A Body at Bunco (12 page)

Myrtle nodded. “Glad you’re feeling so much better now. Nice day for a walk? You just don’t seem to have your exercise clothes on.”

Alma colored. “I’m running an errand. And getting exercise at the same time.”

“Multitasking. How clever of you,” murmured Myrtle. She paused. “So who do you think murdered Luella?”

Miles made a gasping sound. For a sidekick, he certainly supplied a lot of sound effects during suspect questioning time.

Alma gave Myrtle a look of dislike. “As I told you, I don’t have the foggiest. It was probably that handyman of yours. The one with the wrench. After all, it
was
his tool that was the murder weapon.”

Myrtle narrowed her eyes. “Absolutely not. What nonsense. Are you implying that Dusty scaled the fence into my backyard? At his age? And for what motive?”

Alma’s mouth turned down resentfully. “Never mind. Nothing will stop you from nosing around. I should have known.”

Miles gave Myrtle a sideways glance. He was waiting for Myrtle to give Alma a piece of her mind.

But Myrtle decided to knock Alma more off-balance as her revenge. “You seem very jumpy, Alma. And most flustered when asked about this errand you’re running. Where
are
you going?”

She flushed that bright red again. “I’m out of coffee. And now I’m running late.” With that, she strode off down the sidewalk.

Miles said dryly, “I’m assuming you don’t buy the coffee story.”

“Certainly not. The only place to buy coffee in walking distance is that coffeehouse with the pricy java. Alma doesn’t look the type to be buying Sumatra, does she? No, if
Alma
ran out of coffee, she’d be headed to the Piggly Wiggly, like everyone else,” said Myrtle. “Still, I suppose there’s no point in following her or else she won’t end up doing whatever it is that she
is
doing.”

They got into the car and Miles started the engine. “You didn’t seem to care for Alma much,” he observed.

“She was being hateful about Dusty. As if Dusty has the sense to carry out a complicated murder during a party.” Myrtle rolled her eyes. “I’m convinced that Alma knows exactly who the murderer is—and that it’s not Dusty.”

Miles coasted slowly down the street. “I certainly agree with your evaluation of Dusty’s mental capabilities.” He paused. “So where are we heading now?”

“Poppy, remember? I wanted to see everyone today and really get the ball rolling.”

Miles coughed. “If I might make a suggestion? Let’s get something to eat before interrogating Poppy. My stomach is starting to complain.” He grimaced. “And I hope it’s complaining because of lack of food and not because it’s getting a virus.”

“It’s way too early to have gotten a virus. You’ve only just been in contact with potential carriers. But you know I always enjoy it when you’re being fanciful.”

Miles pulled into a spot in front of Bo’s Diner downtown. On cue, a gaggle of elderly men waved at him from the bench in front of the diner. They were wearing golfing attire in particularly bright colors with violently conflicting patterns on the pants and tops. “Makes me dizzy just looking at them,” muttered Myrtle.

“What do you think of Farland?” asked Miles in an idle voice as he braked the car.

“Which one is he again?” asked Myrtle. “They all look the same to me with their bald heads and loud clothing.”

Miles’s lips tugged at the ends, a sign that he was trying hard not to smile. “The one in the middle. He’s rather fond of you. Keeps asking me if I’m sure you and I aren’t an ‘item’ because he’d hate to ‘trespass.’”

“As if I were property of some kind!”

Miles continued to bite back the grin. “He hoped I’d investigate your opinion of him.”

Myrtle made a face.

“I suppose I’ll have to keep that assessment to myself,” said Miles.

They got out of the Volvo and headed for the door. Farland leapt from the bench and swung the door open wide, making its bell swing violently and clang loudly. “After you,” he said, giving a funny little bow to Myrtle.

She bared her teeth at him in return.

Miles said kindly to him, “Having a good day, Farland?”

Farland seemed taken aback by the question. “Well, same as every other day. Thought I’d take in a little golf. Meet up with the boys and chat for a while.”

Myrtle gave Miles a long-suffering glare.

Miles said in a studiously careless way, “Want to join Myrtle and me for chili dogs inside?”

Myrtle reached out and bore down hard on Miles’s instep with one of her sensible orthopedic shoes. Miles grunted.

Farland looked wistfully into the restaurant and gave them a regretful smile. “I’d sure love to, but the doctor put the ixnay on the greasy foods. The boys and I are going to drive out to the Costco and eat all the free samples for our lunch. Sometimes that’s pretty fun.”

