Hushed Up

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  Miles was watching with interest from the police car. Apparently, he started feeling steadier on his feet and slightly more awake because he stood and started in their direction.

  Erma was getting even more keyed up. She raised her hand as if she were waiting to be called on in school. “I know! I know why she was mad at Myrtle. It was because of that psychic.”

  Red closed his eyes. “Wanda?”

  “That’s it! Wanda,” said Erma, pleased with herself for contributing something important. “Don’t you need to write that down in your notebook?”

  Red ignored this, staring at his mother instead. “Please tell me Wanda isn’t involved in this.”

  “Of course she’s not,” said Myrtle crossly as Miles joined them. “She was simply trying to be helpful. Which was a colossal waste of her time considering how Lillian received the information.”

  Red said, “So Wanda spoke to Lillian?”

  “Absolutely not! Wanda doesn’t make house calls. No, she relayed the information to me and I provided it to Lillian. And Lillian was heedless. Recklessly so.” Myrtle sniffed.

  “What was this information?”

  Myrtle said, “That she was in danger. And here she is, dead. Clearly, yet another accurate prediction from Wanda.”

  Red absently reached up a hand to rub the side of his forehead as if it were throbbing.

  “Why did Wanda think she was in danger? Did Wanda know Lillian?”

  Myrtle snorted. “Wanda? Know a florist? No. She used her gifts, Red. And you know that’s not how The Sight works. Wanda didn’t have a reason for Lillian to be in danger. She simply knew she was.”

  “That’s not how The Sight works,” mumbled Red, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to include Wanda in my report on this case. So Mama, you visited Lillian on Tuesday?”

  “That’s right. I felt it was my duty to inform her,” said Myrtle primly.

  “And she wasn’t receptive to this information?”

  Miles hid a smile.

  “Lillian was completely pigheaded about it! She showed me the door. Didn’t even offer me a glass of water and it was a very hot day,” said Myrtle indignantly.

  Red raised his eyebrows. “So, at any rate, we know you were unhappy with Lillian Johnson.”

  “As I said, I had nothing to do with her death,” said Myrtle sullenly.

  Red looked up at the sound of cars approaching. “Looks like the state police are here. I’m going to need to talk to them briefly. Y’all are all excused.” He looked at Miles. “I was telling Mama earlier that you looked like you should head over to Bo’s Diner and get something to eat. You look a little peaked. You could meet Mama and Erma there.”

  “You must be getting a commission for sending people over there,” grumbled Myrtle. The last thing she wanted was to spend lunch with Erma. But now she knew Lillian was murdered, it could be there was some actual information she might be able to provide. As difficult as that was to believe.

  Miles said, “That might be a good idea. I didn’t have much breakfast. Myrtle, do you have any hand sanitizer I could borrow?”

  Myrtle fished a bottle out of her huge purse and Miles looked much-relieved as he slathered some on his hands.

  “I don’t think murder is catching, Miles,” said Myrtle with irritation. Then she suddenly stopped short, staring across the yard at a tall man with a short, military-style haircut who was unfolding himself from a police car. “It’s Lieutenant Perkins!”

  Myrtle walked toward him. Miles said, “Myrtle, I think we were dismissed.”

  “That was before I saw my old friend had arrived. I’m sure he’ll want to catch up.”

  Miles looked more doubtful as he followed Myrtle at a distance. Erma had spotted a neighbor watching the proceedings with concern and was excitedly updating her while somehow making herself the star of the story at the same time.

  Red spotted his mother’s determined approach and held up a hand. “Mama, we’re on official police business.”

  “I know that,” she answered crisply. “Why else would Lt. Perkins be here? I merely want to say hello, that’s all.”

  Red watched suspiciously as Myrtle greeted Lt. Perkins.

  “It’s so good to see you again, Mrs. Clover,” said Perkins courteously. He looked as cool and unruffled as usual and, to Myrtle’s mind, was in stark contrast to Red who was getting decidedly flushed and bent out of shape.

  “Well, I know it was good to say hi, Mama, but I need to speak with the lieutenant,” said Red quickly.

