Hushed Up

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  “Do you have any examples?” asked Myrtle.

  Bianca quickly shook her head. “Oh no. No, it’s just an observation of mine. It’s not anything major, just some professional rivalry or something.” She looked anxiously at the wall clock. “I’m sorry to have to do this, but I really should get back to work. Especially since I need to figure out what Lillian wanted to do for the silent auction arrangements. And I probably need to check in on Tim again and make sure he’s all right.” She cast a glance toward the back room of the shop.

  “Of course,” said Myrtle smoothly. “We’ll let you get back to it.”

  A minute later, Myrtle and Miles climbed into his car.

  Miles said, “There seem to be plenty of people who didn’t care for Lillian very much.”

  “Indeed. I’m rather surprised Rowan Blaine was one of them. He always seems so congenial.”

  Miles started off down the street. “Bianca said it was professional rivalry.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t even make sense. They weren’t in the same profession together,” said Myrtle crossly.

  “Maybe they simply annoyed each other on the occasions where their paths crossed,” said Miles with a shrug.

  Myrtle rummaged around in her large purse until she found her phone. “I suppose. Maybe they were both Type A people. I’m going to call Tippy and report in on the flowers. Then I’m going to see if she needs me to follow up on the catering. That would be our best bet for talking to Rowan.”

  Miles’s face fell. “Not today, Myrtle. Set it up for tomorrow. I can’t do anything else today without getting sleep first.”

  “You did really well with Bianca,” said Myrtle.

  “I rallied. Briefly. But now I need to go home and put my feet up.”

  Myrtle gave a gusty sigh and called Tippy. It ended up that Tippy’s husband was having to have emergency dental work done and needed a driver. The next day, she had her own appointments and was delighted for Myrtle to take on the caterer for the auction.

  Miles pulled up into Myrtle’s driveway, his expression relieved. “All right, then. See you tomorrow.”

  Myrtle looked at her watch. “Make sure you don’t turn in too early or you’ll end up waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to go back to sleep.”

  Miles shook his head. “There is absolutely no chance of that.”

  At three a.m., there was a tap on Myrtle’s front door. She smiled to herself and opened the front door. Miles was standing there, already fully dressed in khaki pants and a button-down shirt as if it were much later in the day.

  “Come on in and have some coffee,” said Myrtle. She was still wearing her long bathrobe and slippers. “Did you see the newspaper outside, yet?”

  Miles shook his head. “I believe three o’clock is a bit early for the paper to arrive.” He gave her a look through narrowed eyes. “You must have somehow cursed me yesterday when you said I’d wake up in the middle of the night.”

  Myrtle gave a shrug as she grabbed a mug for Miles. “It’s common sense. If you go to bed at six p.m., it’s unlikely you’re going to sleep through the entire night. Just try again tonight a little later. Maybe nine o’clock.”

  Miles sleepily sat down at the kitchen table, stifling a yawn with one hand.

  “Here, you can help me with the crossword puzzle,” said Myrtle, shoving a newspaper at him.

  Miles quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t need help with the crossword puzzle. Besides, this is yesterday’s paper. I’ve already worked the puzzle and know all the answers. Because I didn’t sleep.”

  “I didn’t have time to finish it yesterday. It was something of a busy day. Anyway, it bothers me when it’s not completed.”

  Miles obediently picked up a pencil and started filling in the answers.

  After that, they watched Myrtle’s tape of Tomorrow’s Promise. Miles was mostly awake although he fell asleep during John and Marsha’s wedding scene, which annoyed Myrtle, who wanted to talk about the wedding.

  Myrtle loudly coughed and Miles jerked in his seat and blinked several times.

  “I think hats at weddings are odd, don’t you?” asked Myrtle. “It’s like they’re trying to look British. When Americans attempt to look British, it’s impossible for them to pull it off.”

  Miles nodded blearily, squinting at the television. “I suppose so. I thought John and Marsha were already married.”

  “They were married, but they’ve been divorced for several seasons, remember?”

