A Body in the Trunk

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  It was also good to know that Wanda apparently had electricity. That wasn’t always the case. Wanda lived with her brother, Crazy Dan, in a hubcap-covered shack off the old rural highway. They survived by peddling live bait, fortunes, peanuts, and by Wanda’s gig at the local newspaper as the horoscope writer. Her horoscopes were such a hit that the editor, Sloan, had given Wanda a cell phone so that she could call them in. Wanda delivered her horoscopes via Myrtle since Wanda was functionally illiterate. There was also the fact that Wanda didn’t have a computer to type them on and her handwriting was atrocious.

  “Do you have some horoscopes for me?” asked Myrtle, glancing around for a notebook and a pen.

  “No, I want to get in on that Goodwill trip you and Miles are takin’.” Wanda’s voice croaked across the line. “I ken give you horoscopes when yer here.”

  “How did you ....?” Myrtle stopped. It was clear how Wanda knew about their trip to Goodwill—she was a psychic, after all. She continued, “Is there something exciting going on at the Goodwill that I don’t know about, Wanda? Is that why you want to go?”

  “Don’t want to go with you. Want to give you stuff to take,” said Wanda. Despite having quit smoking, her voice was still ruined with decades of abuse.

  Myrtle found it very surprising that Wanda would have things to give away. She seemed much more likely to be on the recipient end of things than the donor side. Was she giving away some of the hubcaps off the house? Parts of one of the vehicles up on cinderblocks in their yard? “That’s very thoughtful and generous of you, Wanda. I’ll let Miles know that we need to swing by and pick up your things.”

  “Tryin’ to declutter,” rasped Wanda. “Pretty tough since Dan is somethin’ of a hoarder.”

  Dan was something, all right. Myrtle just hadn’t yet put her finger on what that something was. “I’m sure it is. But you know you’ll feel so much better when you have a little bit more room to stretch out over there. My place isn’t very big either, and I really have to stay on top of what’s here. If I bring something in, then something else needs to go out.”

  Wanda appeared to be pondering this statement with a lot more thought than Myrtle had intended. “Something in, something out,” she muttered.

  “That’s right. Okay, well, I’ll get Miles going and we’ll be over there soon.” Myrtle hung up the phone. She hoped that Dusty would be done with the mowing soon since she wasn’t of a mind to let Puddin hang out at her house alone any longer. Who knows what she might find to eat next?

  Twenty-five minutes later, Miles was driving Myrtle down the old rural highway to Crazy Dan and Wanda’s house.

  Miles said in a gloomy tone, “I thought the car was packed with just your stuff for the Goodwill. Next thing I know, Dusty is loading Clara Albert’s things into the trunk. Now we’re picking up Wanda’s castoffs?”

  “Oh, don’t whine. There’s plenty of room,” said Myrtle.

  “Plenty of room if you don’t mind holding junk on your lap. And I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out what Wanda might have to give away,” said Miles with a slight shudder.

  “They have plenty of things over at that house! Crazy Dan has junk stacked all over the floor in heaps!”

  “Yes, but is it the kind of stuff the Goodwill will welcome with open arms? I seem to recall lots of laundry that needed mending and broken crystal balls. Hardly things you’ll find at even the most wretched of Goodwill stores,” said Miles.

  Myrtle said, “The point is, Miles, that Wanda is making improvements in her life. Think of all the progress she’s made. She has a regular job, for one.”

  “If writing horoscopes can be considered gainful employment.”

  “It certainly is! She’s a newspaper employee and her work is very popular with the town. What’s more, she’s finally stopped smoking,” said Myrtle.

  “Although everything in the house still smells strongly of smoke,” added Miles.

  “You’re quite the pessimist today, Miles. Focus on the positives: the job, quitting smoking, and cleaning up. These are good changes,” said Myrtle. She turned slightly in her seat. “What’s this in the backseat?”

  Miles colored a little. “It’s really nothing. I had this houseplant that I didn’t really have a good spot for. I thought maybe, if Wanda was cleaning up, that she might want something purely decorative in her house for once.”

  Myrtle smiled. “I knew you have a soft spot for your cousin, no matter what you say.”

