A Body at Book Club (Myrtle Clover Mysteries) (5 page)

“I suppose so,” said Claudia doubtfully. “It sure seemed like Rose was mad at Naomi, though.”

“Anyone else? Someone besides Rose who might not have especially disliked Naomi?”

Claudia shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “Oh, I don’t know. I sort of hate to say anything because I really don’t know the whole situation.”

“What whole situation?” asked Myrtle in as patient of a tone as she could muster. She plastered an expression of what she hoped looked like friendly interest on her face.

“Between Naomi and Lena.” Claudia started picking at her fingernails. The woman was really a mess of nervous habits.

Lena Fowler had certainly looked rather relieved at the news of Naomi’s demise, so maybe Claudia was on to something. The veterinarian had been on Myrtle’s list of potential suspects to visit. “Lena didn’t like Naomi?”

Claudia still focused on her nails. “I don’t really know much about it, like I was saying. What I heard was that Naomi had asked Lena’s husband to do a favor for her.”

“What kind of a favor?”  Myrtle leaned in a little. She was really expecting something salacious, so she was surprised at Claudia’s answer.

“Naomi wanted Billy to climb up on her roof. I can’t even remember what she wanted him to look at up there…maybe to see if the roof needed repairing, or to clean out her gutters. Or to adjust her satellite TV dish. It was some kind of chore she was asking him to do.”

Myrtle said, “And Lena found out about it and drew her own conclusions?”  She frowned. It didn’t really seem to be in the vet’s character to be unduly jealous over a favor.

“Oh, I don’t know what Lena thought about it. She probably just thought that Naomi was such a flirt that she was able to convince Billy to get on her roof. But that’s not the real problem, see. The problem is that Billy got up on the roof—and then fell off.” Claudia stopped looking at her nails and finally met Myrtle’s gaze.

Myrtle knit her brows, trying to remember. “You know, I think I do remember this. He wasn’t merely injured, was he? He died.”

Claudia nodded, permed curls bouncing vigorously. “That’s right. And Lena blamed Naomi, since Billy would never have been up on a roof if Naomi hadn’t asked him to.”

Myrtle pursed her lips thoughtfully. Then she picked up her pocketbook and cane and carefully stood up. “Thanks for your help, Claudia. And thanks for looking out for Pasha, too. I appreciate it.”

“Do you have a picture or anything? So that I’ll know if I see her?” asked Claudia.

Myrtle handed her one of the flyers and Claudia solemnly studied it, and then put the flyer on her empty fridge door with a solo magnet.

“It’s not the best picture,” said Myrtle, “but hopefully it can at least help. I’m on my way to Elaine and Red’s now to see if they can get better pictures off my camera. I’ve no idea how to do it. In the meantime, though, I thought I should put at least some type of notice up about Pasha.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for her,” said Claudia. She gave Myrtle a clumsy hug. “I want to help.”

Claudia was definitely one of those people who wanted to help…wanted to please. And softhearted too, if her reaction to Naomi’s death was any indication. Although Myrtle, as she left, still had the feeling that Claudia was holding something back.

Chapter Five

“That’s a picture of Pasha?” asked Red, peering at Myrtle’s poster. “Can’t say I’d have recognized her, Mama.”

“That’s exactly why I need you to help me pull some pictures off my camera,” said Myrtle, reaching in her bag for her digital camera. “I swear, I don’t know what good these things are if you can’t figure out how to get the pictures off.”

Red said, “It’s just a matter of plugging it into the computer, opening the folder, and copying the pictures over to your computer. No big deal.”

“Yes, well, I tried to do just that and I couldn’t find the pictures. The camera seemed to have a bazillion folders on it.” Myrtle tightly gripped the handle of her cane. She needed to be pleasant while asking a favor, but if Red were going to be condescending, it would be tough.

Red pulled the cable out of the zipper bag she’d put the camera and its assorted cords in. He started walking her through the process on his laptop. “First you plug this end into the camera and this end into the computer.”

Myrtle gave him a forced smile when he glanced over at her.

“Then you wait for the computer to recognize the device.” He paused. “Hmm. Maybe that port doesn’t work for some reason.” Red disconnected the cable from the laptop and plugged it back in at a different spot.

“Then, when the computer recognizes it, you click on the device on the laptop.” He pointed to the icon, and then frowned. He leaned forward and studied the screen intently.

Myrtle felt smug. There were a dozen folders that popped up. How on earth would you know which one was the right one?

“Let’s see,” Red murmured. “It should be this one, I think.”

It apparently wasn’t.

Red said something rude to the laptop and the camera. “Maybe this is the right folder.”

No, it wasn’t.