  “Not before I invite him over to have a meal with me,” said Myrtle sweetly. “I’ve asked him before but things have been so crazy that we’ve only been able to meet at the diner. This time, I’d like to cook him a real meal.”

  Red and Miles exchanged looks. Myrtle’s cooking was legendary, and not in a good way.

  Red said, “And once again, Lt. Perkins finds himself very, very busy, Mama.”

  Perkins smiled at Myrtle and for once his eyes actually crinkled up at the corners. “You know, I think I would enjoy a real, home-cooked meal.”

  Myrtle beamed at him. “Well, I’m just as pleased as punch! Would you like to come over tonight? I’m sure I could whip something up.”

  Red gave Perkins a meaningful look and said, “Actually, I think we’re still going to be hashing through this case tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning would be better, before he kicks off the day.”

  Myrtle gave her son an annoyed look. “You understand this is a private breakfast, Red. It’s just me and Lt. Perkins. And maybe Miles,” she said, including her sidekick in a half-hearted manner.

  Red looked up at the heavens as if seeking patience there. “That’s absolutely fine. I certainly don’t want to crash your breakfast party. I understand you’re only being difficult because I was upset at the revolt you led at Greener Pastures retirement home.”

  A smile pulled at the lieutenant’s lips and Miles dissolved into one of his odd coughing fits again.

  “You shouldn’t be so angry, Red. You know it does things to your blood pressure. Besides, it wasn’t a revolt at all. It was a perfectly peaceful march to the management. The only way a revolt figured into the equation at all was the food. It was revolting. They’ve changed their food vendor to save money and the poor inmates—”

  “Residents,” said Red.

  “The poor inmates have been eating like children every day. Who gives chicken tenders and fish sticks to octogenarians? Cheese dippers with marinara sauce? What kind of statement were they trying to make? The menu is condescending, I tell you,” said Myrtle.

  Perkins said thoughtfully, “I think I did hear about some sort of uprising at the retirement home lately.”

  Myrtle looked pleased. Sensing a more sympathetic audience she said, “The food is frequently served cold and that place is way too expensive for folks to have to eat cold fish sticks. The vegetables are weird, too.”

  “Weird vegetables?” asked Miles, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.

  “Yes. Beets. Beets, I tell you! What happened to good, old-fashioned broccoli or spinach? What’s wrong with those people?”

  Red rolled his eyes. “Now, thanks to you, the residents’ rates will go up and they’ll switch food vendors. Problem solved.”

  Perkins said smoothly, “Breakfast sounds lovely, Mrs. Clover. Is early all right?”

  Myrtle gave him a big smile, “I frequently get up for the day at three a.m. Any time after that is fine.”

  Perkins said, “Let’s make it seven-thirty.”

  Red murmured, “And breakfast, fortunately, is a difficult meal to mess up.”

  Chapter Three

  Afew minutes later , Miles got into his car and Myrtle climbed reluctantly back into Erma’s. She hadn’t been quick enough to think of a good excuse to ride there with Miles.

  It was the ride over to the diner tha
t was most annoying to Myrtle.

  Erma said with a sidelong glance, “You don’t think Wanda did this, do you? I’m just asking because you always do that detecting work.”

  Myrtle swung around to glare at Erma. “What on earth are you implying?” she asked coldly.

  Erma kept on going, not even registering Myrtle’s displeasure. “Wanda knew something.”

  “Of course she knew something. She is psychic.” Myrtle glared at Erma.

  “Wanda knew Lillian was going to die,” persisted Erma.

  “Wanda knew Lillian was in danger and felt a responsibility to warn her of that. Because she didn’t think she’d be taken seriously, Wanda asked me to relay the information. If Lillian was too foolhardy to pay attention, that’s completely her own fault and absolutely nothing to do with Wanda.”

  Erma was still apparently mulling things over. Considering Erma’s intelligence level, it was a sluggish and painful process. “Was Miles dating Lillian? Is that why he was at her house?”

