A Body at Book Club (Myrtle Clover Mysteries) (7 page)

Myrtle, despite leaning over on her cane still held a height advantage. “Pasha. The cat’s name is Pasha. I wanted to bring you a flyer to help you look out for her. I figured, since you were such a nature and animal lover, that you would be a good candidate to help find her.”

Rose gave her a stern look. “Animal lover? How do you figure that?”

Myrtle tried to hold her irritation in check. She bared her teeth in a smile. “All your talk of nature and loving your trees and shrubs, of course.”

“You made the leap that I was an animal lover simply because I like trees?” Rose pressed her lips together.

At this point, Myrtle despaired that the gatekeeper would allow them entry into her home, but Miles cleared his throat and said, “Rose, if you don’t mind, could we come in for a moment and sit down? Myrtle’s balance, you know.” He looked suggestively at Myrtle and Myrtle was appalled to feel herself take a small step backward to keep upright. The power of suggestion was a terrible thing.

Rose sighed and opened the door wide. Myrtle walked through her entrance hall and along the hardwood floors to Rose’s living room, waving Miles’s hand away as he reached out to her for support when she stepped onto the various scatter rugs over the wooden floors. She dropped down onto a sofa that looked a great deal more supporting than it actually was. It dissolved into a downy
poof
and she sank deep into the bowels of the sofa. She gripped her cane tightly. She’d be hanged if she’d ask for help from Miles or Rose to escape Rose’s furniture.

Myrtle decided that it was time to take control of this conversation. “So you were saying that you weren’t technically an animal-lover, Rose. But you were very upset about Naomi cutting down the trees between your yards.”

“Naturally I was. Naturally.  And I don’t mean I won’t look out for your cat. Of course I will. But my concern has always been primarily with protection and preservation of natural areas,” Rose plucked in an agitated way at the cuff of her stiffly starched white blouse. Myrtle noticed that when Rose was stressed that her dimples flashed. It was most distracting.

“Something that Naomi Pelter didn’t understand,” prompted Myrtle.

“Exactly,” said Rose sharply.

“In fact,” said Myrtle softly, “Naomi got what she deserved.”

Rose opened her thin mouth quickly to agree, and then hesitated. “Perhaps. I am a believer, Miss Myrtle, of karma. What goes around comes around.”

Myrtle narrowed her eyes. She didn’t need karma defined for her. It was annoying when people thought she was simple-minded. Miles appeared to be giving her a steadying look.

“Naomi didn’t consider others. And now, she’s gone.” Rose shrugged a thin shoulder. “I believe people who put bad things into the world take bad things out of it.”

Mumbo-jumbo.

Myrtle was staring out across the room, trying to tame her tongue when she caught sight of something black looking in at her through Rose’s French doors that lead out into her backyard. Pasha!

Myrtle thumped frantically across Rose’s floor to the French doors, flinging them open with abandon and hurrying out into Rose’s backyard, calling for the cat, which had suddenly evaporated into thin air.

She could hear Rose fussing about her behind her. “What on earth possessed her? My doors could have splintered into a million pieces the way she threw them open like that. And she didn’t even shut them behind her. Was she raised in a barn? Besides, I thought you said that Miss Myrtle was unsteady. And she just sprinted off like that!”

Miles gave Myrtle a sympathetic look as she turned and walked toward them. “No luck?” he asked.

“Must have been a shadow. A trick of my eyes or something,” muttered Myrtle.

“I’ll have to check my doors for damage,” said Rose in a shrill voice.

Myrtle leveled a look at her that should have been able to curdle cream. “By the way,” she said pointedly, “Naomi’s death was murder. And you don’t seem to have been Naomi’s greatest friend. In fact, you could easily be considered her greatest enemy.”

Rose rubbed her bony temple as if it were starting to pound. “I had nothing to do with Naomi’s death.”

“It seems as though you had plenty to do with it. For one, you
hosted
her death. She chose to crawl in your house to die.” Myrtle continued staring grimly at Rose.

