Death at a Drop-In (21 page)

Noah and Joan walked down the short hall as Miles and Lucas came back in.  Miles was looking pleased. 

“Did you find out the spray you need to use?” asked Myrtle.

“I sure did.  If I have any left over, I’ll give it to you.”

“Don’t give it to me…give it to Dusty.  With any luck, he’ll know what to do with it,” said Myrtle.  She sighed.  “And if he doesn’t, then I hope I can find a half-decent yardman to take his place.  It’s the hardest thing in the world to find a yardman in Bradley.  And we lost a pretty good one when Tobin died.”

Lucas shifted uncomfortably and Myrtle noticed that he wasn’t meeting her gaze.

“Of course, you might not have agreed that Tobin was a good yardman…or a good anything. A neighbor of mine mentioned that she saw you and Tobin arguing before he died,” said Myrtle.  “Did y’all come to odds over some yard work he’d done for you?”

“Oh, no, Tobin never did yard work for us.  We had Tiny come by ever so often to do all the hard labor in the yard.  And then Cosette was the one who planted flowers and did the decorative part.”

Tiny was actually a giant of a man.  But the South was full of names like that.  “And Cosette purchased the croquet set, I suppose,” said Myrtle.

“She would have, yes.  I suppose she bought the set for whenever she had parties.”

“So, if Tobin didn’t do any work for you, then what might you have been arguing about?” asked Myrtle.

Lucas sighed.  “I hated to speak ill of the dead.  And I guess I didn’t want to look any more suspicious than I already did. But I was taking out the trash, and Tobin made sort of a snide comment about Cosette—something like he was glad that now things would at least be a lot quieter on our street.  I must have had a lot of pent-up emotions, because I really let him have it. Now I feel just terrible about that.”

Joan and Noah came back in and Joan gave Lucas a quizzical look.  Then she said, “I think we should run along now.  The instructions are on the casseroles, Miss Myrtle, as I mentioned before.  Dad is looking tired and you must be pooped, yourself.”

“I’m all right, since I slept in so late this morning.  But I’ll probably sleep well tonight,” said Myrtle.

Miles snorted and Myrtle glared at him.  Well, she
might
sleep well tonight.

After Joan, Noah, and Lucas left, Miles sat back down at the kitchen table with Myrtle.  “So what did you make of all that?”

“It sounds like they were covering up for themselves, because they didn’t want their actions to be misinterpreted by the police,” said Myrtle.  “But they might just as well be lying.  What it boils down to is, that Lucas had an argument with Tobin, and Joan returned to the party and walked around the side of the house.  The rest of their stories could be totally made up.”

There was a tap on Myrtle’s front door and she groaned.  “Go away!”

Miles got up and walked to the door.  “I’m starting to think you should place an ad in the
Bugle
for a butler,” he noted.  He looked out the window.  “It’s Red.”

“I suppose we should let him in,” said Myrtle.

“He seems to be carrying…an object,” said Miles slowly.

“Well, let him in so he can put it down.”  Honestly, sometimes Miles seemed to need as much direction as a child.

Miles obediently opened the door.  “Hi, Red.”

Red came in carrying a folded walker.  Myrtle shrieked, putting a hand to her heart.

Chapter Eighteen

“It’s time for me to be getting home,” muttered Miles before making a speedy exit.

Some friend.

“Red, get that thing away from me.  Return it to the store at once.  It’s a waste of your money.  I’m not using it.  I don’t need a walker.”

Red sighed.  “Are you done?  Spit out all your reasons for not wanting one?  Good.  First of all, I didn’t buy this walker.  Carolyn Frances gave it to me straight out.  Said her mama didn’t need it anymore.”

“Because her mama is dead!  Who knows, maybe she tripped over the walker while trying to use it and that’s what killed her.  I don’t want the thing.  I don’t like it,” Myrtle glared at the offending walker.

“You’re being hardheaded.  There’s nothing wrong with needing to stay a bit steadier on your feet.  In my way of thinking, this walker will help you to stay independent longer,” said Red.

Myrtle stood up and walked very steadily to the coffeepot to pour herself another cup of coffee.  Then she walked back, perfectly balanced.  “I’m independent enough now.  I hate those walkers.  They squeak. And they’re too hard to push.”

