Pretty is as Pretty Dies (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) (7 page)

Myrtle adopted a chatty persona. If something weren't done to
continue this line of conversation, then someone was going to
change the subject. "What a terrible thing to have happened. Didn't
I say that, Elaine? A terrible thing." Elaine looked glum as she was
dragged as an unwilling prop into Myrtle's staged conversation. "I
wonder who could have done such a thing"

Tippy said briskly, "It's obviously the work of some criminal,
Myrtle. Maybe an itinerant worker or some such person."

Erma gave a snorting laugh. "It's not like there weren't enough
people around town who wanted to kill her. You don't have to bring in migrant workers." This time she seemed more aware of
the deafening silence. "Well, no one liked Parke, after all. Kitty, you
couldn't stand her."

Kitty's tongue worried her lips nervously. "Parke was my friend!"

"She certainly was not," said Erma in a belligerent voice. "The
whole reason Parke was at the church in the first place was to rearrange the flowers that you'd already arranged on the altar. You
can't exactly be happy that she hated your flower arrangements,
Kitty. In fact, you must be a prime suspect." Erma had a mean
smile on her face and Myrtle was reminded of a fat cat toying with
a garishly made-up mouse.

Kitty started shaking and stuttering like a stalled car while she
tried making traction with some words. No luck. Myrtle wondered
if she could be having a nicotine fit and sniffed the air again hopefully. Kitty finally managed to spit out, "I'd never get close enough
to that woman to kill her! She-" Kitty made a dash for the powder room, muumuu flowing behind her. She ran smack into the
door jamb on her way out.

"Blind as a bat," said Erma smugly. "Someone should guide her
to the bathroom before she dings a Ming."

"I'll urn ... help her," said Myrtle as she left the room in hot
pursuit. As hot as the pursuit could be when the pursuer was an
octogenarian with a cane. Elaine smiled faintly at her book club
and meekly changed the subject, silently cursing Myrtle the entire
time.

When Myrtle caught up with Kitty, she was in the downstairs
powder room and reapplying eyeliner with a heavy hand. Myrtle
dropped into a chair in the powder room and looked around her.
"Good Lord, Tippy could have hosted book club in here."

Kitty squinted around the room, without bothering to take her
coke-bottle glasses out of her bag. "It's pretty big."

"I can't imagine the philosophy behind having a huge powder
room with chairs in it. Are we intended to loiter here?"

"Let's do," said Kitty fervently and Myrtle reached forward to
squeeze her hand. "Erma is a pill. Just ignore her. You're not a suspect, I'm sure. I'm ... sure you must have a wonderful alibi"

Kitty gave a gulping sob and continued circling her eyes with
the eyeliner pencil. As far as Myrtle could tell, most of the liner
seemed to be cascading down her face just as soon as she applied
it. "That's just the thing, Miss Myrtle. I was at the church that
morning. Not before Parke died, of course," she added hurriedly.
"But for the United Methodist Women meeting. And everyone
knows I didn't like Parke. That sorry son of hers destroyed my boy.
Drugs! In Bradley!"

Kitty rooted around in her battered pocketbook until she pulled
out a tube of lipstick. Feeling more refreshed, she continued. "Parke
was as rotten as her son. She tried to force me out of all my church
work. The church is the only place I ever felt I belonged. I've always
been somebody important at the church ... cooking the dinners for
Wednesday nights, putting together the flower arrangements. And
she took everything over. She made me feel so ... useless."

Myrtle reached over and squeezed her hand wordlessly for a
minute. "I know just how you feel, Kitty. Funny how different
things can make you feel useless. I felt bad when Red forced church
work down my throat and you were upset you couldn't do more."

Kitty smiled at her. "I knew you were mad about something."
Myrtle lifted her eyebrows inquiringly. "I saw the gnomes," Kitty
explained.

Myrtle squeezed her hand again. "But I don't understand why
you're so upset now, Kitty. After all, as unpleasant as it is, Parke is
out of the way. You can resume your jobs at the church, and Nathaniel and the congregation will be delighted and relieved."

Kitty's eyes had that hollow look again. "They think I had
something to do with it, Miss Myrtle. Like I said, everyone knows I
couldn't stand Parke."

"That's no evidence you murdered her, Kitty! I was at the
church myself that morning and I'm not a suspect."

