Myers Tamar - Puddin on the Blitz

The Pennsylvania Dutch mysteries

THOU SHALT NOT GRILL

ASSAULT AND PEPPER

GRAPE EXPECTATIONS

HELL HATH NO CURRY

AS THE WORLD CHUMS

BATTER OFF DEAD

BUTTER SAFE THAN SORRY

THE DEATH OF PIE *

TEA WITH JAM AND DREAD *

PUDDIN ON THE BLITZ *

* available from Severn House

I would like to thank my publisher, Kate Lyall Grant, at Severn House for the opportunity to write this book. I would also like to thank my editor, Sara Porter, for her wisdom and skilful guidance. I also wish to acknowledge my copyeditor, Anna Harrison, for a bang-up job, and of course, the art department for a scrummy cover.

In addition, I am very grateful to my literary agent of twenty-seven years, Nancy Yost, of Nancy Yost Literary Agency. I want to give a shout-out to the entire team there, most especially Sarah, Natanya and Cheryl.

I dont look good in orange. I dont even look good when Im holding the fruit. If you ask me, its not even a colour that a God-fearing woman should be caught dead in, lest she be barred from the Pearly Gates. Trust me, you wont even find the word orange in the Bible. Even harlots dont wear orange; they wear scarlet. Besides, there is not another word in the English language that rhymes with it. That should tell you something right there.

No thank you, dear, I said to the policewoman. I much prefer the colour blue a bright, royal blue, to be specific. On second thought, the Bible does exhort us to dress modestly, so perhaps I should choose navy. What do you think?

The officer snorted. I think that a self-righteous woman like yourself shouldnt commit murder in the first place. If ya didnt want to dress like a perp, then ya shouldnt have gone and killed someone.

Oh, please, I said, I didnt kill anyone. Surely you can tell by the way that Im dressed that Im a mild-mannered, Conservative Mennonite woman. Just look at my skirt; it extends well past my knees. My blouse has elbow-length sleeves, and it is buttoned primly up to my neck. My sturdy Christian underwear alone covers more of my body than your guard outfit does. You know, if I removed the pleated white organza cap from atop my pile of braids, and was able to force my thin, withered lips into a proper smile, I might possibly be able to sneak into a Mormon community undetected.

Officer Twaddlebottoms response was to snatch the hideous jailhouse garments from my hands and throw them violently down on a metal cot so narrow that a strand of spaghetti would have had trouble getting comfortable on it. Then she whipped a pistol out of a gleaming black holster and gave its barrel a good whack against the door of the cell.

Get undressed, she snapped.

Hold your horses, dear, I said. Do you realize how stupid that was? Your gun might have accidentally discharged, sending a bullet ricocheting off these bars until it eventually struck and killed me. Then you would be the one true murderess standing here today. No offense, dear, whereas I am unnaturally tall, and perhaps a wee bit on the gaunt side, you, on the other hand I say this with utmost Christian charity are more than a mite broad in the beam. Although, to be fair, you do have remarkably trim ankles, unlike mine, which would make a mother elephant proud to see them on her newborn calf. I trust that you give the Good Lord thanks on a daily basis for those mere twigs on which you manage to balance so precariously.

Apparently Officer Twaddlebottom did not take kindly to being chided for having ignored basic gun safety etiquette. Strip!

Excuse me, dear? I said.

You heard me, dear. Take off all your clothes. Down to your bare skin. Leave nothing on.

Now? I asked incredulously.

No, silly, Officer Twaddlebottom said. I was only teasing. At any minute the maid will bring us some refreshments. After that, if youve been a good girl, we can hop on the bus and take a trip to the famous Pittsburgh Zoo.

I may not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but then again, neither has my pilot light gone out if one will allow me to mix metaphors. Im not a betting gal, but if I were, Id almost be willing to bet dollars to donuts that there was no maid waiting in the wings with refreshments, and no trip to the zoo planned either. Given that Ive so often been accused of being a pessimist, I decided to shake things up this time and trust in the Good Lord that everything would work out for the good.

You are one fabulous lady, Miss Twaddlebottom, I cooed. Snacks and a field trip into Pittsburgh sound awesome.

Unfortunately, the policewoman was not moved by flattery. Strip, she barked.

No, maam, I said resolutely.

What did ya say?

I said, dear, that I will not strip. Not in front of you certainly not in front of that camera over there. No one except my dearly beloved husband and the Lord Almighty have ever seen me naked. The Lord, by the way, has X-ray vision and can see through clothes. Even yours.

Amen to the Lords X-ray vision, said Officer Twaddlebottom. But that handsome hunk of flesh that youre married to now, him aint the only man who seen you naked, is he, Mrs Yoder?

Really, dear, I said, trying to stall for time, your grammar is atrocious. Im sure that you must find it demoralizing, getting passed over for promotions on that account, but never fear, today is your lucky day. As a very wealthy woman, I would be happy to pay for a private English tutor.

Mrs Yoder, are you trying to bribe me?

I clutched my meagre bosom in mock dismay. Why I never! If I was trying to bribe you, then I would dangle a ten-day Hawaiian cruise in front of

Shut up!

Yes, maam, I said. See? My lips are closed. Sealed with glue. Ive shut my yap. Ive sprung my trap. Ive

Not one more word, the officer growled through clenched teeth. Do you understand?

Certainly.

Officer Twaddlebottom closed her eyes and began breathing quite rapidly. Frankly, her behaviour was vaguely reminiscent of that exhibited by my hunky husband, whom I call the Babester, at those moments when he achieves uh, marital bliss. Im fairly certain that Officer Twaddlebottom was not on the same page. At last, my tormentor opened her eyes.

Ya mean to say that your hunky husband is the only man to ever see ya naked? she asked incredulously.

I recoiled like a stepped-on snake. Frankly, dear, thats none of your ding-dong business oops, sorry, I didnt mean to swear.

Officer Twaddlebottom smirked. Such a potty-mouth on ya, Mrs Yoder. But really, a sexy woman like ya must have had oodles of boyfriends. Surely one of them guys got lucky enough to make it past your sturdy Christian underwear.

Really? I said, as I patted my mound of coiled braids. You think Im sexy?

Like a Playboy centrefold excepting one wearing granny clothes. Speaking of them clothes, Mrs Yoder, ya gotta ditch them things for the inspection.

What inspection? I said. Then I remembered observing Amish horse auctions, so I pulled my withered lips away from my gums using four fingers. See! I still have all of my teeth, except for my wisdom teeth. I shuffled my feet and whinnied. And my hoofs are in good shape as well uh, except for a bunion on my right big toe.

Officer Twaddlebottom didnt even chuckle. Youre an idiot, ya know that? I gotta inspect ya where the sun dont shine.

No way!

Way. Gotta check and see that you aint trying to smuggle in any contraband.

Now it was my heart that was racing, but I kept my eyes wide open because I sensed that I was fighting a losing battle, one that was going to end very badly for me. Even before routine visits to my gynaecologist I require a long, relaxing bath, followed by downing a tranquilizer with a glass of warm milk. For those who wish to judge me on my pharmacological habits, try walking in my size forty-four moccasins first or just size eleven, if youre an American.