Red opened up a plastic bag that he had hanging on his arm.  “That’s why I brought these.”  He held up a bag of tennis balls.  “We’re going to put these tennis balls on the back legs of the walker and you’ll glide around like a swan.”

“I don’t
want
to glide around like a swan.  I want to thump around with my cane.”  Myrtle felt her face color.  This whole issue would give her an apoplectic fit.  Carolyn Frances.  Interfering biddy.

Red ignored her and put the tennis balls on the walker legs, talking as he did.  “I think you’ll find that you get used to the walker and that it gives you more stability and more options as far as where you go.”

“It’s a waste.  And waste is sinful, Red.  You should give that walker to an elderly person who needs it.”

“Mama,
you
are elderly.  Very, very elderly.”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t.  Said that you should give the walker to an elderly person who
needs
it.  I don’t.  And a walker is absolutely no help when someone deliberately pushes you down a ramp.”

Red looked up at his mother.  “That’s another thing, Mama.  You don’t need to go around town telling everyone that story about someone shoving you down the library ramp.  It only makes you look silly.”

“It’s the truth! And I’ve never looked silly a day in my life.”

“I’ve got Trina Balmer coming by tomorrow to show you how to use the walker.  Apparently, it does take training, because improper use can make seniors fall down.”

Myrtle gritted her teeth.  She had a feeling that she was going to be indisposed when Trina Balmer came by the next day. 

“And make sure you open the door to Trina.  She’s going out of her way to help you train on the walker as a favor to me,” said Red smoothly.  He stood up and took a few experimental steps with the device.  “Yes, I can see that it’s not really intuitive.  Training will help.”  He leaned over to give his mother a peck on the cheek before she could turn away.  “Okay, that’s it. I’ve got to run follow up on a couple of leads.  I’ll see you later, Mama.”

A few minutes later, a walker-free Myrtle was busily dragging gnomes out of her storage shed and placing them on her front lawn in plain view of Red’s house.  A walker deserved a lot more gnomes, actually, but Myrtle was going to have to pace herself.  She was still sore from the fall yesterday.

She was resting against a woodcutter gnome when Sybil drove up in her 1970s Chevy Caprice.  She parked in Myrtle’s driveway and gave her a jaunty wave. She hopped out of the car and opened the back door to reach in the back seat.  When Sybil came around the side of the car toward Myrtle, she was toting a gnome.  She grinned at Myrtle, white teeth gleaming in her tanned face.

“Well, look at you!” she called.  “You sure seem in fine fettle.  Here I was all worried about you after reading that newspaper article.”

Myrtle made a dismissive gesture at the mention of the article.  “Shoddy journalism,” she said with a sniff.  “What have you got there?”

“A little feel-better present for you.  I love trolling flea markets and yard sales to find things for my collections.  So I went out early this morning after I got the paper and found this guy.”  Sybil held him out so that Myrtle could see him.  It was a gnome in perfect condition. Even better—he was sticking out his tongue in glee.  A very animated specimen.

Myrtle beamed at Sybil.  “I love him.  May I pay you for him?”

Sybil shook her head.  “He was ridiculously cheap. The woman was practically giving him away.  Where do you want me to put him?”

Myrtle surveyed her front yard.  “How about right there?  In the front.  Point him directly at Red’s house.”

She watched with satisfaction as Sybil carefully placed the irreverent gnome right where he could give Red the sassiest view.  “Perfect!”

Sybil walked back up to Myrtle.  “Say, you do look tired, Miss Myrtle.  Are you done putting gnomes out?  If you’re not, then I can help you while you go inside.”

“I think your gnome put the finishing touch on the yard, Sybil.  Can you stay for a glass of tea?  It’s gotten right warm out here and we should cool off for a minute.”

Sybil followed Myrtle in, holding the door for her.  “Wait…you’ve got a walker now?  When did that happen?”

Myrtle scowled at the offending device.  “Red was interfering.  Being overprotective as usual.  I don’t need a walker.  I have this.”  She picked up her cane and swung it in the air.

Sybil stared at the walker.  “My mother has a walker, actually.  I think she likes the fact that she can hang a bag on it and carry things around with her easier.”

“That’s what a pocketbook is for,” said Myrtle.  “I have a large pocketbook that I hang on my shoulder and I manage perfectly well with my cane.”

Sybil must have heard the agitation that Myrtle couldn’t seem to suppress and dropped the subject.  “Knitting?  Are you knitting now, too?  I must not be paying attention in book club.”

