass plaque at the exact spot where the unfortunate incident is supposed to have happened.'

Again Toy chuckled. ‘Sorry. I couldn't help it. It's just that I love quirky things.'

‘
Quirky?
Let me get this straight,
Toy
.
You
find
us
quirky?'

At least he had the decency to blush. ‘Yes, ma'am, but in a good way.'

‘Harrumph. Well, that is certainly more than I can say for Ramat. Do you know what she was going to originally call her tell-all book about life in Hernia?'

He nodded. ‘
Fifty Grades of Hay
.'

‘Thank heavens she didn't; it would have made us all look like hayseeds – like the country bumpkins that we are!'

‘So,' he said, ‘instead, she titled her book
Butter Safe Than Sorry
.' Toy looked straight at Granny then, but of course he didn't see her, or else he would have jumped out of his non-regulation kidskin loafers. ‘Miss Yoder, before we go any further, there is something I need to tell you. You're going to hear about it anyway, so you may as well hear it from me.'

‘Stop right there,' I said, holding up my large, shapely hands. ‘The fact that you're gay is none of my business. “Gay, schmay, have a nice day” – that's what I always say. Besides, Jesus never said one bad thing about you homosexuals, and he had tons to say about us divorcees. Although my divorce was purely fictional, given that it happened only in the pages of
Butter Safe Than Sorry
.'

First Toy reddened, then he turned even whiter than ricotta cheese, and lastly he jumped to his feet. It is quite possible that he even leaped out of his loafers – well, maybe just a millimeter. My point is that I have never in all my forty-nine years seen someone that scared, and it had nothing to do with his sexuality.

‘I see her! I see her! There she is!'

Indeed, he was pointing right at Granny Yoder whom, I might add, was a pacifist by conviction, but not adverse to stoning homosexuals if the Old Testament decreed it. Believe me, there were many others on Granny's stoning list, perhaps even including myself, and they were all drawn from the Bible. I think maybe it's because she didn't have a chance to get her rocks off at said sinners that Granny's spirit stayed behind when her heart stopped beating. It's just a theory, mind you; I can't find any literature to support this.

At any rate, this was the first time that anyone else had ever seen Granny since the day that she'd been laid, ever so carefully, into the ground, as per her sixteen pages of instructions. Needless to say, I was gobsmacked. I was not, however, speechless.

‘Oh happy day!' I sang out in my strong, but perhaps slightly off-key soprano.

Granny cringed.

What mattered is that Toy found his tongue. ‘M-Miss Yoder, h-how can you just sit there so calmly with her in the room?' He was, of course, standing. He was also back safely in his loafers.