The Crepes of Wrath Read Online Free

there.”
    “I see. In other words, you want me to handle the entire case for you, don’t you?”
    Melvin squirmed. “Unofficially, of course. When you solve it—”
    “You mean, if, don’t you?”
    He hesitated. “You’re smart, Yoder. Don’t make me say that twice.”
    Like I said, I’ve learned when to quit. “Okay. Let’s say I solve it. So then what?”
    “I get the credit.”
    “Of course. I’m sure it will be a big boost for your campaign. But tell me, what do I get out of this?”
    Melvin looked like a sheep who’d been asked an algebra question. “Uh—well—”
    “Never mind, dear, I’ll do it.”
    “You will ?”
    I nodded. Even if Melvin hadn’t asked for my help, he would have gotten it. Solving Lizzie’s murder—and it had to be just that—was the least I could do for her. Even then, how could I possibly forgive myself for praying that the woman would stay away from church, while at the very moment she lay dying?
    No matter what it took, I was going to solve Lizzie Mast’s death.

4

     
    I had my back to the door a moment later when I heard it open. Just for the record, I prayed for patience. Unfortunately that’s my least-answered prayer.
    “Go away, you bothersome bug, or I’ll whack you with this broom.”
    “Is that a traditional Pennsylvania Dutch welcome?”
    I whirled. Standing just inside my door was the tallest woman I’d ever seen. I’m five foot ten, skinny as a rail, but this big-boned gal loomed over me. I couldn’t help but gasp.
    “Hi. My name’s Darlene Townsend,” the woman said and extended a hand the size of New Jersey.
    I allowed my hand to be swallowed by hers. “I’m Magdalena Yoder, and welcome to the PennDutch Inn.” Too late I remembered my charming fake accent.
    Miss Townsend’s raised eyebrows nearly brushed my ceiling. “Funny, but you don’t sound like you did on the phone when I made the reservation.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “The woman I spoke to had an accent.”
    “I’m bilingual. The accent comes and goes.” It was only a pseudo-fib. I’m the daughter of bilingual parents, and I’ve heard Pennsylvania Dutch spoken my entirelife. What did it really matter if I couldn’t speak the lingo?
    Darlene smiled. She had soft brown eyes in a pretty face framed by a bob of auburn hair.
    “I’m bilingual too.”
    “Oh, what other languages do you know?”
    “FORTRAN.”
    “You’re Fortranese?” I asked pleasantly. Ever since the breakup of the Soviet Union, it’s been hard to keep track of all those little countries.
    Darlene laughed heartily. “That’s a good one. Confidentially—and I don’t mean to brag—I’m somewhat of an expert on UNIX too.”
    I held the broom protectively in front of me. “Your sex life is none of my business, dear.”
    The giantess laughed again. “You’re a real hoot, Miss Yoder. I can see that I’m going to enjoy my week here.”
    Keeping the broom between us, I maneuvered behind the counter and checked my reservation book. I was indeed expecting a Darlene Townsend, but her mailing address was Philadelphia, not Fortran. She’d stated in her letter that she was an athletics instructor at a private girls’ school and was looking forward to a working vacation. The work—if you can call it that—was to recruit girls who could play basketball.
    “How will you be paying?” I asked suspiciously. No Hernia teacher could afford a night at my inn, even excluding A.L.P.O.
    Darlene handed me a platinum credit card.
    “Would you like an authentic Amish experience?” I asked.
    “Does that involve a broom?”
    I chuckled grudgingly. “Yes, but not on the behind. For a bit more money, you get the privilege of doing chores.” I showed her a list of fees.
    Her dark eyes sparkled. “What a clever idea! Sign me up for everything.”
    No doubt I beamed. There is a sucker born every minute, and I definitely have a sweet tooth.
    “You’re a wise woman, dear. You’ll enjoy the Amish experience.”
    As if