Progressive Dinner Deadly

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  Chapter Sixteen

  As much as Myrtle hated to admit it, she was ready to return to Fit Life. Her disturbing conversation with Georgia had gotten her thinking about coffins, a subject she didn’t fancy. She’d suddenly gotten imbued with the foreign desire to exercise. This was coupled with an interest in talking with Sherry again and finding out Sherry’s thoughts on Cullen’s sudden death.

  This time Myrtle walked straight back to the exercise equipment after waving a “hello” to Sherry on the way in. Myrtle gently worked out her arms on the weight machines, making sure to take the prescribed breaks in between sets. She finished up her exercise session with twenty minutes on the treadmill. It surprised her that she felt energized instead of tired after her workout.

  It was a good time to catch up with Sherry. There was a lull in the gym and Sherry actually appeared not to be doing anything at the front desk. Myrtle was pleased when she called out to her.

  “Miss Myrtle, I wanted to thank you for going in with me to Cullen’s house. It was so horrible finding him that way.” Sherry swallowed, putting her hand to her throat as if she were helping along the swallowing process. “I didn’t sleep most of the night last night. And then, when I did? I had the most awful nightmares ever. Were you the same way?”

  Myrtle shifted guiltily. She was up a lot last night, but she hadn’t lost the sleep over Cullen’s death. It was just her usual insomnia biting her in the rear end.

  “Yes. I ... didn’t sleep a wink last night,” she said truthfully.

  Sherry rushed around the desk and gave Myrtle a tight hug. “You poor thing. I hate that I asked you to go in with me and we had to see ... that. Him.” She pulled a well-worn tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose on it. “I should have asked that stupid Tiny to go in with me. I should have known something was wrong, with Kojak so upset.”

  Myrtle, who usually would have snapped someone’s head off at being called a ‘poor thing’ resisted the impulse. “What really made me sad was Kojak being so devastated and upset at Cullen’s death, and Cullen hadn’t apparently given a flip about the dog.”

  Sherry nodded. “Cullen wasn’t an animal person. He wasn’t a lot of things, actually,” said Sherry with a short laugh. “Wasn’t much of a worker. Wasn’t much of a husband. But for some reason,” she said, looking around her, “I really liked him. There wasn’t any sense in it. But something about him drew me in.”

  Although Myrtle found the idea of being drawn to Cullen Caulfield about as appealing as necking with a gorilla, she summoned up her best sympathetic face.

  “And Miss Myrtle?” Now Sherry was gripping Myrtle’s arm tightly. “Somebody did him in. And it wasn’t me!” She squeezed Myrtle’s arm even tighter and Myrtle grunted.

  “Well of course you didn’t do it,” said Myrtle. She pulled her arm away from Sherry and rubbed it. “No one’s saying you did, are they?”

  “Red is. Red thinks I did it—that I walked into Cullen’s house, put the gun in his hand while he was drunk out of his mind, and pulled the trigger.” She dug around for the tatty tissue and Myrtle offered her a clean one from her pocketbook. “But I didn’t. You need to tell him. Tell him that I loved Cullen and would never have killed him.” Her voice was a hoarse croak and Myrtle bit back some choice profanity as Sherry grasped her arm again.

  “Why on earth would Red suspect you? Nobody knew about you and Cullen, right?” Except for Erma. And Simon. And Myrtle and Miles.

  “That Georgia Simpson,” said Sherry. “She told Red and that other cop that Cullen and I had an argument before he died. Arguments with murdered people really put a person on a cop’s radar.”

  “Why were you arguing?”

  “We were just never in sync. First of all he was hounding me to see him and I didn’t want anything to do with him. Then I gave in. Cullen started feeling really guilty about our relationship—that he had been cheating on Jill the day she died. He was calling our relationship off.” Bright red streaks of color covered Sherry’s cheeks. “But he didn’t mean it. It was just the guilt talking. He loved me,” said Sherry in a fierce voice. Myrtle wondered if she’d told Cullen that in the same tone.

  “You don’t think he was missing Jill? Or something like that?” Myrtle looked innocent again.

  Sherry made a face. “Maybe he missed having Jill clean for him and cook for him and do yard work for him. But he was willing to just let it all go to pot and live in the mess. His brother was disgusted enough with the yard to set up yard service for him, even though Simon doesn’t have two dimes to rub together.

  “But I do think Cullen felt guilty about Jill. He felt bad that he treated her like dirt right up until the night she died. But even feeling guilty and even with the booze, Cullen would never have pulled a trigger and killed himself. I know somebody killed him. I just have a gut feeling. And from the questions the cops were asking me, they’re suspicious he was murdered, too.”

  Sherry looked around quickly again, but the lull of traffic at the gym continued. “I bet I know who did do it. I saw Blanche going in Cullen’s house just the other day. And you know she and Jill were having some major squabble with each other? Well, the dog, Kojak, was going nuts then, too. When Blanche was in there visiting with Cullen. They must have been having one heck of an argument. She should feel ashamed of herself. Jill is dead and Blanche didn’t act anything but hateful to her.”

