Progressive Dinner Deadly

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  Chapter Five

  Getting barbeque was as good an excuse as any to go over to Jill’s house and snoop around outside a bit, thought Myrtle. Bradley was one of those towns where there was bound to be some people standing around the Caulfields’ house, talking. And Myrtle wouldn’t mind listening to them.

  Jill’s house looked quiet and there were no rubberneckers as far as Myrtle could see. The rush for barbeque and Tupperware must have died down. Myrtle walked into the garage and saw Erma’s huge cooler there and a perky looking sign in Erma’s schoolgirl scrawl that said: “Free Barbeque. Help Yourself!” It had a smiley face on it. It was a sign that refused to acknowledge that a violent death had occurred mere yards away.

  Myrtle also saw Willow there. And Willow looked taken aback when she saw her. “Willow,” said Myrtle, leaning on her cane, “I am so sorry about poor Jill. I just feel sick about it.”

  Willow looked pretty sick herself. She was even paler than usual and her white hair hung lankly down. She didn’t look like she’d showered and Myrtle wondered if the clothes she was wearing were the same ones she’d slept in. Willow swayed on her feet and Myrtle wondered if she were going to faint ... or throw up. Myrtle hesitated between recoiling and moving forward.

  “Did you leave some Tupperware here?” asked Myrtle. “Red mentioned something about leaving the dishes outside.”

  “I didn’t make it over here last night, remember? I had to go help Paul with the cats.”

  “Here,” said Myrtle, feeling alarmed. “You’re looking very sick, Willow.” She ushered her over to a short brick wall that edged the garage and sat her down. “Sit here for a minute.”

  She watched Willow’s pale face and red eyes and said, “Are you here to visit Cullen then? Since you don’t have any dishes to pick up?”

  Anger flashed briefly in Willow’s eyes. Did she think Cullen was the killer? “No,” she said fiercely, “I wasn’t here to visit Cullen. I ... ” she gestured over to the cooler. “I came for some of the barbeque. So we wouldn’t waste it. Erma called me early this morning. I brought a plastic container with me.” Willow held up a Tupperware container with her name written on the side.

  Myrtle pressed her lips together in a grim line. She bet Erma did call Willow this morning. Maybe it was under the guise of leftovers, but it was pure nosiness that would have driven her.

  “I’m sure there’ll be women from the church running by with some casseroles for you, you know. There’s a whole army that jumps into action after a death.” Myrtle hesitated, then decided to ask, “What on earth do you think happened in there, Willow? Who’d have murdered Jill?”

  Willow gave a strangled sob and Myrtle awkwardly patted her arm. “I’m so sorry, Willow. Never mind, if you don’t want to talk about it. Such a shock,” she murmured.

  Willow collected herself. “Did you come over for some food, too?”

  Myrtle had the grace to blush. At least she had the excuse of the container. Although it was one of those disposable kinds and she’d never intended on getting it back in the first place.

  Fortunately, Willow got distracted by the bags Myrtle was still clutching. “Is that ... cat food?” asked Willow with more interest than she’d shown in the rest of the conversation.

  Myrtle stopped herself just in time from making a face and instead put on what she hoped was a Saint Myrtle of Stray Kitties expression. “Well, yes. Yes it is. I have a feral feline friend in my backyard that’s decided to adopt me. And I want to take care of my little furry buddy.”

  Willow beamed. “Friends of Ferals is a wonderful group. Elaine recently joined, didn’t she? Our animal friends need us, you know. I just let Kojak—he’s Cullen and Jill’s dog,” her voice faltered over Jill’s name, “off that chain in the backyard. He needed rescuing. That poor animal,” she said passionately. “I’d bring him back home with me but Cullen would demand him back. He doesn’t care about Kojak a bit—he doesn’t want him happy. And the poor dog would be happy with me.” Animals seemed to be the one topic that made Willow animated. Besides complaining about Cullen, that is.

  Myrtle was quickly losing interest in the conversation. Willow’s brain had shifted gears now and Myrtle doubted there was any way to switch it back. “Yes. Well, I should be getting home to put the cat food out.”

