Hushed Up

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  “Of course, I hadn’t actually seen Lillian for weeks. We’ve been working completely different events. I’ve been recruited for some out-of-town jobs,” he said.

  Miles raised his eyebrows. “I’m guessing that must be quite a coup.”

  Rowan tried and failed to look modest. “I’ve many very kind friends who do their best to spread the word about my catering.”

  “And Lillian wasn’t working those jobs? I can only imagine she must have been professionally envious about losing those opportunities,” said Myrtle.

  Rowan clasped his hands together. “She wasn’t pleased, but Lillian frequently wasn’t pleased, was she? As I mentioned, she was such a perfectionist. That poor assistant of hers.” He rolled his eyes dramatically.

  “Bianca?” prompted Myrtle.

  “The hapless Bianca, yes. I’m sure Lillian would have blamed any lost opportunities on Bianca. She frequently complained about her lack of productivity because of Bianca’s ineptitude and pokiness.” A smile played around Rowan’s mouth at the memory.

  “She was too slow?” asked Myrtle.

  “I don’t think it was as much that she was slow as the fact that Lillian, nine times out of ten, would completely undo everything Bianca had done. Lillian was never completely pleased with the arrangements Bianca came up with and was always pulling them apart. No wonder it took Bianca forever to finish. And Lillian could be sooo mean to Bianca. So completely harsh. A couple of times it crossed my mind to bring Bianca on board with me as an assistant. The poor lamb.” Rowan clicked his tongue.

  Miles cleared his throat. “But you didn’t.”

  Rowan looked at him with wide eyes. “Of course not! It would have been professional suicide. Lillian would never have forgiven me for poaching one of her employees, no matter how much she complained about her. She’d have carped at me for ages and ages.”

  “She had a long memory, then,” said Myrtle.

  “Like an elephant! She held grudges like crazy. Honestly, I’m amazed Lillian didn’t die of natural causes. She’d get so keyed up that I’d assumed she’d have had a heart attack long ago. She was so very uptight.” He reached out a hand to Benji who’d woken up and trotted over to nuzzle Rowan.

  Miles tentatively picked up a mini quiche and took a hesitant bite. He quickly took a larger bite next.

  Rowan beamed at him.

  Myrtle said, “Who do you think could have done such a thing to Lillian?”

  Rowan said casually, “Oh her daughter, don’t you think?”

  “Annie? You think so?”

  “Certainly. Well, I don’t have any evidence to that effect or anything. It’s just my gut reaction.” He put a hand on his belly.

  Myrtle mused, “I really didn’t see Lillian with her daughter, I don’t think.”

  Rowan’s eyes were big again. “If you had, you wouldn’t have forgotten it. They were like cats and dogs, those two. In fact, you wouldn’t have even had to see them together . . . you could probably have heard them from half a mile away.”

  “What were their arguments over?” asked Miles curiously. “Annie doesn’t seem so terrible to me.”

  “Of course she’s not. She’s a perfectly lovely young woman with a lot of promise who’s going to be inspirational to a lot of America’s young people as a wonderful teacher. But to Lillian, she was a dreadful disappointment,” said Rowan.

  “Just because she didn’t want to be a florist?” asked Miles. “That seems very short-sighted of Lillian.”

  Rowan pursed his lips and considered this. “You’re right. But the way I think it worked is that Lillian thought she was raising an apprentice. She had Annie over at that shop ringing up customers when she was just a wee thing. Had a stool so she could see over the counter. All the customers thought Annie was adorable, of course. She was sort of a draw. But I don’t believe Annie even liked being in the shop back then. Her brother Martin was barely in the shop at all and Lillian seemed to fawn over him.”

  Myrtle said, “Obviously, Lillian had lower expectations for Martin.”

  Rowan shrugged. “It was one of those doting mother-son things. He was spoiled silly.”

  Miles said, “And then Annie decided she wanted to be a teacher instead of a florist.”

  “No, no, it all started before that. Lillian had Annie start doing arrangements for her. Just the really simple kind at first—you know, the bud vases for the sanctuaries in honor of a new baby . . . that sort of thing. But Lillian was such a perfectionist that she even found fault with the tiniest missteps of Annie’s.”

