“Don’t yours?”
“Of course not! Magdalena, do your whatchamacallits have names?”
“They’re called breasts,” Dorothy hissed.
Although Agnes was my very best friend in the entire world, I wasn’t about to squeal on Esmeralda and Hermione-and certainly not with Dorothy and Amy listening. Besides, an idea had been forming in my little pumpkin brain that could be beneficial to both Amy and me. To everyone in my family as a matter of fact. And not only that-and this is not a Christian attitude, and I have since repented of it-what I was about to propose would really stick it to Pernicious Yoder III.
“Ladies,” I said, clapping my hands, “this is no time for girl talk.” I turned to Amy with a smile that stretched painfully from ear to ear. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it.”
The lass recoiled as if I were the Devil. “What did you say?”
“I said that I’ll double your pay-whatever it is.”
“Do you want me to work for you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Running an inn involves a great deal of bookkeeping and accounting, as well as greeting customers, and frankly, I don’t have the time to do either anymore.” I swallowed a tablespoon of annoyance before continuing. “With your bubbly personality and keen mind, I see you as a great fit.”
“Really?” Amy said.
“I think I’m going to puke,” Dorothy said.
“It couldn’t have been the crumpets,” Agnes said. “But just so you know, Dorothy, I have a good lawyer.”
I ignored the ignoramus asides. “Really,” I said. “You’ll be making twice the money; think about it.”
“Yes, but he offered me a promotion-with a new title: Chief Assistant Clerk in Training. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for that title?”
“Far too long, I’m sure. I tell you what: I was originally going to hire you as Chief Front Desk Manager in Training, but I am going to give you an instant, on the spot, promotion to Front Desk Supervisor.”
“But that’s a shorter title.”
“Exactly. The shorter the title, the higher the position. Think about it-Vice President Biden, but President Obama. In no time at all you’ll be working your way up to plain old just supervisor.”
“I’d take the deal if I were you,” Dorothy said. “ Magdalena ’s husband is a hunk-and then some. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
“Ooh,” Agnes squealed, “pop her one.”
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Amy said. “But what exactly is it that you want from me?”
I took off my shoes as well as my coat. “Make me a cup of hot cocoa, dear. And don’t forget to float lots of those miniature marshmallows on it-oh, and I’d like some ladyfingers to go with it. You know, for dunking.”
“Some what?”
“Ladyfingers. They’re a kind of cookie.”
“I’ve never heard of them. But I have some windmill cookies with almond slivers in them. And I might still have some gingersnaps.”
“Bring them both, dear. After all, I’m one of those folks with a one-word title.”
“Which is?”
“Boss.”
“ ‘Bossy’ is more like it,” someone said, but I ignored whoever it was. With hot cocoa and two kinds of cookies in my near future, I could afford to be generous.
14
Amy was adamant about having never seen any of the bank robbers before. She said that about a quarter of her customers were Amish, most of them men. All told, she said, she knew the names and faces of at least eighty percent of the people she dealt with, because they were repeat customers. First Farmer’s Bank was a workingman’s institution, where laborers came to store their hard-earned money in lieu of tucking it in the mattress. It didn’t offer fancy services, and it had no gimmicks.
When I grilled her about the way Pernicious reacted to the attempted robbery, Amy got green in the face, and for a moment, it looked like she was going to lose the two gingersnaps and one windmill cookie she’d eaten. Wisely, I held my plate well away and aloft.
“I can’t ascribe motives to someone else’s behavior,” she snapped.
“Of course you can, dear. Why, just now I’d say you’re trying to cover something up.”
“I bet she’s having an affair,” Dorothy mumbled.
Agnes gasped. “Is that true? I swear, there’s more hankypanky going on in this world than I ever dreamed of.”
“Why don’t you two take a walk?” I said. “You know what they say about a watched pot and all that.”
“She’s not a pot,” Agnes pouted.
“Of course not,” I said, “but the same principle applies to weenies.”
“Weenies?”
“Grilled weenies,” I growled. “Now am-scray, the two of you!” I could see the light click on in her head. “All right,” she said, “but you don’t have to be rude about it.”
“ Magdalena ’s nuts,” Dorothy said, but I chose not to take offense. After all, it wasn’t every day that a genuine harlot called me names.
“Now where were we?” I said when we were alone. “Oh, yes, did Pernicious threaten you in any way?”
“Miss Yoder, are you related to him? I mean, you know, yinz have the same last name.”
“Yinz? Amy, you’re originally from Pittsburgh?”
“Yeah, I moved to Bedford when I was twelve.”
“I see. To answer your question, virtually all Yoders in North America are descended from a pair of brothers who emigrated from Switzerland almost three hundred years ago. But since both our forebears settled in Pennsylvania, we are more closely related to one another than to those Yoders living in other parts of the country.”
“Uh-huh. Well, it wasn’t Mr. Yoder who threatened me.”
“Was it the clueless guard?”
When she shook her head, her mousy brown hair parted in greasy clumps. “No. It was some guy on the phone-a foreigner, I think.”
“You mean like Al Qaeda?”
“No, more like Al Canadian.”
It was then that I realized that Amy, as sweet as she was, did not genetically descend from Alfred Einstein. “What? You mean, French?”
“I don’t know-it was different, that’s all. Anyway, he wanted to speak to Mr. Yoder, so I put him through. He called three times after that, and each time he asked for Mr. Yoder’s direct number, but I refused to give it out, on account of Mr. Yoder says I’m not supposed to. Even if God calls and asks for it, he says I’m supposed to make Him wait a few minutes and then put Him through. But never to give out that number. Ever.”
“Why, that’s just plain sacrilegious, not to mention the fact that Mr. Yoder could well be imperiling your soul. I mean, what if the Lord did call, and you put Him on hold? Think what would happen if He turned the tables on you. Let’s say that you’re taking off from Pittsburgh airport, headed for Charlotte, when your plane gets hit by a flock of geese. So you pray for deliverance, but God says, ‘Just a minute, Amy,’ so when your plane goes down, it doesn’t come in for a textbook landing on top of the mighty Ohio River. It plows up mud on the bottom, and all this because you put the Good Lord on hold.”
“Holy crap, Miss Yoder, I hadn’t thought of that!”
“That’s no reason to swear, dear. It’s just something to think about. Like wearing underwear at all times.”
She chuckled knowingly. “Yeah, in case I get hit by a car.”
“No, in case of the rapture. When you’re floating up to Heaven, you don’t want the people left behind getting some final thrills they don’t deserve, do you? And of course this underwear rule applies doubly to men. I mean all that business swinging free in the breeze-what if they hit a tree branch? No, a rupture during the rapture must surely be avoided.”
“Miss Yoder, you’re awful!”
“Just practical, dear. Think how embarrassed that Spears woman would have been.”
“Somehow I don’t think so-I mean I think she intended for people to get a peek. Anyway, are you going to let me finish?”