Just Plain Pickled to Death by Tamar Myers

all over town, Magdalena. A terrible way to die—drowning in a barrel of cider.”
    “It was sauerkraut. And I don’t think she drowned. I think she was dead before she went in.”
    “Still, what a tragic waste.”
    I left that line alone. Sam is too closely related to have meant it in the morally correct way.
    “Did you know her well, Sam?”
    A dreamy look crept across his face. “No, not Sarah. Too young. But I remember her mother.”
    “Oh?” I asked cautiously.
    “Yeah, all the guys remember her. She was—uh—”
    “Pretty?”
    “Built like a brick shithouse.”
    “Shame on you, Sam Yoder! A Methodist tongue!” I chided him gently. “So, she was easy on your eyes. What else do you remember?”
    “She wore very short skirts and tight sweaters.”
    “She was a Mennonite, Sam. I’m sure she did no such thing.”
    “Ask any man our age. Mrs. Weaver was what you wished all your dates looked like.”
    I would have slapped Sam, but dozens of generations of pacifist forebears have left their genetic imprint on me. Besides, I had just spotted a hickory- smoked ham that had been mispriced to my advantage. Sam does not have a scanner, and if I kept him distracted—in a non-combative way—the ham could be mine for a song.
    “That’s very interesting,” I said pleasantly. “I mean, the Beeftrust are not exactly drop-dead gorgeous. And I mean that in the nicest way.”
    “No argument there. But Mrs. Weaver wasn’t like the others. She was the youngest, I think. Kept herself in good shape. Could really turn heads.”
    I let Sam ring up the twenty-dollar ham for two dollars. Then, not feeling the least bit guilty, I deposited a quarter in the charity box by the register. If I knew Sam, the two bits would never reach the big-eyed children with the sunken cheeks. As soon as I got home, however, I would mail them half of my eighteen-dollar profit.
    “Well, from what I hear, her sister Lizzie was quite a looker too.”
    Sam made the same face Susannah makes when she tastes Freni’s homemade liverwurst. “I don’t know much about her. She was older. Grown-up-looking, you know.”
    “Did you and your drooling cronies ever make a pass at Sarah’s mother?”
    He blanched white as bleached cake flour. “Naw, I mean, we were just kids, and she was a grown-up too. She just didn’t look like the rest. Besides, her husband wouldn’t stand for it.”
    “Oh?” For talkers like Sam, an arched eyebrow and a rounded mouth are all they need for fuel.
    “That man was downright weird. Real quiet all the time. Too quiet. Like a snake, if you know what I mean.”
    I nodded, the “oh” and the arch still in place.
    “He used to come into this store a lot when it was my daddy’s. I’d see him then. He gave me the heebie-jeebies. He was always staring at you, with eyes that never blinked. Like I said, he reminded me of a snake.”
    A customer came in then. Norah Hall is the nosiest woman this side of the Delaware. She also has it in for me. Something about it being my fault her pudgy prepubescent daughter didn’t get to be a movie star that time a Hollywood company rented my inn for a few weeks. At any rate, Norah was sure to peek into my bag, see the mispriced ham, and squeal on me. Sam then would ban me from his store for life, depriving me of one of my few pleasures, and the big-eyed waifs would go hungry.
    “That is such a flattering color on you,” I said to Norah and fled. Always compliment your enemies before fleeing. It throws them off track every time.
    Melvin was still asleep when I returned. I didn’t have a pitcher of ice water at my disposal, but it was a simple matter to push his feet off the desk. The silly man jumped up and saluted me.
    “Sir! Private Melvin Stoltzfus reporting to duty, sir!”
    “At ease, private,” I said kindly.
    He rubbed his giant orbs with both fists. “That isn’t funny, Magdalena. I worked Zelda’s shift last night—she’s sick. That was the first chance I had to