Between a Wok and a Hard Place (13 page)

area, and the left to the historic Settler's Cemetery. It is not a heavily frequented area, but some families drive up the ridge

during daylight hours to visit their dead or eat picnic lunches. At night it's a different place entirely. God versus gonads, my

irreverent, but much experienced, sister used to say.

Because Hernia has yet to become the den of iniquity that some say Bedford has become, Melvin and Zelda used to

spend an inordinate amount of their time rousting the osculating occupants of buggies and cars that line the picnic

overlook each night. Rumor has it that these nocturnal patrols are what finally inspired Melvin and Zelda to become more

than just working partners. Again, my source is my sister, who still has two unpaid loitering citations to back up her words.

At any rate, I knew Harvey, a Mennonite, and I knew his intended even better - Catherine Blough is my double first

cousin once removed, and generally acknowledged to be the prettiest girl in all of Hernia. Physical beauty is, of course, in

the eye of the beholder, and totally unimportant in the eyes of the good Lord, proving that cousin Catherine either wears

blinders on her dates, or is a Godly girl. I know it is wrong to even say this, but Harvey is the ugliest boy to be born in

Hernia since its founding. This is neither here nor there, and I wouldn't have even mentioned Harvey's milk-curdling looks,

except that it irks me that a kid like Harvey can get a beautiful girl like my cousin, but I went virtually dateless between

college and the first time Aaron asked me out. Okay, there was that one bizarre evening with Jumbo Jim, the fried chicken

king, but surely it doesn't count. He was from Baltimore, for crying out loud, and everyone knows it takes two dates with a

Marylander to equal one with a Pennsylvania man.

Zelda rolled her eyes at me under the lids the color of bruised plums. "You know dam well what Harvey was doing up

on the Ridge, but Melvin said it's important to tell you that Harvey didn't find the horse and buggy in the picnic area. They

were over in Settler's Cemetery."

I gasped and glanced at the long, low mountain, which was just barely visible above the top of my barn. Mama and

Papa, both descendants of Hernia's original settlers, had the final privilege of being buried up there. Mama, who managed

to die a virgin after bearing two children, would not have approved of smooching and groping anywhere near her grave. It

was a wonder Stucky Ridge was still standing. I would not have been surprised to learn that a Mama - induced

earthquake had rendered the mountain as flat as one of Freni's pancakes.

"Shame on Harvey Zook," I said, on Mama's behalf. ''If one can't respect the dead, then - "

"Harvey was not making out in Settler's Cemetery, if that's what you mean," Zelda said with embarrassing bluntness.

"He was making out in the picnic grove just like everyone else. But he heard what sounded like a loud pop and drove over

to check it out. He thought it might be some of those hooligans from Bedford - you know, the ones who knocked over

some of the headstones last year? Remember?

How could I forget? The oldest headstones in Settler's Cemetery date back to the 1700s. Fortunately these stones

were not bothered. An encroaching copse of oak trees has all but obliterated the original cemetery. Those markers not

hidden by saplings and undergrowth have been tilted to rakish angles by thickening roots of mature trees. For as long as I

can remember, none of the ancient stones have been perpendicular to the ground.

The "new wing," as Susannah calls it, is that portion, of the cemetery occupied by folks whose children or

grandchildren are still alive. Seedlings are plucked from the ground before they can turn into saplings. The headstones

are larger and more elaborate than their predecessors, and until last year, all decidedly upright. Last Halloween night that

was all changed by a gang of Bedford boys wielding bats. When they were through having fun the newer stones had been

flattened, knocked off their marble and granite pedestals.

The section in which my parents' graves are found fared the worst. All the stones were toppled, except for one.

Mama's stone had clearly been desecrated - the bats had chipped the smooth marble edges - but it had remained

standing. Apparently Mama had stopped turning in her grave long enough to stand guard over it. By the sheer force of her

will she kept the marker bearing her name on it from budging. Why Mama didn't do the same for Papa's stone is

anybody's guess. However, the rumor that Mama didn't die in that horrible wreck, but went into hiding along with JFK and

Elvis, and has resurfaced as the leader of the Bedford Bad Boys, is pure poppycock.

"So what was Enos Mast doing in Settler's Cemetery after dark, and who shot him ?"

Zelda shrugged. "I was the officer on call, but like I said, Enos was unconscious, and Harvey was very evasive. So,

those are the details Melvin wants you to find out. He says it's undoubtedly related to the Japanese woman you ran over

with your car."

I gave her a pleasant stare. "I did not run over her."

"Whatever you say." Bruised plum and egg white were all I could see of her eyes.

"Making faces is childish, dear." I said gently. "Besides, we're supposed to be on the same side here. Melvin is

counting on us to work together."

"Yeah, yeah." Zelda sauntered back to Hernia's only cruiser, got in, started it, but didn't close the door. "Hey,

Magdalena," she called over the noise of the engine. "Did I tell you that Melvin and I might be getting back together?"

"What?"

Zelda slammed the car into reverse and pressed the pedal to the metal, as if it were a go-cart. The tires spun and

screamed, and so did I when Zelda's open door smacked my mailbox, the one Great-grandpa Yoder hand-forged. The car

spun a full one hundred and eighty degrees, but apparently neither door nor driver were severely damaged. The tires

spun and screamed again and Zelda zoomed off, leaving a trail of exhaust.