  “And a bowl full of water,” Willow called after her as Myrtle hustled away. She turned back to say good-bye to Willow and caught sight of Sherry Angevine peeking out behind one of Cullen’s curtains.

  Myrtle didn’t really feel like going back home yet. She felt more like mulling things over with Miles. On the way back home, she stopped by Miles’s house. A minute went by. Myrtle frowned and looked in Miles’s driveway again. His car was there. She guessed he could have walked into town, but Miles usually drove since he’d been so accustomed to living in the city. She rang the doorbell.

  Another minute passed before Miles’s face peered out of the window next to his front door. Myrtle swore she saw irritation flash across his face. He slowly opened the door.

  Myrtle gaped at him. “Miles! You’re in your bathrobe and slippers!”

  “That’s not a crime, is it, Myrtle?” asked Miles with dignity.

  “But it’s the middle of the day!”

  Miles shook his head in exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, Myrtle. I simply decided to go back to bed after I left Kiwanis. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, to begin with. Then last night we discovered a murder, I had to drag Georgia out of my house, I woke up at the crack of dawn to serve pancakes this morning—it’s all made me completely exhausted. I’m a little better now that I’ve slept for—oh, only about forty-five minutes. Thanks for your concern.”

  His annoyance had a subduing effect on Myrtle. “Do you need coffee?” she asked meekly. “I could make some for us.”

  Myrtle made a pot of coffee while Miles changed into some jeans and a button down shirt. He eased himself onto his leather sofa and said, ‘So give me an update. How are things going with the investigation this morning? Solved the case yet?”

  Myrtle carefully ignored the trace of sarcasm in his voice. “No, it wasn’t all that interesting this morning. Red didn’t have much information to give me about the case, not that that’s anything new. Or if he had information, he wasn’t sharing any of it. Except he mentioned that Cullen was acting unusually.”

  “Unusually for Cullen or unusual for a regular person?”

  “I guess for either one. The spouse is always suspect number one, you know, so I guess he was angry that the police were treating him as if he might have killed Jill. Then I saw Willow and she looked terrible ... ”

  “Well, her sister was murdered,” said Miles.

  “ ... .but she says she came back to Jill’s house for some of the leftover barbeque from last night. But I think she was actually there to confront Cullen and was just using the barbeque for an excuse. I bet she’s pegged Cullen for the murderer.”

  “That would make sense,” agreed Miles, “since she’s never liked Cullen.”

  They sipped their coffee for a few minutes in silence.

  “Did I tell you about my new friend?” asked Myrtle.

  “You mean the furry, wild friend? Yes, you mentioned it. How are things going with it?”

  “I think things are about to get even better.” She held up the zippered bag with the cat food. “Elaine gave me some food for her. Although really, she eats like a king. You know how Erma’s squirrel population always spills over into my yard? Wiping out the sunflower seeds in my feeder?”

  Miles nodded.

  “Well now the squirrels are terrified to even tiptoe into my yard. That cat is so fast that the squirrels never know what hit them. ”

  “So this ferocious animal is female?” asked Miles. He pursed his lips doubtfully. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Quite sure. It’s female and tough as nails. Elaine wasn’t kidding when she said these cats aren’t adoptable. It’s quite antisocial and temperamen
tal,” said Myrtle with satisfaction.

  “Isn’t it interesting,” drawled Miles, “how animals can have so much in common with their owners?”

  Miles ramblings were going to bore her again ... if she paid attention. Which she had no intention of doing. “I know you were taking a nap and everything, but what do you think about investigating with me?”

  Miles’s face left no doubt what he thought of that idea. “Really, Myrtle ... ”

  “I know. You’d rather be reading Faulkner. But I could use the help.” She leaned heavily on her cane to remind him of her age and infirmity.

  He sighed. “Help with what?”

  “I’m going to try to catch up with Sherry in a little while. I saw her inside Cullen’s house when I was leaving it today.” Myrtle wiggled her eyebrows at Miles.

  “That’s not so strange, is it? After all, you were over at Cullen’s house. And it sounds like Willow was there. Actually, it sounds like half the book club was over getting barbeque.”

