Pretty is as Pretty Dies (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) (18 page)

At that moment, perhaps picking up on Althea's anxiety, a
monstrous dog lunged out the door and gnashed its considerable
teeth at her while strings of drool fell out of its mouth as if it could
only imagine the tasty treat that Myrtle would provide. Althea
called to it sternly, "Bambi! Down!" Bambi. Sure.

Althea's interest in Jean-Marc won out over her desire to keep
away from Myrtle and she reluctantly invited the group inside.
Elaine carried Jack in, looking anxiously over at Bambi as she
walked. Althea opened the glass doors at the back of her library
and Bambi obediently trotted through them. The antique-filled library was surprisingly untidy for such a usually neat-looking person. Althea mumbled an apology, looking around as though she
were seeing all the disarray for the first time. She pushed some papers out of the way on the leather sofa and sat down, patting a spot
next to her for Jean-Marc to sit with her.

Althea looked wistfully at Jean-Marc. "I have always loved
France," she said in a sad voice. She smiled at Jean-Marc. "I took Le
Monde for the longest time. They had to mail it to me, of course,
and the news was ages old. But I felt a real connection to France
that way. Reading the paper. My French is too rusty now. My absence from France has been too long."

Jean-Marc nodded sympathetically. "It is the best place. Anywhere."

Elaine got that eager expression on her face that Myrtle grew to
understand meant that she was going to make a statement of some
kind in French. "France is the most!" she said in French.

Jean-Marc looked at Elaine with an expression that translated
into disdain in any language. He muttered something in French
that Myrtle thought sounded vaguely like a threat involving their digital camera. Elaine urged him to respond. "You are my tree!"
she exclaimed in French and smiled warmly at Jean-Marc. He
scowled and muttered darkly.

Althea urged. "Tell me about a wonderful restaurant in Paris."
He shrugged eloquently and grunted something that sounded suspiciously like "McDonalds" Myrtle hoped they weren't going to
lose his interest too early in the visit.

Althea was charmed by the foreign invasion. She persisted in
asking questions-with Elaine as occasional interpreter when Althea
drew a blank. Myrtle shifted in the Queen Anne chair, tapping her
fingers on one of its arms. She had to get off the subject of
France ... not only for investigative purposes, but also to calm JeanMarc, who was probably plotting angrily against the DVD player.

"So tell me, Althea, what you think about Parke Stockard's
murder?" asked Myrtle.

The room fell silent. Althea Hayes and Elaine gaped at her. JeanMarc and Jack looked bored. Althea straightened up on the settee.
"There's nothing to think about," she said stiffly. Her look was meant
to remind Myrtle that she was sitting in a Very Nice sitting room
with many Weathered Antiques Such as are Handed Down. Murder
discussions surely didn't belong in the same room with toile depicting lyrical pastoral scenes.

Myrtle felt a strong urge to squirm under Althea's quelling stare.
"Well, you've got to think something about it. You were right there at
the scene of the crime like I was. And," Myrtle added persuasively,
"I'm sure you weren't fond of Parke. Especially considering her spat
with Tanner."

Myrtle sucked her breath in sharply at the completely lost look
that suddenly consumed Althea's face. Elaine glared at her from across the room and Jean-Marc raised his eyebrows in a rare moment of interest. Just as quickly as it appeared, Althea covered up
her emotions. There was still a fear in the back of her eyes. What
did Althea know?

"She wasn't the most popular person in town," noted Althea
dryly. "But that was no reason for someone to take her life. In
church!" she stressed with a shake of her white-tressed head.

"But she was a bull-headed woman. A pretty woman, used to
getting her own way. And she wanted us to sell our home so she
could turn it into a monster." Althea's bright blue eyes flashed. "She
argued with Tanner. She acted like she thought he was stupid or
crazy not to sell. But this is our home. It has been for thirty years.
She made Tanner have a heart attack. She made him so mad" Althea looked mad, herself.

