Chapter Fourteen
It was still very early in the day, particularly since Myrtle had been out so late the night before, when the phone rang.
It was Willow.
Myrtle’s heart lurched when she heard Willow’s voice. “I have this terrible feeling that Kojak is in Cullen’s yard, Miss Myrtle. You know—tied to a tree. Whenever Jill wasn’t there, Cullen tied him up. That’s why I had to rescue him. And Red said Kojak had ended up back at Cullen’s house again.”
“What about Simon? Couldn’t he take the dog?”
“Oh no, Miss Myrtle. Kojak hates Simon. He can take Miss Chivis, the cat, though. Can you make sure Libba gets the cat? I know she was real sick with cancer and all last year, but she seems better now. I think she can handle pet ownership.”
“Yes, all right. And I remember you mentioning something about Simon and Kojak not getting along. Why is that, again?”
“Animals can just tell when someone doesn’t like them. Simon doesn’t like Kojak. I know it’s a little bit of an imposition, especially considering last night,” continued Willow shyly, “but I know how great you’ve been with your cat. I was wondering if you could just untie Kojak? Just let him loose in the yard. And make sure he has food and water out there? I really, really appreciate it.”
Her train has missed the station. Attempts at murder one day, asking you to pet sit the next.
Still, it wasn’t such a bad idea. Odd as it may seem, Myrtle didn’t have a done feeling about the case. Yes, the killer was behind bars. But it felt like there was some sort of loose end—a bit of unresolved hate somewhere, maybe. And Myrtle was curious to see the dog that had helped spur Willow’s hatred of Cullen.
Feeling a little like an animal rights activist from PETA, Myrtle opened the gate and looked around for Kojak. She stopped, frowning. She didn’t see anything that looked like a Kojak. No big dogs. No small dogs, either. But she did hear a mournful baying inside Cullen’s house. Apparently Cullen hadn’t gotten around yet to chaining up the poor dog.
She’d come back by tomorrow and make sure Kojak wasn’t chained up. Myrtle was just turning to slip back out the gate when she heard. “Whatchu doin’ here, Miz Myrtle?”
Myrtle nearly jumped out of her skin before she realized it was just Tiny Kirk looming over her. “Tiny! You scared the fool out of me.”
Tiny looked like he thought a Myrtle Clover minus the fool might be a vast improvement.
Myrtle saw that Tiny’s truck with his yard equipment was in Cullen’s driveway. “Oh. I guess you’re here to clean up the yard.”
Tiny nodded. “Mr. Caulfield hired me to clean it up, since Miz Caulfield was dead and can’t cut the grass no more.”
“I’m surprised Mr. Caulfield even cares,” said Myrtle.
“Mr. Simon Caulfield hired me.”
“Oh.” Myrtle guessed Simon didn’t want to be embarrassed by a veritable jungle in his brother’s yard. Seeing that Tiny was still looking at her curiously, Myrtle added, “I was just here to let Kojak off the chain. But he’s inside, judging from all the barking going on in there.”
Tiny still looked puzzled—even more than was his natural expression.
“Willow called me and asked me to make sure the dog wasn’t chained in the back yard,” she finished lamely.
“Willow?” Tiny knit his brows and leaned forward over Myrtle as if to hear better. “I didn’t know you were friends with Willow.”
Neither did Myrtle.
“Well, yes, but she was worried about the dog. She knows that I ... care about animals.”
Tiny gave his shaggy head a shake as if to clear it. “All I know, Miss Myrtle, is that I need that dog leashed up while I mow. At least he’s not out here this time, but next time I’m going to have to chain him up if he’s outside.”
Myrtle was sick of the whole conversation by this time. “Well, can’t you just let him off again when you’re done?”
“That’s no problem, Miz Myrtle.”
Sherry appeared in the back yard with them. It was getting to be a regular party, Myrtle thought grimly. “Wonder what’s wrong with Kojak?” she asked. “He never bays like that.”
Myrtle shook her head and Sherry hesitated. “Maybe we should go in and check on him. Cullen’s not used to taking care of the dog—maybe he’s forgotten to feed him or let him out. Miss Myrtle, would you mind going in there with me?”
Myrtle was starting to think forward to a big cup of coffee and writing the front page exclusive. “I suppose we should,” she said grudgingly. “But how will we get inside?”