Rose looked away first. “That’s a very strange way of putting it, Miss Myrtle. I certainly didn’t invite Naomi Pelter over here to pass away. I’ve no idea why she would have possibly chosen to spend her last remaining moments on the floor of my living room.”

No, Myrtle could see that was the case. Rose Mayfield didn’t possess the imagination to envision why Naomi would have ended up here.

Miles said mildly, “Don’t you think that she probably realized you still had guests here, had an unlocked door, and would be available to help her?”

Rose just stared blankly at him. “All I know is that I had nothing to do with Naomi’s death. I guess everyone thinks I did it,” she said stiffly. “Or at least
some
people think I did it.” Here, she gave Myrtle a cold glare. “But I didn’t.”

“Do you have any idea who might have wanted Naomi dead?” Myrtle asked.

“If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all,” said Rose, sticking her thin chin into the air. “That’s what my mother taught me.”

Rose rather inconsistently observed this rule, considering that she was bad-mouthing Naomi over the deforestation only days earlier
, Myrtle thought.

When Rose’s cold glare grew another thirty degrees frostier, Myrtle realized she’d said those words out loud.

Chapter Seven

The rather uncomfortable interview with Rose had made Myrtle oddly hungry. She persuaded Miles to go to Bo’s Diner with her before they headed over to see Wanda and Crazy Dan. “One needs a full stomach to deal sensitively with the mystical,” explained Myrtle to Miles as a waitress handed her a plate with a pimento cheese-covered hotdog alongside a generous helping of chili cheese fries.

Miles looked a bit queasy as he observed Myrtle. “I don’t honestly know how you’ve reached your advanced years while maintaining a diet that includes decades of food from Bo’s Diner.” He had searched the laminated menu for something a little healthier and had come up with a bowl of chicken noodle soup. The waitress put it in front of him with an apologetic air. “You sure this is what you want, hon?” Her eyes gazed in concern at him through heavily mascara-coated lashes. He nodded, but looked longingly across the room at another diner’s blue plate special.

“That talk with Rose was uncomfortable, wasn’t it?” Myrtle made a face. “I might have to avoid attending book club in the near future.”

“Wasn’t that part of your general plan anyway? Avoiding book club at all costs?”  Miles took an unenthusiastic sip of his soup. It was apparently better than he expected, and he took another sip immediately afterward.

“It’s one way that I ensure having a good week,” admitted Myrtle. “But now with Rose freezing me out, it’s going to seem even more unattractive than usual.”

“She acted pretty appalled that you thought she had something to do with a murder.”

Myrtle finished up her hotdog and sized up her chili cheese fries.  She decided they would be better attacked with a knife and fork. She dug into them with gusto. “You’ve gotten right to the heart of it, Miles, as usual.”

Miles frowned at her. “The heart of it?”

“When you said
acted
. She
acted
appalled that I thought she had something to do with Naomi’s murder. Like she’s never heard it even hinted that she could somehow be involved. When you know that Red Clover and Detective Lieutenant Perkins with the state police have been over there asking her questions.”

Miles said, “Oh. Well, we all like to maintain these little fictions about ourselves, don’t we? It helps get through the day. Maybe Rose didn’t want to admit to company that she was a suspect in a murder investigation. Or maybe Red and Perkins are treading really lightly and hoping Rose will just shoot herself in the foot by giving out more information than she planned on giving.” He appeared to be nearly finished with the bowl of chicken noodle soup.  “It might have been a good tactic for you to take, Myrtle. You know…instead of informing her that she didn’t follow her mom’s rule of ‘if you don’t have anything nice to say.’”

“That just popped out of my mouth,” muttered Myrtle. “Besides, I’ve always subscribed to a variation of that axiom.”

“Which is?”

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, come sit down next to me.” Myrtle polished off her chili cheese fries.

The waitress came by with perfect timing. “Want some key lime pie, sweetie?”  She took away the empty plate.

“Why not?”

Miles said, “I bow down to your superior arteries, Myrtle. You’d have to take me out of Bo’s Diner on a stretcher if I had all the stuff you’ve eaten today.”

