Death of a Suitor

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  “If you sleep in?”

  “You’ll have to check my pulse if I sleep past six. You know that, Miles,” said Myrtle impatiently.

  “Well, I believe that I might sleep just a bit later than that, after all the excitement. Let’s make it eight o’clock.”

  Myrtle grumbled, “I might be on a second or third breakfast by then.”

  Miles did make it over at eight o’clock and Myrtle gave every evidence of having been awake for quite some time. She’d made fluffy pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and set out some local jam to have with toast.

  “This is a feast,” said Miles. He wondered again how Myrtle had been able to master breakfast so successfully, considering her culinary shortfalls at other times of the day.

  “I haven’t eaten yet,” said Myrtle. “I decided to just drink coffee. But now the coffee has been sloshing around in my stomach for a few hours and I need something to soak it all up.”

  They sat at the kitchen table together. Miles had his sudoku from home and Myrtle was working from her crossword puzzle book since she’d already worked the puzzle in the morning paper. They ate in happy silence for a while. Until there was a knock at the door.

  “For heaven’s sake! It’s like Grand Central Station here.” Myrtle got up and stalked to the door, peering out the window. “It’s Red.”

  Miles carefully put his fork down. “Uh-oh.”

  “I’m sure he’s here to see me. He’s probably found out about that visit I had to Greener Pastures Retirement Home the other day.” Myrtle appeared in no hurry to let Red inside.

  “Did you spur another insurrection?” asked Miles.

  “Only a minor one. I reminded the poor inmates that they weren’t prisoners over there. They could leave. And they could protest conditions. They had a small parade of cars that went around and around the parking lot with signs for better food.”

  Red knocked again, this time a bit louder and harder.

  “And how did the parade go?” Miles hid a smile. The insurrections at Greener Pastures never seemed to go exactly as Myrtle imagined them.

  “They made quite the impression on the staff, I heard. Until there was a fender-bender.”

  “Hmm.”

  The doorbell rang several times in a row.

  “You’d think Red would have even worse blood pressure than he does,” mused Myrtle. “He gets so excitable sometimes.”

  “Perhaps you should let him inside,” suggested Miles. “I don’t fancy the idea of having an angry Red interviewing me.”

  Myrtle finally opened the door. Her son was standing there on the doorstep, quite flushed in the face.

  Chapter Five

  “TEMPER, TEMPER,” SHE said, making a tsking sound.

  “Mama. What took you so long? I was starting to think I was going to have to break in. You might have been lying on the floor with a broken hip or something.”

  “What a ridiculous idea! I’m very sure-footed, Red. You know that. Besides, Miles is here.”

  Miles raised a hand in greeting and swallowed.

  Red nodded his head. “Hi there, Miles. Sorry you’re having to put up with Mama’s nonsense so early in the day. I was hoping I’d see you here. I ran by your house and didn’t get any answer.”

  Miles gave a hoarse chuckle. “Yes, well, your mom made a nice breakfast for me.”

  Red looked at the remains of the breakfast skeptically. “If you say so. I’m glad I found you. I thought you might have skipped out of town.” He grinned at Miles.

  Miles shifted in his chair. “Did you need to ask me some questions?”

  “I’m afraid I do. It’s just the nature of the job, you know.” He turned to Myrtle. “Do you have any coffee left, Mama?”

  Myrtle put her hands on her hips. “I’m not sure if I want to offer you any hospitality if you’re going to be mean to Miles.”

  Red’s eyebrows flew up. “Mean to Miles? Mama, I’m just asking him a few basic questions.”

  “Maybe we want Lieutenant Perkins to ask them.” Myrtle put her chin in the air.

  Miles apparently didn’t want to be involved in this contretemps. “Myrtle, it’s fine if Red wants to ask me questions. I don’t have a problem with that.”

  “Thank you, Miles.” Red went in search of his own coffee, which he poured black. He sat down across from Miles. “Now I hear that you were involved in some sort of love triangle.”

  Miles’s face went pale and then bright-red. “Oh no. Is that what people are saying around town?”

  “I don’t think that’s what people are saying, necessarily. It’s just what I’ve picked up from other people involved in this investigation.”

