Killer Confections8 Delectable Mysteries(544)

Papa would have been proud of me for my level-headedness. I think I got that quality from him. Anyway, acting calm in a crisis and delegating responsibility seem to come naturally to me, except when something really serious comes along, like being shot at. Papa always used to say I should become a manager and manage something, like a business or an organization. Susannah, on the other hand, says I should manage my own business. Mama probably agreed more with Susannah than with Papa, but she was too gentle ever to say such a thing.

While Susannah and Shnookums wailed, I calmly drove them to Doc Shafer’s, who lives six miles on the other side of Hernia. Old Doc is primarily a farm vet, whose specialty is delivering breech births in cows. Doc has been treating our livestock since before I was born. In recent years, however, his arthritis has prevented his getting down on his knees and reaching up the birth canal of a Holstein, so he’s shifted his focus to treating pets.

“Evening, ladies,” said Doc cheerfully.

Neither Susannah nor Shnookums were at all coherent, so I filled Doc in on all the details. “I immediately got the chocolate mixture off and rinsed him with cool water,” I concluded.

“You did fine, Magdalena. I always said you would have made a good veterinarian.”

I felt myself blushing. By and large I get fewer compliments than Saddam Hussein. “Thanks, Doc. Are the burns bad?”

He shook his head. “As far as I can tell, mostly first degree. With these smaller breeds, the problem is shock as much as anything else. What I’d like to do is give him a sedative and keep him overnight for observation. But I think he’ll be as good as new by tomorrow.”

You would have thought I’d plopped her pooch in a bun and smeared him with mustard the way Susannah carried on. “I won’t leave without my baby!” she screamed. “My baby! My precious little itsy-bitsy baby! My Shnookums Wookums!” I had never, ever seen an adult woman carry on that way. If she had been a character in a movie or a book, someone would have slapped her silly to get her to stop. Although I doubt if it would have done any good.

“What you really need to do is give Susannah a sedative,” I couldn’t help saying.

“I could give her a shot of something to calm her down,” Doc agreed. He gestured at the rows of bottles on the shelves behind him.

“Would that be legal?” I asked hopefully. “I mean, I don’t want to be doing anything wrong.”

Old Doc smiled. “I’ll be eighty-two next month. If they take my license away, I’ll retire. So, who are you going to trust, me or the legislators?”

I thought for a second about Garrett Ream, and decided to choose Doc. It was either that or leave Susannah with him for the night. I simply did not have the energy to sit up with her screaming all night.

“Stick it to her,” I said.

Susannah never saw it coming, but undoubtedly she felt it. But only for a second. Almost immediately her screams faded to sobs, and then weak little whimpers. Amazingly, Shnookums quieted down too, and soon it would have been impossible to tell, had I been wearing a blindfold, which sound was coming from whom. “Are you sure she’ll be all right?”

“She’ll sleep like a baby. Actually, maybe more like a lamb. That was my best sheep tranquilizer.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Say,” he began almost shyly, “I’ve got some baked ham and scalloped potatoes in the back. I don’t suppose you’d join me for supper?”

Doc’s wife, the former Anna Speicher, had been dead for seventeen years. In the old days, Mama used to invite Doc to stay for supper all the time. Daddy use to tease Mama and say it was because Doc was easy on the eyes, but I’m sure it was more than that. Mama had a soft spot for anyone who was lonely or needy, and besides which, Anna Speicher Shafer and Mama were third cousins. Even without any “removeds.” So when old Doc returned the favor, it didn’t take me long to accept. Especially not after I let a quick vision of the bunch back at the PennDutch flit across my brain. “What about Susannah?” I asked.

“She’ll be just fine on the sofa in there. That way we can keep an eye on her vital signs for a while before you take her home.”

He put the now quiet Shnookums in a cage and I helped him get Susannah to the couch. Then Doc and I settled down and had a good old-fashioned meal, like the kind we were meant to eat. In addition to the ham and scalloped potatoes, Doc served up green beans with bacon, dried corn pudding, and rhubarb-strawberry pie. Both the rhubarb and the beans, he confessed, had been canned last spring.

“Do you eat like this all the time?” I asked in amazement. Doc waited until he had swallowed a bite of freshly baked roll dripping with butter before he answered. “Guess I have to. I live to eat, and if the eating’s not worthwhile, I may as well just give up and die.”