  Myrtle frowned. “Ridiculous. Especially considering she was a child and Lillian was getting free labor.”

  Rowan nodded. “And Annie wasn’t getting any positive feedback whatsoever, as far as I could tell. Only criticism. I’d drop by the shop and compliment Annie on one of her little arrangements. ‘Oh, it’s so beautiful, Annie! Such a wonderful job you did!’ And her tiny face would just beam! She was so happy. But then Lillian would scowl at the poor little thing and tell her she hadn’t put enough baby’s breath in the bud vase. She was absolutely awful to her in every single way. Couldn’t say a nice thing to save her own soul.”

  Miles said, “And Lillian wasn’t the same with Martin?”

  Rowan said, “Goodness, no. As far as Lillian was concerned, Martin was the bee’s knees. He could do no wrong. Even though he did do wrong, of course. He was something of a heathen in high school, I think. Did you teach him, Miss Myrtle?”

  “No, I didn’t. Although I taught some of the older friends he ran around with. Little pagans, all of them,” said Myrtle, making a face.

  Rowan chuckled. “Too funny. Although I can’t really say anything bad about Martin right now because he’s paying me to handle the funeral reception for his mama.”

  “Really?” Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “He’s turning down the church ladies with their casseroles? Lillian was an active member of the church and I’m sure the bereavement committee already had a complete plan for running Lillian’s funeral reception.”

  “Oh, you know they did. With chicken divan and ham biscuits and all!” Rowan managed not to sound condescending when speaking of the church ladies’ offerings. “But apparently, Martin wanted a bit of an upgrade in terms of the buffet.” Rowan again tried and failed to look modest.

  Myrtle said, “Well, that’s going to create some grumblings at the church.”

  “Not that Martin attends, anyway,” said Rowan. “So he’ll be largely unaffected.” He suddenly changed tack. His voice was slightly wheedling now. “Miss Myrtle, are you still writing your lovely stories for the newspaper?”

  Myrtle straightened in her seat. “I most certainly am. Did you see my piece on Lillian?”

  Rowan’s eyes widened. “That was your article? Such an amazing story.”

  “I wrote the coverage on her murder and the write-up on her life,” said Myrtle, looking smug.

  Rowan said, “Now I hope I’m not stepping out of line, Miss Myrtle. But I would love for you to write a feature on my modest catering business for the paper. Doesn’t the Bugle do write-ups or profiles of local businesses? They should!”

  “I thought you had all the business you could handle,” said Myrtle. “You’re even catering events for other towns, for heaven’s sake.”

  Rowan said, “Oh, but I’m a workaholic. Besides, who doesn’t love seeing a write-up of themselves in the local newspaper? I’d be a celebrity, practically.” He paused and said, “And I’d be sure to advertise. You know, as sort of a quid pro quo.”

  “I could tell Sloan. He’s always looking for things to publish and definitely could use more advertising. Of course, I don’t write those types of stories. It would have to be a junior reporter on the staff.” Myrtle sniffed.

  Miles gave her a look.

  Rowan said quickly, “Naturally, you don’t! But maybe you’d take a look at the story with your l
ittle red pen before it’s published? Sometimes there are those tacky typos in articles, but never in yours.”

  Myrtle preened. “I suppose I could do that.”

  Rowan beamed at her. “Excellent!” Then he picked up a folder and gave Myrtle and Miles an apologetic look. “I’m so enjoying our chat, but I guess we should go over the catering details for the auction? I’d hate to have Tippy mad at me.”

  Myrtle said, “Of course we can.” She pulled a small notebook out of her cavernous purse.

  The next fifteen minutes, Rowan delved enthusiastically into the menu plan for the event, the chafing dishes he’d bring, and how he was planning on arranging the food in the space while Myrtle asked questions and jotted down notes. Miles nodded off, jerking back awake in alarm numerous times until it was time for them to leave right as Rowan’s next clients rang the bell.

