Dairy, Dairy, Quite Contrary

Amy Lillard

• Publisher: Kensington Books
• Year: 2022
• eBook ISBN:
  9781496733467
• Print ISBN:
  9781496733450
• Subtopic: Crime & Mystery Literature

Looking for a fresh start, advice columnist Sissy Yoder heads to small-town Yoder, Kansas, to help in her aunt’s café. But when a milkman is murdered, the newcomer becomes the prime suspect . . .

After Sissy’s rodeo cowboy boyfriend turns out to be more of a rodeo clown, she packs a bag; picks up her Yorkshire terrier Duke; and leaves Tulsa, Oklahoma, bound for her parents’ former hometown. There are still plenty of Yoders in Yoder, Kansas, including Sissy’s aunt Bethel, who owns the Sunflower Café but recently broke her leg. It’s a homecoming of sorts as Sissy arrives to help in the café and reunite with her pregnant cousin Lizzie. Plus she can continue to secretly write her newspaper advice column as seventy-year-old “Aunt Bess.” But it’s Sissy who could use some advice when she finds the milk deliveryman out behind the café with a knife in his back. As the sheriff’s prime suspect, it’s up to Sissy to catch the backstabber herself—before someone else gets creamed . . .
 

CHAPTER ONE

Life is like a game of chess. To win, you first have to make a move.

—Aunt Bess

“I need an Adam and Eve on a raft, and cry over it.” As Sissy Yoder watched, a woman with a heavy frown stuck her face in the small window that joined the front of the café with the kitchen. Sissy could barely see her, but she thought—hoped, even—that it was her aunt.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Lottie? English. I need you to tell me the order in English.”

Lottie, a middle-aged woman with a chubby face and short, gray-streaked blond hair, planted her hands on her wide hips and squared off with the woman in the kitchen. “That is English, Bethel. And I thought Josie told you to go home.”

“Josie can’t—never mind.” Bethel waved a hand, as if none of it were of any importance; then she disappeared from view.

So that was her aunt. Well, it had to be her aunt, now, didn’t it? Because her aunt was named Bethel, and she owned the Sunflower Café. And since Sissy was in the Sunflower Café and the woman’s name was Bethel, it stood to reason. After all, what were the chances that there were two women named Bethel who worked in the Sunflower Café in itty-bitty Yoder, Kansas? Not likely.

It’s just that Sissy hadn’t seen her aunt in many, many years. She had fond memories of her cousin Lizzie, Bethel’s daughter, who had worked at the café part-time until recently. Lizzie had contacted Sissy’s mother to see if anyone in the family would be willing to help Bethel in her time of need. A call that reached all the way from Kansas to Oklahoma, to the wayward Yoders, who had gone so far as to leave the Amish church for greener pastures.

At first, Sissy had been a little confused by the call. After all, there were plenty of relations around the tiny town of Yoder, Kansas—more than plenty, in truth. Even Amish ones. But it seemed as if everyone was either under the weather—Lizzie herself had just been put on bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy—or busier than usual.

After the brief glimpse Sissy had just received of her aunt, she thought it was more likely that everyone had been run off.

Well, not her.

She lifted her chin and pulled on the tails of her pink-checked, button-down shirt. She had a job to do. For the family.

The woman named Bethel burst through the swinging aluminum doors that hung between the dining area and the kitchen, one hand braced on a single crutch as she hobbled into view.

Solid. That was the best word she could find to describe her aunt. Bethel Yoder was stout, her homemade black dress a little tight across the middle. The matching black apron concealed little of her girth. Her aunt looked as if she could hold her own in a wrestling tournament. A men’s wrestling tournament.

She wore the traditional black walking shoes and black tights, but instead of a white prayer covering, she boasted a faded yellow bandana tied over her hair. If it hadn’t been for the dress and the apron, Sissy might not have known she was Amish at all.

“The doctor said—” Lottie started again.

“Bah,” Bethel grumbled. “The doctor can’t say much unless he wants to come over here and help me.” She pulled the order ticket from Lottie’s hand, studied it a second, then started for the kitchen once again. “Hard to find good help these days. Hard to find any help at all . . .”

Sissy cleared her throat.

Both women turned to look at her, as if until that moment, neither had been aware of her presence.

“Can I help you?” Lottie asked. Her sweet blue eyes made it seem as if she wanted to help, and they definitely held a different light than Bethel’s narrowed ones.

“I’m here to help you.” Sissy smiled, completely satisfied with herself. Perfect.

“Are you here about the ad?” Lottie asked.

“No,” Sissy replied.

“Ad?” Bethel turned toward Lottie, her cast scraping against the floor. It wasn’t one of those walking casts, but a great hulking thing made of off-white fiberglass. Strips of silver duct tape had been added to the bottom, as if to help protect it from the damage of being walked on. “You put out an ad?”

“Well, I mean ... not me. But ... yeah . . .” Lottie stumbled over every word.

“I’m Sissy,” she said. As if that explained all they needed to know.

“Who?” Bethel asked.