“No, I’m not really knitting.  That was Elaine’s idea.  Red and Elaine try to keep me busy, you know.” She looked at the knitting paraphernalia. “I don’t know, maybe I could knit a little.  Sometimes I’m restless or can’t sleep.  My automatic reaction to it is
no
, though. Makes me feel like an old lady.”

Sybil said, “Believe it or not, but I know several knitters and not a single one is an old lady.  One is a teenager as a matter of fact.  And Elaine isn’t old. Not even close. Is Elaine knitting, too?”

This was true.  It sparked a bit more interest in Myrtle. “She is.  Hmm. Well, maybe I could look into it.  Maybe I simply don’t like the skeins that Elaine brought over.”

“There’s a knitting shop right in downtown Bradley,” said Sybil helpfully.

Myrtle narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Sybil.  “You’re not in league with Elaine and Red are you?  On the Keep-Mama-Out-Of-Trouble campaign?”

Sybil gave her hooting laugh.  “Not a bit.  And I’m surprised you didn’t notice that shop, yourself.  You’re usually the eagle-eyed one, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t have noticed a craft shop, even if it were painted with purple polka-dots,” said Myrtle.  She sighed. “Okay.  I’ll at least go shop there and see what I think. It might be boring enough to make me fall back asleep some of these wakeful nights.”

But Sybil had lost interest in the conversation.  She was holding a printed photo—the picture that Myrtle had swiped from the cub reporter’s folder. It was shaking in her hand a little. “Ah.  Yes, the young reporter from the
Bugle
, she of the shoddy journalism, left that here.”  A bit of a fib.

Sybil stared at the picture.  “Why would she take a picture like this?  And why would she leave it here?”

“Those are good questions,” said Myrtle, shifting in her chair.  As soon as she thought up an answer for the second one, she’d give it.  “Why would she
take
that picture?  She’s new to the town, looking for news, and has apparently been going around and snapping pictures to see what she can stir up.  Not exactly the best way to track down stories, but she’ll learn.  I suppose.”

“Why do you have the picture?”

Myrtle heaved another sigh.  Now she really was feeling tired.  “It was an accident—she didn’t realize she’d left it here.  I was interested in the photo, actually.  You’d told me that you didn’t even know who Tobin was, and there you are having a conversation with him in that photo.  It’s kind of curious, isn’t it?”

Sybil studied Myrtle with the same caution as she had the picture.  “I suppose it is.”

Myrtle cleared her throat.  “I was thinking about reasons someone might deny knowing someone.  There really are a lot, you know…I hadn’t realized until I started brainstorming them.  One of the things I came up with is that you were worried about being a suspect again.  You’re already a suspect in one murder.”

Sybil nodded, hoop earrings swinging as she did.

Myrtle continued, “You obviously love collecting things.  As I recall, Tobin was a collector himself.  He lived alone and had a big baseball card collection—he mentioned it to me before he died.  He squabbled a lot with Cosette because I think he was bored, and maybe a little lonely.”

Sybil looked a bit teary and nodded again.

Myrtle took a deep breath.  “You found a common bond with Tobin.  You also enjoy collecting things.  Maybe Tobin came over to do some yard work for you and you got to talking. You were also bored.  You were also lonely.”

Sybil was listening intently.

“And you found some comfort in each other,” said Myrtle simply. 

“Comfort,” said Sybil nodding.  “Yes.”

“But when you met Felix and started going on dates with him, you were completely taken with him.  He was smart and financially successful. He seemed to balance you out better than Tobin did.  Perhaps you were even a little embarrassed by Tobin and didn’t want to spend your life as the wife of a yardman,” suggested Myrtle.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” rebutted Sybil quickly.  Then she paused.  “Maybe.  Maybe there was
some
snobbery there.  Also, I don’t think a relationship with him would have worked for the long run.”  She flushed.  “That probably sounds bad.”

“Not really.  It’s not as if you and Tobin signed some sort of contract for a relationship.  But I’m guessing…did he want more from you?” asked Myrtle.

“He sure did.  And, at that point, I was one-hundred-percent in pursuit of Felix. I told Tobin ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ Sometimes he took that advice and sometimes he kept on trying to persuade me to go out with him again.  I guess he was lonely, like you said.”

“What did Felix think about you being one-hundred-percent in pursuit of him?  Was he all right with that?”