“I’ll be right there, dear.”

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t enjoy looking at dead bodies-or corpses, if you prefer-but I do find them rather interesting. What fascinates me is how unlifelike the empty human shell is, even just a second after death. There isn’t a mortuary beautician in the world capable of making human remains really appear as if the deceased is merely sleeping. The truth is, either we are corpses or we aren’t, and the transformation is instantaneous.

All of Hernia seemed to be asleep, making the swirling red light atop Chief Ackerman’s squad car all the more startling. I pulled over as soon as I found some shoulder and walked up the rest of the way. The last fifty yards I had a flashlight shining in my face.

“What are you trying to do, dear, blind me?”

“Why did you stop so far down the road?”

“I didn’t want to inadvertently drive over any evidence. Where is he?”

“You’re going to need to steel yourself, Miss Yoder. This isn’t pretty.”

“I’ve seen ugly before.”

“Not like this. You might even vomit-like I did.”

“Please be a mensch and don’t let me step in that.”

“What?”

“Just tell me where to walk.”

The chief took my elbow and gently led me toward the outer edge of the turnaround. The clearing is a semicircle carved into the woods and is meant not so much as a second chance for fearful or fickle drivers, as a place to pull over in emergencies, such as failing brakes. The surface of the turnaround is flat and smooth, chiseled out of solid bedrock, but it is surrounded by a low stone wall that defines its boundaries and gives at least the illusion of safety.

Halfway to the perimeter I stopped on my own. “Oh no, his car went through the wall and over the edge. How awful! What do you think happened? Did he fall asleep?”

“He didn’t go over,” the Chief said.

“Oh. But his car did, right?”

“No. His car is still up at his house.”

“Then I don’t get it.”

“That damage was most probably done by a steamroller.”

“Elias was driving a steamroller? But why? Aren’t they used to flatten things-like dirt and freshly laid asphalt?”

“Elias wasn’t driving it. Magdalena, look straight ahead and on the ground. Look carefully. And I’m here to brace you.”

“Okay, but all I see is black rock and some wet, dark mud, and some rags-oh, my Land o’ Goshen!” I started to sway like a young pine in a late March wind.

“Easy there, Miss Yoder. Take a deep breath. Remember, I’ve got you. You’re not going to fall.”

“But I am going to hurl!”

“I thought as much.”

And retch I did. However, young Chris Ackerman is a gentleman and even offered me his shirt upon which to wipe my face when I was quite through. His mother should be very proud of him, even though he has stolen from her the “right to be a grandmother,” and she has had to change churches twice in order not to hear sermons preached against her son.

“That-that was Elias?” I finally was able to gasp.

“Yes. As you saw, he’s been squished flatter than a pancake. What’s left of him could fit in a pizza box-if you folded him several times.”

“So the steamroller responsible for this continued on over the side of the mountain?”

“Actually, no. Whoever lugged it up the mountain hauled it back down again.”

“Chief, how’d you find out about this?”

“Mitzi Kramer’s beagle wouldn’t shut up until she took him inside.”

Mitzi is even older than Doc Shafor and has kept a succession of outdoor dogs ever since 1963, when, she claims, she caught Sasquatch-or his Pennsylvania equivalent-peeping in her bedroom window. Unfortunately for Mitzi’s neighbors Hernia’s sound ordinances don’t apply to Buffalo Mountain. The old woman doesn’t know how lucky she is that we are basically good folk and would rather simmer with resentment than harm an animal just because it has an inconsiderate owner.

I stared openmouthed at Elias’s flattened remains long enough to catch a nightjar. “Good golly, Miss Molly,” I said.

“Forgive me, Miss Yoder, but you’re turning into a real potty mouth. You weren’t that way when I first moved here, and I kind of liked that better.”

“Maybe it’s been all of your negative California jives.”

“I think you mean vibes-then again, with you I’m never sure. Anyway, the sheriff’s bringing his own dogs. But unless whoever did this to poor Elias drove the steamroller back down the mountain, I don’t expect the dogs to contribute much except for more noise. Shoot, I can hear the sheriff’s siren now.”

“Talk about being a potty mouth; that’s merely vowel substitution.”

“Pardon me?”

“Never mind. Hand me your flashlight, please.”

The chief was loath to do so, but since loath is such an underused word these days, one couldn’t begrudge that emotion. At any rate, I took the torch-as they say across the pond-and quickly swept the edge of the clearing for clues. Forsooth, I stayed as far away as I could from the flattened remains of the young but no longer quite so handsome Elias Whitmore. In fact, I wasn’t even tempted to glance his way.

Okay, so maybe I was tempted a wee bit, but as we all know, it’s not the act of temptation that counts, but whether or not we succumb to it. The fallen angel on my left shoulder was making a good case for taking a quick second look. After all, she said, I was unlikely to get another opportunity such as this. How many people had ever seen a human pancake? she asked. And didn’t I realize that my observations might be of scientific interest?

Meanwhile, the good angel on my right shoulder was practically shouting in my ear words to the opposite effect. Elias deserved respect, whereas my desire to take a second gander was merely morbid curiosity. I am happy to say that in the end my good angel and my gag reflex won out, and I truthfully averted my eyes as much as possible.

Of course, the aforementioned is all metaphorical, except for the flatness of poor Elias, which cannot be exaggerated. Neither can my sense of vertigo when I looked down at the unbroken tree canopy far below. I staggered backward, nearly stepped on Elias, and then fled screaming to the far side of the turnaround where it abuts the road. In seconds Chris was at my side.

“You all right?”

“Of course not! I almost stepped-thank the Good Lord I didn’t. But it’s so awful.”

“Miss Yoder, I’ve never seen you like this. You’re known for your sharp wit. To be honest, this new side of you really freaks me out.”

“But I am freaked-out!”

“So am I. But don’t you think a little of your macabre humor might make this a bit more bearable for both of us? At the very least, give me a good dose of your famous sarcasm. And, if you have to scrape the bottom of the barrel, I’ll take just plain old-fashioned criticism.”

“Hmm. Was all right one word or two?”

“Beats me.”

“Purists and older grammarians would have your head on a paper platter if you made it one word, but common usage will eventually change that. I read recently that even some copy editors permit the use of alright these days. I made it two words in the first instance for old time’s sake, but one word just now.”

“You’re really weird, Miss Yoder. Are you sure you’re not a closet Californian?”

“Like I said before, anything’s possible. Besides, it worked. I’m feeling much calmer, and here’s the sheriff now.”

As much as I’d wanted to stay until someone from the sheriff’s team had rappelled down the slope and tramped around a bit, I had to get back to the children. Before leaving, I’d wheeled Little Jacob’s crib into Alison’s room and positioned it next to the head of her bed. Upon returning I found Alison sprawled out under the crib on the floor, with the baby asleep on her stomach. A sheet had been draped over the crib to form a tent.

I lifted my son back into his crib, and then shook my daughter gently. “Alison, I’m back.”