  Miles shook his head. “But they’ve been having romantic assignations.”

  “Yes, but secretly, because they’re both dating other people. John was dating Samantha and Marsha was dating Sebastian,” said Myrtle.

  Miles blinked again at the television. “And now they’re getting married again.”

  “Yes, because they worked through their problems. Remember? They divorced because Marsha thought John was being secretive because he was having an affair. But actually, he was being secretive because he had a terminal cancer diagnosis and didn’t want to break Marsha’s heart.”

  Miles frowned. “So he broke her heart by divorcing her, instead.”

  “But his intentions were good,” said Myrtle. “Really, Miles, I don’t understand how you could have forgotten all this.”

  “I think it’s coming back to me,” said Miles slowly. “And John’s cancer diagnosis was wrong. The doctor was disbarred.”

  “No, that was Amelie’s cancer diagnosis that was wrong. But John’s cancer was miraculously cured when he went through those experimental treatments up north. Then he was able to tell Marsha everything,” said Myrtle.

  “I can’t keep up,” muttered Miles.

  Myrtle said, “What really bothers me is Annie using our soap opera as an alibi when clearly she had no idea what was going on with the show whatsoever.”

  “Maybe you should tell Red that. We know he certainly doesn’t watch Tomorrow’s Promise.”

  Myrtle said defiantly, “I’m definitely not going to offer Red Clover any information unless he comes to me and asks about it. After all, I’m the resident expert on that soap opera. He should be coming over here and begging me to tell him if Annie has actually been watching the show or is lying through her teeth.”

  “Somehow I don’t see Red doing that,” said Miles.

  “Well then, let him watch it himself and figure out Annie isn’t telling the truth,” said Myrtle.

  “Annie probably just came up with the first alibi she could think of,” said Miles with a shrug. “It might not really mean anything. She knows she has a good motive for her mother’s death. Everyone in town apparently knows Lillian was incredibly demanding and rude to Annie. Maybe she panicked when Red started asking her questions and latched onto the show.”

  Myrtle shrugged. “Then she should have read a recap of the show online before she started talking about it with us. But I agree with you—Annie certainly has motive. After all, she was wanting to leave Bradley altogether in order to escape her mother.”

  “Although Annie seemed to think Bianca could be angry enough to kill her mother,” said Miles. He was looking slightly more awake now that his brain was getting a bit of a workout.

  Myrtle said, “Which was a good way to deflect attention from her.”

  “I have to say that I thought Bianca would be . . . different.”

  Myrtle said, “You came up with an opinion on her before you saw her?”

  “Sort of. I thought she would be a little like Annie, I guess. Or maybe sort of defensive. The kind of person who’s been yelled at for years and is tired of it,” said Miles.

  “But Bianca acted as if she was grateful to Lillian for giving her a job just when she needed it the most. That her no-good husband had left her with a child and no money and Lillian stepped in and helped her out.”

  Miles said, “Maybe she was just trying to hang
onto a job.”

  “Maybe so,” said Myrtle. “Then there’s Martin. He is clearly not exactly what he seems.”

  Miles made a face. “He seems like an insurance salesman to me. And a rather aggressive one.”

  Myrtle waved her hand impatiently. “Yes, but that’s not important. I’m immune, as I mentioned. No, I think he’s hiding something else. That argument with his mother sounds as if it might have been interesting, especially since he’s painting this picture of himself as the adoring and beloved son.”

  Miles said, “At any rate, it doesn’t sound like he was on the receiving end of the same treatment Annie was getting from Lillian.”

  “And then there’s Tallulah. She’s really something else. I think she and Lillian had a lot of the same personality traits—and they weren’t good ones, either. I’m sure she’s not telling the whole truth about why she and Lillian were at odds.”

  Miles said, “You don’t think it was Yard of the Month?”

  “I certainly don’t. And now we have Rowan Blaine as a potential suspect. It seems as though half the people in town didn’t like Lillian,” said Myrtle. “Wanda was right about her being in danger. Too bad Lillian was too snooty to listen to me.”

