A Body at Bunco (27 page)

“I don’t think that will be a problem. Okay, I’ll see you in a few minutes,” said Myrtle and hung up.

Miles looked nervous. “Mice in the newsroom? I never did care for the thought of the little varmints running around.”

“That’s because you’re so fastidious. Any self-respecting mouse wouldn’t dream of invading your house … there wouldn’t be any crumbs to eat. Yes, Pasha was unfortunately impressive yesterday and eliminated part of Sloan’s mouse problem. Now he wants her back. Want to go with me to the
Bugle
?”

Miles didn’t appear reassured by Myrtle’s words. “I think I’ll pass. What else do you have on tap for today and I’ll try to catch up with you then?”

“Laundry. And laundry. And I probably want to follow up with Florence to find out why she was wandering around the night Alma died. Although she’ll probably deny it, as she did earlier,” said Myrtle.

“I’ll go along with you when you talk to her,” said Miles. “I’m feeling a little shortchanged as a sidekick this time. That virus really knocked me for a loop.”

“I’ll let you know,” said Myrtle. She sighed. “And the laundry is still running so I can’t even put anything in the dryer before I leave. I need to rush out of here before Red shows up.”

She walked to her coat closet and found the longest coat she could find. It was, unfortunately, wool, which might not be the most comfortable choice for such a warm day.

Miles crinkled his forehead. “I know you’re wanting to cover up the tracksuit, but are you sure that a wool coat is wise? You might have a heat stroke out on the street.”

Myrtle waved him away. “I’ll be fine. I may not look fashionable or weather appropriate, but at least I won’t be funny looking.”

“So you say,” murmured Miles.

When Miles left for home, Myrtle rooted around under her kitchen sink for the cat treats. Finding them, she gave them a quick shake. “Kitty, kitty?” she called.

Pasha immediately jumped up from the backyard into her kitchen window, eyes gleaming. “Want to go for a walk, Pasha?” asked Myrtle in as polite a voice as she could muster. It always paid to be deferential to cats, Myrtle thought.

Pasha, thankfully, agreed that she would stroll along beside Myrtle as she walked to downtown Bradley. Myrtle gave her a treat from time to time. Halfway there, she turned around briefly to see Red’s figure hurrying across to her house. It had been a close call.

She glanced down at the cat, which was moving steadily beside her, tail held high. She hoped Pasha would enjoy her hunting expedition. Who knows? Pasha may not be in the mood, though, despite the fact Myrtle had assured Sloan that she would be. Everyone knows that you can’t force a cat to do anything it doesn’t want to do.

A car pulled up alongside them. Florence rolled down the window and said, “Myrtle, do you need a ride?” She squinted at Myrtle’s outfit. “And—are you feeling all right? Isn’t it very hot for a wool coat?”

Myrtle suppressed a shudder. No, she thought she’d pass on another ride with Florence. In fact, she didn’t feel all that safe standing on the sidewalk with Florence around. “It’s only a wool blend,” said Myrtle. “And I’ve got my cat with me so, no thanks.” She paused. “I know you’re worried about your driving, Florence. Or, at least, you’re worried that your daughter might take your keys away.”

Florence beamed at her. “But the most amazing thing has happened, Myrtle. An answer to a prayer.”

Myrtle frowned. “What was the answer to a prayer?”

“Puddin. She cleans for you, too, doesn’t she? What a sweet woman!”

“Puddin? Sweet?” Myrtle stared at Florence. Perhaps she was more far gone than Myrtle had suspected.

“Yes. She was cleaning for me recently and was such a comfort the day Luella threatened to call my daughter and report my driving. I was so distraught. Then, this morning, Puddin offered to drive me to see my friend every day. She’ll drop me off and pick me up at an assigned time…and that time might be dependent on her cleaning schedule. You can’t imagine my relief!” Florence beamed. “I think I drive fine around town…well, most of the time. But I’m a little sketchy when driving longer distances.”

Myrtle knew Puddin was no saint. And she remembered Puddin’s recent interest in “payoffs”. “So I suppose there is some sort of remuneration involved? For Puddin driving you?”

“Oh, certainly. Gas and wear and tear on Puddin’s car, naturally. And then I insisted on paying her a daily stipend. It’s worth every penny,” said Florence, gratitude laced through her voice.