  “Certainly not! Miles is a new member of the garden club and was simply picking up Lillian’s donation for the silent auction. Erma, you need to stop trying to connect the dots. The conclusions you’re drawing are wildly inaccurate.”

  Myrtle was relieved they’d finally made it to downtown Bradley and the diner. Erma found a parking place in the front and Miles pulled in right next to them. Thankfully, the usually-crowded diner seemed to be having a slow day. They were able to get a table immediately.

  Myrtle was determined this lunch with Erma would be as quick as possible. She didn’t even look at the menu. “I know what I want. A pimento cheese dog with chili fries. Miles, you usually get the salad.”

  Miles, for some reason, was studying the menu as if he’d never eaten at Bo’s Diner before. “I’ve never tried their fried chicken.”

  Erma said, “Oh, it’s wonderful. The breading is yummy. And it comes with these buttery green beans. I’ve found them very easy to digest.”

  Myrtle gave Miles her best retired-teacher-stare. They needed to avoid talk of Erma’s digestive activities at all cost during lunch. “The fried chicken might take a while to prepare.”

  Erma gave her braying laugh. “No way! They have a fryer ready to go. It’ll just take minutes.”

  Myrtle said, “Do you know what you want, Erma?”

  Now Erma, who had been very confident about what Miles should order, suddenly looked unsure. “This is tough. I either want the meat-and-three vegetable platter or the country fried steak and gravy.”

  Myrtle said briskly, “That’s easy. Pick one and have the other the next time you come.”

  “But I don’t go out very often.”

  Miles started coughing behind his laminated menu. His cough, to Myrtle’s ears, sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

  “Then order one for take-out and eat it for supper! Really, Erma, this is not brain surgery,” said Myrtle crossly.

  But Erma continued debating the pros and cons of the two dishes until the waitress came by a second time.

  Myrtle said between gritted teeth, “Erma, I have things to do at home.”

  Erma, who’d been chewing her nails as she’d fretted over the monumental decision, said, “Okay. I’ll get the meat-and-three.”

  The waitress asked, “Great. Which meat and which three vegetables?”

  This spawned another few minutes of agony as Erma attempted to pick them from a fairly robust list on the menu.

  Finally, the ordeal was over and the waitress trotted off to place their order. Myrtle opened her mouth to quickly broach the subject of Lillian’s murder, but Erma beat her to it.

  “Okay, so if Wanda wasn’t involved in killing Lillian, then who was?” Erma leaned forward over the Formica table to stare at Myrtle and Miles.

  “Shouldn’t you be telling us? You were Lillian’s friend, after all. What were her relationships like?” asked Myrtle. “The people closest to her are usually the most-likely suspects. Who would those people be?”

  Erma’s rodent-like features pursed in thought. “Lillian and her daughter, Annie, didn’t get along. Lillian was so generous to her and offered her a job. Annie wouldn’t even take it. Guess she thought she was too good for it or something. That’s what Lillian thought, anyway.”

  Miles asked, “What did Lillian do?”

  Myrtle said, “She was a florist. Had her own shop downtown. But not everyone is cut out to be a florist. Did Lillian want Annie to be a florist?”

  Erma shrugged. “She said Annie wanted to leave town and find her fortune.”

  Miles frowned. “That’s an odd turn of phrase for someone in her twenties.”

  Erma said, “Maybe she said something different, but the gist was the same. And then there’s that woman who works for her. She saw her every day.”

  “Why would an employee kill her employer?”

  “You said people close to her. If she saw the woman every day, she was pretty close to her.”

  “Was there anyone else?” asked Myrtle.

  “Lillian and that caterer guy weren’t getting along,” said Erma, still screwing up her face in thought.

  “What caterer guy is that? You mean Rowan Blain? The one who’s catering the silent auction for the garden club?”

  At the mention of the silent auction, Miles shifted uncomfortably as if his stomach hurt.

  “Yeah. Rowan and Lillian didn’t get along,” said Erma. “Guess they saw each other too much at weddings and such since he was catering food and she was doing flowers.”

  Myrtle asked, “Didn’t Lillian have a son, too?”

