Death at a Drop-In (13 page)

“Red seems to be talking to everyone pretty quickly,” said Miles.  “I’m hoping we can all get out of here soon.  I’m burning up.”  He removed his suit jacket, carefully folding it over his arm.

“He’s just finding out what they were doing this morning and if they saw Tobin,” said Myrtle with a shrug.  “It wouldn’t take too long to work through most of the people here.”  She squinted at a point near the road.  “Isn’t that Sybil down there?  It’s got to be.  No one else in town drives a 1970s Chevy Caprice.”

Miles leaned forward in his folding chair.  “That’s Sybil all right.  She wasn’t at the funeral though, was she?  She was probably driving past and noticed that everyone was gathered around the woods instead of around the graveside and wanted to see what was going on.”

“Or else she murdered Tobin Tinker for knowing too much and is inexorably drawn to the scene of the crime,” muttered Myrtle, watching Sybil.  “Joan has already mentioned to me that she saw Felix this morning.”

“Doing what?  Murdering Tobin?”  Miles sounded startled.

“No.  Well, not as far as we know.  She saw him walking nearby—in a suit.”

“Maybe he’s had the kind of day I’ve had.  Maybe he had a flat and had to walk over to a business meeting.”

Myrtle made a scoffing noise. “More than one flat tire in a day?  Don’t’ you think that’s kind of unlikely?”

“Not particularly.  Maybe there are a few nails in the road and he and I were both unlucky enough to drive over them.  I’m simply pointing out that Felix wasn’t seen beating Tobin Tinker over the head with a shovel—he was merely seen walking near the cemetery in a suit.”

“Joan said that she saw Tobin alive at ten o’clock this morning.  Her alibi is apparently Elaine—she dropped Noah off with Elaine before coming to the service.  I guess they must have visited for a while.  If she saw Tobin then, that must have been right before he was killed—the service started at eleven,” said Myrtle.

“What was Lucas doing at ten?” asked Miles.

“Red asked him that after he finished talking with Joan.  Lucas was getting ready for the service.  He said that Hazel could vouch for him,” said Myrtle.  “But I doubt that Hazel was with him the entire morning.  She had to get ready herself.  It seems to me that it would have been easy enough for Lucas to hop in the car, drive to the cemetery, murder Tobin, and drive back home.”

“Maybe.  But after ten?  Could he have done it after ten?  That would have been right before the service started—he probably had to arrive early, too.  It sounds like a really risky thing for him to have done,” said Miles.

“Maybe Joan isn’t telling the truth,” said Myrtle.  “She could be covering for herself or her father.  Tobin could have been dead at nine a.m., for all we know.” 

“Forensics would have a more accurate idea of the window for the murder,” said Miles in a hopeful voice.  “Perhaps Red will share that information with us when it becomes available.”

“And pigs might fly,” said Myrtle. 

Miles and Myrtle sat quietly for a few minutes, hoping for a breeze.

“How are we going to get back home, by the way?  I’d forgotten your car is out of commission,” said Myrtle.

“The same way we got here, I guess.  We’ll walk.  Once we reach my car, though, I need to stop and change the tire real quick.”

“I need to find a ride,” said Myrtle. “It must be over one hundred degrees now.  I’ve been out in the heat long enough without pushing it.”  An idea occurred to her.  “I know.  I’ll ask Sybil for a ride, since she’s suddenly on the scene.  That’ll give me the chance to ask her a few questions, too.”

Miles said, “Questions?  I thought you were going to talk with her under the guise of getting her opinion on book club picks.  Besides, Sybil is skulking around like she doesn’t want to be seen.  She couldn’t be happy with you coming up and asking her for a ride.”  He clearly was proud of his book club idea and didn’t want Myrtle to give up on it.

“Well, if the perfect  opportunity to ask Sybil some questions pops up, it seems like I should go ahead and use it,” said Myrtle.   She glanced away from Miles and back toward the street.  “Shoot.  Never mind, she’s gone.  Maybe Red can take me back.”

“There’s no way.  He’ll be stuck here with the state police for hours,” said Miles.

Another car pulled up to see what was going on in the cemetery woods.  It was a disreputable-looking older model American car.

Myrtle perked up.  “Look! It’s Puddin and Dusty.” She clapped her hands together.

“Now, that’s a first.  I’ve never heard you mention your housekeeper and yardman with such excitement before.”

“I’m sure they can give me a ride…it should be my house that they’re on the way over to.  It certainly should be!  Puddin hasn’t cleaned for ages and the dust bunnies are chasing each other through the house. My yard could use a touch-up, too.”

Myrtle grabbed her cane and hurried toward Puddin and Dusty’s car before they took off like Sybil had. 