  Miles said miserably, “Well, it sure won’t take long for it to spread around town, that’s for sure. I had no idea that I was involved in a love triangle, actually, until right before Jax’s death.”

  Myrtle exclaimed, “Miles! You shouldn’t say things like that.”

  “It’s the truth, though.”

  “Maybe you should have a lawyer present,” said Myrtle, glaring at Red.

  Red raised his hands in surrender. “If Miles wants a lawyer here, then by all means.”

  Miles said coldly, “I don’t need a lawyer. I had nothing to do with Jax’s death. As a matter of fact, I was trying to extricate myself from my relationship with Eloise. Finding out that Jax had been seeing Eloise provided an excellent excuse.”

  Myrtle interjected, “He was delighted that Jax was dating Eloise. He was practically walking on air.”

  Red looked doubtfully at Miles, unable to picture that sort of effervescence in conjunction with the somber man in front of him. “Okay. So you and Eloise were dating. But you weren’t completely happy in the relationship.”

  “Who would be?” muttered Myrtle.

  Red continued, ignoring his mother. “You were looking for a way out. And you learned that Jax and Eloise were seeing each other.”

  “Elaine told me about it,” said Myrtle. “Although you probably know that.”

  Red looked sorry that his wife’s name was being dragged into a murder investigation, even tangentially. “And you told Miles.”

  “Of course I did. It was exactly the kind of information that was going to help extricate him from that relationship.”

  Red turned back to Miles. “And then you broke up with Eloise?”

  “I did. As best I could,” said Miles.

  “But Eloise called you,” said Red.

  Myrtle said in a sour voice, “We suspect that Eloise doesn’t completely understand how break-ups actually work.”

  “She told you about Jax’s death,” continued Red.

  “Miles was with me the whole time,” said Myrtle immediately.

  Miles looked at Myrtle with wide eyes.

  Red frowned. “The whole time? You mean there was no opportunity for Miles to have seen Jax?”

  “Absolutely none.”

  Red tilted his head to one side. “That seems like a rather long time for a visit. What were you doing over here that whole time?”

  Myrtle looked down her nose at him. “A variety of high-minded and intellectual pursuits. We played chess for a while. Then we played cards. We worked on our puzzles and discussed Ethan Frome, which is our book club selection for the meeting today. And then we relaxed by watching television.”

  “Tomorrow’s Promise, I presume.” Red’s eyes had something of a teasing light in them which made Miles blush.

  “A busy mind needs a break every now and then,” said Myrtle with a sniff.

  Red gave Miles a thoughtful look before getting up. “Okay. Well, thanks for the information, Miles. Hope everything goes well at garden club today.”

  “Book club,” said Myrtle shortly as she followed Red to the door and carefully closed and locked it behind him.

  Miles said solemnly, “Myrtle, you lied.”

  “I gave you an alibi. Think about it, Miles—the police would be completely wasting their time if they started whole-hearted
ly investigating you. It would be totally counter-productive. You had nothing to do with Jax’s death.”

  Miles said, “I just hope no one wrecks your alibi. Then we’d both get into trouble.”

  “No one would dare,” said Myrtle, her eyes narrowing. It boded ill for anyone who even considered it. “And I just can’t tell you how very annoyed I am with Red.”

  “You’re always annoyed with Red.”

  “Especially right now.” She picked up her phone and carefully dialed her yard man, Dusty.

  Dusty answered the phone sounding groggy and defensive. “H’lo?”

  “Dusty. It’s Myrtle Clover.”

  “Too wet to mow, Miz Clover!” howled Dusty on the other end.

  “For heaven’s sake! Did I ask you to mow?”

  “What else are you callin’ about? Not them gnomes again.”

  Myrtle said, “Yes indeed, the gnomes. I need all of them out in my yard, pronto.”

  Dusty groaned as if a headache had suddenly been induced.

  Miles said, “Are you sure, Myrtle? Remember, it’s book club today.”

  “I’m absolutely positive. It will be a testament to the entire club that Red has been treading on thin ice again.”

  Dusty said, “What time?”

