Batter Off Dead by Tamar Myers Page B

buns.
    “Forsooth.”
    “That’s a yes ?”
    “Undeniably so.”
    He made no move to pull his hands from mine while he pondered his new reality. In the meantime, I felt as if I’d taken a child to the edge of a precipice and forced him to look down, just so he could experience the view.
    “Magdalena, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
    “There’s no telling, dear, because I’m not psychic, and even if I was, I certainly wouldn’t admit it, given that the Bible comes down rather harshly on that subject and I personally prefer a life of hypocrisy to one of open sin, having already spent too much time in the latter ’s trenches, but were I to speculate on your current state of mind, I’d guess that you are feeling curiously relieved, although understandably concerned about your bank’s future, not to mention run-on sentences. Rest assured, however, that naught shall differ between yesterday’s deposits and today’s, unless, of course, you consumed an inordinate amount of bran for supper.”
    “No offense, Magdalena, but has anyone ever told you that you’re nuts?”
    “All the time.”
    “It doesn’t bother you?”
    “Au contraire. If the shoe fits, I always say, then make sure you buy a pair. By the way, I must say that the ones you’re sporting are very spiffy. I’ve been admiring them and would like to get some for Gabe. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but were they expensive?”
    “Over three, can you believe that? My dear sainted mother would have a stroke if she were alive to hear that. Of course they are Ferragamo.”
    “Just three bucks for a snazzy pair like that? What they say about bankers must be true, George; you are a parsimonious lot.”
    “That was three hundred, Magdalena—not three dollars.”
    “Oops.” Of course I was feeling foolish, which gave me the perfect amount of adrenaline to tackle yet another thorny issue. “Tell me, George, why is your assistant such a ferocious watchdog, and why do the two of you give the impression that there is something a trifle indecorous occurring twixt the two of you?”
    He beamed. “That’s what you thought?”
    “Ah, so she’s your beard.”
    “My what ?”
    “Your decoy.”
    “Magdalena, that’s positively indecent of you!” He licked his thin, pale lips. “Besides, how would you know about such things?”
    “Because the PennDutch Inn has catered to the rich and famous almost since it opened. You wouldn’t believe how many actors—and actresses—involve themselves in relationships that are merely for show. Why, there’s this one top-earning actor who—oops, I better stop now. This guy would sue me if I as much as whispered his name, even though everybody knows who he is.”
    George’s eyes were as big and round as lemon tarts. “Would I know his name?”
    I stood. “Look, dear, I really must be going. But you should know first that even though I wish you all the best, I can’t take you off my list.”
    “ What list?”
    “Of suspects, of course.”
    Forget about lemon tarts, moist raisins, and light biscuits. George’s face took on the cold, hard look of the fourteen-year-old fruitcake that Emma Kranebull gave Mama for Christmas one year. My parents used it for a doorstop until Papa stepped too close and broke his littlest piggy and two metatarsals. I was given the honor of disposing of the offending object, whereupon I threw it into Miller ’s Pond. Of course it immediately sank. Crazy Felix Neubrander went scuba diving in the same pond seven years later and brought up what he thought was a gold brick . . .
    “Magdalena!”
    “Yes?”
    “I said, ‘Get out of my office.’ ”
    “Certainly. But you could have asked me nicely.”
    “I did—several times, in fact.”
    “My, aren’t we snippy!”
    “Good day, Magdalena.” He actually pushed me over the threshold. “And as long you’ve got your list of suspects out, may I suggest that you put the Zug twins on top?” Although worded as a