Butter Safe Than Sorry by Tamar Myers Page B

nodding like one of those toy dogs folks used to put in the rear windows of their cars. "Yes, sir. I understand, sir."
    "Good. Then we have a deal." Pernicious bent stiffly to give her a quick pat on the knee. "Now sing, Amy."
    "Well--"
    "Why don't you stand, first--like you're in choir practice?"
    "All right." Amy appeared to struggle to her feet, but once up, she puffed out her diaphragm, threw back her head, and belted out the most awesome, spine-tingling version of "How Great Thou Art" that I have ever heard. I could tell that Pernicious was impressed, but I'm sure that angels in Heaven were as well; in fact, quite possibly they were a mite jealous.
    Amy's voice was glorious. There is no other way to describe it--okay, maybe it was a bit like Streisand on steroids. So inspired was I, so uplifted spiritually, that I forgot who and where I was and gave myself over to the moment. That is to say, I stood up and sang along with her.
    Unfortunately, it's been said that my voice is reminiscent of a female donkey in heat, and if it doesn't attract any handsome burros, it at least sets dogs to barking as far as a mile away. That night was no different than any other, which meant I may have hit a few sour notes. Perhaps I hit only sour notes and at an unearthly, earsplitting pitch--but just perhaps.
    What matters is that when Pernicious Yoder III glanced out the picture window and saw yours truly violating his bush, he was not a happy man.

13

    For a hoochie mama, Dorothy made a great getaway driver. Or maybe it was precisely because she had so much experience fleeing from irate wives. At any rate, when she spied the two of us running to beat the band, arms and legs flailing, and one of us puffing like the Little Engine That Could, our town's legendary harlot hopped into the driver's seat and revved up the engine. The second the door slammed shut on Agnes's prodigious posterior, Dorothy stomped on the accelerator and we shot down the face of Evitts Mountain like an out-of-control carnival ride. Although I've no way to prove it, if I was a wagering woman ('tis a sin to do so), I'd lay money on the fact that we skipped a few hairpin curves, traveling as we did in a more or less straight line.
    Nevertheless, if Pernicious Yoder III was following us, with Dorothy at the wheel, he was plumb out of luck. Not only did she know her way around Bedford, but she knew every nook and cranny. In one particularly dark and ominous cranny, she finally stopped.
    "Okay, now what?"
    "I think I peed my pants," Agnes said.
    "Oh Agnes, you didn't," I wailed, past caring what others thought of my distressed vocalizations.
    "Was that fun, or what?" Dorothy said.
    "You enjoyed that?" I said.
    "Heck, yeah. I haven't had so much fun since Sam and I were kids, and I used to drive getaway for him when he'd paint the overpass."
    "That was Sam ? My cousin Sam of grocery-store infamy?"
    "Why do you think the other kids called him 'Cop'? It stood for 'Champion Overpass Painter.' "
    "But what he painted was mostly love messages to me!"
    "Yeah, well, I couldn't control everything he did--although I did try my level best. That's why I had to finally marry him. But even that couldn't stop him from thinking of you; he'd call your name out at that critical moment."
    "What moment would that be?" Agnes said.
    "I think I'm going to be sick," I said.
    "Oh shut up, Magdalena," Dorothy said. "It's you who makes me sick. As long as I've known you--which is my entire life--you've played the part of the hapless victim. First you thought you were too tall, too skinny, too ugly, yet all the while you really were the most beautiful girl this five- horse town--and I mean that literally--has ever seen. You could have gotten any boy you wanted, but oh no, you thought you were too good for any locals."
    " What ?"
    "It's true, Magdalena," Agnes said. "In high school all the boys were throwing themselves at you just like the skinny girls threw their Twinkies and Hostess fruit pies at