  Myrtle tactfully refrained from mentioning the fact that Sherry had contributed greatly to the overall poor treatment of Jill. “Did you hear anything that night or that morning that Cullen was killed?”

  Now Sherry frowned. “You mean, the gun going off? No, I sure didn’t. I have one of those white noise machines that blocks out noise. I got it when Jill started all the crazy noisy Christmas music and then got used to it and never turned it off. That night I just took a warm bath after a bad day at work, crawled in the bed and crashed.”

  Sherry said in a strident voice. “He was going to come back to me, Miss Myrtle. We had something really special. And I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

  She finally let go of Myrtle’s arm. “Anyway,” she gave a hoarse laugh, “Enough of that. We’ll both be having more nightmares if I keep talking about this stuff. Let’s change the subject. Are you enjoying your new membership, Miss Myrtle?” Sherry had a smug look on her face as if she already knew the answer.

  “Yes, all right, you were right, Sherry. Exercising can be addictive. I’ve been bitten by the bug.”

  “Well, if you have to have an addiction, at least that’s a healthy one to have. I think your body just gets used to the endorphins and craves more.”

  The Fit Life door opened and a few customers walked in. “I’d better go, Miss Myrtle,” said Sherry. “Good talking to you.”

  “I hate to admit it,” said Myrtle in a confidential tone, “But exercising at Fit Life is proving surprisingly satisfying.” She’d decided to walk over to Elaine and Red’s house and have some refreshments after her exercising.

  Elaine blinked. “I’m glad to hear it, Myrtle. I’m shocked to hear it, actually, but it’s good news. I know it’s got to be great for you, too.”

  Myrtle wagged a finger at Elaine, “Don’t go tattling on me to Red. I don’t need him meddling in my business any more than he already is.”

  “Myrtle, it was really your own idea to work out. Red made the suggestion after your physical, but he didn’t push you to do it. So you can pat yourself on the back.”

  Myrtle said, “It’s also made me reevaluate what else I might be missing out on that I should try to get involved in.”

  “Maybe Friends of Ferals? It sounds like you’ve enjoyed your interactions with your furry friend.”

  Myrtle made a face. “Sorry to crush your enthusiasm, Elaine, but I don’t think I want to attend a bunch of meetings with rabid animal lovers like Willow.”

  Elaine rolled her eyes. “Myrtle, it’s not like that. It’s very civil and we always have food and drinks at our meet
ings. They’re in someone’s home. It’s actually a lot more civil than supper club.”

  “Well, I would hope so, considering people get murdered at supper club.” Elaine opened her mouth to further promote Friends of Ferals cause when Myrtle said quickly, “No, I was thinking more along the lines of going to church.”

  Since Elaine’s mouth was already open to talk, it dropped even more at Myrtle’s mention of church. Again.

  “I know you and Red go every Sunday with Jack. Can you swing by and pick me up this Sunday?”

  Elaine just nodded wordlessly. It had been shocking enough that Myrtle had wanted to attend the church luncheon. Wanting to attend a service was absolutely unheard of. In fact, she quoted Emily Dickinson whenever Red questioned her about going. Apparently Emily believed that you could worship God just as well in your own garden as in a manmade sanctuary. But then, Emily Dickinson was basically a recluse.

  “It’s not like I don’t ever go to church, you know, Elaine. I was there just last week, remember?”

  “You mean for the United Methodist Women luncheon? Myrtle, you were there to investigate a murder, as I recall.”

  “I was not.” Myrtle sniffed. “I was there to show Red that I do have some inkling of civic involvement. That he doesn’t need to sign me up for the Kiwanis pancake breakfast because I’m already involved in the community. Anyway,” Myrtle attempted a dignified rise from the sofa, but it was completely spoiled by the depth of the furniture. She bounced several times until she was able to get up. “ ... if you could pick me up on Sunday, that would be great.”

  Myrtle finally took pity on Elaine’s confusion. “I’m trying some different things, that’s all. It’s not good to get stale, you know. So I’m trying out some new things to see what might suit me best—exercise, blogging, cooking—even church.”

  “Of course I’ll pick you up,” said Elaine, handing Myrtle her cane and watching out the window as she walked back home. She wasn’t going to have Myrtle’s immortal soul hanging on her conscience. Elaine would get her to church, by golly.

  Church, thought Myrtle, wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Myrtle, a big fan of slacks and pant suits, had had a difficult time putting on the elderly pair of panty hose that she kept especially for church occasions. She hadn’t worn the dress for a while and hadn’t realized there was a button missing from the front. Once she’d finally replaced the button, gotten on the troublesome hose, and made a stab at applying makeup, she got into Elaine’s van and was flummoxed that Elaine had on slacks. She was even more chagrined when she walked into the church and saw that nearly every woman there was wearing dress slacks. It had been a while since she’d been to a service.