  “Just as soon as you can get over here. And Puddin is supposed to be here this morning, too and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her.”

  Dusty growled, “It is pretty early.”

  “Time is relative.” Then Myrtle added sternly, “Remind her I’m hosting book club today.”

  Dusty took that to mean that he should inform Puddin right that second. He hollered the message to her and she hollered back at him.

  “She wants ter know if she’s invited,” said Dusty.

  Myrtle said, “Not unless she has time to read Ethan Frome and comment intelligently on it in the next few hours.”

  Dusty relayed this message and Myrtle could hear Puddin’s sullen response, herself.

  Dusty said, “We’ll be there in the next twenty minutes.”

  “Excellent.” Myrtle hung up the phone.

  It was more like thirty minutes when Dusty and Puddin showed up. Miles had headed back home to prepare for book club and, Myrtle suspected, take a nap. Puddin’s pale features had a surly expression. On the bright side, however, she’d actually brought her own cleaning products. That was often not the case.

  Myrtle said, “Now Puddin, as you know, I’m hosting book club shortly. You know what you need to do to make the house presentable.”

  Puddin grumbled under her breath.

  “It won’t take you long if you just attack it. Act like the dust is a mortal enemy. Have the vacuum be your weapon.”

  Puddin’s expression indicated that she believed Myrtle had suffered a small stroke. She sauntered into the back of the house with her bucket and supplies.

  “Dusty, I’d like you to pull out as many of the gnomes as you can.”

  Dusty groaned, but nodded. “What did he do this time?”

  “Red, you mean? He’s being completely impossible. He’s acting like Miles had something to do with this murder he’s investigating.”

  Dusty gave a startled cackle and shook his head. “Yeah. Believe me, I know some bad guys. Miles ain’t one of them.”

  “No, he’s not. Red really should be focusing his time and attention on the woman who was seeing Jax.”

  Dusty looked interested. “That Eloise? Ain’t that her name?”

  Myrtle frowned. “How very perceptive of you, Dusty. Do you know her? And Jax?”

  Dusty spat on the ground, which seemed to be a commentary on Eloise, Jax, or both of them. “Yep. Was Jax’s yard man. Lots of comin’s and goin’s over there.”

  “Women, you mean?” asked Myrtle.

  “Yep. Especially that Eloise lately.”

  Myrtle said, “It’s obvious to me that Eloise has a criminal mind. Red hasn’t paid nearly enough attention to her as a suspect. It’s all very annoying.”

  Dusty seemed entirely too eager to chat and Myrtle realized the clock was ticking. “Okay, well, chop-chop! There’s no time like the present. I’ve just had a fabulous idea and need to get started on it.”

  Dusty sighed and loped off for the storage shed that held Myrtle’s extensive gnome collection. Inside, Puddin was lackadaisically wiping down the bathroom. Myrtle took out magic markers and paper from her desk and took them to her kitchen table. She proceeded to make signs and then regarded them admiringly when she was done.

  Puddin came in, looking pouty. Then she stared curiously at Myrtle’s signs. “Whacha doin’ there?”

  Myrtle showed her. The signs said Miles is innocent! and Free Miles!

  Puddin looked interested. “Miles is in trouble?” There was a gleeful expression on her face. In her experience, men like Miles usually weren’t.

  “Not really. Red knows better than to really consider Miles as a suspect. But this will serve as a reminder to him and everyone in town that Miles isn’t the problem.”

  Myrtle took the signs and some tape and walked out her front door. She arranged it so that several of the gnomes were holding signs. Then she looked at her handiwork, pleased.

  Dusty grunted as he continued lugging gnomes into the few bare places in the yard. “Reckon that’ll send Red a message.”

  “Unless he’s very dim, which Red isn’t.” Myrtle paused. “What did you think of Jax?”

  Dusty shrugged. “Thought a lot of himself. Said whatever was on his mind.”

  “Yes, that’s the impression I had of him, too. But I didn’t know him as well as you probably did.”

  Dusty spat on the ground again. It appeared to be a visceral reaction to Jax’s name.

  “You clearly didn’t like him much,” said Myrtle.