  “Absolutely. We were all at Cullen’s house. Not in Cullen’s house. That’s a big difference in prepositions. Anyway, I think it might be a good idea to touch base with Sherry and see what’s up. You can set a clock by her weekend schedule—she always goes out to garden at two o’clock on Saturdays. She lives right next door to the Caulfields, so maybe she heard or saw something. Or has an idea who might have done it. Maybe she’s having some sort of relationship with Cullen.”

  “Or maybe,” said Miles in a dry voice, “she was just being a good neighbor and trying to see if Cullen needed any help this morning.”

  “You’re illustrating my point exactly. We don’t know why she was there this morning. But we’ll find out. Because,” Myrtle drew herself up stiffly, “Jill’s death must be avenged. Justice must prevail!”

  “Help with what? You still haven’t told me what you need help with.”

  “Oh.” Myrtle thought hard. Really, she just wanted a sidekick with her. It was practically a detective prerequisite. But she wasn’t sure Miles was totally sold on the sidekick idea. “Listening to Sherry. She’s a soft-talker, you know. It’s hard for my old ears to catch everything she says.”

  Miles frowned, “I haven’t noticed that Sherry is a—“

  “So,” said Myrtle hurriedly, “if you could just meet me outside Sherry’s house at two o’clock. That’ll give us a little time to eat some lunch and put our feet up for a few minutes. Okay! See you then.”

  Myrtle bustled out, leaving Miles to wonder how his day had gotten hijacked so quickly.

  Myrtle fixed herself a sandwich and some chips for lunch and watched soap operas for a few minutes with her feet up. Completely refreshed, she decided to jump right into her investigation. Myrtle looked wistfully around her living room. Dust was already starting to collect. She missed energetic, cheerful, cleaning sensation Jill. She could easily have put up with the nosiness—there wasn’t anything in her medicine cabinet that was interesting, anyway. The conversation, company, and cleaning would have made up for any privacy loss.

  Sure enough, Sherry was outside promptly at two wearing ratty gardening gloves and a wide-brimmed, flowered hat. She bent down to pull some intrepid weeds that sprouted by her mailbox, then noticed Myrtle standing there. “Hi, Miss Myrtle. Getting some exercise?”

  Sherry was always one to get right to the point, so Myrtle decided not to tiptoe around the issue. “I am. I always find that a little exercise helps with stress. And, with poor Jill’s murder ... ” Myrtle shrugged helplessly.

  A cloud passed over Sherry’s face. Literally. So Myrtle couldn’t read her expression as well as she would have liked. “I know. It was awful.” Sherry paused. “But there’s something even worse.”

  “Worse than the murder? But ... ”

  “Oh, here comes Miles. He’s a nice guy, isn’t he?”

  About time, thought Myrtle. Some sidekick.

  “Wait ... .I guess he’s going back inside,” said Sherry.

  “Must have forgotten something,” said Myrtle in a cross voice.

  “Oh Lord. Heads-up, it’s Erma Sherman.”

  “Helloooooo!” called out Erma in her nasal voice. “You’re not exercising, are you, Myrtle? I mean, I know you walk to get places because you’re too old to drive, but I didn’t know you walked for fun, too!”

  Myrtle frowned discouragingly at Erma. “Exercise is supposed to be good for me. Besides ... ”

  “I’m sure it is, Myrtle. Maybe you’ll even live to be ninety!” said Erma kindly. “I walk every day!” She stood her stocky body tall and upright, at attention. Then she relaxed and laughed. “Glad I saw you out here, Myrtle. I wanted to let you know that I saw something at the hardware store yesterday that should help you with your crabgrass epidemic. Maybe you’ll want to check it out. Just take your walk tomorrow in that direction. Crabgrass can take over everything, you see.” She looked sagely at Myrtle through her thick glasses.

  “Thanks for the advice,” Myrtle said tartly. “But as I told you before, it’s really your yard that’s ... ”

  “Well, got to get going. Can’t afford to let my heart rate slow down, you know. Toodle-oo!” Myrtle watched with great relief as she charged back off.

