Progressive Dinner Deadly (13 page)

“I think the angels will be much happier at your house than mine, Georgia,” said Myrtle.

As soon as Georgia left, Myrtle saw Red driving slowly down the street. He gave her a grim look. Rats, thought Myrtle. He must have seen Georgia. Well she had a perfectly legitimate reason for visiting. Myrtle smiled carelessly at Red and gave him a cheery wave. She could tell even from this distance that his face was a mottled red. She worried about his blood pressure sometimes.

Myrtle had actually
tried to go to bed at a reasonable time, but the effort had proved a miserable failure. Warm milk, soothing bedtime routine, dull novel, the works. Nothing seemed to help. She decided to go on a walk, and glanced at the clock. Right before two a.m. Great…now she was predictable, just like Erma was saying at the supper club.

She dressed and got her cane. The air outside was warm, despite the hour. She looked cautiously over at Erma’s house but it was dark. She imagined adenoidal Erma snoring away and shuddered as she hustled past her house. She was very careful not to thump with her cane.

Miles’ house was dark, too. It was probably his catch-up night. He seemed to go several days with no real sleep before catching up again during a couple of good nights. So this would just be a solo walk.

Her mind went back again to Jill’s murder. Jill had been a puzzle to her—a mix of good and bad. Solving the case would be another feather in her cap, and a mini-blow to Red. She could find her
own
activities to do, thank you very much.

It was really a very quiet night, except for crickets chirping and some frogs calling to each other off in the distance. A lightening bug lit on Myrtle’s arm, but she was so deep in her ruminations on the murder that she didn’t even notice. She’d been surprised to discover that there were so many people who didn’t like Jill. Sherry thought Jill was a candidate for World’s Worst Neighbor. Blanche avoided Jill at all costs, whatever her reason was. Georgia seethed whenever Jill’s name came up. Her own husband, Cullen, didn’t seem to be that much of a fan. Her sister, Willow, was furious that Jill put up with Cullen in the first place. And Cullen said that Simon hadn’t liked Jill either. Myrtle sighed. There was no shortage of suspects.

Myrtle later wondered why she’d never heard the car racing up behind her. She did hear, though, a sudden, raspy meow in the darkness as Myrtle felt a furry body brush against her leg. Myrtle turned abruptly, caught her toe in a gap in the sidewalk, dropped her cane, and went sprawling into a neighbor’s yard…just at the moment a car swung over the sidewalk, exactly where she’d been standing, before speeding off into the darkness.

M
yrtle didn’t stay
on the ground long. Injuries or no injuries, she was not going to be a sitting target for a killer. There was no sign of the cat and now she wondered if she’d imagined it. She felt around for her cane, grabbed it, got up, and hobbled to Miles’ house. His initial exasperation at being awakened in the middle of the night was replaced with concern when he saw how shaken Myrtle was.

“Did you see the car?” asked Miles as he put a mug of hot tea in Myrtle’s hands.

“No. I heard it, saw something rush off, but that was it. It didn’t have its lights on.”

“I guess not. This wasn’t someone with safety on their mind.” Miles put his teabag on his saucer.

“Who would want to kill you?” asked Miles. Actually, he could think of quite a few people. He’d qualify for that list from time to time. And Myrtle’s son would be on it eighty-five percent of the time. “I mean, which of the
suspects
?”

Myrtle, fortunately, was not in an easily-insulted mood. “You know, I think this all goes back to blabbermouth Erma. She told half the town at the funeral home that I just needed a little bit of evidence and then I’d bag the killer. I’d imagine that most murderers would find that news a little discomfiting.”

“Okay, you say half the town, but really, who was there? I can’t remember much except that Erma was making a fool of herself as usual.”

“Out of our favorite suspects? Georgia was there,” Myrtle ignored the flush that crept up Miles’ face. “Sherry was there. Cullen was somewhere around there, but I don’t know what kind of condition he was in. Sherry could have told Cullen. Willow was there, although she seemed more upset about Erma’s graphic depiction of the crime scene. Simon and Libba were still greeting visitors, but Cullen could have told them about it later. So…basically everyone was there.”

“And you weren’t denying Erma’s blathering.”

“Well no. She was being too darned interesting for once. I wanted to see where she was going with it all.”