  Miles said slowly, “I’m beginning to think I made a terrible mistake in joining garden club. Especially if Lillian was a typical garden club member.”

  Myrtle said, “I told you to develop your ability to say no. Now you’re in all sorts of organizations.”

  “I don’t really mind the Scrabble club anymore,” said Miles thoughtfully. “It’s mostly just garden club.”

  “Maybe after this silent auction is over and you’re done with the heavy lifting, you can simply tell Tippy you didn’t realize when you signed up that you wouldn’t be able to contribute enough time to the club,” said Myrtle.

  Miles sighed. “What activity is it that’s supposed to be taking up so much of my time? Watching soap operas? Doing crosswords? Having coffee with you?”

  “None of her business. Besides, Tippy is too much of a lady to ask you. She’ll tell you not to worry and cross you off the membership list,” said Myrtle. She looked at her watch. “How could it possibly still be this early in the morning? I thought surely it was time to run over and see Rowan.”

  “It’s still dark outside,” said Miles with a yawn. He glanced at the clock. “Now that I’ve had coffee, I’m suddenly feeling very tired.”

  “Which makes very little sense, Miles.”

  “I know. Still, I’m going to go home and put my feet up for a while and see if I’m able to catch a few winks. Will you call me when you’re ready to see Rowan?”

  “His office apparently opens at eight, so I’ll call you around 7:30,” said Myrtle.

  Miles frowned. “I don’t think it will take thirty minutes to get there. More like seven.”

  “Yes, but you may want to eat something or brush your hair or your teeth. Rowan is very proper. He may not appreciate growling stomachs or messy hair or food stuck in teeth,” said Myrtle.

  Miles looked alarmed. “Do I have those things?” He abruptly stood up and walked to a mirror in Myrtle’s living room, gazing anxiously at himself.

  “Not right now, but who knows what you may look like later? After all, you haven’t had any sleep and you might do any number of random and peculiar things,” said Myrtle.

  Chapter Eleven

  But when Myrtle called Miles at 7:30, he’d clearly been up for quite some time. Perhaps the specter of appearing uncouth had been hanging over him. At any rate, he seemed in tip-top shape when he picked Myrtle up to head to Rowan’s office a bit later.

  Rowan had a cute brick office in downtown Bradley that had once been a house. It looked more like it was a flower shop than a catering office because Rowan apparently had quite the green thumb, himself. Everything was just right in his garden in front and the lawn was springy and green.

  Myrtle rang the bell and Rowan answered the door with alacrity. “Miss Myrtle! As I live and breathe! What a pleasure to see you today. And you’ve even brought a friend with you.” He reached out his hand.

  “Miles Bradford,” said Miles with a polite smile.

  Rowan took Miles’s hand in both of his. “Any friend of Miss Myrtle’s is a friend of mine. Goodness! Miss Myrtle taught me English and it seems like just yesterday.”

  “Unfortunately, it wasn’t just yesterday,” said Myrtle dryly. “At this point, I’ve been retired for more years than I taught.”

  “We’ll just pretend that isn’t true. Come in, come in! Let’s get you all situated inside. What a treat!”

  Rowan hustled them into a brightly-painted room filled with antique wooden furniture and needlepoint pillows.

  “Now, what will it be? The one or the other?” asked Rowan.

  Miles gave Myrtle a baffled look.

  “What are the choices?” asked Myrtle as if she completely understood what Rowan was talking about.

  “Bloody Marys or mimosas. Oh, actually, let me choose for you. I make the best Bloody Marys. The best!”

  Miles looked faintly scandalized. “But it isn’t even lunch yet.”

  Rowan waved his hand dismissively. “This is breakfast in a glass. I use real tomato juice with tomato bits in there. And there’s celery and a lemon wedge. It’s absolutely scrumptious.”

  Miles gave Myrtle a panicked glance.

  Myrtle clucked at Rowan. “You know I only drink sherry and it’s way too early in the day for a sherry. But thank you.”

