Part 19 (1/2)

”Yeah, well, that's still no excuse for being rude.” I refrained from pointing out that Joel probably hadn't touched Billy Dee's venison stew, or the Congressman's beans, which had been doctored up with bits of bacon. There is no point in trying to change someone else's perspective, anyway. We all just see what we want to see. That goes double for the young. I decided to just ignore his comment.

”Say, Joel,” I said, ”you wouldn't be interested in playing a game of cards, would you?”

He looked at me in surprise. ”Oh, not with face cards,” I a.s.sured him quickly. ”We Mennonites don't use those. I'm thinking of Rook. I could see if Susannah wants to play, and we could use the kitty as the fourth hand.”

I was surprisingly un-tired, given the kind of day I'd had. I would have thought that having a second corpse show up in my inn would wear me to a frazzle, send me emotionally and physically escaping into the depths of dark, safe sleep. But not so. Maybe it was because I'd slept so late that morning, or maybe it was because I'm a psychological misfit, but I was still feeling as perky as all get out. Shamefully so. Maybe even high-not that I'm sure I know what that feels like.

Apparently Joel did not share my vim and vigor; either that or he simply had no interest in playing games with someone old enough to be his mother. He said he was feeling unusually tired and thought he might even be coming down with something.

We said good night again, and having nothing else to do, I went to my room, lay down on my bed, and began to read. I guess I should confess right now that I absolutely adore reading. I'm sure some people think that just because I live a simple life-style, I have a simple mind. If only they knew.

When I was in the third grade my teacher called Mama in and told her the school had determined that I had an I.Q. of 146 and they were recommending that I be promoted to the fifth grade. Mama refused to even consider such a thing. Having me skip a grade would lead to prideful and arrogant thoughts on my part, Mama told the teacher. I was never to know I was smarter than anyone else in my cla.s.s. And then, just to make sure she counteracted anything my teacher might be doing on the sly, Mama established her own program of teaching me all the fine points of modesty and humility.

It wasn't until Susannah was in high school, and she found out from her guidance counselor that she had an I.Q. of 142, that the light began to dawn. If Susannah was that smart, I reasoned, so was I. If not smarter. But by then I had lost confidence in myself and had long since put the idea of college behind me. Still, one day in an argument with Mama, the truth had come out. Just between you and me, Mama deserves a couple of extra turns in her grave for what she did.

Anyway, like I said, I love to read. My books have taken me far beyond the limits of my natural world, and I don't think I could survive my life here at the PennDutch Inn without them. Unfortunately, Hernia doesn't have a library, even a tiny one. Old Doc Shafer does, though. When I was a child he used to bring books by the bushel basket for me to read. Mama didn't mind at all, providing she got to sort through them first.

Nowadays, even the library in Somerset offers slim pickings when it comes to books I haven't read. Fortunately old Doc has a niece in Pittsburgh who visits him almost every other week, and she doesn't seem to mind at all making trips to the Carnegie Library for me. Occasionally she even stops at the Mystery Lovers Bookshop in suburban Oakmont and picks up a good whodunnit or two.

I had just started a book by Paul Theroux, my favorite travel writer, when the phone rang. I answered the phone on the seventh ring, but perhaps I should have waited longer. Even then I must have sounded crabby.

”Miss Yoder?” asked a timid voice.

”That depends on who wants to know.”

”This is Melvin, Miss Yoder. Melvin Stoltzfus.”

”Speak up, Melvin. I can barely hear you.”

”Miss Yoder, I just got a call from the coroner, and there's a couple of questions I'd like to ask.”

”Ask away, Melvin.”

”Did you know that Linda McMahon was pregnant?”

”She never breathed a word to me about it,” I said quite honestly. ”Well, she was. Just about to enter her second trimester, as a matter of fact. Which brings me to my second question. Would you have any idea who the father might be?”

”Why, Melvin Stoltzfus, you should be ashamed!” I said with righteous indignation. ”This is a Christian establishment, and I don't allow any hanky-panky. And anyway, you just said yourself that she was three months pregnant. If that's the case, it surely didn't happen here. For all I know, Billy Dee Grizzle is the father.”

”Why do you say that?”

”Melvin, dear, I was being flippant.”

”I'll have to question Mr. Grizzle about that in the morning,” said Melvin, quite seriously. ”In the meantime, there's something I think you should know.”

”Go on, Melvin, I'm listening.”

”Both Heather Brown and Linda McMahon were definitely poisoned.”

”I said, go on, Melvin. I already suspected that.”

”Both women were killed by the same type of poison, but the killer used two different poisons on Linda McMahon.”

”Two poisons?”

I thought I heard Melvin take a deep breath. ”Yes, two, but only one of the poisons killed her.”

”Come again?”

”You see, Miss Yoder, the poison that killed the women was a very fast-acting type of digitalis. It causes respiratory failure within a matter of minutes. Respiratory failure is when ”

”I know, Melvin. Go on.”

”Well, Harrisburg plugged their computer into Was.h.i.+ngton's and came up with the interesting fact that this particular form of digitalis is found only in one species of plant, and that plant is native only to Morocco.”

”Morocco?”

”The lower slopes of the Atlas Mountains to be precise. the Arabic name for the plant is gouza. It's a very unusual plant in that it produces green flowers. It's these flowers that are the most toxic part of the plant. Although they are more lethal if consumed fresh, when dried and put into tea they also remain deadly.”

It sounded like Melvin was reading a pamphlet the C.I.A. had faxed him. Perhaps he was. ”And what about the second poison, the one that didn't kill her?”

”Ah, that. That was just common old Aethusa cynapium.”

”Sounds common enough to me.”

”You know, 'fool's parsley.' ”

”Fool's parsley! That stuff grows everywhere you don't want it to. I'm forever trying to get it out of the garden.”

”Exactly. So that one at least was easy to come by.”

”How toxic is it?”

'Well, let's see. It contains something called cynapine, and cicutoxin.”

”Speak English, Melvin.”

”It's apparently not nearly as toxic as that Moroccan plant. People have been known to die from it, but sometimes the symptoms don't even show up for as much as three days. Although they could show up in a few hours, depending on how much the person ate and their general state of health.”

”I see. What are the symptoms, Melvin?”

”Well, the coroner didn't say too much about that one, since it isn't the one that killed her... no, wait, he did say something about the first symptoms being a general tiredness, a gradual weakening of the muscles.”

I tried to remain calm. ”Melvin, if it takes a while for the poison in fool's parsley to kick in, isn't it possible that others besides Linda might have eaten some? That the poison might be slowly working in some of us right now?”

I thought I heard Melvin scratch his head. ”I suppose that's possible, Miss Yoder, but it doesn't make any sense, does it? The killer used two poisons, remember? If any of you had been given the Moroccan poi-son, you'd be dead as a doornail by now.”