A Bee in Her Bonnet by Jennifer Beckstrand

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    Poppy leaned over to look at the notebook. “How are you planning on making extra money? Are you writing a cookbook?”
    Bitsy folded her arms. “I thought I should come up with something that will make more money than a cookbook. Something that will be an instant success. I’m writing a Mennonite vampire romance. Vampires are very popular right now, and the Mennonites are such gute people.” She tore the half-written page out of her notebook and crinkled it into a ball. “But it’s a lot harder than it sounds. I can’t decide if my conflict should involve a werewolf or Mr. Darcy.”
    Luke looked at Poppy. He must have had the same puzzled look on his face that she did. “What is a vampire?” Poppy said.
    Bitsy waved away the question with a flick of her wrist. “It’s a skinny teenager who can’t get a tan, no matter how long he sits out in the sun.”
    Bitsy had lived as an Englischer for several years. When Poppy’s parents had died, Bitsy had come back to the community to raise her nieces. She knew things that Luke couldn’t even begin to guess.
    â€œIt sounds like a wonderful- gute book, B,” Poppy said.
    Luke couldn’t say if it sounded gute or not. Some of the things that appealed to Englischers made no sense to him. A thin boy, a wolf, and Mr. What’s-His-Name didn’t seem like much of a story. “If the wolf chased the thin boy and tried to eat him, that might add some excitement to it.”
    Bitsy shook her head. “Never give an author writing advice. You don’t want to mess up my creative flow. Isn’t that right, Farrah Fawcett?”
    The cat, who up until now had sat nearly motionless, lifted its head and mewed softly.
    â€œFarrah Fawcett?” Luke said.
    â€œThat’s our cat’s name,” Poppy said, smiling at Luke as if she didn’t dislike him so much. “She’s named after one of Aunt B’s favorite movie stars.”
    As if she knew they were talking about her, Farrah Fawcett eyed Luke like he had a foul smell hanging about him—much the same look Poppy often gave him. Well, Poppy had never liked him, and what did he care for the opinion of a cat?
    â€œShe doesn’t look like much of a hunter,” Luke said. “But Poppy says she leaves a mouse on your doorstep every morning.”
    Bitsy smirked. “Farrah Fawcett would never stoop to chasing mice. Billy Idol kills enough mice for the both of them.”
    â€œBilly Idol?”
    â€œOur other cat,” Poppy said.
    Luke examined the line of super glue on Poppy’s knee. “This looks dry. I’m going to apply another coat.”
    As he picked up the tube of glue, he heard what sounded like a low-pitched moaning on the other side of the front door.
    Bitsy raised her eyebrows. “That’s our other cat.” She ambled to the door and opened it.
    A black-and-white cat stood on the welcome mat with one paw propped on a dead mouse. Luke wasn’t exactly sure how a cat could manage to sneer, but that cat looked as prickly and mean as a porcupine with a splinter. No doubt it had seen its share of fights. The top of one of its ears was split in half, and one eye only opened halfway. It was a very ugly cat. Luke felt kind of sorry for it.
    â€œ Cum reu , Billy Idol,” Bitsy said, motioning for the cat to come into the house. “Dan Kanagy brought him over two weeks ago. I’ve promised to give him a chance, but I haven’t promised to keep him.”
    â€œHe’s taken care of our mouse problem, B,” Poppy said.
    Billy Idol crept into the house as if expecting to be shoved into a bag and taken to the ditch to be drowned. Farrah Fawcett took one look at Billy Idol and, showing more life than she had since Luke had been here, leaped from the window seat, padded quickly across the kitchen floor, and disappeared up the stairs. Apparently, Farrah Fawcett was not fond of