Miles sighed. “Actually, it doesn’t really matter who was there or not. It was on the front page of the local rag, remember? Either someone thinks you’re getting too close to the truth, or they’re worried you’re going to. Your nosiness may not seem so harmless anymore. Last time you were nosy, you helped solve a murder. Now you probably seem more like a crime fighter than a snoopy old lady.”

Miles hid a smile at the idea of a strident Myrtle in storm trooper gear out annihilating evil. “So, actually, you don’t really know anything. You just told Erma that you did because you were irritated with her. And she blabbed this lie to half the town.”

Myrtle was miffed. “I certainly
do
know a few things. During the course of my investigation I’ve found out lots of interesting tidbits.”

Miles raised his eyebrows.

“Well first of all, I know that
someone
knew I take little middle of the night walks. They were familiar enough with my habit to wait for me to come out and then try to run me down.”

Miles nodded. “So who would know about that?”

Myrtle snorted. “Just about anybody. Erma bellowed it out during the supper club for anyone to hear. Remember? She was making fun of the way I was thumping with my cane.”

“Right. And there were a lot of people standing around, although I can’t really remember who was that close.”

“
Everyone
was that close. No offence, Miles, but we were all standing at very close quarters.”

Myrtle stirred her tea while she thought. “I also know Blanche Clark was afraid of Jill, but I really don’t know why.” She paused. “But I
think
it might have something to do with Jill’s snooping. Maybe Jill was blackmailing Blanche, or maybe Blanche was just worried that Jill
could
blackmail her. Or Blanche is just worried that people would talk.”

“I don’t really understand,” said Miles, “why, if Jill really
did
have some information on Blanche, why Blanche would really care. You mentioned that Jill was snooping in your medicine cabinet, so I’m guessing she might have snooped in Blanche’s too. I mean, if she has some sort of a medical problem or some kind of an addiction, won’t people just understand that she needs help?”

“People….you mean like people where you moved from? City people? Urban people?
Atlanta
people?” Myrtle snorted inelegantly. “Sure,
those
type of people would bring Blanche a casserole, tell her about their Uncle Edwin’s pill problem, and give her the number of the nearest chichi rehab facility. Then they’ll promptly forget the incident ever happened and descend back into the chaos of their daily lives.”

“But not Bradley people?”

“Bradley people know that there’s not really any other news to talk about. They will absolutely run Blanche’s pill problem into the ground by gabbing about it all the time. They’ll bless her heart, then yak and yak and yak about it. On her deathbed, she’ll still be Poor-Blanche-Who-Did-Drugs. Remember Katy Johnson? No, you wouldn’t because she ran away from Bradley before you got here. But if you ask anybody about Katy, will they say that she was sweet as homemade pie? Will they mention that she organized the toy drive for the underprivileged children? No, it’ll all be “Katy-Who-Lost-Her-Whole-Bathing-Suit-in-that-Water-Skiing-Contest.”

“And you said that Georgia was upset with Jill,” Miles took off his glasses and polished them.

“
Upset
doesn’t even really cover it. I think
spitting mad
is more the term. Georgia thinks Jill cheated her out of her share of a lottery win.”

“How did your visit with Georgia go?” asked Miles in a careless voice.

“I’d have taken you with me,” said Myrtle carefully, “if I hadn’t thought you’d turn my interrogation into a social visit.”

Myrtle added hurriedly, “So, yes, Georgia is a natural suspect. And there’s also Jill’s neighbor Sherry. Sherry knows Erma Sherman and she
still
claims that Jill was a worse neighbor than Erma is. So now we know that Sherry is a drama queen. Because
no one
is a worse neighbor than Erma.”

“Why did Sherry think that Jill was so awful?”

Myrtle snorted. “Some ridiculous reason like ‘Jill was too perfect’ or something like that. I can only
dream
of having a neighbor who is so meticulous about her yard that it’s annoying. Oh, and Jill’s Christmas lights and music bugs her. I think she might even have been having an affair with Cullen just to get back at Jill.”

“Wait. Stop right there. The bad neighbor stuff isn’t such a big deal, but you didn’t tell me that Sherry and Cullen are having an affair.”

“That’s right. It’s been going on for a while, apparently. That’s what Simon alluded to, anyway. He was accusing Cullen of murdering Jill so that he could marry Sherry. And while we’re mentioning Simon, he’s never been a big fan of Jill’s either. I think he’s always thought Jill wasn’t good enough for his brother.”