“Pooh. Whatever. It just takes practice, that’s all,” said Myrtle with imperfect logic. She took a big sip of iced tea. “I don’t honestly know if Rose is our best suspect anymore.”

Miles blinked at her owlishly from behind his rimless spectacles. “Why on earth not? I thought you’d just established that she lied to us, that she hosted a murder in her own living room, and that she knew enough about horticulture to pull off such a feat.”

Myrtle waved a hand impatiently at him. “Yes, yes, that’s all true. But did you catch what she was saying at the end there?”

“About holding your tongue if you don’t have something nice to say? Of course I caught it—we were
just
talking about how you turned it all back around on her.” Miles looked sadly at the empty bottom of his soup bowl as it was whisked away by their waitress.

“But did you catch the
significance
of what she was saying? That she knew something. Something about the murder. And she had no plans of sharing this information.” Myrtle beamed at her key lime pie as it was placed in front of her.

“Couldn’t she have just been using that as a cover-up? To deflect attention away from herself?” asked Miles.

“I don’t want to give Rose credit for being that clever. For all her aristocratic airs and her primness, I don’t believe she’s the sharpest tool in the shed.” Myrtle closed her eyes briefly in bliss as she took a mouthful of the pie.

“What gives you that impression?” Miles frowned.

“I taught her,” said Myrtle simply. “And I remember her grades and the fact she never once finished her homework. Disgraceful. I had to call her mama—the one with all the rules. I do believe that’s why Rose is still giving me such a hard time.”

Miles was dismayed to find that his stomach was starting to rumble just watching Myrtle’s key lime pie disappear. “Want something else to eat, sugar?” suggested the waitress, who seemed to have her finger on the pulse of everyone at the diner.

“No, I think we’re finished,” said Miles firmly. “Ready to head over to see Wanda, Myrtle?”

Myrtle raised her eyebrows at him but didn’t say a word.

Wanda, usually called Wander by her brother, Crazy Dan, lived in a hubcap-covered hut off the side of the old highway that served as both a business and a home for the two. The business was the sort that sold live bait, hubcaps, peanuts, and psychic prophecy. Myrtle had never seen any evidence of any business actually transpiring there. Miles had made the shocking and unwelcome discovery that he was a cousin of Wanda and Crazy Dan’s and had been even more reluctant to go there with Myrtle since then. His hands gripped the steering wheel as if he were trying to force himself not to turn the car around and head back home.

Miles frowned. “Did you tell Wanda we were coming?”

“How precisely would I have done that? Mental telepathy? They don’t have phones you know.”

Miles said slowly, “Then how did she know?”

Myrtle squinted through the windshield. Sure enough, Wanda was sitting in a disreputable-looking plastic chair in the dusty yard. A wobbly table was next to her with three glasses full of a dark substance, and she had two other plastic chairs of varying styles and colors next to her. When Miles pulled his sedan up to park, Wanda lifted her glass in a salute.

“She knew because she’s psychic, Miles. That’s what I keep telling you. It’s the whole point we’re here, for heaven’s sake. Do pay attention.” Myrtle grabbed her cane and pushed open the passenger side door with gusto.

“I know you keep telling me that,” muttered Miles, “it’s just that I haven’t believed it.”

“Hi Wanda,” called out Myrtle, thumping with her cane through the dusty red dirt as she made her way over to the seating area that Wanda had set up for them. She and Miles sat gingerly down in the precariously unsteady chairs and Wanda smiled at them in greeting, revealing quite a few missing teeth.

“Have a drink,” Wanda croaked in her cigarette-ruined voice.

Miles looked suspiciously at the glass. “I’m not thirsty,” he said. But apparently a bit of dust had lodged in his throat and he immediately commenced into a coughing fit.

Myrtle rolled her eyes and picked up her glass. She had her own doubts about the glass and its contents, but only gave a moment’s hesitation.

“It’s clean,” said Wanda.

“And the stuff in the glass?” asked Miles, still coughing convulsively.

“Tea.”

Miles and Myrtle took cautious sips from the glasses. The tea seemed all right and the glasses did appear clean. This was miraculous, considering the rest of the house.