  Chapter Twelve

  Myrtle held out her hand for the keys as she and Miles walked toward the car. “I’m certainly not getting into a motor vehicle with someone who’s falling asleep like Dozey from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

  Miles frowned. “There wasn’t a Dozey.”

  “Of course there was! He constantly fell asleep, just as you did.”

  Miles said, “His name was Sleepy. I think you made an odd amalgam between Dopey and Sleepy.”

  “Whatever. All I know is that you don’t need to be behind the wheel of a car.” Myrtle held her hand out in a peremptory fashion and Miles reluctantly dropped the keys in it.

  Myrtle slid behind the wheel and started up the car. She carefully backed out onto the road from Rowan’s driveway. It was, in fact, such a very careful backup that by the time she’d executed it, a car had suddenly appeared on the road and honked at her.

  Myrtle glared at it. “Speeders! Where on earth is Red Clover when one needs him?”

  Miles yawned. “Trying to catch a murderer, I suppose.” He rested his head on the passenger window as Myrtle sedately drove toward Magnolia Lane.

  Myrtle gave him a dissatisfied look. “I thought we might talk about Rowan, but I can see that’s not going to work.”

  “All I want to do is go back to bed,” said Miles. “Maybe we can talk about Rowan later.”

  Myrtle said, “You should set an alarm for yourself or else you’ll sleep the entire day and then you’ll be up the entire night.”

  “At this point, even that sounds good. In fact, I might even sleep for 24 hours straight.” He stifled another yawn.

  “As long as you’re ready for Lillian’s funeral tomorrow morning. I’ll need to write a story about it and maybe we’ll have the chance to speak with her family again.”

  Miles snorted. “And have Martin pitch insurance.”

  “You should simply learn to say no. It’s very easy to do.” Myrtle pulled into Miles’s driveway. “All right. I’ll just walk home from here. Do get some sleep, Miles. Your insomnia is cramping my sleuthing.”

  Miles nodded as he stumbled toward his front door.

  “The keys!” Myrtle dangled them and Miles turned around to collect them, dropping them twice before finally making it to the house.

  Back home, Myrtle was closing her front door when Pasha slipped in behind her, blinking up at her fetchingly.

  “Hungry, Pasha?” crooned Myrtle. “What a smart kitty you are. Let’s have something to eat.”

  She opened a can of tuna for the black cat and made herself a bowl of soup. After Pasha finished her food, she hopped up in the chair next to Myrtle’s and purred at her as Myrtle finished off her soup.

  Usually Pasha wanted to leave just as quickly as she arrived, but this time she appeared to want to hang out. Myrtle sat in her recliner with her book and the cat curled up on her sofa as the two relaxed for hours.

  The next morning, Myrtle woke early, eyes flying open. She’d forgotten to evaluate the condition of her funeral outfit before turning in. She slid out of bed and hurried to her closet, flipping through elastic-waisted pants and button-front blouses before finding it. Amazingly, the outfit looked to be in good condition. Usually, ghastly things happened to her funeral clothing in her closet. It was as if gremlins stole in there and mucked the garments through the outdoor garbage bin.

  Because of her early-morning panic over her attire, she was up for good. There was no trying to go back asleep after waking up like that. The problem was that it was exceedingly early in the day. The paper wasn’t in her driveway yet, which was most annoying. Pasha was still out hunting in the darkness and didn’t come when Myrtle opened her kitchen window in invitation. There was nothing left to do but cook, even though Myrtle knew she was going to be eating a lot of heavy foods not much later in the day at Lillian’s funeral reception.

  She’d just cooked up a plate of scrambled eggs, a pot of grits, and a bunch of bacon when her doorbell rang. Myrtle smiled and walked to the door to see Miles.

  “Did you end up turning in at five o’clock last evening?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I was able to stay up until eight. But I woke up early, anyway.”

  Myrtle peered at him. “You do seem more awake than you were yesterday, at least. Well, come on in.”

  Miles followed her to the kitchen and surveyed the large amount of food. “Did you know I was coming?”

  Myrtle shrugged. “There wasn’t anything else for me to do, so I decided to cook.” She made Miles a plate of eggs, bacon, and grits.