"You'll pay for that!" I shouted. But when I examined the box a few seconds later, except for a couple of scratches in

the black paint, there was nothing wrong with it that I could see. I always knew Great-grandpa was a craftsman and had

produced many durable things, but I wouldn't be surprised if Mama's will had something to do with the mailbox's survival.

I found homely Harvey Zook whiling away the last days of summer watching cartoons on television. We never had a

TV, but nonetheless, Susannah got away with idleness when she was in high school. Not me. "Lazy hands are the devil's

playground," Mama said ad nauseam, and made sure that the devil didn't de- light in my digits. Not only did I have to work

at Yoder's Comer Market after school and during vacations, but I had enough chores at home to stagger a Conestoga

wagon full of pioneer women.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, watching that mindless drivel on TV," I said instructively to Harvey.

"Huh?" He stared at me with bleary eyes. His parents weren't home, and there was no sign of his two younger

brothers. Quite possibly I'd caught the boy napping, in which case the devil was in seventh heaven. So to speak.

"You should try reading a book," I said kindly. "I read a book."

"Oh? Beach Music by Pat Conroy?" I asked hopefully. He shrugged. "I read the book back in ninth grade, Miss

Yoder. There was a raft in it and some kid named Huck."

"I'm Mrs. Miller now, remember? May I come in?"

"I'm not supposed to have company when my parents aren't home."

I smiled patiently. "I'm not company. I've known you since you were in diapers - in fact, I changed one of them at a

church picnic. And you're dating my cousin, for pete's sake."

"So?"

In all fairness, there was no nastiness in his voice. Just a healthy teenage mixture of insouciance and lethargy.

I did not survive Susannah's teenage years without picking up a few tips here and there. I casually extracted a ten

dollar bill from my purse and fanned my face.

"It's getting hot today, isn't it, Harvey?" The screen door opened slowly.

"Turn off the television, dear, if you don't mind. I need to ask you some questions."

He shuffled over to the couch and picked up the remote. "Are they about last night? Because if they are, my mom

says I'm not supposed to answer them."

"I'm not a reporter, Harvey. I'm helping the police ask some questions because I know the area. Now be a dear and

turn off the set." Some bizarre green creatures, half turtle and half human, were catapulting across the giant screen. The

noise was deafening.

Frankly, and I should be ashamed of myself for saying this, but except for his coloring, Harvey was a dead ringer for

one of those mutated reptiles.

"Ah, this is my favorite show." I fanned faster.

He reluctantly clicked the remote.

"Mind if I sit?" I asked, and then immediately regretted it. I hadn't seen such a collage of crushed potato chips, spilled

dip, and melted chocolate candy since the aftermath of one of Susannah's slumber parties.

"Be my guest," Harvey said, and had the cheek to grin.

"On second thought, I've been sitting all day. Now, Harvey - "

Thanks to the loud volume of the TV I hadn't heard Harvey's mother return. My first clue was the loud slam of the

screen door.

"Magdalena! What are you doing here?"

"I need to ask Harvey a few questions - "

"Oh, no you don't," said Salina Zook, grabbing my arm.

She tried forcibly steering me toward the door, but I politely resisted by digging my heels into the soiled shag carpet,

and clamping my free hand over the back of the food-encrusted sofa. I knew I could last only a few seconds, despite the

fact that my fingers were practically glued to the fabric by the remains of a half- eaten Snickers bar.

Salina is a good six inches shorter than me, but all muscle. In high school she arm wrestled and beat every boy in

Hernia High who challenged her except for Stubby Jenkins. Stubby's secret, he confided to me later, was that he'd gone

to bed the night before with a large garlic clove crammed between his gums and teeth. Stubby panted to demonstrate,

and even though three days had gone by, I nearly passed out. Ever since then I have had a love/hate relationship with

shrimp scampi, and find Susannah's garlic-flavored bubble gum intolerable.

At any rate, Salina Zook was as close as our school came to having a bully. Although she had mellowed over the

years, and was in fact president of the Mennonite Women's Sewing Circle, she still exuded authority - the kind that could

be backed up if necessary. As usual, the Good Lord knew what he was doing. People seldom made fun of Salina's

children in her presence.

"I'm here on police business," I wailed.

"That's nonsense." She tugged harder.

"Call Melvin and ask him."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't stand the man and you know it."

I felt the couch slipping from my grip and did my best Stubby imitation. Unfortunately oatmeal ions are not very

pungent and Salina didn't flinch.

"Been there, Magdalena. Done that."

"Excuse me?"

She wrenched me loose. "How do you think I won all those times in high school? I would have had a perfect record,

too, if Stubby hadn't found out my secret and tried it out on me the day I had a dentist appointment."

"Then ask Zelda Root!" I cried. "I'm practically a member of the Hernia police force."

"And little green men from Mars stay at your inn," she said cruelly.

"What?"

"I saw those magazines at the checkout stand of the Giant Eagle in Bedford. You were on the front page,

sandwiched between that three-headed calf from India that sings rap music and Camilla Bowles Parker. Everyone in

Bedford County thinks you're nuts. Are you, Magdalena?"

"Moo!" I bellowed in a British accent.

She let go of my arm. "Just be calm. All I'm asking you to do is leave."

I took a deep breath. "And all I'm asking you to do is to let me ask your son a few questions."