Between a Wok and a Hard Place

Between a Wok and a Hard Place

Tamar Myers

Language: English

Pages: 167

ISBN: 2:00326620

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Even though new husband, Aaron (Pooky Bear!), is away, Magdalena Yoder, proprietor of the prosperous Penn-Dutch Inn, is still in a honeymoon haze...until she's pulled in by Police Chief Stolzfus (her nemesis!) to help investigate the sad demise of an Asian tourist – run over by a horse and buggy!
But things really start to sizzle when it's revealed that the victim was strangled first. And when a young Amish lad is shot, Magdalena must really use her noodle, lest she foul up her first officially deputized investigation. Added to that stress is shocking news from her Pooky Bear that shakes her world.
But trust Magdalena to leap from wok to frying pan without a single scorch!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

about them is to live like them. Right here. The ALPO plan.” Dorothy had her hand up again. “That’s redundant,” she said politely when called on. “Calling it the ALPO plan. But, what I want to know is, can we still visit that farm?” I smiled away my irritation. “Of course, dear. And you,” I said to her husband, “could photograph the week’s activities.” “That could be a photo essay,” Angus said pensively. “Life magazine might go for it.” “Count me out,” Dr. Brack bellowed. “I’m not washing

instructively to Harvey. “Huh?” He stared at me with bleary eyes. His parents weren’t home, and there was no sign of his two younger brothers. Quite possibly I’d caught the boy napping, in which case the devil was in seventh heaven. So to speak. “You should try reading a book,” I said kindly. “I read a book.” “Oh? Beach Music by Pat Conroy?” I asked hopefully. He shrugged. “I read the book back in ninth grade, Miss Yoder. There was a raft in it and some kid named Huck.” “I’m Mrs. Miller

is as common a name among Mennonites and Amish as Jennifer, or even Caitlin, is among the English. It could have been any of a hundred acquaintances. Grandma Yoder was an Elizabeth, for crying out loud. If it was her, I certainly didn’t want to talk. Even while she was alive, Grandma Yoder was intimidating. “You have dialed in error,” I said in my most mechanical voice. “Please check the number you wish to reach—” “You aren’t fooling anyone, Magdalena, with that fake phone voice. I always said

with my oar. We need to get your winch hooked up to her and pull her in. I bet she’s worth a million bucks. More to the Smithsonian.” Jacob grinned and scratched his head. He was going to wear himself out if he didn’t watch it. “I have to hand it to you, Aaron. I didn’t think flying saucers really existed. You said I get half of what we recover, right?” “That’s right. Now I’m going to row back and get you so we can hook this thing up.” “Hot dog!” Jacob said in a gush of ecstasy. “My little

in my youth, but thirty years and half a chicken were bound to make a difference. The best I could do was to find my car keys and hold them, ready to sprint to the car at the first sign of trouble. Both men were expert swimmers. It took them about an hour to hook the cable to the flying saucer and winch it close enough to shore so that a preliminary inspection could be made. During that time about a dozen onlookers, besides myself, had gathered. Folks driving by on Hertzler Lane, either by

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