sign there at the corner of North Elm and Beechy. Her head busted wide open like a melon.”
“Whose head?” I shrieked. “What’s the victim’s name?”
“You should listen harder, Yoder. I already told you it was Thelma Hershberger.”
I gasped. My knees felt weak, and what with my sprained ankle and all, I desperately needed to sit. Unfortunately all the kitchen chairs were out of my reach. Not partial to pride, I slid to the floor. At least I wouldn’t collapse and bust my head open like a melon.
“Who witnessed it?” I was more in control now, and spoke softly.
“It was a phone tip. The caller wouldn’t say.”
“Man or woman?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Yoder. Thelma may not have been my type, but she was all woman.”
I let that pass. “What makes you think it was murder and not your standard hit-and-run.”
“The caller said Thelma tried to dodge, but the car veered in her direction.”
“I see. What about the car? Your anonymous caller get the make, color, and year?”
“Nada.”
“Nothing?”
“That’s what I said, Yoder.”
“Melvin,” I said tiredly, “I don’t have the energy to put up with your rudeness. My ankle hurts and—”
“Sorry, Yoder.”
I was too tired to jiggle a pinkie in my ear. I had to trust that it was working. If Melvin had indeed used his least favorite word, I’d be a fool not to jump on it.
“Apology accepted.”
“So does this mean you’re going to investigate that, too, for me? Because I’m in the middle of a campaign here, Yoder. I can’t have two unsolved mysteries on my hands.”
“I didn’t know bugs had hands.”
Melvin must have been desperate for my help. Although he swallowed loudly several times before speaking, his voice was remarkably calm.
“Can I count on you, Yoder?”
“You can count on me,” I promised, and then hung up before he could ask me to do his taxes and dirty laundry. Besides, I owed it to Thelma to track down her killer. She’d come to me for help and I’d let her down.
Ignoring Darlene’s scrutinizing gaze, I hauled myself to my feet, labored over to the sink, removed a plastic basin I store beneath it, and began to prepare my foot bath. In my mind there is nothing quite as comforting as soaking your tootsies—wounded or not—in a tub of warm Epsom salts.
“Oh, Miss Yoder, you needn’t do that. I signed up for the A.L.P.O. plan, remember?”
“Of course I remember, dear. I’m not planning to wash up after you, I’m planning to soak my foot.”
She looked away from her sandwich for the first time. “What happened?”
“It’s just a little sprain. I took an unexpected stroll.”
“If it’s a sprain, then you need to apply ice.”
“Is that so?” I continued to fill the basin. A lesson I have learned late in life is it’s possible to acknowledge advice without actually taking it.
“You’ll be sorry if you apply heat first. Trust me, Miss Yoder, I work with sports injuries all the time.”
“I’m sure you do.” I carried the basin over to the table, sat down, and plunged both feet into the warm soothing bath. “Aaaaaah.”
“Well, it may feel good now, but the swelling won’t go away, and that’s what causes most of the pain.”
I smiled pleasantly and pointed to her sandwich. “You wouldn’t mind making me a smaller version of that, would you? Something about one third the size will do.”
“No, of course not.”
“Thanks. But wash your hands first, dear. Better yet, after you’re done washing, put a couple of those zipper bags over your hands.”
She gave me the oddest look, but followed my instructions and put together a fairly decent repast in no time at all. Meanwhile I soaked, and although it may not have helped the sprain any, it did wonders for my morale. Therefore, I barely minded when she began talking sports.
“Did you watch the Women’s International Basketball Championship this year, Miss Yoder?”
“It wasn’t held in Hernia, dear.”
“I
“Whose head?” I shrieked. “What’s the victim’s name?”
“You should listen harder, Yoder. I already told you it was Thelma Hershberger.”
I gasped. My knees felt weak, and what with my sprained ankle and all, I desperately needed to sit. Unfortunately all the kitchen chairs were out of my reach. Not partial to pride, I slid to the floor. At least I wouldn’t collapse and bust my head open like a melon.
“Who witnessed it?” I was more in control now, and spoke softly.
“It was a phone tip. The caller wouldn’t say.”
“Man or woman?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Yoder. Thelma may not have been my type, but she was all woman.”
I let that pass. “What makes you think it was murder and not your standard hit-and-run.”
“The caller said Thelma tried to dodge, but the car veered in her direction.”
“I see. What about the car? Your anonymous caller get the make, color, and year?”
“Nada.”
“Nothing?”
“That’s what I said, Yoder.”
“Melvin,” I said tiredly, “I don’t have the energy to put up with your rudeness. My ankle hurts and—”
“Sorry, Yoder.”
I was too tired to jiggle a pinkie in my ear. I had to trust that it was working. If Melvin had indeed used his least favorite word, I’d be a fool not to jump on it.
“Apology accepted.”
“So does this mean you’re going to investigate that, too, for me? Because I’m in the middle of a campaign here, Yoder. I can’t have two unsolved mysteries on my hands.”
“I didn’t know bugs had hands.”
Melvin must have been desperate for my help. Although he swallowed loudly several times before speaking, his voice was remarkably calm.
“Can I count on you, Yoder?”
“You can count on me,” I promised, and then hung up before he could ask me to do his taxes and dirty laundry. Besides, I owed it to Thelma to track down her killer. She’d come to me for help and I’d let her down.
Ignoring Darlene’s scrutinizing gaze, I hauled myself to my feet, labored over to the sink, removed a plastic basin I store beneath it, and began to prepare my foot bath. In my mind there is nothing quite as comforting as soaking your tootsies—wounded or not—in a tub of warm Epsom salts.
“Oh, Miss Yoder, you needn’t do that. I signed up for the A.L.P.O. plan, remember?”
“Of course I remember, dear. I’m not planning to wash up after you, I’m planning to soak my foot.”
She looked away from her sandwich for the first time. “What happened?”
“It’s just a little sprain. I took an unexpected stroll.”
“If it’s a sprain, then you need to apply ice.”
“Is that so?” I continued to fill the basin. A lesson I have learned late in life is it’s possible to acknowledge advice without actually taking it.
“You’ll be sorry if you apply heat first. Trust me, Miss Yoder, I work with sports injuries all the time.”
“I’m sure you do.” I carried the basin over to the table, sat down, and plunged both feet into the warm soothing bath. “Aaaaaah.”
“Well, it may feel good now, but the swelling won’t go away, and that’s what causes most of the pain.”
I smiled pleasantly and pointed to her sandwich. “You wouldn’t mind making me a smaller version of that, would you? Something about one third the size will do.”
“No, of course not.”
“Thanks. But wash your hands first, dear. Better yet, after you’re done washing, put a couple of those zipper bags over your hands.”
She gave me the oddest look, but followed my instructions and put together a fairly decent repast in no time at all. Meanwhile I soaked, and although it may not have helped the sprain any, it did wonders for my morale. Therefore, I barely minded when she began talking sports.
“Did you watch the Women’s International Basketball Championship this year, Miss Yoder?”
“It wasn’t held in Hernia, dear.”
“I
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