Red said, “And then, today, Tarleton realized that you knew about the hat, Mama. Or, at least, realized that you’d somehow figured it all out.”
Puddin said smugly, “An’ I saved her.”
“You certainly didn’t,” said Myrtle in a cold voice.
“Did, too! All because of the talk show,” said Puddin, sounding complacent. “An’ because my TV is broke.”
“Heaven save me from soap operas and talk shows,” muttered Red.
Myrtle said to Puddin, “I’m furious with you, by the way. You overrode Tomorrow’s Promise for your silly talk show and then sneaked over here to watch it while you thought I was at book club!”
“Saved yer life, didn’t I?” said Puddin, shooting Myrtle a sullen look.
“Yes, you did,” said Red. “Mama, I think you can let Puddin’s little indiscretion slide.”
Puddin narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, mouthing the word indiscretion as she tried to decipher it.
“I suppose Puddin helped provide a distraction so that I could wallop Tarleton with the fire extinguisher,” said Myrtle in exasperation. “But no more TV over here!”
Puddin muttered sullenly under her breath.
“Now, Mama, it’s time for you to move out of the way. I hear the state police guys driving up and an ambulance siren in the background. Maybe you can go to Miles’s house for a few minutes. Puddin, too? We’ll get you to sign formal statements as soon as the guys are done in here with Tarleton and making notes on the scene,” said Red.
Myrtle and Puddin headed toward the front door. “Will there be party food?” she asked greedily.
“Plenty of it. Those hens just peck at food when the rooster is around,” said Myrtle.
Puddin scowled, bewildered again by making sense of Myrtle’s conversation.
As they walked down Myrtle’s front walk, Lieutenant Perkins was on his way up, hurrying past a sour-looking Dusty, who was trying to start his weed trimmer. Perkins stopped and looked at Myrtle with concern.
“Another close call?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
Puddin jumped in. “I saved her.”
Myrtle rolled her eyes. “Never mind that nonsense. I clobbered Tarleton with a fire extinguisher. He hasn’t yet woken up.”
“Well, thanks for putting all the pieces together,” said Lt. Perkins. “Again. Where are you heading now?”
“To Miles’s house. We’ll wait to hear from you and Red there,” said Myrtle.
Dusty’s weed trimmer finally roared to life and Myrtle watched as he, apparently believing Elaine’s landscaping to be strange and impertinent weeds, savagely hacked them apart. She winced. At least Elaine would believe Myrtle when she told her that Dusty’s complete incompetence was at fault.
As they headed to the sidewalk, Puddin said loudly over the trimmer, “There won’t be no more book talk over there, will there?”
“Heavens, no. Book club was over a while back. And this group didn’t spend much time discussing The Mayor of Casterbridge, anyway,” said Myrtle with a snort.
Puddin wrinkled her nose. “Haven’t heard of it. Got animals in it?”
“Well, it has a bull,” said Myrtle. She stopped short, staring ahead of her. “What do you know? All those old biddies are still hanging out at Miles’s house.”
Puddin looked alarmed. “I don’t wanna discuss no book.”
“Oh, they won’t be talking about it. That’s what I was saying—the book discussion, for what it was worth, was over. No, these are women trying to visit with Miles as long as they can,” said Myrtle. As Puddin still balked, she added, “And there’s sure to be lots of leftover food.” She beamed. “And, what’s more? I can regale the group with my tale of heroism.”
Puddin added, “An’ how I helped.”
They both strode toward Miles house and the houseful of people, eyes gleaming with anticipation at the thought of the audience waiting for them.
About the Author
ELIZABETH WRITES THE Southern Quilting mysteries and Memphis Barbeque mysteries for Penguin Random House and the Myrtle Clover series for Midnight Ink and independently. She blogs at ElizabethSpannCraig.com/blog, named by Writer’s Digest as one of the 101 Best Websites for Writers. Elizabeth makes her home in Matthews, North Carolina, with her husband and two teenage children.
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This and That
I LOVE HEARING FROM my readers. You can find me on Facebook as Elizabeth Spann Craig Author, on Twitter as elizabethscraig, on my website at elizabethspanncraig.com, and by email at [email protected]. Thanks so much for reading my book...I appreciate it. If you enjoyed the story, would you please leave a short review on the site where you purchased it? Just a few words would be great. Not only do I feel encouraged reading them, but they also help other readers discover my books. Thank you!
Interested in having a character named after you? In a Myrtle Clover tote bag? Or even just your name listed in the acknowledgments of a future book? Visit my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/elizabethspanncraig .
If you'd like an autographed book for yourself or a friend, please visit my Etsy page.
Thanks! I’d also like to thank some folks who helped me put this book together. First of all, thanks to my beta readers Dan Harris and Amanda Arrieta, who always provide such helpful input and are such supportive readers. A big thanks to my editor, Judy Beatty, for her valuable help and encouragement. Thanks again to Karri Klawiter for her whimsical cover. Thanks to Shelly Carson for the title inspiration. A big thanks to Coleman, Elizabeth Ruth, and Riley for their continual support. And thanks, most of all, to my readers.
Other Works by the Author:
MYRTLE CLOVER SERIES in Order (be sure to look for Myrtle in audio, ebook, and print)
Pretty is as Pretty Dies
Progressive Dinner Deadly
A Dyeing Shame
A Body in the Backyard
Death at a Drop-In
A Body at Book Club
Death Pays a Visit
A Body at Bunco
Murder on Opening Night
Cruising for Murder
Cooking is Murder
SOUTHERN QUILTING MYSTERIES in Order:
Quilt or Innocence
Knot What it Seams
Quilt Trip
Shear Trouble
Tying the Knot
Patch of Trouble
Fall to Pieces
Rest in Pieces (2018)
Memphis Barbeque Mysteries in Order (Written as Riley Adams):
Delicious and Suspicious
Finger Lickin’ Dead
Hickory Smoked Homicide
Rubbed Out
And a standalone “cozy zombie” novel: Race to Refuge, written as Liz Craig
A Body in the Trunk Page 18
