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have Constant Comment?”
    “You bet. I’ll have to try that sometime; seems like everyone asks for it.”
    “You have any ladyfingers?”
    “Only Archway lemon-filled rounds.” Noting the look of disappointment on my face, he added, “Branch out a little, Miss Yoder. You might find that you really like them.”
    After we were settled in with our nosh (after all, I hadn’t had a chance to eat any pancakes), Chief Ackerman didn’t waste any time getting down to business. “Miss Yoder,” he said, his voice assuming a supplicating tone, “I realize that you have certain—uh—limitations at the moment. But quite honestly, you are the best detective I have met.”
    I patted my bun, which is covered at all times by an organza prayer cap. It was a reflexive action; I really didn’t mean to seem proud.
    “Thank you very much, Chief, but as you well know, I am not a detective.”
    He shrugged his broad, well-muscled shoulders. “Labels. Who needs them anyway?”
    “Well, they do make buying clothes a lot easier. But please, Chief, cut to the chase. Suppose my water should break right here. Would you know what to do?”
    He turned a whiter shade of pale. “Miss Yoder, you know as well as I do that Miss Jay was the victim of homicide, and that the murderer belongs to your church.”
    I stared at him for who knows how long. No doubt my mouth was open and my shapely lips bedecked with garlands of drool. Finally it was he who took the initiative by waving a hand an inch or two in front of my face.
    “Are you in there, Miss Yoder?” he asked, and not unkindly either.
    Like an engine on a cold day, I sputtered to life. “I—uh—I’m in here, all right. I’m just wondering if my forehead is missing. How’s my skull in general?”
    His own forehead wrinkled, but he obligingly gave me the once-over. “You look just fine to me.”
    “That’s what I hoped you would say, and I don’t think that even you can read minds that well, Chief, without some assistance. But that’s exactly what I believe: Minerva J. Jay was murdered.”

4
    “But that’s silly!” We said it in unison. Then we both laughed inappropriately, and for an indecent period of time. When we stopped, it was only because the tea water was boiling.
    “At least I have my hormones to blame it on,” I said. “What’s your excuse?”
    “For the laughing, or my conclusion?”
    “Both, and you may as well start at the beginning.”
    He selected the least-chipped mug, rinsed it with some of the boiling water, and then plopped the bag of Constant Comment in. “Don’t spoil this with milk,” he said. “Besides, I haven’t got any.” That said, he filled the mug dangerously close to the brim.
    “I’m waiting, dear.”
    “Yes, I know, but I’m trying to soothe your savage breast first. You see, Miss Yoder, whether or not you personally had anything to do with Miss Jay’s death is irrelevant to my way of thinking, but your presence at the breakfast was a sure sign of foul play.”
    I am not an umbrageous woman; nonetheless, I recoiled with indignation. Thank heavens I had yet to pick up the too-full mug, otherwise, Little Jacob might have learned that his mother had picked up some rather salty language from both his father and his auntie Susannah.
    “What on earth do you mean by that?” I demanded. “And incidentally, I do not believe you intended to reference ‘my bosoms, ’ as neither of my breasts has exhibited symptoms of savagery in the past several months.”
    He winced. “Miss Yoder, in the year or so that I’ve been here, several local people have died of natural causes, yet you weren’t involved with any of them.”
    “I can’t help it if all my friends are healthy,” I wailed.
    “No offense, Miss Yoder, but your wailing is very unbecoming. At any rate, the point I’m trying to make is that for some strange reason you seem to somehow, at some point, get tangled up with every murder case that comes down the pike.”
    “