“Maybe another time,” said Miles in a gasping voice as Myrtle continued applying pressure. Finally, they walked inside.

Chapter Nine

“The very idea, Miles! As if I want a paramour! You shouldn’t encourage him. Next thing, he’ll be showing up at my door with a box of stale chocolates from the drugstore and flowers he picked from someone’s yard on the way over. Is this revenge for some past, forgotten transgression I’ve made?”

Miles grinned at her and she scowled back.

Her mood was not improved when her least favorite waitress at the diner cooed at her, “Well hi there, sugar plum! How you doin’, baby?”

Myrtle winced at the soppy condescension. “Tanya, I’m doing very well. But Miles here may have contracted some vile virus from a local psychic. It’s only his cabin fever that drives him out of his house. Here’s a helpful tip—seat us at a table where someone else can wait on us.”

Tanya’s eyes grew wide as she backed away slightly from Miles. “Thanks, darlin’. I’ll just do that.” And she hastily pointed out a booth on the far side of the diner.

“Nicely done,” murmured Miles as they plopped down in the vinyl booth framing a Formica-topped table. Miles picked up a laminated menu and studied it with a furrowed brow.

“Surely you must have memorized the menu by now,” chided Myrtle. “It really just comes down to what kind of hot dog you want. A pimento cheese dog, a slaw dog, a chili cheese
and
pimento cheese dog….”

Miles was turning slightly green and clutched the menu with determination. “I was actually thinking about a salad.”

Myrtle frowned. “That’s like ordering a hamburger at Red Lobster. Why order something that’s not their specialty? It might go horribly wrong.”

“Ordering a grease-packed chili cheese dog might go horribly wrong,” muttered Miles.

Now Myrtle did study the menu. “What about this blackened catfish?”

“It has that Cajun mustard,” said Miles miserably.

“Just tell them to leave it off! It’s not that big of a deal. For heaven’s sake.” Myrtle was suddenly distracted as someone entered the diner. “What do you know? It’s Poppy.”

At that moment, though, a waitress named Cindy, who had a freshly-pressed apron and a good deal of blue eye makeup, arrived with a smile. “What can I get you two today?”

“Three pimento cheese dogs and a side of chili fries,” said Myrtle promptly.

“And maybe an antacid,” said Miles, still muttering and looking even greener.

“What’s that, love?” asked Cindy, looking a bit concerned.

“Sorry. Nothing. Could I have the Cobb salad? With no dressing,” said Miles.

Cindy’s eyebrows shot up. “No
dressing
?”

Myrtle was sure that the few salads they sold at the diner came slathered in Ranch.

“Let’s just put it on the side,” said Miles. “I don’t want to create a stir in the kitchen.”

Cindy left and Myrtle said, “Let’s try to catch Poppy’s eye and motion her over to our booth.”

“So we can grill her in the diner?”

“Diners
are
for grilling, Miles. Don’t worry, I won’t scare her off. Besides, it looks as if she’s waiting for a take-out order and it’s so crowded that there’s no place for her to stand.” Myrtle half-stood, gesturing wildly at Poppy who blinked in confusion before hesitantly heading in their direction.

Poppy’s expression looked very solemn. She attempted what appeared to be a smile of greeting, but it didn’t quite make it her eyes.

“Poppy looks as if she’s heading to the firing squad,” said Miles under his breath.

“Poppy
always
looks as if she’s heading to the firing squad,” said Myrtle. “I think it’s just the way her face is engineered. She’s nobody’s pretty child, poor thing.”

Poppy had an unfortunate combination of features. Any one of them, on their own, would have been perfectly fine. Together, however, they conspired to create a generally unattractive effect. She had a pointy nose that wasn’t perfectly straight, a weak chin, and mousy hair. Her choice of clothing was nondescript and concealed any figure she might have had. To cap it all off, she’d apparently decided to get her teeth fixed rather late in life and she had braces, as well. She constantly fought weight gain and frequently gave up dieting, with poor results.

Poppy stood by their booth. “It’s crowded in the diner today, isn’t it?”

“Sit down with us, Poppy, while you’re waiting. They must have fallen behind in the kitchen,” said Myrtle.