“I’ve got a key,” said Sherry. “I used to watch the animals for Jill and Cullen when they went out of town.”
But Sherry didn’t need her key because the door was unlocked. As soon as Sherry pushed it open, Kojak came charging out, howling balefully. Myrtle drew in a sharp breath. Kojak was spattered with blood. “He’s hurt!” said Sherry, bending over to gently examine the basset hound, who looked nothing at all like a Kojak. Myrtle grimly continued walking into the house.
She froze when she found what she’d known she’d find as soon as she saw Kojak. It was Cullen, shot dead on his den floor. A revolver lay in his hand.
Myrtle turned around quickly to keep Sherry from following her into the den. But it was too late. “That’s funny. Kojak doesn’t seem to have a scratch on him—”she stopped short and stared at the body on the floor. And though Myrtle never would have pegged Sherry as a screamer, she started a horrific, hysterical shrieking that pierced the air as she took a few steps toward Cullen.
Myrtle grabbed her arm. “Sherry! Sherry, we can’t touch him. We’ve got to stay back.”
Sherry took her words to heart and ran away from the body, plowing back through the kitchen and out the backdoor, screaming all the way. Myrtle heard the lawnmower cut off in the backyard as Sherry’s shrieks permeated the noise of the machine.
Myrtle knew she only had a couple of minutes at most to quickly look around before neighbors would be rushing in with Red hot on their tail. She put her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t be tempted to touch anything and contaminate it and then glanced rapidly around the room.
It certainly looked like a suicide. Cullen had pulled the trigger in his mouth, with devastating consequences. The gun was right there in his hand. And, sure enough, there was a piece of white paper on the coffee table. Myrtle leaned over, holding on to her cane as she squinted at the printed text.
I killed Jill because I wanted to be with Sherry and couldn’t afford a divorce. The guilt is killing me, though. I’m signing off. Cullen
Myrtle frowned. This wasn’t right. Cullen hadn’t killed Jill. And this didn’t even sound like something that Cullen would write.
Unfortunately, one of the old biddies from across the street had immediately called the police as soon as she heard Sherry’s screams. Since their neighborhood was on high alert, there was apparently a zero tolerance policy for early morning shrieking. Myrtle could already hear Red yelling in the yard, “Everybody get back. Move back to the sidewalk! Now!” Myrtle quickly backed away from the coffee table and Cullen’s body and moved to the kitchen.
Red glowered at her as he pushed the backdoor open. “Mama! Why am I not surprised?”
“I can easily explain what I was doing here, Red. It’s because of Kojak—the basset hound. Willow called me on the phone—”
Red held up a hand. “Willow? Can we talk about this later? And please go out to the sidewalk with everybody else in the neighborhood.”
The scene outside was, in contrast to the stillness and quiet in Cullen’s den, chaotic. Myrtle’s cell phone started ringing as soon as she walked outside. “Miss Myrtle? Can you get over to Cullen Caulfield’s house? Big story.”
It was Sloan. Sloan’s definition of a big story usually encompassed Frannie Brock’s prize winning tomatoes. But this time he was right about the size of the story.
“I’m one step ahead of you today, Sloan. I discovered the
body. With Sherry.”
“You did what? Miss Myrtle! I could kiss you!”
“I can assure you that won’t be necessary,” said Myrtle. “And I have another big story for you, too—Willow tried to kill me last night. She was the murderer all along.” She said this in a low voice as she slowly thumped her way back out to the sidewalk in front of the house.
“What?” Sloan’s voice was absolutely delighted. Myrtle could tell he was already envisioning the headline on the front page.
“I’ll tell you the whole story when I see you,” said Myrtle. “There are too many people crowded around and I want them to read the story in the paper, not hear it from me while I’m blabbering on the phone to you.”
Sloan gave a low whistle. “So it was Willow all the time. Of course, I’ve gotta get a stand-in for her—don’t guess she’ll be writing horoscopes anytime soon. You think you can get out of there and write me up a quick story? We could squeeze out a special edition of the paper before everyone hears the news about Willow. I can make some calls and maybe even get a couple of extra advertisers. Hmm.” Sloan was already counting the dollars in his head.
“I’m going to probably be here for the next forty-five minutes or so. Red is probably going to want to question me about finding Cullen. But then I’ll get right home and type you up a quick story.”