Chapter Eleven

“Wait!” called Miles.  “What about Red?  Doesn’t he need to talk to you?”

“He knows where to find me,” called back Myrtle without turning around.

Puddin and Dusty didn’t exactly look pleased to see her, but they never did.  Puddin was a pale, dumpy woman who avoided housework whenever a shortcut presented itself.  Dusty was actually a half-decent yardman, but it was difficult to get him to regularly come by the house.  Together…they were the best Myrtle could do.

Puddin appeared to be eating a fig and the juice was running unchecked down her chin.  “Need a ride?” she reluctantly asked.  “Dusty and me was going to your house just now.”

“Yes, Miles brought me, but he has a flat and it’s too hot for me to walk back,” Myrtle climbed into the backseat, pushing aside a laundry basket full of cleaning supplies as she did.  She glowered at the supplies, which all appeared untouched and brand-new.  Puddin was fond of using up the homeowner’s cleaners instead of her own.

“What’s going on up there?” asked Dusty, bobbing his head to indicate the throng of mourners near the woods.

“A murder,” said Myrtle, scowling at her black pants.  Did she still have that much cat fur on them? It looked as if she were wearing a pair of angora slacks.

Dusty nodded as if that were a perfectly reasonable and acceptable explanation. 

“Who of?” asked Puddin, turning around to look at Myrtle.  Her piggy eyes squinted at her.

“Tobin Tinker,” said Myrtle.

Dusty grunted.  “More business for me, then.”

Myrtle felt, but didn’t say, that people who had gotten used to Tobin’s level of competence and expertise wouldn’t be particularly interested in hiring Dusty to help them with yard work. 

Neither Puddin nor Dusty seemed inclined to inquire any more about the murder.  They pulled up into Myrtle’s driveway and Puddin calmly wrapped the rest of her fig in a napkin. 

“Where do you get your figs?” asked Myrtle.

“My backyard.”

“How’d you keep the birds and squirrels and ants away from those figs, Puddin?”

“They’d have to fight me for them,” said Puddin simply. 

Dusty had an ancient lawnmower in the trailer behind the car.  He rolled it out while Puddin waited for Myrtle to fish her keys from her purse.  “Sure is a lot easier mowin’ yer lawn with no gnomes sittin’ in the middle of everything,” he observed.

Myrtle was sure that it was. However, she wanted to reserve the right to pull gnomes out of her little storage building whenever she wanted.  “Just remember we have a deal where you weed-trim whenever they are out there.  Red’s been behaving lately, so I haven’t had to drag out the gnomes in protest.  That could change at any time.”

Dusty shrugged.  “It’s yer property.”  The tone intimated that there would never be gnomes of any sort on Dusty’s own lawn. 

Myrtle glanced at her doorstep.  “By the way, Puddin, there’s a corpse on the front step that you’ll need to dispose of.  I guess just put it in a plastic grocery bag and toss it in my outside trash bin.”

“What!”  Puddin squinted at the front step.  “That witch cat again.”

“Nonsense.  Your superstitions exhaust me, Puddin.”

Myrtle finally fished her keys from her pocketbook, and she and Puddin walked inside, carefully stepping over the dead rabbit as they entered.  “As you can see, there’s dust everywhere.  So I need you to dust first and then vacuum.  The kitchen and bathroom could use a scrubbing, if you have time after that.”  She almost laughed as she said it.  Puddin would not have time because it would take her fifteen minutes to even start.  Ten minutes of that would be her getting the cleaning supplies ready. 
Myrtle’s
cleaning supplies.

“Got it,” said Puddin in a singsong voice.

Puddin wasn’t good for much.  Myrtle had little hope that her home would be cleaner when she left.  But sometimes she did furnish useful information.  There was a real network among housekeepers in town and every single one of them loved to gossip. Puddin was apparently related in some respect to many of them.  Puddin had long felt herself at a disadvantage when cleaning Myrtle’s house since Myrtle no longer did anything that was gossip-worthy.  If she ever had.

“As sort of a side note, what do you know about Sybil Brown or Felix Nelson?” asked Myrtle. 

A pleased expression crossed Puddin’s face and she immediately plopped down on Myrtle’s sofa.

“No, no, Puddin.  You can talk and dust at the same time.”

“I was gonna vacuum first.  Can’t talk and vacuum.  Your old machine is too noisy,” said Puddin.

Myrtle gritted her teeth.  “Then you should use your own vacuum.  Besides, who vacuums
before
they dust?  Doesn’t make any sense.  You’re supposed to vacuum up the dust you’ve knocked to the floor.”

Puddin ignored this.  “Sybil and Felix.  Let’s see.  Well, Sybil Brown doesn’t have a cleaner.  She’s not real fancy, you know.”