Myrtle wondered how Puddin’s new driving arrangement would impact Myrtle’s ability to schedule her to clean. She sighed. But it seemed as though it was something that would work out well for both Puddin
and
Florence. And perhaps the sidewalks would be a bit safer without Florence driving as often.

“That’s wonderful, Florence. I’m so happy that worked out for you,” said Myrtle.

Pasha swished her tail as she spotted a squirrel across the street. She gazed at it through slitted eyes.

“Before you head out, there is one thing you can do for me, Florence.” Myrtle knew that Miles had wanted to be in on her interview of Florence, but this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. “I was visiting with a few folks and I heard a few things. For one, I heard that many years ago Mimsy had been dating a favorite nephew of yours and you felt that she might have been involved in his accidental death.”

Florence blinked at her. “Goodness! That
is
old news. What are people saying?”

Pasha had redirected her attention to a large black ant on the sidewalk. She deftly killed it with a powerful paw, causing it to fall apart in more than one section. She swiftly ate it and looked at Myrtle as if to say that she could provide her own treats.

Myrtle pulled her gaze away from the cat. Hopefully the feline wouldn’t concentrate on Florence next. She seemed to be in a feisty mood. “I believe that the idea is that someone may be setting Mimsy up for Luella’s death. That perhaps it would have been a way for you to avenge your nephew’s death.”

Florence gave a dry laugh. “His death was decades ago. I’d have to be a very petty person to exact revenge at this point. After all these years of volunteering with Mimsy and going to church barbeques with her?” She shook her head. But then her expression was reminiscent. “Did I ever tell you about Denny? He was such a sweet boy. He’d always walk by my house on his way to school and toss my paper on my porch from the driveway. He’d take me out to lunch and we’d have such laughs together!” Her blue eyes were wistful.

“Something else folks are saying,” interrupted Myrtle, “is that you
were
out the night that Alma died. Although I know you say you weren’t.”

Florence looked directly at Myrtle now. “I was out. I couldn’t sleep. This horrible restlessness had come over me and I felt like I needed to walk. Do you ever lie in bed and your mind races so fast that you can’t possibly sleep?”

“No,” answered Myrtle truthfully. “And that’s because I don’t ever lie in bed when that happens. I get right up and start doing housework or go visit Miles. Miles is usually awake at night, too.”

“Well, that’s what happened. I was thinking about my friend … the one who I met playing bridge. I’m on my way to visit him now, actually. I started thinking about how awful it would be if my daughter moved me away from here or if she insisted I stop driving. So, I got up after a while of tossing and turning. I put some clothes on. I took a walk. I did see headlights a couple of times, which made me feel worried—like someone would think I was demented or something for walking so late.”

Maybe that was the basis of the “furtive” behavior that Poppy reported, reflected Myrtle.

“When I heard what happened with Alma, I was worried that someone might think that’s why I was walking near Alma’s house. Because the police were talking to me about Luella’s death, you know. I thought I’d look even more suspicious. So I went for a walk.” Florence shrugged a thin shoulder.

What struck Myrtle was how completely lucid Florence seemed. She didn’t seem confused and she didn’t look foggy. She was still a perfectly dreadful driver, but she didn’t appear confused at all. Not now, anyway.

“Besides,” said Florence, “I just don’t understand the whole setting-up-Mimsy thing. Why do people think she’s being set up? Just because she was a beneficiary of Luella’s will?”

“Not only that, no. She also lost an earring the night we played Bunco and someone apparently put the earring near Alma when Alma was murdered. To make it look as if Mimsy had been there,” said Myrtle.

Florence said slowly, “Does Mimsy lose a lot of earrings? I mean, all the time?”

Myrtle wondered if she’d been too quick to think that Florence was clear-headed. “What do you mean? As far as I’m aware, she’s only lost the one earring.”

Florence shook her head. “I saw her put her earring in her purse that night at Bunco. I thought it was odd then. Especially when I overheard her telling Elaine that she’d lost it. I thought, ‘and people think
I’m
confused.’”

Myrtle caught her breath and felt an icy chill go up her spine despite the wool coat. Even Pasha stood still.

“Did you say anything about it? Did you remind Mimsy where the earring was?”

“No. Because it wasn’t long after that when you found poor Luella. I didn’t really think about the earring anymore,” said Florence.