Kitty paused in the makeup accumulation. Her face now resembled a palate of particularly gaudy paints. She gazed thoughtfully at the toile wallpaper. "That's true," she sniffed and frowned,
her brows furrowing. "And I did see someone else. Someone hurrying into the church right when I was pulling into the parking lot.
I sat in my car talking on my cell phone for a while before I got
out. There would have been plenty of time for him to kill Parke
and sneak out again before her body was found."

He?

"Benton Chambers," whispered Kitty, nervously moistening
her dry lips. She squinted fearfully at the powder room door, as if
expecting to see Tippy Chambers at any moment.

"You're sure about this?" Myrtle asked. Kitty nodded, brown
hair flopping on her head. "Did you tell the police about seeing
Benton, Kitty?"

"No. I was just so shaken up by the whole thing. And the questions they asked me made me sure they thought I was a suspect. I
was so scared that I didn't remember to tell them." She leaned forward and grabbed Myrtle's hand with a tight grip. "Do you think
that that's what happened? That Benton Chambers murdered Parke?" She sounded more eager than distraught, Myrtle thought.
As if she were grasping at straws.

"You're sure it was Benton Chambers," she pressed.

"Positive. Cocky old son of a gun. Big-bones, leaning on his
crutch." Myrtle raised her eyebrows in inquiry and Kitty explained,
"He had that skiing accident, you know."

"Snow skiing? It's summer!"

"Water skiing. But still."

"What would make Benton do such a thing? Why would he
mess up all the good things he's got going for him?"

Kitty shrugged and the purple-flowered muumuu slipped off
her shoulder. "Guess it has something to do with him running
against development and her being the real estate queen." Kitty
moved restlessly from foot to foot. "I guess I should go to the police station and tell them what I saw."

Myrtle was determined to turn in that tidbit herself. Just let Red
try scoffing at her investigative skills again! "Actually, I'm going over
there in a bit myself, so I'll let Red know. Then he can give you a call
and save you a trip."

Kitty gratefully squeezed Myrtle's hand. Myrtle felt a twinge of
guilt. Kitty said, "I wasn't going to come to the club meeting today,
but Tippy drove by and picked me up. Said I needed to get out of
the house." Kitty grimaced. "I feel weird around Tippy now,
though. With what I saw at the church. Here she was doing something nice for me and the whole time I'm thinking that her husband killed Parke Stockard."

"Let's get back to the others, Kitty. They'll send a search party if
we're not back soon." Myrtle also wanted to leave the powder room
before Kitty slathered on any more makeup. It wasn't doing her any favors. Finally, unable to restrain herself anymore, she said,
"Here" She pulled a tissue out of her bag, wet it, and quickly
scrubbed under Kitty's eyes to get some of the mascara and liner
off.

Kitty smiled at her gratefully. Octogenarians could get away
with almost anything.

Kitty plodded back to the living room, plopping down onto the
sofa. Most of the ladies tactfully continued their conversations and
tried to give Kitty time to compose herself, Myrtle noticed. Except
for Erma Sherman, of course. She called attention to Kitty by bellowing across the room, "Are you okay?" Myrtle made a growling
noise and Elaine loudly asked, "Cough drop, Myrtle?" Kitty pretended not to hear Erma and jumped into animated conversation
with a startled Althea Hayes.

Myrtle could scarcely contain herself. Obviously worry about
being a suspect had been eating Kitty up inside ... just look at the
woman. Her nerves were shot. Now she had information about the
murder and it implicated the husband of her friend. No wonder
she was in such a state.

The meeting started to break up and Elaine looked eager to
leave. Myrtle was still hoping to talk to Althea for a minute. Althea
had been so odd in the sanctuary that she was sure she knew something, too. After Myrtle's successful questioning of Kitty, she was
impatient to quiz Althea. Unfortunately, Althea seemed to have an
inkling of Myrtle's intent and edged closer to the door while trying
to divest herself of Erma Sherman, who was intent on finding out
more about her adored one, Josh Tucker, Althea's nephew.

Myrtle hovered, barely concealing her impatience as Erma
coyly asked, "I'm sure Josh's family must be so proud of him? Fancy having a son or nephew who was a New York Times reporter!"
Looking hemmed in, Althea answered, "Yes, it's been quite a
change going to work for the Bradley Bugle. But he's still making
his parents proud of him, you know. He got that journalism award
for the story he wrote on the old mill closing." Finally, she slipped
away, much to Myrtle's disappointment. There was a moment at
the church, after Myrtle had discovered the body, that Althea had
acted like she knew something. The way she had been behaving
was almost ... suspicious.