Red’s face was getting flushed now and he was randomly clicking on folders when his cell phone rang. With relief, he answered it. “This is Chief Clover. Excuse me?” he frowned, trying to listen harder. Then he rolled his eyes. “Yes. Thanks, Miss Brown. I’ll let her know.”

Myrtle sat up straight on the sofa. “Is it Pasha?”

“Sure seems to be. Claudia Brown is reporting a Pasha sighting.” Red grabbed his keys and squinted at the poster. “You didn’t put my number on the poster, did you? Hope I won’t be getting a barrage of phone calls at the station about your lost cat.”

“I can’t help it if your citizens feel it’s a police issue,” said Myrtle. “Let’s go!”

Elaine poked her head into the living room from the kitchen. “Was that call good news? Did you still need help with the camera?” she asked, looking down at the camera, laptop and cord.

“Maybe, just in case,” said Myrtle. “But this sounds like a real lead.”

It wasn’t a real lead. “How on earth could Claudia think that cat looks anything like Pasha?” asked Myrtle impatiently. “It’s just a common housecat. And it’s fat as a butterball.  Pasha is extraordinary.”

Red gazed at the plump cat napping in a sunbeam across from Claudia’s driveway. “Well, it is sort of hard to tell from your poster, Mama. Pasha looks more like a smudge.”

“A blur,” corrected Myrtle, coldly. “She was simply poetry in motion while I was trying to snap a picture.” Myrtle sighed. “I guess Claudia was trying to help.”

“I’ll let her know that it was just a neighbor’s cat and not Pasha. And Elaine will get a clearer photo off the camera. Since I’m busy with the case and everything,” he added hurriedly, as if not wanting to admit that Elaine was better with computers than he was.

He and Myrtle climbed back into his police cruiser and Red started driving to Myrtle’s house.

“About the case,” said Myrtle. “So…it
is
a case. It’s murder?”

Red looked irritated with himself for letting it out of the bag. “Yes, we’re investigating it as murder.”

“Naomi Pelter was poisoned then, I’m guessing?” asked Myrtle. “Considering how sick she was, I mean.”

Red sighed. “Yes.”

“What type of poison was it? Nightshade? Foxglove?”  Myrtle tried to sound brisk and efficient—one crime-fighting colleague having a conversation with another.

Red said, “In what capacity are you asking these questions? As Myrtle Clover, concerned book club member? Myrtle Clover, ace reporter? Or Myrtle Clover, amateur detective? I really don’t want you getting involved in this, Mama. I think we might be dealing with someone fairly dangerous.”

“Isn’t that to be expected, considering that we’re talking about murder? And, to answer your question, I’m a concerned book club member, of course. Nothing more.”

Red paused. “All right. Since I’m sure this information is about to be released to the public, I’ll fill you in. She ate poisoned mushrooms.”

Myrtle grimaced. “Not a very nice way to go, is it? Was it a particular type of mushroom?”

“It’s called
Destroying Angel
, apparently. It’s supposed to look very much like an ordinary button mushroom.”

“Wouldn’t it taste awful?” asked Myrtle, wrinkling her nose at the thought.

“Apparently not. The experts were saying it’s very bland. So, there’s nothing that would stop the victim from eating them,” said Red.

“Does the poison start working right away?”

“No, they said that you’d be fine at first. Then later, you’d start having what seemed like a really bad stomach virus. If you don’t get help, though, it acts pretty quickly. The victim ends up delirious,” said Red, looking grim.

Myrtle mulled this over for a moment. “So Naomi probably thought at first that this was something that she could simply self-treat. A bad tummy bug. By the time she needed help, she probably wasn’t even making sense anymore.”

“That’s what I understand,” said Red. He pulled the cruiser into Myrtle’s driveway.

Myrtle had heard something about mushrooms recently, she was sure of it. If she could only remember when. She heard so much pointless blather that didn’t seem significant at all—until suddenly, it was.

It was right after
Tomorrow’s Promise
ended that Myrtle decided to check her emails. As usual, she had about fifteen spammy emails promising her riches if she’d only share her bank account number with a stranger in Nigeria. She snorted. Were there people who actually believed that stuff? And the emails always started out “Greetings dear one” in all caps. Awfully chummy, to be coming from a complete stranger.

Then she blinked. Right in the middle of the spam was an email from Elaine…with what appeared to be an attachment of a photo. Myrtle quickly clicked on it and brought up a very handsome photo of Pasha, who gazed imperiously at the camera. It was perfect. Myrtle carefully clicked on the picture, made it larger, and printed it.

After a return visit to the
Bradley Bugle
office, where Sloan made sure he was very busy on a phone call during her entire time there, Myrtle revisited the spots where she’d put up the old posters and covered them with the new one.