Miles was already walking up along with several other neighbors, so Myrtle hung up while Sloan was still yammering about the article.
“Sherry said,” murmured Miles, “that Cullen killed himself.”
Myrtle shook her head, crossly. “No. Someone wanted us to think he killed himself.”
“But she saw the gun in his hand.”
“There’s no reason for Cullen to have killed himself. Why would he do such a thing?”
“Maybe he was depressed. He seemed really guilty about cheating on Jill, especially since she died the day she found out. Maybe he couldn’t stand the status quo anymore.”
“That might be true, but he didn’t kill himself,” hissed Myrtle. “The suicide note? He confessed to killing Jill in it.”
Miles gaped at her.
“Which means that someone killed Cullen before they found out Jill’s murderer was Willow. Someone wanted to get rid of Cullen Caulfield and have it written off as the suicide of a guilty man. And I don’t think that someone was Willow—the crime scene looked too recent for Willow to have done it. She spent the night in jail. Besides, Kojak wasn’t going berserk for too many hours.”
Miles started sputtering questions but Myrtle shushed him as Erma Sherman waddled up.
Erma gave Miles and Myrtle an oppressive group hug, knocking Myrtle’s head into Miles’s. Erma had now inserted herself in their tete-a-tete. “Isn’t it awful?” asked Erma with obvious delight. “I guess Cullen couldn’t live with himself anymore after killing Jill! And he killed himself!”
Myrtle frowned at her, which was her normal expression when dealing with Erma. “And where would you get an idea like that?” Myrtle gave Miles a repressing look.
“Well, Sherry told a bunch of us that he’d killed himself. I think Sherry believes he was upset over her dumping him.” Erma laughed unpleasantly. “But it’s clear that wasn’t it. We all know that Cullen was the one who dumped Sherry, not the other way around. Cullen would just have moved on to the next pretty face. No, he killed himself because of guilt. He was wracked with it!” Erma’s face lit up with the possibilities.
Myrtle gritted her teeth. How the hell did Erma know about Sherry and Cullen’s relationship? It had taken her half the case to find out that the two of them were having a fling.
“Sherry will obviously need some grief counseling. People in Bradley will be sure to bring casseroles and condolences once they know how close Cullen and Sherry really were.” A thoughtful look passed over Erma’s face. “Don’t you think we should have gun control in Bradley?” Erma asked. “Maybe Red can do something, Myrtle. He needs to do something about banning guns in Bradley. People should not be able to go around killing themselves here.”
“Not,” noted Myrtle through gritted teeth, “that Red has anything to do with creating laws, you know. He merely enforces them.”
“Well maybe,” said Erma after giving a sniff that turned more into a snort, “he should try to do more about it. Now Simon could be the next to go, you know. Grief-stricken over his brother’s death.”
Myrtle had to roll her eyes over that one. “Grief-stricken? Over Cullen?”
“He was his brother. All I’m saying,” spat Erma, “is that we should consider banning guns in Bradley. Before we’re all bleeding to death in the streets.”
“There’s a little matter of the second amendment to work around,” said Miles dryly.
The Neanderthal-like hulk of Tiny Kirk loomed over Miles. “You with the NRA, Miles?”
“He probably is,” grumbled Erma. “Doesn’t want to ban guns.”
“I didn’t say—“groaned Miles.
“Ban guns?” asked Tiny with a barbaric yawp. “You want to ban guns?”
Tiny was well into a monologue on the glories of gun ownership and the wonders of hunting when he changed course into a diatribe against anti-gun people. “Like that what’s-iz-name loudmouth at the party.”
Who? thought Myrtle.
“Mr. Caulfield. He said no one should have guns in a house with young people.”Tiny finished his tirade and stood, dejected. “And now it looks like the end of my grass-cutting days. Who knows when I’ll get paid for last time?”
“Oh, I’m sure Simon is good about paying his bills.”
Tiny shook his head vigorously. “He hired me, but he weren’t gonna pay me. Said to bill Mr. Cullen for it.”
“Oh. Well, that will be a problem. Maybe Simon will pay you after all.”
“Doubt it. He don’t have money, either.” His prospects for payment diminishing, Tiny slumped. Tiny must really need the business. Myrtle made a mental note to keep him in mind if she ever got rid of the Puddin and Dusty package deal.