  Miles flinched, as usual, when Myrtle reminded him that, by a strange fluke, he and Wanda and Crazy Dan were related.

  Miles pulled into Wanda and Crazy Dan’s driveway.

  “Even the yard looks better,” said Myrtle, critically surveying the expanse of red dirt. “There are still five or six cars up on cinderblocks, but the car parts aren’t scattered everywhere. And they’ve gotten rid of the used tires in the yard.” She frowned. “Wait. Is there someone sitting in that car?”

  “Which one?”

  “The rusted one on the cinderblocks,” said Myrtle.

  “Which rusted one on the cinderblocks?”

  “There!” said Myrtle, pointing. “For heaven’s sake.”

  And, indeed, a scraggly man with a mangy beard and a grizzled head jumped out of the door-less vehicle to peer at them. Crazy Dan scowled when he saw Myrtle and Miles. “Were hopin’ you wanted peanuts or bait,” he growled.

  “What are you doing out here?” asked Myrtle.

  “Can’t be in there with Wander cleanin’,” said Crazy Dan. “She’s drivin’ me nuts.” And with that, he jumped back up into the car as Myrtle and Miles made their way to the front door.

  Wanda answered the door right away. Her lined and sallow face lit up when she saw the houseplant that Miles carried. “Nice of you,” she muttered in her gravelly voice. She took the plant from Miles with great care, carrying it as if it were a carton of eggs. They followed her into the dim light of the shack.

  When Myrtle’s eyes finally adjusted to the darkness after the bright sun outside, she saw that Wanda had certainly been doing some cleaning. She knew this because she could actually see the tops of tables and other surfaces. And it appeared that Wanda did indeed have a kitchen counter. She watched as Wanda gently placed the houseplant on the counter, standing back to admire it there. The psychic then frowned at the dirty window that was rationing out only a small bit of sunshine onto the plant. She pulled open a cabinet under the kitchen sink (the door was hanging on by a single hinge) and rummaged around until she rose with an ancient bottle of window cleaner. She scrubbed at the glass until more sun settled on the plant.

  In the meantime, Miles was glancing worriedly around. Wanda, always a good hostess, would inevitably invite them to sit down. Myrtle had decided that Miles was, besides being a raging hypochondriac, a bit OCD about cleanliness. There was always heaps of hand sanitizer slathered on following visits with Wanda. Miles spotted a folding chair in the corner and looked relieved now that he had picked his spot in which to settle.

  “Won’t you sit down?” asked Wanda politely.

  Miles dropped promptly into the folding chair before Myrtle could claim it.

  “An’ won’t you have a beverage?” asked Wanda, peering into her decrepit refrigerator.

  “No thank you!” answered Miles with alacrity.

  Myrtle rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll have a glass of water,” she said. Myrtle considered any exposure to bacteria as a way to inoculate herself against illness.

  Wanda dug out a glass from another cabinet, peering critically at it in the sudden sunbeam. She quickly rinsed it out in the sink, dried it with a dish towel that had seen better days, and filled it with water.

  “Ice machine’s broke,” she said, handing the glass to Myrtle.

  Myrtle took a long sip of the lukewarm water. “Delicious!” she proclaimed.

  Miles looked a little green.

  Wanda peered thoughtfully at Myrtle. “You better git on that story for the paper
.”

  “You mean a story about the murder? Of course, I’m getting on it. I was the one who found the body. Naturally, I’m the one who’s writing the story for the newspaper,” said Myrtle with an edge in her voice.

  Wanda shook her head slowly. “Naw. Sloan plans to write it.”

  “What!? Sloan can barely write his way out of a paper bag. He needs to stick to the Good Neighbors column or who got the biggest fish at the local tournament. The murder is my story,” said Myrtle.

  Miles cleared his throat, still sitting very still on his folding chair so as not to brush up against anything that might contaminate him. “Wanda, how did you know about the murder? And about Sloan’s plans?”

  Myrtle rolled her eyes. “Don’t even bother to answer that, Wanda. Miles can’t seem to wrap his head around psychic visions.”

  Wanda ignored this. She looked intently at Myrtle. “Yer in danger.”