“Oh, I didn’t phone my takeaway order in before coming. I should have, but I forgot. So it’s my own fault I have to wait. I thought I would bring lunch over to Mimsy and John…John is her husband, you know. I feel so bad about what happened to Luella. I know Mimsy must be crushed.” But the way Poppy said
Mimsy must be crushed
sounded a bit doubtful.

“Mimsy was actually so sweet and came by earlier today to bring me a casserole,” said Myrtle.

Poppy’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open a little, giving her a somewhat fishlike appearance. “
She
gave
you
a casserole?”

Myrtle could tell that Poppy wondered if her offering from the diner was good enough, considering the object of her kindness was making casseroles for people who weren’t even bereaved. “Yes, but she said she was trying to keep busy, or something like that. I guess to keep her mind off of everything. She said she felt bad that I’d hosted the party and that something dreadful had happened.”

Poppy frowned. “That
is
bad, now that I think about it. You were doing a good deed, weren’t you? And it backfired.”

“I’m fine,” said Myrtle a little impatiently. She hadn’t meant to get off on this tangent. The food would be ready very soon, she was sure, and Poppy would be gone. “Miles and I were trying to piece together what happened to see if we can figure out who’s behind this terrible tragedy. Where were you last night, for instance? During the Bonkers party?”

Miles’s eyebrows shot up in alarm to let her know she needed to soften her question.

Myrtle revised, “I mean, could you get an idea where everyone else was? If someone might have had the opportunity to kill poor Luella.”

Poppy looked even more solemn. “Poor Luella is right. She was very kind to me whenever she saw me…since I’m Mimsy’s best friend, you know. She knew I was interested in easy recipes and whenever the bank finished with their magazines, she’d give them to me. She was very nice.”

This was something they hadn’t heard before. Usually everyone was quick to point out Luella’s faults. Myrtle said, “At the game last night, Luella said nice things about you, too.” This was a stretch. What Luella had actually said was that she didn’t have any gossip about Poppy.

Inaccurate or not, Myrtle’s words had the unfortunate effect of bringing Poppy to tears. “She was always nice to me. Poor Luella.”

Myrtle anxiously glanced toward the cash register. Poppy’s order would surely be up soon. The only reason their own order was taking so long is because Miles ordered odd things from the menu.

“The only problem is that, nice or not, Luella is dead. Someone didn’t think that Luella was nice—have you got any ideas who that might have been? What could you see from where you were at the party?”

Poppy knit her brows, which didn’t improve her countenance. “I walked around a lot, visiting with everyone. I didn’t spend too much time in the kitchen, although I was in there briefly. I
did
notice Alma going into the kitchen from the direction of your back door. But I really hate to point the finger at anyone. She didn’t look as if she’d just murdered someone, if that’s what you’re asking.” She brightened. “Has Red checked into whether it might have been some kind of random intruder of some kind?”

Miles cleared his throat. “The problem, you see, is that there is a privacy fence around Myrtle’s yard. It seems very unlikely that someone from the outside would be responsible.”

Poppy’s eyes darkened as she thought some more. “But surely … there must be a gate of some kind?”

“Bolted,” said Myrtle firmly. “Mostly to keep my neighbor, Erma Sherman, out.”

“Don’t you have someone to cut your grass for you? Maybe he left it unbolted after he’d finished with your yard,” said Poppy.

Poppy seemed stuck on the intruder theory. And it was getting tedious. “Certainly not,” said Myrtle. “Dusty is only careless with his tools, never with gates.”

Poppy sighed. “Then if it absolutely can’t be a stranger, I suppose I’d have to wonder about Alma. Since I saw her coming from that direction, and all. But I can’t for the life of me figure out why she’d do such a thing.” She squinted toward the cash register. “It looks like my order is up. I should take it over to Mimsy and John. I feel so terrible for them.” She glanced back at Myrtle and Miles and then more closely at Miles. “Are you feeling all right? You’re not looking very well.”

Miles was indeed looking a bit peaked. He took out a crisply folded handkerchief and gently patted at dots of perspiration that had appeared on his forehead. “I’m all right, thanks. Tell Mimsy hi for us.”

As Poppy left, Cindy appeared with their order. Myrtle tucked into her pimento cheese dogs with gusto as Miles picked at his salad. He did not, Myrtle noticed, use a drop of the Ranch dressing. He said, “Well, at least now we don’t have to run by and see Poppy.”

“You sound relieved,” said Myrtle, turning her attention to her chili fries.