Miles frowned at her and gripped her elbow. “Do you need a hand, Myrtle? You’re not looking too well. Where’s your cane?” Erma was already excitedly darting over to another group of onlookers and spreading her bile.
Myrtle grimaced. Willow’s phone call had knocked everything else out of her head. She must have forgotten to pick up her cane. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she groaned. “If Red catches me without my stick, he’ll check me into Greener Pastures Retirement Home before you can say boo.”
“I’ve got my car,” said Miles. “I can drop you off at your house. But don’t you need to stay around and talk to the police?”
Myrtle waved her hand dismissively. “Red and Lieutenant Perkins know where to find me if they want to talk to me. I think yesterday knocked the stuffing right out of me. And I got up too early this morning, too. I’m going to put my feet up.” Last night must have taken a bigger toll on her than she’d thought.
She’d walked in her door, taken off her shoes and thankfully lain down on her unmade bed when the phone rang. She sighed. Red had given her a cordless phone the previous Christmas, but it never seemed to stay where she could find it.
She walked into the living room but couldn’t tell what direction the cordless phone’s shrill was coming from. It seemed like the noise was coming from everywhere. Myrtle gave up and headed into the kitchen ... which was still a disaster from the night before. She grimaced and reached for the wall phone.
She listened into the receiver and said, “Hi Elaine.”
“Myrtle? You sound awful!”
A wave of tiredness washed over Myrtle. “Actually, I’m tired, Elaine.”
“Well of course you are!” A sympathetic Elaine gushed. “After almost getting murdered last night? And then practically tripping up over a body this morning? You need to take it easy. And you know,” her voice dropped down as if someone could hear them talking, “he was murdered. But they made it look like suicide. Red
called me to say he was going to be awhile—that it was murder.”
Myrtle’s heart jumped. “I knew it. And Willow didn’t do it, we know. She was already arrested!” She paused. “Unless Cullen was killed before nine o’clock last night.”
Elaine said, “No, that’s just it. The coroner thought it was after midnight. So Red and Lieutenant Perkins have to find out what’s going on.” Elaine stopped, as if suddenly realizing her gossip was probably counterproductive. “Hey, you should be putting your feet up, not rehashing everything with me.”
Myrtle sighed. “Taking it easy sounds good. But I’ve got to clean up this poisoned casserole mess. I thought Forensics was going to scoop up everything, but they just took a sample and left everything else on the floor. I’m worried Pasha is going to slip in the door behind me some time and start eating it. God knows what’s in it.”
“Well, Jack is playing at his buddy’s house. How about if I come over and give you a hand?” asked Elaine. “And maybe I can reset the trap for you, too.”
“Thanks for offering, Elaine, but that’s not the kind of thing you should be worrying about when you’ve got a few free minutes. Nor,” she added hurriedly as Elaine’s protests spilled out, “do I want to be bent over, scrubbing poisoned casserole off my kitchen floor. This,” she concluded, “is a job for Puddin.”
Elaine’s voice sounded doubtful. “Are you sure? Puddin doesn’t do a good job with anything, does she?”
“No. But this time might be the exception. I think her nose was really knocked out of joint when I hired Jill to do my cleaning for me. She might do an especially good job this time. For Puddin, anyway.”
“Too bad the Jill thing didn’t work out,” said Elaine. “She was a cleaning whiz, wasn’t she?”
“She was. But she snooped through my things. Puddin would never snoop. She just doesn’t care that much ... about anything.”
“I thought you’d called Puddin up and told her you were using Jill.”
“It wasn’t necessary. Puddin never shows up unless I call to harass her, anyway. She’d just take the opportunity to sit around watching her soaps all afternoon. But I’m sure she knew about Jill coming over. I saw Puddin in the Piggly Wiggly the other day and she stuck her nose up in the air and pretended she didn’t see me. So she heard about it somehow.”
“Well, if Puddin doesn’t work out,” said Elaine, “just call me up. If I can get melted crayon off the car seat, I can remove poisoned casserole from a kitchen floor.”
“Thanks,” said Myrtle. “I’m going to give Puddin a crack at it, though. Give her a chance to prove herself.”
“And now,” Myrtle said, “I’m going to write my big story.”
Progressive Dinner Deadly Page 19