“
I’m
not fancy.  I’m just old.  Plenty of people who have housekeepers aren’t fancy.”

“Not her,” said Puddin with satisfaction.  She liked being right more than anything. She paused for effect, enjoying having Myrtle hang on her words.  “Now that Felix.  He has a cleaner for his office.  Couldn’t be bothered to clean it and mess up his nice suits.”

“Do you clean his office?”

“No,” drawled Puddin.  “But my cousin Cee-Cee does.  Twice a week she does.”

Cee-Cee’s work ethic was more evolved than Puddin’s and she came from the harder-working branch of Puddin’s family tree.  Myrtle watched distastefully as Puddin made herself more comfortable on Myrtle’s sofa, plumping a pillow behind her.  She only hoped that Cousin Cee-Cee wasn’t particularly discreet.

Apparently, she wasn’t.  “So Cee-Cee says that Sybil is always bugging Felix.  Calls him up on the phone all the time, asking stupid stuff.  What’s his favorite color?  What was the first pet he ever had? Drives him nuts.  Sometimes he has Cee-Cee to answer the phone for him when he sees Sybil’s number come up.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” muttered Myrtle.  Who interrupts someone’s workday with that kind of stuff?

“Right. Except then, Sybil got all green eyed over Cee-Cee. Thought Cee-Cee was too lovey-dovey with her Felix,” said Puddin, sitting back on the sofa with satisfaction at Myrtle’s surprise.

Myrtle
was
surprised.  Because Cee-Cee, although somewhat better looking than the dumpy, dour Puddin, was nobody’s pretty child.   “Did Sybil
know
Cee-Cee?  Did she think Cee-Cee was somebody else when she was picking up the phone?”

Puddin emphatically shook her head.  “Nuh-uh. Because Cee-Cee cleans for Sybil’s neighbor!  She sees her every week.”

So apparently, Sybil was simply delusional.  She was so obsessed with Felix that she was jealous of
anyone
who spent time with him.  Maybe Cosette wasn’t having an affair with Felix.  Maybe Sybil dreamed the whole thing up.

“Anything else?” asked Myrtle.  “Maybe clients that Felix had?  Did Cee-Cee ever mention seeing Cosette Whitlow at his office?”

Puddin looked bored again.  She shrugged.  “Who knows?  Does anybody care?  It’s only an insurance company.”  She eyed the box of chocolates that Elaine had brought over to her as thanks for watching Jack.

Just then, Pasha made a joyful meow and bounded at Puddin.  Pasha was especially attracted to anyone who was scared of her.  Puddin shrieked and put her doughy hands up to block herself from the feline onslaught.

Pasha landed right on Puddin’s knee, and started kneading her leg with her claws out as far as she could.  Puddin howled and stood up to dump Pasha off her lap.  “Witch!” she hissed at her.  “She’s a witch’s cat.”

“That foolishness again,” said Myrtle with a snort, plucking Pasha off the floor and holding her protectively.  “I’m grateful that Pasha helped move you off my sofa.”  She handed Puddin the duster and stroked Pasha lovingly.

Felix looked calmly and unsmilingly at Myrtle across the desk the next morning.  “So you want to buy some life insurance, is that right?” He folded his hands together and watched Myrtle expectantly.

Myrtle said steadily, “I’m
considering
it, yes.  For my loved ones.  In the case of my sudden demise, you know.” 

She glanced around Felix’s office.  It was very tidy.  Whether that was due to Puddin’s cousin Cee-Cee or Felix’s organization skills, she wasn’t sure.  He had only one piece of paper on his desk and a computer.  The room was decorated sparsely with a fern on a stand in one corner, a file cabinet in another and a credenza.  Myrtle noticed that Felix didn’t seem to be very surprised at the fact that the octogenarian in front of him was interested in life insurance.  She knew Miles would be wrong about that.  A salesman was a salesman.  While he was at it, he might try to sell her a dock in the desert, too.

“It’s extremely wise of you to think about your survivors,” Felix said smoothly in his pedantic manner.  “After all, there are many things that a life insurance plan can pay for.  Your final expenses for one thing.”

Myrtle wrinkled her brow.  Final expenses? Was there a toll road to heaven that she didn’t know about?  Then she realized he was referring to her funeral.  “Oh, yes.  My final expenses.”  Myrtle had a very matter-of-fact view toward funerals, which Felix wouldn’t know.  Hers was to be very simple, extremely cheap, and would involve cremation and a short memorial service at a later date.  She hoped it would be the shortest, least-expensive funeral on record in Bradley, North Carolina. Myrtle had informed Red and Elaine that she would haunt them with a vengeance if they disregarded her wishes and turned her funeral into some elaborate affair.