Miles snorted. “That’s a good one. Like
Cullen
is actually good enough for anyone.”

“Yes, but I taught those boys. The family was a good one and well-respected at the time. The father had plenty of money and they were one of the wealthier families in Bradley. So it’s definitely possible that Simon would have looked down on Jill, who was from a working class family.”

“And killed her after so many years?” Miles looked doubtful. “Did anyone else want to get rid of Jill?”

Myrtle thought. “Willow. I’ve heard several accounts now—one from you—about how Willow and Jill were arguing right before Jill was murdered. And then they fought with each other at your party. It always seemed to be over Jill’s marriage. Willow wanted Jill to leave Cullen.”

“That’s sort of a leap to murdering your sister, though, isn’t it?” asked Miles. “You won’t leave this good-for-nothing lout. So I’m going to
kill
you?”

Myrtle shrugged. “Maybe she’d just had enough of her family, period. Lord knows I feel that way about Red sometimes.”

“So Blanche, Georgia, Sherry, Simon, Cullen, and Willow had issues with Jill Caulfield. But everyone else thought she was this salt-of-the-earth do-gooder,” said Miles. “And whoever Jill’s killer is must be someone we know. Someone we think of as a friend, someone we went to supper club with. But this someone is perfectly happy to try to mow you down with their car. Shouldn’t we be calling the police or something?”

Myrtle looked away from Miles. “Do we have to? I mean, really, what good is it going to do? I’m just going to get a lecture from Red about wandering around in the middle of the night again. And he’ll point out that I
did
fall down, which had nothing to do with the murderer and everything to do with Pasha. Poor cat. Did a good deed for me and then took off again into the night.”

“He
might
be able to find out who did it. He could do a quick check of the neighbors’ cars and see if one’s missing.”

“The car has probably quietly coasted back into its driveway by now. And half the houses in question have garages so you can’t see what’s parked inside. Plus, I have no description of the car. I can’t describe the driver or the sound of the motor. It’s been dry as a bone outside so there won’t be any tire tracks. The car didn’t hit anything, so there won’t be chipped paint or anything. Let’s just leave it alone.”

Myrtle suddenly remembered the poisoned iced tea. So this made a
second
attempt on her life. She opened her mouth to say something to Miles about it, then snapped it shut again. Best not to tell Miles about it because he really
would
talk to Red. And it’s not like Myrtle had any real evidence of foul play.

“And be
careful
,” said Miles.

“Yes. Very careful,” said Myrtle. “As I continue my investigations.”

Miles looked as though his head hurt.

“I’m
going
to be careful, Miles. But I’m going to have the biggest story of my journalism career at the same time. I just need to do some digging. And I know things are going to get even harder. Red wasn’t happy about finding me walking around at night by myself. And now every time I open my front door I see him somewhere close by. He’s driving me crazy.”

“He is?” asked Miles. “So the tables are turned, then?”

Myrtle ignored him. “He’s sticking to me like a leech. He’s everywhere. He’s like God.” Myrtle sounded completely deflated.

“Things
must
be bad if you’re attributing God-like properties to Red,” said Miles with concern.

“Doesn’t he have a case to solve or something? I’m not going to be able to do any questioning this way at all. And I really do need to talk to Blanche Clark.”

“Why not have Blanche come to you?” suggested Miles.

“Come again?”

“You could pretend you’re temporarily home-bound with some sort of illness or something. Doesn’t Blanche work on that church committee?”

“Actually, I think Blanche and Tippy
are
that church committee. Miles, you’re a genius.”

“Thanks,” said Miles modestly.

The next morning,
Myrtle set the Bereavement and Illness committee into motion. Myrtle smiled when the doorbell rang. That should be Blanche now, food in tow. This suspect interview couldn’t possibly end badly; even if Myrtle didn’t get any information at all, she’d at least end up with a delicious casserole. Her only worry, as she thumped across the living room with her cane, was that someone else from the church was subbing for Blanche. What if it was Prissy Daniels at the door instead? Myrtle shuddered.

It was Blanche. Myrtle sighed with relief. She was wearing black slacks and a silky green blouse and a beautiful scarf held in place with a pin. Myrtle, who had always wanted to be able to carry off wearing a scarf, eyed it jealously. Blanche sure looked a lot jauntier since Jill’s murder.