how you’re not even a real policewoman, but a busybody. That’s what you are: a busybody.”
I was too shocked to say anything for a good minute and a half, much less move one of my comely, but admittedly oversize feet. Little Jacob was certainly not a runt! Virtually everyone who saw him—murder suspects excluded—invariably commented on what a healthy-looking baby he was. As the shock wore off, I had the almost overpowering urge to respond to that verbal attack on my progeny, yet at the same time the rational side of me began to mobilize with what might be a more useful rejoinder.
“How very interesting,” I said as I edged backward toward the door, “but I never said that Minerva was murdered.”
Jimmy shuffled toward me at the same rate. “Oh, come on. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Yes, at first I thought you might have come to see how I was getting along. As you well know, I do a lot for the church, Magdalena, and a logical person might think that in turn the church would care about me. Someone might even ask if I need a ride into Pittsburgh to see my cardiologist, now that turnpike driving is getting to be somewhat scary for me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Remember that I had a quadruple bypass in ’ninety-four? That I have a pacemaker? That I suffer from emphysema? But that I still volunteer at things like the pancake breakfast, standing on my feet for hours, just to raise a little money for new hymnals?”
My heart went out to him, of course, but that didn’t mean I found him any less threatening. I fumbled for the doorknob, which was both clammy and greasy. Once I turned it, I pushed the door open with my posterior cheeks.
“Jimmy, I honestly didn’t come here to accuse you of anything. I merely wanted to ask you if you thought Minerva might have enemies. You see—and you must keep this confidential—if indeed Minerva was murdered, her killer could have been anyone who was there that morning; not just the kitchen crew.”
Shame, shame, triple shame on me for thinking that Jimmy sounded like a barking sea lion when he laughed. Where was my compassion? Surely a man with that many ailments deserved a huge dose of human kindness, and here all I could think of was how much he resembled a marine mammal.
“Magdalena, you haven’t changed a bit since the third grade, have you? Where is the information in what you just said? What am I supposed to keep confidential? That a possible murder could have been committed by anyone ?”
My left foot found the porch floor and was quickly followed by my right. “There you go; you just answered your own questions. And really, dear, there’s no need to see me out. I can do a follow-up on Minerva over the phone.”
Jimmy’s watery brown eyes seemed to crystallize into obsidian. His normally pallid complexion turned blotchy in front of my eyes, and he began to quiver with rage. His sudden mood swing put me right back in the third grade when he was Mr. Neufenbakker and had the right to smack me with a ruler if I so much as squirmed during my Bible lesson.
Perhaps it was his declining health, or perhaps it was the way he’d always been, but Jimmy Neufenbakker was as emotionally stable as a two-legged giraffe on roller skates. I needed to get out of there before he lost his balance completely, and took Little Jacob and me with him. Alas, I was too late.
13
“Stop!” he roared.
What is it about the adult-child relationship that never quite changes? Or could it be that because Jimmy had been physically abusive to me, that he once had the power to order me around, I felt that I still needed to obey him? Whatever the reason, I stopped and did my own quivering—not from rage, but from fear.
“Minerva!” he roared again. “So you really want to know what I thought of her, do you? Then I’ll tell you: that woman was a t-r-o-l-l —” He checked himself abruptly as he inclined his small bald head toward the infant seat I cradled. “No, I
I was too shocked to say anything for a good minute and a half, much less move one of my comely, but admittedly oversize feet. Little Jacob was certainly not a runt! Virtually everyone who saw him—murder suspects excluded—invariably commented on what a healthy-looking baby he was. As the shock wore off, I had the almost overpowering urge to respond to that verbal attack on my progeny, yet at the same time the rational side of me began to mobilize with what might be a more useful rejoinder.
“How very interesting,” I said as I edged backward toward the door, “but I never said that Minerva was murdered.”
Jimmy shuffled toward me at the same rate. “Oh, come on. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Yes, at first I thought you might have come to see how I was getting along. As you well know, I do a lot for the church, Magdalena, and a logical person might think that in turn the church would care about me. Someone might even ask if I need a ride into Pittsburgh to see my cardiologist, now that turnpike driving is getting to be somewhat scary for me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Remember that I had a quadruple bypass in ’ninety-four? That I have a pacemaker? That I suffer from emphysema? But that I still volunteer at things like the pancake breakfast, standing on my feet for hours, just to raise a little money for new hymnals?”
My heart went out to him, of course, but that didn’t mean I found him any less threatening. I fumbled for the doorknob, which was both clammy and greasy. Once I turned it, I pushed the door open with my posterior cheeks.
“Jimmy, I honestly didn’t come here to accuse you of anything. I merely wanted to ask you if you thought Minerva might have enemies. You see—and you must keep this confidential—if indeed Minerva was murdered, her killer could have been anyone who was there that morning; not just the kitchen crew.”
Shame, shame, triple shame on me for thinking that Jimmy sounded like a barking sea lion when he laughed. Where was my compassion? Surely a man with that many ailments deserved a huge dose of human kindness, and here all I could think of was how much he resembled a marine mammal.
“Magdalena, you haven’t changed a bit since the third grade, have you? Where is the information in what you just said? What am I supposed to keep confidential? That a possible murder could have been committed by anyone ?”
My left foot found the porch floor and was quickly followed by my right. “There you go; you just answered your own questions. And really, dear, there’s no need to see me out. I can do a follow-up on Minerva over the phone.”
Jimmy’s watery brown eyes seemed to crystallize into obsidian. His normally pallid complexion turned blotchy in front of my eyes, and he began to quiver with rage. His sudden mood swing put me right back in the third grade when he was Mr. Neufenbakker and had the right to smack me with a ruler if I so much as squirmed during my Bible lesson.
Perhaps it was his declining health, or perhaps it was the way he’d always been, but Jimmy Neufenbakker was as emotionally stable as a two-legged giraffe on roller skates. I needed to get out of there before he lost his balance completely, and took Little Jacob and me with him. Alas, I was too late.
13
“Stop!” he roared.
What is it about the adult-child relationship that never quite changes? Or could it be that because Jimmy had been physically abusive to me, that he once had the power to order me around, I felt that I still needed to obey him? Whatever the reason, I stopped and did my own quivering—not from rage, but from fear.
“Minerva!” he roared again. “So you really want to know what I thought of her, do you? Then I’ll tell you: that woman was a t-r-o-l-l —” He checked himself abruptly as he inclined his small bald head toward the infant seat I cradled. “No, I
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