  Miles ate a forkful. “This is all good, Myrtle. See, you really just need to stick to simple foods. You’ve mastered simple foods.”

  “But that’s not fun to cook. I like the creative part of cooking.”

  Miles didn’t answer, continuing to eat his breakfast.

  Myrtle snapped her fingers. “We do have something we can do. I have a Tomorrow’s Promise taped that we can see after breakfast.”

  “Good. That should take up a whole forty-five minutes.” Miles looked morosely at the clock and the earliness of the hour.

  “Well, the newspaper should have come by then, and we’ll be able to work on the crossword puzzle together. Maybe we can even do the sudoku.”

  Miles said, “The sudoku? You never work those.”

  “If I’m killing time I might. And then it might be time to get ready for the funeral.”

  Miles looked doubtful. “Perhaps. If we spend hours working the puzzles.”

  Somehow, they managed to fill the hours before Lillian’s funeral. They left early for the service and were the only ones there besides the family.

  This made Miles nervous. “We shouldn’t have come so early. I feel as if we’re intruding on the family.”

  “We’re simply making sure we’re here promptly to pay our respects. Oh look, Martin’s coming over.”

  Miles sighed. “He’ll use this event as an excellent excuse to sell life insurance. Or funeral insurance or something.”

  “Nonsense,” said Myrtle and then smiled a somber it’s-a-funeral smile at Martin as he approached them. “Martin, everything looks lovely here. Lillian would have been so pleased.”

  He beamed at them. “Do you think so? Mama was always hard to please, so those words are high praise.” He swooped in to give Myrtle a hug and bobbed his head at Miles. “I just wanted to say that y’all are more than welcome to sit under the tent.”

  Miles looked alarmed. “Oh no. No, we wouldn’t want to sit in the family seating.”

  Martin waved his hand. “There really isn’t much family and it’s ridiculous for the two of you to stand in the hot sun for ages. Please.”

  Miles opened his mouth as if to argue the point and Myrtle cut in smoothly, “That is just lovely of you, Martin, thank you. We’ll do that.”

  He nodded and then looked across the cemetery. “Here’s Rowan. I should check in with him about the food for later. You’ll both be at the reception, I hope?”

  “Of course we will,” said M
yrtle.

  Martin smiled at them and then hurried off to speak with Rowan as Myrtle pulled Miles’s jacket sleeve.

  “Come on. For heaven’s sake, you act as if you want to stand in the broiling sun for over an hour,” said Myrtle. “Age has at least a few privileges.” A minute later, they sat in folding chairs on the last row of the tent.

  “Look at all of the floral arrangements,” said Miles quietly. “Bianca must have really had to knock herself out to come up with all of these.”

  Myrtle said in a tart voice, “She probably works faster now that Lillian isn’t breathing down her neck telling her all the things she’s doing wrong. And these look very nice. She made them very Southern-looking with the camellia blooms and magnolia leaves.”

  Fifteen minutes later, there were tons of people surrounding Lillian’s grave. Miles raised his eyebrows. “After all the descriptions of Lillian, I somehow had the impression she wasn’t exactly going to be missed. But the entire town seems to have turned out for her funeral.”

  “There you’re wrong,” said Myrtle in her stage whisper that could likely be heard a couple of rows ahead of them. “They’re here for the reception afterward. Rowan Blaine makes absolutely fabulous food. Besides, there will be tons of opportunity for them to gossip, which is what the town of Bradley likes best.” She bumped her leg into Miles’s. “Look over there.”

  Miles pushed his glasses farther up his nose and peered through them. “At Erma?”

  “Certainly not at Erma. We must always try to avoid looking at Erma. She sometimes sees it as a cue to engage in conversation. No, I mean the church ladies near her. See how sullen they look? They’re staring daggers at Martin. You absolutely don’t cut out the church ladies when they’re planning on running a funeral reception for you.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” said Miles dryly.

  Myrtle said, “I wonder if their resentment will carry over to avoiding Rowan’s food? I doubt it.” She continued looking around. “There’s Tallulah. Wow, she looks pretty rough today.”

  “It’s a funeral, after all. There should be plenty of people looking rough.”