Killer Confections8 Delectable Mysteries(556)

“And, so,” continued Lydia smoothly, “I was hoping that you might help extricate us from a delicate problem.”

“Who is us, and what’s the problem?” The last time I was asked that question was when Susannah was still a teenager. She had wanted me to buy condoms for her boyfriend, Noah Miller. Of course I told her “no,” and then I told Noah to keep his pecker in his pants where it belonged.

Lydia smiled, and as much as I liked her, I could still tell it was a political smile. “Well, I guess by ‘us’ I meant the Congressman. You see, Magdalena, my husband has been fighting a slight problem with substance abuse.”

“Are such problems ever slight?”

She smiled again, this time patiently. “What I mean is that Garrett can still function. You know, carry on with his duties. But he does have a problem, I’m not denying that.”

“I see.”

“But I’m afraid you don’t.” Lydia reached out and grabbed my sleeve with a perfectly manicured hand. “We aren’t here as hunters this week, Magdalena. In fact, hunting is the farthest thing from our minds.”

“Then why are you here? The food?” That was supposed to have been a little joke.

Lydia didn’t even smile. “We’re here scouting out a new rehabilitation clinic in the Laurel Mountains. The Grossinger-Beechman Clinic. Have you heard of it?”

I nodded. There had been a big stink about it in the Hernia Weekly Herald. Something about drug-crazed rock stars invading our peaceful domain to get their heads screwed on straight at the risk of our homes and hearths. Since I hadn’t recognized any of the names, and it was all privately funded, I hadn’t paid the matter any attention.

“The first day we were here, Monday, Garrett did go hunting, but just as a ruse to get them off his scent. Today, however, we headed straight for the clinic, where he had his interview. Tomorrow, he had planned to commit himself for a three-week stint.”

“And you planned to keep all this a secret?”

“From the press, surely. And from that awful woman, Jeanette Parker, who is worse than the press. That woman has been relentless in her persecution of Garrett ever since he took office. She is obsessed with her crusade to do him in politically.”

“And that awful woman, of course, just happens to be your husband’s ex-lover.”

I did not mean to be cruel. Nonetheless, Lydia’s mouth fell open like a trapdoor with a sprung lever. “You know about that?”

“The walls have ears, Lydia, or in this case make it the floorboards. Take it from an experienced innkeeper, whenever you’re not in your own home, you’re in public.” Boy, did I know the truth of that statement. Susannah and I had been living in a fishbowl, albeit of my own making, for ten years now.

Lydia didn’t seem to appreciate my advice. “What else did you hear?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What else did you hear through those floorboards, Magdalena?” Even classy people can sound nasty if they try hard enough.

“Well, you needn’t worry about that!” I had begun to get huffy myself. “Susannah has oiled all the bedsprings.”

Lydia laughed then, perhaps with relief. “Well, I guess I did get carried away there for a moment. Anyway, what I came to ask you, Magdalena, was for help in keeping this matter a private one.”

“I see,” I said, although actually I didn’t. “How on earth can I help in that regard?”

Lydia rubbed the sole of one of her expensive shoes against a clump of straw. “Well, you are well-known in the community here, and I imagine you exert a considerable amount of local influence. Perhaps you can talk this young officer, whom you seem already to know, into not disclosing publicly where Garrett was today or what his plans are. You know, use some of that influence. After all, it has nothing to do with young Linda, and revealing it could be disastrous to his career.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Me? Influence Melvin Stoltzfus? I can’t even get my sister to pick up her dirty underwear. But speaking of which, Susannah is the one you should be talking to. If anyone can influence Melvin, she can.”

Lydia seemed taken aback. “Well, then,” she said at last, “could you talk to your sister for me? This is a difficult subject for me to talk about, as you might imagine, and I haven’t really gotten a chance to know your sister.”

I studied Lydia Ream for a moment. I savored that moment. There is something uniquely satisfying about having a rich, elegant, well-bred socialite beg for one’s help in a chicken coop. “Okay, I’ll talk to Susannah, but I doubt if it will do any good. If Melvin Stoltzfus has already made up his mind about something, it simply won’t be possible for anyone, even Susannah, to change it.”