“Virgil,” Lottie admitted.

“Sissy Yoder,” Sissy continued.

“Virgil, my son Virgil?”

“Do you know any others?” Lottie asked.

“I’m your niece,” Sissy explained. “Mary and James’s daughter.”

“Does it matter how many I know?” Bethel asked.

“We need help,” Lottie protested.

“We wouldn’t if everyone showed up for work when they’re supposed to,” Bethel continued.

“Excuse me.” A somewhat timid voice sounded behind Sissy.

She turned to find a young girl standing there. She was no more than six, with long blond hair parted down the middle and pulled up into silky pigtails.

Until that moment, not one of the guests had batted an eye at the exchange between aunt, niece, and waitress. Sissy supposed they were accustomed to such displays, and once again, the idea that the help her aunt needed might have been run off flitted through her thoughts.

“Yes?” Sissy asked.

“I’d like some water, please.” She turned back toward the table where her family sat. The parents nodded and smiled encouragingly to whom appeared to be their oldest child. A boy of about four sat next to the father, who held a baby swathed in blue. In her arms, the mother cradled a pink bundle that had to be his twin. The little girl turned back to Sissy and held up two baby bottles with powdery formula in the bottom of each. “For our babies.”

Sissy looked at the bottles, to the smiling family, then back to the bickering couple that was her aunt and a woman named Lottie.

“Of course,” Sissy said. “Warm, but not too warm. Am I right?”

The girl smiled. “That’s right.”

Sissy edged past Lottie and Bethel without either one noticing that she was going to the back. She filled the bottles with the filtered water from the waitress stand, then added a little bit of hot water from the coffeepot. On her way to the table where the family sat, she could feel her aunt’s gaze upon her.

Well, more like boring a hole through her back.

“Thank you,” the young mother said with a smile.

“Not a problem.” Sissy smiled in return and headed back over to where her aunt waited.

“Who are you again?” Bethel asked, eyes narrowed even more than before.

“Sissy Yoder. Mary and James’s daughter. From Tulsa. Well, not originally. They were from here, but you know that.” She laughed and wondered why she always had the tendency to talk too much. Maybe because Bethel didn’t look pleased that she was there or that she had fetched water for the family at the large corner table. Or maybe she was still a little upset that Virgil had put an ad in the paper.

“Look at you,” Lottie gushed. “Little Sissy, all grown up.”

Sissy frowned. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?” It had been years and years since she had been to Yoder. Fifteen, if she was counting right. Not since she was fourteen and her mammi—her grandmother—had died. After that, her mother, Mary, had come to visit by herself. But in the last couple of years, she didn’t think her mother had made the trip, either.

“I’m Lottie Foster.” She paused, as if to let that knowledge sink in. “Your grandmother’s next-door neighbor.” For a moment, Sissy thought Lottie might burst into tears. Instead, Lottie grasped Sissy by the shoulders and pulled her into a suffocating hug.

“Ahmememer,” Sissy mumbled into Lottie’s ample shirtfront.

Lottie pulled away, allowing Sissy the much-needed air. “What was that?”

“I remember,” she repeated. “You had the trampoline.” Sissy gulped up another big breath in case Lottie went for a second hug.

“That’s right. Heavens above, I would know that freckled face of yours anywhere.”

And such was the problem with having bright red hair and more freckles than waves on the ocean—everyone remembered.

“It’s good to see you again, Miss Lottie.”

Bethel shifted her weight and crossed her arms. “All the way up from Tulsa, huh?”

Sissy smiled. “That’s right.”

“Bah.” Bethel waved her away as if she were nothing more than a pesky fly, then turned and hobbled back into the kitchen.

“I can’t say we don’t need the help.” Lottie tossed a cross look over one shoulder, directing it at the kitchen and Bethel. “But all the way from Tulsa?”

“I don’t mind.” Even as she said the words, she thought to take a small step to one side, lest the heavens open up and lightning shoot down and fry her liver. She stayed firmly in place. After all, it wasn’t a complete lie. She didn’t mind, but if her own life hadn’t fallen apart in the last couple of weeks, she might not be free to travel four hours from her home to help a family member she hadn’t seen since she was fourteen. But she wasn’t thinking about that sort of thing right now. Maybe tomorrow.

It’s just that her life hadn’t fallen completely completely apart. Just sort of completely apart. She still had her job as Aunt Bess, one of the most widely read newspaper columns in the South Central region. But no one knew she was Aunt Bess. No one except her editor, who had been sworn to secrecy. The last thing Sissy wanted everyone to know about her was that her alter ego was a seventy-year-old grandmother of eight with a know-it-all, tell-it-like-it-is sass mouth. She had enough trouble getting dates as it was.

Still ... it paid the bills.

“My mama always told me not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I’m not the horse in question here.” Lottie nodded to the man who had come up to the register. “Just a minute, hun.”

Sissy waited as Lottie rang up the meal for his family. She still wasn’t sure how to sort through the gift-horse comment. She allowed her gaze to drift around the café, taking in details and imperfections alike. The one wall not broken by long windows was covered in cheap pine paneling and faded sunflower decorations—wreaths, pictures, plates, even prints and oil reproductions.