  Elaine walked over to her usual pew, but Myrtle patted her arm and said, “If it’s all right with you, Elaine, I think I’m going to sit near the front.” At Elaine’s questioning look, Myrtle said, “You know ... I can see and hear a little better.”

  Elaine wasn’t aware that Myrtle had any impediment at all to her sight or hearing. Maybe she was avoiding Red, although Red was just a “maybe” for the service, depending on if he were able to pull away from work in time.

  Myrtle found that seating herself in church wasn’t as easy as it appeared. When she tried the third row pew, Fritzie Cochran quickly pulled a sweater across the space Myrtle was planning on parking herself. Saving seats was one of those things that annoyed Myrtle. The person you’re saving it for shouldn’t be such a slowpoke and sit in their own place.

  Her next attempt to sit down went just as poorly. Apparently, the second row pew was completely reserved, although there wasn’t a sign at the end of the pew to say so. Several people looked coldly at her as she stood there, so she gave it a pass. She was just at the point of going back to sit with Elaine when she noticed a spot on the very first pew. Ordinarily she would have avoided sitting right under the minister’s nose, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  The front row seemed to be designed for the old lady parishioners. There were devices on the pews for the hard of hearing. There were large print hymnals and Bibles. And, proving the point that old ladies were intended to worship there, there were three elderly ladies sitting very close together as if they were trying to warm their old bones by body heat in the chill of the sanctuary.

  Myrtle, of course, knew these ladies. The town of Bradley was only so big, after all. Although she was actually older than a couple of them, she was a lot more mobile than they were. Actually, she might be a whole lot more compos mentis than these ladies, too. They sat together, shoulder to shoulder, but didn’t say a word to each other, as if the process of getting ready for church had completely drained them. Or maybe, thought Myrtle, after all the years of coming to church every Sunday, they’d merely run out of conversation.

  They merely nodded a recognition that Myrtle was joining them before easing back again into their quiet reflection. Or maybe, thought Myrtle, they were sleeping. One of them gave a little gasp of a snore, just confirming her suspicions that there was more napping than praying going on.

  Myrtle glanced at her watch. There was no way that she was going to be able to sit quietly for twenty minutes while waiting for the service to start. She leaned closer to Coraline Walker and murmured, “Quite a week, hasn’t it been?”

  Coraline apparently didn’t hear her.

  “Quite a week, wasn’t it?” asked Myrtle a little louder.

  There was still no response and now Myrtle was concerned enough to tap Coraline insistently on her tiny leg. She hadn’t passed through to the other side, had she?

  Coraline’s rheumy eyes rolled Myrtle’s way.

  “I said,” Myrtle put her mouth right up at Coraline’s ear, “that it was quite a week, wasn’t it?”

  Coraline considered for a moment. Then she bobbed her head very slightly and retreated back into her own private sanctuary.

  Eva Jackson next to Coraline had apparently been able to hear Myrtle. She had been a schoolteacher at the same time Myrtle had taught, so they were acquainted with each other. Although the noise in the school cafeteria had been so loud that Myrtle doubted they’d ever held a proper conversation with each other.

  Myrtle was certain she heard a rusty, creaking sound when Eva’s mouth opened. Myrtle leaned over Eva’s limp figure, expecting to have to strain to catch whatever sound trickled out. Instead, she recoiled when a bellowing bark came out. Apparently she was used to yelling at her nearly deaf companions.

  “Saving your soul, Myrtle?” she hollered.

  Myrtle scowled. She’d rather not have her poor church attendance blasted out to the congregation. “You know I come to church, Eva. I just usually sit in the back and you don’t see me.”

  “Hogwash!” And then, abruptly changing subjects, “That poor girl!” she roared. “And now I don’t have anyone to clean for me. Do you like your girl?”

  “Puddin isn’t really someone I can recommend. But she’s cheap, if that’s what you’re looking for. Or if you don’t care about dust elimination.”

  “Dead as a doornail! Can you believe it?”

  Myrtle was somewhat used to abrupt subject changes with her contemporaries, so this non sequitur didn’t throw her as much as it might other people. “Jill? Yes, she is, I’m afraid.”

  “And the scoundrel,” barked Eva.

  “Cullen? Yes.”

  Eva nodded to herself and pursed her lips in thought. Her friends sat on either side of her, totally expressionless. “Those boys never did get along.”

  Now Myrtle was having to work a bit harder to follow Eva’s thought patterns. “Boys?”

  “The brothers. Hated each other. No wonder he did him in.”

  Myrtle frowned. “You think Simon Caulfield killed his brother?” They’d definitely been slugging it out at the gym, but murder was completely different.

  “Half-brother. Remember? And yes, of course he did.” Now Eva Jackson was squinting at Myrtle as if she was concerned about her mental f
aculties.

  “But why?”

  “Because they hated each other!” Now Eva looked merely irritated. She sniffed and leaned back onto the pew. “I’ll call her.”

  Myrtle assumed she meant Puddin and not the murdered Jill. She wasn’t ready to give up on the conversation, but at that moment the organ boomed and she gave up on any further attempts.