Myrtle was breathless afterward. Clearly, the heat was the culprit, not the mile or so she’d walked. She glanced around for a good spot to rest, but was surrounded by residences. Fortunately, there was a pickup truck parked on the street. It had a bumper generous enough to prop herself up on for a short spell. She leaned on her cane and gingerly perched on the truck’s bumper.

The sun beamed brightly into her face and she closed her eyes. A few moments later, she heard a car drive close…and then stop in front of her on the road. She opened her eyes, shielding her face with her hand and saw Miles looking curiously at her from the window of his Volvo.

He lowered the passenger side window. “Everything all right, Myrtle?” He pushed his glasses a bit higher on his nose and peered at her with concern. “Too much sun?”

“Too much heat, I think,” said Myrtle, trying to sound careless. “It’s
always
affected me like this.”
Being an octogenarian had nothing to do with it
.

“Are you done handing out the posters? Or would you like a ride to put more out?” asked Miles. “I guess there’s no sign of Pasha so far.”

Miles sounded a bit reluctant to help with the great Pasha search.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Myrtle coldly. “I’ll simply rest a moment and then walk to my next destination. It should only take me twenty minutes to get there.”

Miles gave her a stern look. “Absolutely not. Don’t be silly, Myrtle. Hop on into the car. I’ve got air conditioning.”

“Is that akin to puppies and candy? I was told not to get into a car with anyone promising treats.” Myrtle was feeling remarkably contrary.

Miles set his jaw and reached all the way across the sedan to push open the door for Myrtle. She finally climbed in, clutching her posters carefully.

Miles appeared to take a couple of deep, calming breaths as they set off. “Where to? Are we just going to random lampposts and putting up posters?”

“If we see a good spot. But I think I’ve covered most of the best places already. I was thinking that I should head out to Lena Fowler’s clinic. They always say it’s a good idea to put flyers up at a vet’s office,” said Myrtle.

Miles thought about this. “Do you and Lena Fowler know each other well?” 

Myrtle looked over at him with a frown and Miles continued, “She seems like she’s difficult to get to know. I’ve tried to strike up a conversation with her at book club a few times, but my attempts always seem to peter out.”

“No, I wouldn’t say that I’ve had much small talk with Lena,” said Myrtle. “But I do have a cat. You don’t have a pet at all. Lena would have something to talk with you about if you had a dog or a cat or even a bird or turtle or something. She’s the type who gets along better with animals than she does with people.”

“She’s somewhat intimidating,” murmured Miles. “Sometimes I see her out running.”

“Jogging, you mean?”

“No, I mean running. She’s so intense. There’s no
jogging
about it. The woman looks as if she’s fleeing from a bank robbery or something. It’s startling,” said Miles.

“Maybe she
is
running away from something—metaphorically speaking,” mused Myrtle. “She was supposed to be very upset about her husband’s death. Maybe she’s trying to put some emotional distance between herself and her feelings for her husband.”

“Or maybe she’s just one of those exercise nuts,” said Miles dryly.

Myrtle ignored this and continued verbally working it all out. “As a matter of fact, I did want to talk to Lena about Naomi’s death. Lena had a very satisfied look on her face when we announced what had happened at the book club meeting. I’m sure there’s a story there. And I believe it has to do with her husband’s accident.”

Miles stared at her, and then snapped his head back to look at the road again. “It sounds like you’re trying to investigate Naomi’s death. But Red didn’t say it was murder, did he?”

“Miles, I’ll have to fill you in later,” said Myrtle as Miles pulled the Volvo in front of the vet’s office. “But yes, it was murder.”

Myrtle and Miles walked into the small waiting room. It was empty in there, which Myrtle knew from experience was unusual. The receptionist looked up from the muffin she was eating and quickly wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Can I help you?”

“I just wanted to put up a poster for my missing cat on your bulletin board and talk with Dr. Fowler for a minute. Is she in?” asked Myrtle.

“She is. We just had a couple of hours of quiet, although it looks like our afternoon is booked solid. There are some extra pushpins on the board if you want to go ahead and put the poster up. I’ll ring Dr. Fowler in the back.” The receptionist picked up the phone.

A few minutes later, Lena Fowler ushered them back into the clinic. She was lean and a good deal shorter than Myrtle. She was built like a runner and Myrtle’s cane thumped regularly on the floor as she hurried to keep up with her brisk pace toward the back. There was no one in the clinic, so why was Lena so impatient?

“I know you’d recognize Pasha, Dr. Fowler,” said Myrtle rather breathlessly as they reached her small office, “so I wanted to remind you to be on the lookout for her. I mentioned it at the book club meeting, but thought you should know that I haven’t found her yet.”