Elaine stepped in. "I know that must be very painful for you,
Althea. Why don't we think about happier things?" she said, with a
forceful look at Myrtle.

Elaine racked her brain. "Seasons of the year in France!" she declared. And then, in French, "Jean-Marc, cook us the day of the year
in France."

Jean-Marc slapped himself dramatically on the forehead. Then,
to the amazement of everyone in the room, Jack said, in French,
"Jean-Marc likes Paris in spring." They all gaped at Jack. Then
Jean-Marc beamed and shook Jack's hand emphatically while Jack
gave a drooly grin.

In Myrtle's mind, once the point of getting any useful information from Althea had passed, she was ready to go home. She tapped
her fingers impatiently on the chair arm while Elaine, Althea, JeanMarc, and even Jack nattered on in various levels of ability in French for another thirty minutes. Myrtle sighed. She would still
have to approach Althea about what she was doing in the sanctuary the morning Parke was murdered. But she obviously wasn't
going to get anywhere today. Myrtle was vastly relieved when the
visit finally drew to an end.

She stood up eagerly, grabbing her cane and starting to tap her
way over the Orientals to the front door when the doorbell rang.
Oh, Lord. She hoped she wasn't about to get stuck at Althea's house.
She'd been dying to get over here; now she couldn't wait to leave.

It only got worse when she saw it was Althea's younger sister,
Josh's mother, at the door. She stood there in her plain cotton sundress, blinking in confusion at all the visitors and peering anxiously at Althea. "Oh, I didn't know you had company, Althea. Is
everything okay?" She spotted Myrtle and said, "Oh, it's you, Myrtle! It's so good to see you. I never seem to get a chance to catch up
with you."

And tell me all about the wondrous things your son, Wonder Boy,
is doing these days. No thanks. Myrtle managed a smile that was
more like a grimace. "Hi, Bettie. Nice to see you, too." Now she was in
an absolute panic to leave. Elaine didn't appear to be picking up on
any of her signals and was instead greeting Bettie and introducing
Jean-Marc to her. Even Jack smiled endearingly at Bettie, begging for
admiration. Little traitor! Myrtle tapped her cane on the floor.

"Jean-Marc," said Bettie, carefully enunciating each word loudly,
as if he had a hearing problem instead of a language barrier, "My
son works with Myrtle at the newspaper here. The Bradley Bugle.
Of course, he used to work at a much bigger paper ... I know
you've heard of it, since it's really an internationally read newspaper. The New York Times?"

Jean-Marc nodded his awareness of the paper and somehow
hid any irritation he felt at being hollered at from one foot away.

"Yes, he did really well there. Not that he hasn't done well here,
either, understand. He's won awards and a huge trophy for the
paper.

Myrtle glowered at the mention of the trophy.

"But his father and I were just so happy that he came back here.
We'd been having a few health problems, you know. Nothing
major, of course. But to have him come back here to help us out
was just such a blessing. What a sacrifice, though. Not just for him,
leaving his career to come home here. But also for all the readers
of the Times to have to do without his wonderful articles."

Myrtle had had quite enough of this by now and gave a harrumphing throat-clearing as a sign for Elaine. But Elaine seemed
preoccupied with Jack's runny nose. She rifled through her diaper
bag for something to wipe it with. Either a tissue or wipe was on the
very bottom of the incredibly full bag, or else it wasn't in there at all.

Myrtle noticed there was absolutely no mention of the failed
marriage josh had left behind in New York. She guessed that Bettie
wasn't the kind to focus on any of josh's negatives, if she was even
aware that he had any at all. Finally, Elaine found a Ziploc bag with
some wet wipes and swabbed Jack's face and they were out the
door a minute later.

On the way back home in the minivan, Myrtle said, "I can't
understand what's gotten into Althea! She's not the scary old bat
she usually is. She doesn't even seem interested in talking about
anything... except France, of course. She's just... removed."

A French-accented voice wafted from the backseat. "Eet is the
depression."

"Pardon?" asked Myrtle.

