The Death of Pie Read Online Free PDF

Columbus’s three ships, the ones he sailed on his maiden voyage to America. The fact remains that I did hear those names – back in grammar school.
    Chief Toy’s smooth, boyish hand skipped across his pad a few more times. ‘One last question,’ he said as he lifted his pencil, ‘and I’ll make myself scarce. Word has it that the doctor was one heck of a good cook, and that pie-making was one of his specialties. Can you confirm this?’
    I thought about my dear friend, who was also my many times distant cousin. He was a lovable, lecherous old goat if ever there was one, who’d spent a lifetime treating goats. Doc was a veterinarian, not a medical doctor, but like some veterinarians are fond of saying, ‘Veterinarians have to know everything an MD does, and more, because animals have all the corresponding parts that humans possess, but without the ability to describe what ails them.’
    So Doc was certainly smart as a whip. He was also a widower, who missed his wife terribly, and I think that he transferred some of that grief to his female friends, where it was expressed as physical passion. Either that or Doc was just plain horny. But he was good company and always stuck loyally by his friends, just as close as lamprey eels stick to sharks.
    I squared my scrawny shoulders and tossed my asymmetrical head. That last move nearly threw me off balance enough to dislodge me from my own less-than-comfortable perch. Trust me: even after much practice, a posture of defiance does not come easily to those of us who are aesthetically challenged.
    Doc might have been an old goat, and I was becoming an old fool, but I knew exactly what Toy was after: my so-called ‘expertise.’ Ever since Hernia had a Chief of Police – or just a police officer – that person has approached me when the going got tough and asked me to get going for him or her. The reason is simple: I have both the mouth and the moolah. Moolah, by the way, is American slang for money, a term that entered into the lingo via the mouths of cinematic gangsters circa 1939. Why it is that a good Christian woman like me should know this word is really no one’s business but my own, if you were to ask me. At any rate, I just knew that Toy was going to come up with an excuse that would saddle me with the job of grilling the village folk, making enemies out of my friends, and possibly even angering my husband. But what I absolutely refused to do was to rat on my friends. Magdalena may be many things, some even ending with an ‘itch’ – but she is not a snitch!
    â€˜Burn me at the stake,’ I bellowed. ‘Stretch me on the rack,’ I rasped. ‘Pull out my fingernails and call me Portulacca, but I will never turn on my friends. Never in a million years. Not for all the money in China!’
    Chief Toy rose calmly. His soft features registered no emotion whatsoever, so I had no idea how he was reacting to my outburst. For all I knew, I’d gone completely bonkers and had never uttered a single word of it aloud.
    â€˜You may drive the cruiser car,’ the chief said.
    I jiggled my pinkies in my ears to make sure they were both working. ‘ Excuse me?’
    â€˜Really, Miss Yoder, I’d rather not be seen in that old clunker. I bought a lightly used Mercedes sedan for my own use, and I’m having it painted and outfitted with the appropriate lights, sirens, GPS, communication systems and what have you.’
    Even I can be speechless. If this condition persists, onlookers can sometimes become concerned. Such was the case that fine afternoon.
    â€˜Miss Yoder,’ Toy said, after some time had elapsed, ‘you are a handsome woman, but this is not one of your best looks.’
    â€˜How rude!’ I cried.
    â€˜I’ve already installed the safest infant seat on the market,’ my trim and tiny tempter said.
    â€˜Get behind me, Satan!’
    â€˜Since you don’t