Erma, discovering she was without a victim, lumbered up to
Myrtle. As Myrtle looked frantically around for Elaine (who had
slipped into the powder room to let Myrtle take her punishment),
Erma bellowed, "Seen that new neighbor of ours?"

Myrtle tried to pretend she didn't hear her. She continued her
desperate head-craning search for Elaine.

"Miles Standish. That's his name."

Myrtle jerked back to attention. "Ridiculous. It couldn't be"

"It is. Miles Standish."

"No one names their baby after a Pilgrim. No one does."

"His did."

Myrtle angrily shook her head and Erma heaved a fetid sigh
that wafted out in a toxic cloud. "He moved into the house just to
the other side of me. Just a couple of weeks ago. Did you know?"

Myrtle had not spent much time outdoors while avoiding Erma
Sherman's evil clutches, but she'd seen movers unloading a large
moving van. And a steady stream of elderly ladies bearing goody
baskets.

"Widower, you know," said Erma.

Figured. Available men of a certain age were few and far between in Bradley. Whenever one appeared on the landscape, he
was courted-or preyed on-with great ferocity.

"Are you planning on going by to welcome him?" Erma gave
her a rodent-like stare. "I thought he might be a little young for
you, though."

Myrtle leveled a gaze of pure venom at her and roared, "Elaine!"
While Elaine tried to extricate herself from a conversation, several
ladies came over to talk to Erma.

"Are you talking about the newcomer? I hear that he was a fantastic businessman. A real entrepreneur before he retired!"

"Really?" asked the other, breathlessly. "I thought he'd been an
engineer?"

"Engineer like `choo-choo,' or engineer like `electric'?" asked
Erma.

Ninnies! Myrtle reveled in the knowledge that she was above
this type of behavior. These women should know that there was an
excellent chance that the old gentleman could be half-blind and
deaf as a post, and want his prospective ladylove to shuttle him all
over town. Myrtle already knew the man didn't sleep-every occasion she'd been awake lately (and they had been numerous) she'd
noticed the lights on at his house. That's all the neighborhood
needed-another insomniac.

"Book club is at my house next time," sang out Erma. "I live
right next door to the gnome village."

Everyone looked at Erma sympathetically.

Fortunately, Elaine presented herself and whisked Myrtle away
from the book club meeting in her Cheerio-strewn minivan. Elaine choked down a chuckle as Myrtle fumed. Erma had really wound
her up this time. Distraction was in order.

"So what was going on with Kitty Kirk?"

"Other than the fact she looked like she'd just been dragged
out from under a rock? She..." Myrtle hesitated. Kitty's information on Benton Chambers gave her a real lead she could follow up
on. If the police ended up working the same angle, she'd get
bumped out of the investigation. Not that she really thought Elaine
would confide in Red, but still ...

"I-ah-think she's still feeling guilty about Parke Stockard's
death. You know, she hated Parke and now she's dead. So she's
racked with grief. Or something."

Elaine snorted. "She should be skipping with joy. I'm sure her
life is a lot easier without Parke picking apart everything she does.
I've always liked Kitty. She's very sweet."

"Sweet enough to give you a toothache. But I did feel sorry for
her," said Myrtle grudgingly.

"Especially since she's married to Tiny." Elaine gave a shudder.
"What were his parents thinking, naming him Tiny? He's six-feetseven-inches tall and three hundred pounds if he's an ounce."

"Maybe because his brain is so tiny? Remember when Kitty took
the Wall Street Journal just to boggle Tiny's mind with all those
numbers higher than ten? I think Kitty's tour of duty with that marriage is about to draw to a close, Elaine. She complains about his
redneck behavior so much that she's got to be getting us used to the
idea that she might be leaving him."

Kitty had her hands full with Tiny. Tiny didn't go to church or
even make it to Sunday school. Tiny drank too much, swore too
much, and didn't bathe frequently enough. Tiny either worked too late or not at all. He frequented bars too regularly or didn't go
enough. Tiny hunted every weekend and shot everything that
moved, even if it wasn't in season. Tiny ran through their money
and was a bad example for their son, Brian. Tiny was handy around
the house, but couldn't be bothered. Tiny left his dirty socks in the
middle of the floor or didn't wear socks at all. Tiny made Kitty
miserable. But she never did leave him, which was the puzzlement
of Bradley's townspeople.