"The depression. She withdraws, she doesn't eat. She loses interest. The depression."

Myrtle turned around and looked at Jean-Marc. He had a
point. Althea was withdrawn ... she was practically hiding.

"She loses her husband. She loses her youth..." Jean-Marc gave
a Gallic shrug.

Myrtle turned back around to see Elaine's reaction, but Elaine
was fumbling in the diaper bag for a snack for a suddenly fussy Jack.
Considering she was driving the car at the same time, Myrtle thought
that was enough distraction for a while. When Elaine seemed to be
paying more attention, Myrtle cleared her throat and said, "You
know, Elaine, I really enjoyed going to book club with you last time.
There's supposed to be another meeting coming up, right?"

Elaine looked suspicious, but only briefly, as she extended a sippy
cup into the depths of the minivan where it disappeared. "Yes, actually, there's a get-together in a couple of days. We couldn't decide
which book to read next time, so we were all going to meet and
bring books with us that we've enjoyed and decide from there."

"Could you plan on bringing me along? Where is the meeting
going to be?"

Elaine smiled. "I won't even have to pick you up, Myrtle. The
meeting will be right next door to you ... at Erma Sherman's
house."

Myrtle hissed through her teeth like a snake that has just been
stepped on. "Great. I guess I enjoyed it enough to put up with
Erma. At least she'll have lots of people to torture and I won't be
the only victim there."

MYRTLE WAS APPARENTLY ERMA'S favorite target for persecution.
Myrtle had gone through all the precautions, however, peering out
her window, making sure that she wasn't the first person to arrive
at book club. She couldn't believe it when she saw flocks of white
heads entering Erma's house. Didn't they know what they were
getting into? She should have a sign over her door that read: Abandon hope all ye who enter here. Dante would have to agree that Erma's front door was purgatory's portal.

Once inside Erma's house, Myrtle realized the draw. Miles Bradford stood over near the appetizer table, holding a copy of a thick
tome that was completely inappropriate for the type of book club he
was attending. Myrtle looked at him in sympathy. The poor man
should have been told by whoever invited him that it wasn't a real
book club. Miles looked as if he were expecting an intellectual dialogue and exchange of ideas. The book club widows watched him
with predatory eyes. He'd obviously been told it was a co-ed club
that discussed real books. Poor man.

Erma, fortunately, had other victims to torture, so Myrtle wasn't
the only target of her long-winded conversations. Although she did
spend fifteen minutes at the beginning of the book club meeting
slyly conniving to put Myrtle and Miles in the same conversation.
("Myrtle, did I get you a drink? Oh, Miles will get you one-he's
right by the drinks table...") Luckily for Erma, Myrtle's patience
with this tactic didn't wear out before Erma got bored with it. Myrtle rolled her eyes at Miles, who gave her a sympathetic smile. He
wore khakis and an open-necked button-down white shirt and was
apparently creating quite a stir among the book club ladies. Several
of them had coyly cornered him at the food table and were laughing
heartily at something he said. Myrtle looked over at him with sympathy. Miles looked ready to bolt.

Kitty Kirk was at the meeting and Myrtle almost didn't recognize her. She'd gotten so used to seeing Kitty in ill-fitting sweat
suits and poorly applied makeup that it was a shock actually to see
her looking smart in a black tunic top and khaki capris. She
seemed focused today, too. Myrtle wondered if she were on medication. It was such a dramatic change from the last meeting. She
even had a book with her. Last time, at Tippy's house, Kitty looked
as though she didn't realize why she was even there. Myrtle wondered over the sudden change.

Myrtle wandered over to the appetizer table to see why no one
seemed to be eating any snacks. The table held a big platter full of
watermelon slices and a few red napkins. What kind of hostess
served watermelon slices as refreshments? With no plates, either.
These watermelons were chock-full of black seeds ... where were
you supposed to spit them? Maybe Erma swallowed hers. No wonder she was always complaining about her gross health problems. Having a big watermelon growing in your belly would explain a
lot.