Myrtle nodded slowly. “That’s very interesting, Florence. I won’t keep you … I have to get my cat to the newsroom at the
Bugle
.”

Florence gave her an odd look. It made Myrtle think that Florence was going to go around talking about Myrtle and saying, “And people say that
I’m
confused….”

Chapter Twenty-One

Myrtle held out a treat to Pasha, who quickly bounded after her. Mimsy. Mimsy was responsible for Luella’s death? And Alma’s? It hardly seemed possible. Could Florence have been mistaken? But other things seemed to fall into place.

Mimsy had seemed very financially stable. Poppy, for one, even seemed envious of her apparent stability … according to Mimsy. But when Myrtle and Miles had been dropping off the casserole, John had said that he was interviewing for a job out of town. Maybe they hadn’t been as financially stable as they’d appeared, if John had been unemployed. And, since John had also done day trading on the side, perhaps he’d lost a lot of money on the stock market.

What if Mimsy had wanted to maintain her lifestyle and killed to do so? Could she be so calculating? Had she hidden away her own earring as a possible insurance policy for potential future crimes? Acted as if someone were trying to set her up? Pointed suspicion at her own friend, Poppy, by subtly acting as if Poppy had been envious of her all along?

Had she taken advantage of her husband’s trip to kill Alma?

Myrtle, for once, felt a strong urge to talk to her son. She took out her phone from her pocketbook. As far as smartphones went, it wasn’t a
genius
, but it was fairly clever. Sometimes she wondered if it were sharper than she was.

She pulled up her contacts and found Red’s number. It rang until his voice mail answered. Myrtle hung up, sighing in irritation. He was probably taking that shower at her house. Plus, it always took him a while to check his voice mails on his personal phone. Then she realized Red seemed a lot more responsive to his text messages. The text message screen was so small that she had to fumble around in her purse for her reading glasses in order to type on it. Finally, she typed
need to talk to you about Mimsy, Red
. Maybe that would pique Red’s interest enough to give her a call back.

“Myrtle?” asked Mimsy’s voice, very close.

Myrtle just about jumped through her skin. “Mimsy!” she gasped.

Mimsy said solicitously, “Oh, Miss Myrtle, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You must have been deep in your thoughts.”

“I must have been, yes. I was thinking about Pasha, my cat,” she said in a rush. Pasha sprawled out on the sidewalk, enjoying the sun on her stomach. “Are you out running errands?” she asked. She glanced around for Mimsy’s car, but didn’t see it.

Mimsy held up some poster board she was carrying. “Just walking around and putting up signs supporting the
Bradley Bugle
. I’m amazed how that social media campaign has caught on. It’s like the whole town is coming together in support of the newspaper.”

“A newspaper is important to small towns,” said Myrtle in a rather perfunctory voice.

“Are you feeling all right, Miss Myrtle?” asked Mimsy, staring closely at her. “You don’t quite seem like yourself.”

“I’m a little tired, maybe,” said Myrtle. As if to emphasize that point, she wove a bit unsteadily, still trying to clutch her cane, the bag of cat treats, her reading glasses, and her phone. She was able to regain her balance, but she dropped the cane and the phone in the process.

Mimsy swiftly stooped down to retrieve them. She hesitated while picking up the phone, then rose and gave Myrtle a quick smile. “Here you are, Miss Myrtle. I don’t think the phone is broken and the cane is in good shape.”

“Thanks,” said Myrtle quickly. She noticed that the phone’s screen was still on her text messages. Had Mimsy seen her message to Red?

But Mimsy’s gaze was impassive as she gave Myrtle a friendly smile. “Maybe if you put everything in your purse it would help.”

“Yes, I suppose it would. Thank you, Mimsy. Hope you have a good day.”

Myrtle walked off toward the
Bugle
, clicking her tongue to Pasha who bounded after her to catch up. After walking for a moment, she felt as though eyes were trained on her back. She paused and swiftly turned around, but felt foolish when she saw that Mimsy was placidly taping a poster board to a stop sign.

There was a sticky note on the old wooden door of the
Bugle
that said
back soon
. Myrtle sighed. Sloan could be so flaky sometimes. At least he’d left the door unlocked. She opened the door to the dimness of the newsroom and Pasha, now looking alert, leaped in. Pasha must recognize her hunting ground from the day before. Myrtle was sure the furry creatures were cowering in the shadows somewhere as this master predator entered.