  “Nope. But he did pay me on time and stayed out of my way. Some people don’t. They hang out their windows and point out what they want me to do.”

  “That would be very annoying. So it sounds like Jax wasn’t all bad,” said Myrtle, hoping to provoke a denial to that statement.

  But Dusty just shrugged again. “Guess not.” He seemed to think about spitting again, but then just bit his lip instead.

  Myrtle walked back inside to supervise Puddin. This was a good thing because Puddin appeared to be opening a bag of chips.

  “Those are mine, Puddin!” called out Myrtle.

  Puddin jumped and dropped the bag of chips on the floor in the process. She glared at Myrtle. “Shouldn’t be sneaking up behind people.”

  “Nonsense. It’s my house. You only reacted that way because you were about to eat my potato chips.”

  Puddin said defensively, “I ain’t had breakfast yet!”

  “Well, potato chips are hardly the breakfast of champions. Here, I have a couple of granola bars that should tide you over.”

  Myrtle went to her pantry, fished in a box, and pulled out two of the bars. Puddin looked suspiciously at them before opening one of them.

  “What’s all this stuff in them?” she asked.

  “Puddin, you’re not five years old. It’s stuff that’s good for you.”

  This did not alleviate Puddin’s concerns.

  Myrtle sighed and pulled the box back out. “Chia seeds, granola, almond butter, and chewy dried cranberries,” she read aloud.

  Puddin scowled at the bars.

  “I think you’ll find them very filling. You probably won’t be hungry for the rest of the day.”

  “Prob’ly not. Because I’ll be feelin’ sick,” drawled Puddin. But she dutifully ate the bars, chewing tentatively as she worked.

  Myrtle spent the time working on her short book club talk about Edith Wharton and Ethan Frome. Miles had warned her to keep her talk “accessible.” This had given her pause. She’d planned on speaking to the group exactly as she had her high school students back in the day. Now she was wondering if her book club might not be up to par with studious teenagers. She might have to dial back some of her points abo
ut the symbolism present in the winter setting and the imagery Wharton chose to portray it.

  She was mulling this over when Dusty came back inside. “Your feet, Dusty!” hollered Puddin from the kitchen.

  Dusty glared at his wife. “My feet is fine,” he protested.

  “Look at what yer trackin’ in,” said Puddin with fiery eyes. She grabbed him by the arm and shoved him out of the house.

  “Well, that was one effective way of preventing a re-vacuuming job,” muttered Myrtle.

  Puddin picked up the few bits of grass from the floor and flung them out of the front door behind Dusty. “Ain’t gonna do no more vacuumin’ today.”

  “And you’re not hungry, are you?” asked Myrtle.

  “Nope. I feel like I have cement in my stomach,” said Puddin, pushing a lock of dirty-blonde hair from her pale face. “And I reckon I’m done, Miz Myrtle.”

  “Done?” Myrtle looked around the room. Nothing glistened, but nothing looked neglected, either. She sighed. “I guess it’ll have to do. They’ll be coming over soon, anyway.”

  “Ain’t you got to put food out?” This was the main reason Puddin wanted to come to book club, Myrtle surmised. That and the fact that she tended to get lots of attention when she did attend.

  Myrtle shook her head. “They changed the rules. Now the hostess doesn’t have to provide food . . . only the attending members.”

  Puddin tilted her head to the side and considered Myrtle thoughtfully through narrowed eyes. “When did they start up this new rule?”

  “Last month,” said Myrtle with a shrug.

  Puddin snickered. “Okay. Well, I better be goin’.”

  Myrtle followed her outside to see Dusty sitting in the truck already. He gestured to the gnomes, which were all lined up in every possible spot in her yard. Myrtle nodded to him and gave him a thumbs-up.

  Chapter Six

  A MERE FIFTEEN MINUTES later, the book club members started showing up. Tippy came in first, which she liked to do since she was club president. She was dressed elegantly in black and white and had her hair pulled up in a chignon. Tippy had recently become elected to local office and Myrtle was relieved to see that the town council had started behaving itself with Tippy in the meetings. She tended to have a calming effect on groups.