The Crepes of Wrath by Tamar Myers

Author:Tamar Myers [Myers, Tamar]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, Humour
ISBN: 0451203224
Google: lePE7RbbZOUC
Amazon: B000OCXJKC
Barnesnoble: B000OCXJKC
Goodreads: 905734
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2000-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

18

The first thing I did when I was alone was to get down on my knees and beg the Good Lord to forgive me for my intemperance. “But you turned the water into wine at Cana,” I reminded Him. “So a little bit of champagne—which is really just a fancy kind of wine—is not so bad, is it? No, of course not, because as I recall, your mama got in on the act too. And so did your brothers. Why, that whole wedding party was just sipping away, and none of it mixed with orange juice either.”

When the Good Lord didn’t contradict me, I got up, brushed my teeth, and took a long shower. To be perfectly frank, I was feeling pretty darn good. I, Magdalena Portulacca Yoder, was a woman of the world. Okay, maybe not of the world, because that surely was a sin, but I had dipped my toe in the waters of sophistication and lived to tell about it. No lightning bolt from Heaven, no earthquake from Mama rolling over in her grave. Of course, I would never again let alcohol pass these lips—in case Reverend Schrock was right when he said Biblical wine was really just grape juice—but still, I was glad I’d had the experience.

Then, because I no longer felt guilty, I felt guilty—if you know what I mean. And forget what you may know about Catholic or even Jewish guilt—we Mennonites do it best, and I am particularly skilled in that emotion if I must say so myself. In fact, I would venture to say that I feel more guilty during an average day than any three people in Bedford County. But just thinking about all that guilt made me guilty of the sin of pride, so I got down on my knees again and prayed for deliverance from that sin.

Finally, feeling both spiritually and physically refreshed, I decided to take a walk. That’s the first thing I should have done when Melvin asked me to help solve—rather, to solve—the murder of Lizzie Mast, because walking clears my head. It can, however, do terrible things to the sinuses, so before stopping outside, I sprayed the inside of my generous proboscis with that green thumb thing so frequently prescribed now by allergists.

There are a number of pleasant destinations one can easily reach from the PennDutch Inn. The woods behind my place are lovely, dark, and deep, and not particularly dangerous if one stays away from the Mishler property during hunting season; the pair of elderly brothers are blind as bats and trigger happy. And if one is easily offended, one might do well to stay clear of Dinky and Flora Williams’s place. This couple, transplants from Philadelphia, are Hernia’s first official nudists, and believe you me, Dinky is not aptly named. In fact, I’m almost positive I saw two of them the last time I peeked, and I’ve been meaning to check a medical encyclopedia at Bedford County Library to see if that is indeed possible.

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