“Y’all should trust me,” said Wanda reproachfully.

“We do,” said Myrtle quickly.

Wanda shook her head. “Don’t. Never do. You put me down like Red puts you down.” Wanda made a spiraling gesture with a bony, nicotine-stained hand to simulate something that resembled the path of a crashing airplane.

“Well, I hardly think
that’s
true. Otherwise, why would I have taken the trouble to come all the way out here to talk to you? Red won’t even cross the street to get my opinion,” said Myrtle, making a face.  Then she said in a quiet voice, “Wanda, I promise you that I value your opinion.  Sometimes, you’re the only person who seems to make any sense at all.”

A momentary pleased smile lit up Wanda’s lean face.  And then she was all business. “You want a clue,” said Wanda, cutting to the chase as usual.

“Have you got one for me?”

“Yer in danger,” said Wanda grimly.

Miles gave Myrtle a meaningful look. Every single time Myrtle had made the pilgrimage to Wanda’s shack, she was told that she was in mortal danger. It had become something of a joke between them.

“All right, yes, I’ve got that,” said Myrtle tightly. “Anything else, though?”

Wanda tilted her face up to the weak rays of the sun filtering through the pine trees as if collecting psychic wisdom.  She hoarsely grated, “The key is in the van.”

Myrtle and Miles stared blankly at her.

Wanda lowered her face and looked back at them. “That is all.”

“The key is in the van,” murmured Miles.

“What on earth kind of a clue is that, Wanda? It doesn’t make any sense.” Myrtle glared at the woman perched in the rickety plastic chair.

Wanda shrugged a skeletal shoulder. “The key is in the van.”

“All right,” said Myrtle. “Well, I guess all will become clear in some huge, clarifying moment of grace at some point in the near future. I suppose we should go now. Thanks for the drinks.” She rummaged around in her gigantic pocketbook for some money, but Miles beat her to it, surprising her by handing his cousin what looked to be several twenties.

“Take care,” said Miles gruffly. He walked abruptly off to the car, leaving Myrtle to stare at his back in amazement.

“Yer cat is okay, too,” said Wanda. “Don’t worry about the cat.”

Myrtle swung around to gape at Wanda again. “You know about Pasha? Did you see my flyers out?”

Wanda gave her a scornful look. “Hasn’t been to town. Cars is broke.”

Myrtle glanced around the dusty yard to confirm that, indeed, all of the corroded vehicles on the premises appeared to be up on cement blocks.

“She’s okay?”  Myrtle asked her intently.

“She’s laying low until them dogs behaves themselves,” said Wanda, nodding. “She’s okay. She’s smart.”

Wanda walked with Myrtle to Miles’s car. “Watch it. Root,” she warned Myrtle at one point, helping Myrtle navigate around a pine tree root that was particularly treacherous. Myrtle put her cane in Miles’s backseat, and then climbed into the passenger side.

Miles started the engine and they were about to drive away when Wanda started banging on the side of the car. Myrtle put down her window and Wanda said hoarsely, “Fergot. Had something fer you.” The woman patted at her pockets, and then pulled something out, stretching it out to Myrtle in a bony hand. “A gift.”

Miles stared at the item silently. Myrtle cleared her throat and said, “Thank you, Wanda. Very much.”

Miles backed the car up and Wanda called after them, “The key is in the van!”

As they drove off, Miles said dryly, “I’m glad I never had to endure family Christmases with her, if that’s her idea of a gift.”

They both stared at the container of pepper spray in Myrtle’s lap. Myrtle gave it a small pat. “Don’t you see, though? Wanda is looking out for me. She clearly thinks this is something I might need.”

“No surprise there. After all, she’s always giving you those dire prophesies. It’s a wonder she hasn’t given you a weapon before now.” Miles carefully took a curve on the rural road.

“She told me Pasha was all right,” said Myrtle softly.

“Trying to make you feel better, I guess. Nice of her.”

“But how did she
know
about Pasha?” persisted Myrtle.

“Maybe Pasha came for a visit,” said Miles with a shrug.