The Sunflower Café.

Her family merely called it the café. As did everyone on Yelp. And it had some good reviews. Not that there were many places to eat in Yoder. There was the Carriage House Restaurant, the meatpacking plant that also served deli meats and cheeses, the Bull in Your Eye Diner, and the Sunflower Café.

Lottie finished the transaction and thanked the family as Sissy picked up one of the menus sitting by the register. It was clear plastic with red binding and only a couple of pages.

“Goodness,” Lottie said. “We hardly use those.” She nodded toward the menu Sissy held.

“Then how do people order?”

She pointed to the overhead letter board lined with meals and prices, then to the free-standing chalkboard just to the left of the kitchen entrance.

DAILY SPECIALS CHICKEN FRIED STEAK OR MEATLOAF $7.99.

Sissy blinked. “That’s it?”

“Of course, you get mashed potatoes, gravy, choice of vegetable, and a yeast roll or cornbread.”

That wasn’t exactly what Sissy meant, but she had to admit, the food itself sounded amazing. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t had anything to eat since she left Tulsa.

Lottie must have heard. She eyed her thoughtfully. “You eat yet?”

Before Sissy could respond, a large crash sounded, followed by a noise she couldn’t readily identify and a cry of pain.

“Oh, no.” Lottie turned and fled into the kitchen.

Sissy looked around, and since the café was empty, she followed the woman.

“I told you,” Lottie was saying as Sissy entered the kitchen.

Bethel was sprawled on the floor, a large metal bowl beside her and scraps of lettuce, tomato, and purple cabbage all around.

“Are you going to run the place?” Bethel grumbled.

“Where’s Josie?” Lottie sputtered and grabbed Bethel under one arm.

Sissy grabbed Bethel under the other, and together, they lifted the woman to her feet.

Bethel grunted in protest.

The woman was nothing if not stubborn.

“Smoking, I guess.”

Sissy glanced around at the messy kitchen. It had the look of a place that was organized but cluttered, as if the person responsible normally put everything back in place. But times weren’t exactly normal right then.

“Go sit down out front. I’ll clean up this mess,” Lottie said.

But Sissy had already grabbed a dustpan and a broom.

“Fine.” But the one word was more of an exhale than an agreement. Bethel tucked the crutch under one arm and pinned Sissy with a hard, blue stare. “Sweep it up, but this doesn’t mean you’re staying.”

* * *

Sissy had never swept a floor so slowly, but once Bethel and Lottie had gone back to the front of the café, she wanted to give them time to talk. If anyone could talk her aunt into allowing Sissy to help, she had a feeling it would be Lottie. Not even her cousin Lizzie had been able to get Bethel to agree. That was why they had tried such drastic tactics—Sissy driving all the way from Tulsa, unannounced and prepared to stay for as long as she was needed. Longer, even.

She sighed and dumped the last of the lettuce into the trash can.

A dark-headed woman picked that time to breeze in through the back door. She stopped when she caught sight of Sissy. “Who are you?” She was tall and thin and dark. Her hip-hugging jeans were name-brand, though they had seen better days, and the white ribbed tank top she wore could be picked up practically anywhere. Yet she wore them both regally, along with her black sneakers that Sissy supposed were of the nonslip variety. The force with which her long dark hair had been pulled back into a ponytail made her cheekbones seem even higher. Her accent was indistinguishable, though her tone was unmistakably hostile.

Sissy felt as if she had encroached on someone’s sacred turf. “Uh . . . Sissy?” And just like that, her confidence was gone. She mentally scrambled to gather it back. “I’m Bethel’s niece.” The woman just continued to stare, her dark eyes penetrating and ... shifty. Maybe. Sissy wasn’t sure. But they were something.

“From Tulsa.” Like that made a difference. And she remembered the conversation she’d witnessed between Lottie and her aunt. “You must be Josie.” She stuck out a hand to shake.

Josie eyed it skeptically, then grunted and moved past her. Over to the sink to wash her hands. The smell of cigarette smoke lingered in her wake.

Sissy let her hand fall back to her side. “I’ve come to help out until Bethel gets back on her fe...

Table of contents

• QUESTIONED FOR MURDER
• Also by
• Title Page
• Table of Contents
• Copyright Page
• ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
• CHAPTER ONE
• CHAPTER TWO
• CHAPTER THREE
• CHAPTER FOUR
• CHAPTER FIVE
• CHAPTER SIX
• CHAPTER SEVEN
• CHAPTER EIGHT
• CHAPTER NINE
• CHAPTER TEN
• CHAPTER ELEVEN
• CHAPTER TWELVE
• CHAPTER THIRTEEN
• CHAPTER FOURTEEN
• CHAPTER FIFTEEN
• CHAPTER SIXTEEN
• CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
• CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
• CHAPTER NINETEEN
• CHAPTER TWENTY
• CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
• CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
• CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
• EPILOGUE
• Teaser Chapter