  “Does she have a heart rate?” asked Sherry. “She’s like Frankenstein. I don’t know how you stand living next door to her.” Sherry paused. “Almost as bad as living next to Jill.”

  Myrtle leaned in on her cane. “What do you mean?”

  “That’s what I was talking about before Erma bulldozed her way into our conversation.” Sherry lowered her voice to a pitch that Myrtle had trouble hearing. “What’s worse than the murder is that I’m glad she’s dead.”

  Myrtle nodded attentively and Sherry continued. “To be perfectly honest, Miss Myrtle, Jill Caulfield drove me nuts for years. Talk about keeping up with the Joneses. There was no way in hell you could keep up with Jill. She’d be out here with her scissors, trimming some tiny shaggy spot near her curb. You never noticed when her flowers faded because she’d replace them with others. And don’t get me started on her Christmas decorations!” Sherry was red in the face by this time.

  Myrtle thought a moment. “I think I remember cars driving by just to look at the decorations.” At Sherry’s nod, Myrtle said, “A huge line of cars, actually.”

  “The Jill Caulfield Christmas Spectacular started in November and didn’t stop until January. My bedroom was lit up like it was daytime.”

  Myrtle mulled through this information. “Maybe Jill spent so much time in her yard because she was trying to get away from Cullen. Do you think they had a happy marriage?”

  This was apparently a bad subject, as Sherry’s face seemed to shut down. Belatedly, Myrtle remembered that Sherry had had a terrible marriage, a horrible divorce proceeding, and had vowed never to marry again. Myrtle changed the subject before Sherry decided that her weeding really did need to be underway.

  “Anyway, who do you think could have done it? I thought everyone really liked Jill,” Myrtle said in a gossipy voice.

  Sherry relaxed a little. “I think most people did. And, just because I didn’t, it doesn’t mean that I killed her, of course,” she stressed.

  “Since you’re next door, did you see or hear anything last night that might give us a clue to what happened?” Myrtle did her best to conjure up a gossipy old lady voice.

  “But I wasn’t at home to hear or see anything, Miss Myrtle. Remember? I was at the progressive dinner with you. Remember how we talked there?” Sherry studied Myrtle with concern, as if sure Myrtle was losing it.

  Myrtle frowned. She remembered talking to Sherry at Miles’s house. But she was sure that there was a period of time when Sherry hadn’t been around. “Of course I remember talking to you. Am I your alibi for the evening? Do you think you need one?”

  Sherry shrugged. “It was common knowledge that Jill drove me nuts as a neighbor. And I’ve heard Red and that other cop want to talk to me again. I’m just making sure we
’re on the same page.”

  Myrtle’s discomfort must have shown on her face because Sherry interjected, “But plenty of people didn’t like Jill. Blanche couldn’t stand being in the same room with her. And Georgia Simpson absolutely hated her guts and told anybody that would listen. So I’m not the only one.”

  “And here I thought that Jill was this wonderful person who kept an immaculate house, volunteered her rear-end off, and put up beautifully with a difficult husband,” Myrtle shook her head. “I guess I’m no judge of human nature. Why do you think Blanche and Georgia hated Jill so much?”

  “I don’t have a clue why Blanche was upset with Jill. Maybe Jill broke some of her Waterford crystal when she was cleaning her house?” Sherry gave a short laugh. “As far as Georgia, I think money was at the bottom of it. I saw Georgia giving Jill absolute hell a few months ago at the grocery store. Raving about Jill owing her money or something. Who knows? I’d have thought that Jill didn’t have two cents to rub together. Maybe Georgia loaned Jill some money and was trying to get paid back.”

  Myrtle caught sight of Miles walking towards them. Typical, she thought. She was all done with the conversation now. “Well, here’s Miles, so I better run. He’s my walking buddy today.”

  “Have a nice walk then.”

  As Sherry got back to her weeds, Myrtle thumped over to Miles and hissed at him, “Thanks for being on time! I had no idea how terrified you were of Erma Sherman.”

  “You’re not so brave, yourself, Myrtle. I’ve seen you pop your head back in your door if you catch the smallest glimpse of her. Did you find out what she was doing in Cullen’s house this morning?”