  Rowan was crestfallen. Then he sprang up. “At least let me bring you a bite to eat. I have something wonderful in the back that I’ve been experimenting with for a fancy brunch that’s coming up for out-of-town guests for an upcoming wedding. You’ll love these!”

  He dashed to the back of the house and Miles murmured to Myrtle, “If I’d started with a Bloody Mary, I’d have been napping the rest of the day.”

  “Rowan simply lives a livelier life than we do, that’s all,” said Myrtle briskly.

  Rowan swept back into the room a moment later with a platter full of little round foods. “So here we have Mediterranean frittata muffins with lots of yummy veggies in them. And here we have squash and parmesan mini quiches. They will both just melt in your mouth.”

  He lay down a few napkins with Rowan Blaine Catering embossed on them and beamed at Myrtle and Miles. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to see you both today.” He put his hands over his mouth. “Oh goodness. Is this an especially special occasion we’re planning? Perhaps I should have offered to bring out the champagne.”

  Miles turned a ruddy color and Myrtle snorted. “If you’re talking about a wedding, then no. Miles is my friend. We’re also both in garden club and are following up for Tippy on the silent auction plan.”

  Rowan gave us both sympathetic looks. “What a terrible mess that all is. Poor Lillian. The club is going through with the auction, then?”

  “At the family’s insistence,” said Myrtle.

  Rowan nodded thoughtfully. “Good for them. Lillian would have been the first one to say ‘business as usual.’ But then, those of us in this business know all about life’s little curve balls. We’re making food and floral arrangements for weddings, baptisms, golden anniversaries, and funerals. Life just keeps right on trucking.”

  “You’re exactly right—Lillian would have wanted the auction to carry on,” said Myrtle.

  Miles said, “I suppose you knew her very well, then? Working in similar businesses in a small town?”

  “Goodness, yes. Yes, I knew Lillian Johnson better than I knew my own family. Warts and all.” He gave a rueful laugh and shook his head. “I tell you, that lady was a mess sometimes.”

  “And she could be very difficult to get along with,” said Myrtle.

  Miles said, “I’m just a bit curious. I didn’t know her very well, considering I’m new to the club.”<
br />
  Rowan said, “Oh, I can tell you all about her. The one word I’d use to sum Lillian up is artiste. Lillian was an artist in every way. And yes, she was a perfectionist. But she never asked more of anyone than she did of herself. She felt personally responsible that each event she worked would be a tremendous success in every way.”

  “She was very complex,” offered Myrtle, trying to get Rowan to be a little less-complimentary.

  “People have a hard time understanding artists in general,” said Rowan, waving his hand again to indicate the impossibility of the task. “Lillian was a consummate professional, as am I. From that perspective, we had gobs in common. We both cared passionately about our jobs and wanted everything to go perfectly.”

  “So the two of you got along well then,” said Myrtle.

  “Well, you know how perfectionists can be. Sometimes Lillian and I might have bumped heads a little, but we always had the greatest respect for each other.”

  Miles said, “It must have been quite a shock when you found out she was gone.”

  Rowan looked solemn. “It certainly was. I understand she was murdered the evening before and discovered in the morning. It’s hard to believe that while I was busily working late and then going upstairs to my little dog that poor Lillian was fighting for her life. It makes me feel as if there must have been something I could have done to prevent this from happening.”

  “It’s hard to imagine no one saw or heard anything,” said Myrtle.

  Rowan nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! I was just telling someone the same thing. In a town like Bradley where everyone is mixed up in everyone else’s business, it’s hard to believe Lillian could meet such a terrible end. Of all nights for me to stay inside and work. It’s just this major wedding I’m working on. Every time I come up with a fabulous menu, the bride calls me up and makes changes. I’m a nervous wreck! So I stayed up burning the midnight oil and coming up with another menu for the millionth time and didn’t walk little Benji.”

  He gestured across the room to a tiny dog curled up in a chair. Myrtle had originally mistaken the creature for a particularly fluffy pillow.