“Okay, but make it fast. And don’t touch anything in there. That’s a guest room now. We have to respect our guests’ privacy.”
Susannah headed upstairs while I changed the head on the dust mop. I had just gotten the new cover on when I heard Susannah scream. Even if the house had been full of people, I would have recognized that scream as hers. Hers is an exceptionally high-pitched scream, and while it won’t break any glasses, it will curdle milk and put the hens off laying.
Only twice before, not counting Shnookum’s bath in the batter, had I heard Susannah scream like that. Once was when she was about eight and stumbled across a still-born calf in the north pasture. The second time was when Reuben Metzer, Hernia’s onetime pharmacist and prominent pedophile, exposed himself to her. That happened during a lightning storm on Susannah’s tenth birthday. Even though there was an entire room full of little girls already in full scream by then, I immediately picked out Susannah’s.
I flung the mop down and bolted up those impossibly steep stairs two at a time. That’s when I found Susannah standing in the doorway, staring at the corpse that was clutching Mama’s best dresden plate quilt.
Like I said before, it was immediately obvious to me that this was a corpse, a victim of murder, not just someone whose time had happened to come during a snooze on Susannah's bed. After I sent Susannah downstairs to look for the borax, I took the phone out into the hallway and called the police. It wasn’t until Melvin Stoltzfus picked up the phone that I remembered Chief Myers was out of town.
“I’m sorry, I must have a wrong number,” I said. I’m normally not a fast thinker, but I would rather bury a corpse out in the north forty by myself than involve Melvin Stoltzfus.
“Magdalena, is that you? Tell Susannah my mother just called and she wants me to stop by and check out a buzz in her washing machine, so I won’t be picking her up until six. Oh, and tell her I’ll be wearing my green suit and a green and yellow checkered tie, so she’ll know what to wear. Also, do you happen to know if she likes licorice, and if so, does she prefer the bites, the sticks, or the ropes?”
That did it. Melvin Stoltzfus deserved to have a corpse thrown in his lap while his superior was away. Literally, if at all possible. “Put your mother’s washing machine and Susannah’s licorice on hold, Melvin. I need you to come out to the inn right away. There’s been a murder.”
“Quit jumping to conclusions,” said Melvin sanctimoniously. “It might just have been an accident. Did you call Alvin Hostetler yet?”
“I’m sending you a compass for Christmas!” I screamed.
“A what?”
“Never mind! I’m not talking about Miss Brown, Melvin. This murder just happened. There’s a corpse lying in Susannah’s bed.”
“Susannah’s been murdered?”
“No, not Susannah. One of the guests!”
“Was he her lover?” Melvin sounded as if he were about to burst into tears.
“It’s not a he, Melvin. It’s a woman.”
“Oh my God, that’s even worse.”
“Get a grip on it, Melvin. They weren’t lovers, that’s for sure. We needed Susannah’s room for one of the guests, so she’s been staying with me. How soon are you coming out?”
“I’ll be right there. In the meantime don’t touch the gun or anything else.”
“There is no gun, Melvin.”
“What? No gun? But you said it was a murder.”
“It is, Melvin. Come out and see for yourself.”
“An axe then? Or a club? A shovel maybe?”
“Just a quilt, Melvin. Like I said, come out and see for yourself.”
“A quilt? I see, strangulation then. The victim was undoubtedly smothered.”
“Somehow I don’t think so. Come out and see for yourself.”
“Then maybe it’s not a murder after all. Are you even sure the so-called victim is dead?”
“Melvin, for Pete’s sake, just come on out. And call an ambulance.”
“Then she isn’t dead?”
“Melvin Stoltzfus!”
Melvin showed up in eight minutes flat, just in front of the ambulance staffed by the volunteer rescue squad. Immediately after calling Melvin, I’d called old Doc Shafer. He showed up on the tail of the ambulance, which goes to show you that not all octogenarians putter along at nine miles an hour. If Melvin hadn’t been at the head of the procession, he’d have given old Doc a ticket for sure.
Hernia does have a full-time people doctor, but most folks would rather eat a spoonful of the plague than set eyes on Harold P. Smith III’s stethoscope. Young Harold is the epitome of arrogance, and I’ve heard that most dictionaries revived their definition of that word the year following his birth. Even Susannah says she would rather date a poor lawyer than go out with Harold, so you see what I mean.