  “Naturally. What else is new?” asked Myrtle.

  Miles quickly asked, “But I’m not in danger this time, am I? Because I was in danger last time and that wasn’t much fun.”

  “Actually, it was a nice change of pace,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “It was about time that my sidekick encountered the same jeopardy that I’m exposed to in the course of an investigation.”

  Wanda croaked, “Yer not as much in danger, Miles. But still keep an eye open. Stuff happens.”

  Miles, predictably, began brooding over this. Suddenly, he gave a piercing shriek.

  A chicken had brushed against him in the dim light. It squawked in dismay at the shriek, wings flapping.

  “City boy,” said Myrtle.

  Wanda sighed and shooed the creature out the rickety door. “C’mon, Sheree. Yer not supposed to be in here.” She looked back at her guests, who were still both a bit startled at the intrusion of wildlife in their visit. Wanda shrugged. “Them chickens is hard to control.”

  “Are you doing a little farming now?” asked Miles, glancing around him as if barnyard animals of various types might leap out at him at any moment, mooing, clucking, and neighing.

  “Just enough to get some eggs and corn and stuff. Tryin’ to eat better,” said Wanda.

  As usual, Wanda wasn’t exactly the picture of health. But a closer inspection by Myrtle revealed that she was healthier-looking than she’d been in the past. The nicotine yellow on her skin and teeth was less evident. And she seemed to have a bit more glow. Even the psychic’s black and white hair seemed a little shinier.

  “Do you have any advice for me?” asked Myrtle. “In terms of keeping out of danger?”

  Wanda squinted at her. Then she said, “Don’t be too nice.”

  Miles snorted. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Myrtle glared at him. She turned back to Wanda. “That does sound doable. Although, as usual, I don’t really understand what you’re getting at. And I don’t suppose you have any additional information that will help me.”

  Wanda shook her head.

  Myrtle said, “All right then. How about horoscopes and Goodwill donations? I figured that, since I was here, it would be a good time to give Sloan the horoscopes for the next week.”

  Wanda nodded and closed her eyes, making her look more cadaverous than ever. “Okay. Jim Farley better not plant winter veggies this year. And Suzanne needs to get her flu shot, fer sure.”

  “Wait, wait. Let me get my notebook out of my pocketbook,” said Myrtle, grappling with the many and varied contents of her purse. “All right—keep on going.”

  And Wanda did, giving the most specific horoscopes that could be found anywhere in the world. It was this reason that made her column such a tremendous success.

  “Well, at least we have another week’s worth,” said Myrtle, snapping her notebook shut. She glanced over at Wanda, who now looked very drained and tired. “Once we’re gone, why don’t you put your feet up for a while?”

  Wanda nodded, wearily. She pointed to few trash bags across the room. “Them’s the things.”

  Miles stood up and walked cautiously over to where the bags were. He lifted them experimentally, and then had to put much more force into hefting them up. “You must have really found a lot to donate,” he said, gasping a little with the effort of hauling them to the door.

  Wanda looked pleased. “Good to get rid of the stuff.”

  Miles didn’t ask what the donations were, nor did he open the bags to find out. He struggled with them to the car and then shoved one bag in, shutting the door with some difficulty. The remaining bags he gingerly put in the front seat. The sounds of Crazy Dan’s loud snoring from the car on cinderblocks carried across the yard.

  Wanda waved to them as they left. Myrtle waved back and saw the psychic mouth the words be careful.

  Chapter Six

  “WELL, THAT WAS DISTURBING,” said Miles as he and Myrtle drove to the Goodwill.

  “Oh, Wanda gives those dire predictions every time I see her,” said Myrtle, waving a hand dismissively.

  “No, I mean that chicken.” Miles was gripping the steering wheel tightly as if the wayward fowl might somehow pop up at him out of his backseat to terrorize him further.

  “It’s very brave of you not to have slathered on hand sanitizer as soon as we got to the car. I know that’s usually what you do. I was envisioning you putting hand sanitizer on your pants where the chicken brushed against you,” said Myrtle. “You know. As a sort of sterilizing method.”