  “Martin.” Erma brightened. “He’s a nice guy. Always joking and laughing. Lillian liked him a lot.”

  “But she didn’t try to make him be a florist?”

  “Nope. She’d pegged Annie for that. Martin had other plans—big plans, not flower shop plans. He’s got lots of money and drives a nice car,” said Erma. “He lives on the lake and has big parties out there.”

  “And what does he do?” asked Myrtle.

  Erma was vague on this. “He’s an entrepreneur.”

  “Hm,” said Myrtle. Myrtle had opinions about people who called themselves entrepreneurs. So often they weren’t exactly what they made themselves out to be.

  The food arrived and Erma delved into her veggies with gusto. Myrtle figured, with any luck, she would be done in mere minutes. Of course, Miles was nibbling at his food like a rabbit, which would only drag the meal out longer. But maybe Myrtle could give him a kick under the table and talk about the virtues of to-go boxes and finishing one’s food later.

  Erma said something, which was completely unintelligible around her mouthful of food. She started coughing and then choking while Miles gazed at her with wide-eyed alarm.

  “For heaven’s sake, Erma, drink some water! Don’t try to talk,” snapped Myrtle.

  She was vastly relieved when Erma regained control and Myrtle wasn’t needed to perform a Heimlich maneuver.

  Erma gasped for breath for a few moments, face flushed, before giving a sheepish grin.

  Miles said politely, “You were saying, Erma?”

  Myrtle gave him a look to indicate he shouldn’t encourage her.

  Erma said, “I was just saying that when I was talking to the next-door neighbor, she was kind of interesting. Do you remember when I was talking to her?” She peered at Myrtle.

  “Of course I remember! It was only forty-five minutes ago,” said Myrtle irritably. It was very annoying when people treated her as if her memory was shot to pieces.

  “Well, I didn’t know her, but I got to meet her. I was explaining Lillian and I were very close friends. Did you know Lillian and I used to do things together all the time? Sometimes we’d go for lunch. Sometimes we go out for dinner. Sometimes we just sat around and talked about health stuff.”

  Myrtle said between gritted teeth, “Just the
headlines, Erma. Who was this neighbor?”

  Erma seemed to be experiencing memory issues of her own, however. “Let’s see. She had a weird name. I mean, it was a pretty name, but it wasn’t a name like Jane or Amy or something like that. I think it started with a ‘t’.”

  “Tonya?” asked Miles helpfully.

  “Tina? Tori? Tammy? Teresia? Terri? Trish?” asked Myrtle, tossing out names haphazardly in her effort to wrap this lunch up for good.

  “Noooooo,” said Erma slowly. She screwed her face up tightly again to remember. Then she snapped her fingers. “Got it! Tallulah. So I was telling Tallulah about all the things Lillian and I would do together and how close we were.”

  Myrtle attempted to get the conversation back on track. “Erma, I’m guessing there’s a point to this. Something to do with the interesting thing Tallulah said?”

  “Right. Anyway, when I was telling her about Lillian and me, she broke in and interrupted. She was really being kind of rude,” said Erma thoughtfully, as if the realization just struck her. “She said she didn’t understand how I could have spent so much time with Lillian when Lillian was such a difficult person to be around.”

  Miles lifted an eyebrow and Myrtle said, “Did Tallulah say what made Lillian difficult?”

  “Nope.” Erma shrugged. “That was it. I just thought it was sort of weird when I was saying such nice things about Lillian. And the fact Lillian had just died and everything. A neighbor should have been more upset about it.” Her eyes widened. “Maybe she killed Lillian! And I was just talking to her.”

  Myrtle said, “It’s a long way from thinking someone is difficult to killing them.” She looked at her watch and gave Miles a very pointed look. “I think it’s time for me to leave. I have some very important things to do.”

  Miles looked down at his half-eaten meal.

  “I will get you a to-go box,” said Myrtle briskly.

  Erma gave them a jolly wave as she drove away from Bo’s Diner. Myrtle gave a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens that’s over. Now onto other things.”

  Miles asked hopefully, “Like going to your house and watching Tomorrow’s Promise while I finish my lunch?”