  Myrtle felt a flush of irritation. “No, actually, I didn’t. I completely forgot to ask her. That Erma interruption threw me for a loop. Listen, I did manage to find some things out, though. Sherry couldn’t stand Jill because she was too perfect. And she wants to make sure I’m her alibi for the murder.”

  Miles said slowly, “You weren’t with her the whole party, were you?”

  “No,” said Myrtle, “I was actually trying to escape from her so that I could talk to Blanche and Georgia for a bit and see what was going on with them. But I did spend some time talking to Sherry at your house and at Willow’s.”

  “But she wasn’t there the whole time,” said Miles. “I actually noticed she’d gone because I wanted to ask her something about the variety of Knock-Out rose that she has in her side yard. But I couldn’t find her until right before it was time to leave Willow’s house to head over to Jill’s.”

  Myrtle absorbed this. “Sherry could have slipped out, hustled the short distance to Jill’s house, killed Jill, and come back to Willow’s to join our group before making the next stop.”

  “She was busily eating a tossed salad when I saw her,” said Miles. “But do you really think Sherry would have murdered Jill? Being irritated at her perfectionism is one thing, but smashing her over the head with a cast-iron skillet then coolly eating a salad a few minutes later is something else.”

  “I don’t know,” said Myrtle glumly. “There have been many times when I’ve thought about killing Erma. I’m pretty sure I could do it in cold blood. And eat a salad afterward. Or maybe even a steak.”

  ”Maybe Georgia did it,” said Miles.

  Myrtle only lifted her eyebrows. This is why Miles would never progress beyond sidekick status.

  Miles continued, “Georgia hated Jill. Money came between the two friends and was tearing their relationship apart. It was eating Georgia alive. She obsessed over the money that was rightfully hers, day and night. Finally, she couldn’t handle it any more. She stormed Jill’s house and walloped her with the handy, cast iron skillet, finally avenging her financial loss.”

  Myrtle studied him. “How fanciful of you, Miles. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so melodramatically before. I can only assume that this means you are passionately in love with Georgia. You’re fixated on her and have been since the first time you met her at the Kiwanis breakfast.”

  Miles colored. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Georgia Simpson is the wild part of you, dying to be set free. The part that likes middle-aged women with poorly-dyed hair, tattoos, and too much mascara. She completes you!”

  “Myrtle,” said Miles forcefully. “Shut up.”

  Which, to Myrtle, only proved her point.

  But she was gracious enough to move on. “When was she supposed to have killed Jill? Before or after she passed out at your house?”

  “I think,” said Miles, holding himself stiffly, “That she could have done it either time. I mentioned to you before that I thought she was capable of staggering over to Jill’s and killing her. Murdering Jill wouldn’t have taken all that much coordination since the frying pan was so big. Then she could have just stumbled on back to my house. Jill’s house is just around the bend in the road. And with all the trees in this neighborhood, she could have walked through yards and no one would have even seen her. Besides, no one would have thought anything if they had seen her. Everyone was walking back and forth from one house to the next. Some people were even walking back to their houses to use their own restrooms before coming back to my house. I don’t remember Georgia at the earring hunt or the subsequent glass cleanup.”

  Myrtle mulled this over. “That’s true. But that could mean that she was already out cold. Let’s say, just for argument’s sake, that she passed out early in the evening. After she’d upset Blanche. She got a good little nap in, woke up, went to the bathroom perhaps, then wandered off to kill Jill. She returned to your house (while everyone was at Willow’s house), finished up any leftover wine, and passed out again.”

  Miles quietly reflected on this scenario. “Does this mean it was premeditated? It sounds like she carefully picked a time to kill Jill when no one would be around.”

  “I can’t see someone that sloshed being careful. No, I think she woke up, realized no one was there, stumbled over to Jill’s house thinking that it was time for the barbeque part of the party, saw no one there but Jill (Cullen was probably passed out himself), flew into a drunken rage, and took advantage of the moment.”

  Miles nodded slowly.

  “If she did it,” said Myrtle. “Which I doubt.” Sometimes, sidekicks needed to be put in their place.