  “Don’t think I wouldn’t have. I happen to be out of hand sanitizer. By the time I’d remembered, we were already at Wanda’s house,” said Miles. “This day hasn’t gone exactly as planned.”

  “Look on the bright side—at least we squeezed all the stuff in the car.” Myrtle was indeed holding some garbage bags on her lap, but it had all managed to go in one trip. “And I found out some more information, even though it did come from a fairly unreliable source.”

  Myrtle had filled Miles in on the way to Wanda’s house. He said, “It’s only Puddin who’s unreliable. Her cousin might not be.”

  “Anyone with a name like Bitty has the propensity for unreliability,” said Myrtle with a sniff.

  “Do you know anything about this Adelaide? Are we going to be able to talk with her?” asked Miles.

  “Of course we are. I’m a correspondent for the Bradley Bugle. I need to do interviews. Adelaide is a busy woman, so we’ll need to beard the lion in her den.”

  “And her den is the local high school?” asked Miles with a sigh. “Why does it seem as if all roads lead to the high school? And—could she be the person that Neil recognized?”

  “We’ll have to make a trip over to the school. I looked Adelaide up online and read that she coaches basketball there. We’ll go to a game—I know those are open to the public. Otherwise, it can be a bit tricky to get into a school these days, if you’re simply wanting to talk to a teacher. And, no—I don’t think that’s who Neil recognized from Boston. I taught Adelaide, myself. As far as I’m aware, she’s been here in Bradley for her entire life,” said Myrtle. “Although Puddin’s theory was that Neil told his wife that he’d seen someone he knew from Boston as a cover, in case he spent additional time at the school.”

  Miles grimaced. “We’ll have to go to a basketball game? But that’s likely to be very loud. And involve sitting on bleachers. I’m not sure how long you or I will be able to do something like that. Besides, Wanda said that ‘stuff happens’ and that I should stay alert.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re stronger than we look and I doubt that Wanda was referring to the hazards of bleacher-sitting. Besides, it’s the perfect opportunity to talk to Adelaide,” said Myrtle. She pulled out her phone. “According to the school’s website, the game is early, too—at 4:00. She must coach the junior varsity—they’re usually the earlier games.”

  Miles pulled into the Goodwill and up to the drive-through where donations were accepted. For the next few minutes, they assisted one of the workers in unloading the car.

&n
bsp; They were on their way back to Myrtle’s house when Miles’s phone rang.

  Myrtle picked it up and glanced at it. “It’s Tippy Chambers. I didn’t realize that you two were on such friendly terms, Miles.”

  “Hardly. She’ll be wanting to ask something about my book club selection,” said Miles, sounding stressed. “I don’t want to take the call while I’m driving.”

  “Most definitely not! You pay attention to the road. You’re carrying precious cargo,” said Myrtle. “I’ll handle Tippy.” She answered the phone. “Tippy? This is Myrtle. Miles is driving—is there something that I can help you with?”

  Tippy’s cultured Southern drawl came through the phone. “Hi, Myrtle! I simply wanted to ask Miles a question about the book. Something confused me and I thought I should get it straightened out before trying to read any more. Is Newson really the father of Elizabeth-Jane? And ... I thought he was dead! Isn’t he dead? Did I miss something?”

  Miles glanced over at Myrtle and shook his head.

  Myrtle said, “It’s a book with plenty of twists and turns and surprises, Tippy. I don’t want to spoil it for you.”

  Tippy’s disappointed voice indicated that a spoiler was precisely what she wanted. “I see. It’s just that I think I might have missed something. I was skimming a little.”

  “This probably isn’t the best book to skim,” said Myrtle. “But we’ll be discussing it soon, anyway. You’re on the right track.” She crossed her fingers at the fib. The last thing she wanted to do right now, though, was to prematurely discuss the book. Their book club always did so much better when they were reading beach books.

  Tippy now, perhaps suspecting that her reading acumen was in question, quickly decided to change the subject. “I understand that you were part of that awful business last night. Are you all right?”

  “You mean the murder? Yes, Miles and I are fine. Although it was quite startling. You’ll see my full write-up of it in the paper when my story is published tomorrow,” said Myrtle.