Killer Confections8 Delectable Mysteries(551)

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Not necessarily, and probably not at all,” said old Doc.

“But you said—”

“I suggested it as a possibility, but I don’t think it’s at all likely. This killer’s too smart to let him or herself be identified by their absence. My guess is that whoever killed this young lady is pretty confident and plans to wait things out.”

“But then, why leave the sign?”

“That was just to make sure the poison had a chance to run its course before the victim was discovered. Even if the victim did make some noise, a sign on the door would probably keep people away. At least for a while. Most people are reluctant to investigate even very loud noises when there are ‘do not disturb’ signs on the doors.” I swear the old coot winked at me then.

Susannah laughed, far too bawdily. “You can say that again.”

I trust I didn’t blush. “Care for anything to eat?”

“Would I ever!” said Doc. He did, after all, live to eat. “But only if you make it from scratch. Who knows what the leftovers in your fridge contain.”

I laughed nervously. “Actually, there are no leftovers. At least from last night. Billy Dee, that’s one of the guests, said he and Lydia Ream, the Congressman’s wife, pitched everything out when the meal was over. They’re the ones who did the cleanup,” I explained.

Old Doc looked suddenly serious. “That might be your evidence, right there.”

“Billy Dee? Lydia Ream? I don’t think so. They’re the most likable pair in the bunch. I haven’t heard a negative word come out of Lydia’s mouth, and as for Billy Dee, he gets along with everybody, except maybe with Ms. Parker. But it wasn’t Ms. Parker who was poisoned, it was Linda McMahon.”

“That’s conjecture,” said Melvin, entering the room. “We won’t know what she died of until we get the lab report back.”

“Do we have to wait until then to see if she’s even dead?” I know I shouldn’t have said it, but I couldn’t help myself.

Doc chuckled, Susannah flushed, and Melvin just plain glared. Fortunately for his sake, I couldn’t see how Shnookums reacted.

“Well, some things are obvious,” I said.

Melvin drew himself up to his full height, which diminished the praying mantis image but made him look like a wide-eyed child playing grown-up. “When you assume,” he intoned, “you make me an ass out of you and me.”

“I do not allow obscene language in this house, Mr. Stoltzfus.”

“For chrissakes, Magdalena, he was only trying to make a point,” said my much misguided sister.

“Susannah Yoder! Mama would...”

“Entwhistle, Mags, and leave Mama out of this. What Melvin said is true. You’re always jumping to conclusions. And another thing, you’re always judging people. Always coming down on them with your own rigid standards. Like you’re the only one who’s right. Like what’s right for you has to be what’s right for everyone else. You’re always critical, you know? You’re too hard on people, Mags. Give us a break sometimes.”

Well, I didn’t have to just sit there and take that. “Doc, about lunch, why don’t we convene to the kitchen, where we’re not unwanted?”

“Good idea,” said Doc.

“Hey, we get to eat too,” said Susannah.

“Fine, then you go to the kitchen and make lunch.”

“You want to stay for lunch, honey?” Just when their relationship had had time to blossom to the honey stage was beyond me.

“Well,” drawled Melvin, “I do need to stay and question the suspects when they return. How about if you and I order in pizza?”

“Dreamy,” drooled Susannah.

I knew for a fact that poor Mama was going to get a lot of exercise that day. Hernia does not have a pizza parlor, and whatever it was Susannah and Melvin planned to do in Mama’s parlor had little, if anything, to do with lunch.

“Remember this is a Christian house, Susannah,” I admonished her futilely.

My sister feigned shock. “There you go again, Mags. Always jumping to conclusions.”

“At least it’s a decent form of exercise.”

“Too bad you can’t compare the two,” she countered cruelly.

I didn’t subject myself to any more of that. Instead I took my frustration out on fixing Doc the best lunch he’d had in seventeen years. At least that’s what he said about it. We barricaded ourselves in the kitchen and pigged out like we were teenagers.

We were just finishing up the last of the cherry cobbler, with black cherry ice cream, when Billy Dee came bursting into the kitchen. “What the hell is going on, Miss Yoder, and just who the hell is that in the parlor?”