Miles thought about this. “The Howdy Doody show.”
Myrtle said dryly, “I meant something that’s still attainable. Besides, if you watched the Howdy Doody show now, I doubt it would have the same effect. What about comfort foods?”
Miles knit his brows together. “You’re not proposing cooking it, are you?” In fact, meatloaf had come to his mind immediately, but he certainly didn’t want to task Myrtle with that. He quickly added, “Beanie Weenies.”
Myrtle blinked at him. “You surprise me, Miles. You seem far too refined for franks and beans. Won’t it play havoc with your delicate digestive system?”
“I haven’t had it for decades,” said Miles slowly. “But I can’t imagine a small bowl of it would do much harm.”
Myrtle stood up and headed in a decisive manner toward the door. “I’m on it, Miles.”
“You don’t need to go now. It’s dark outside. And I’ve already had supper.” He saw the determined set of Myrtle’s chin and quickly added, “Myrtle, I’ll go with you.”
“Don’t start sounding like Red. It’s very tiresome. A walk will do me good after all the pasta, bread, and pudding I consumed tonight. It’s all starting to sit like a brick in my belly. Anyway, I’ll be just fine and don’t require you to accompany me. Pasha will be with me.”
Pasha, watching from the sofa, looked interested in this theory. Being a feral cat and belonging to no one, she felt under no contractual obligation to accompany Myrtle. But the night was her favorite time and she loped after Myrtle when she opened the door.
Because Myrtle was on a mission, she strode briskly to the grocery store, cane thumping in time as she went. Pasha trotted quickly to keep up and the cat didn’t allow herself to become distracted by night sounds along the way.
The grocery store, after the dark walk over, was almost garishly bright. Myrtle let herself get adjusted to the light and then headed off to the soup aisle where she suspected she might find the franks and beans. Pasha stayed outside the store and promptly proceeded to give herself a vigorous bath.
Myrtle decided if a can of Beanie Weenies were helpful, several would be even better. That way, Miles could dispense them whenever he was feeling blue. She cradled the cans in one arm while leaning on her cane with the other.
After she’d paid for the groceries and the young bagger had bagged them, Myrtle headed back out into the night again. Pasha watched her a short way away as if trying to decide whether she wanted to stay out in the night or wanted more time with her human friend.
Myrtle absolved her of any responsibility, “You can go hunt things if you want to, Pasha. I’m just fine.”
Pasha blinked at this, as if not altogether sure. Then she slipped farther into the darkness as a voice called behind Myrtle. “Miss Myrtle?”
Chapter Eighteen
MYRTLE TURNED. “OH, hi Nicole.”
“Is everything all right? That bag looks heavy.”
Myrtle nodded. “The bagger double-bagged it though, so it won’t break.”
“I was more worried about you being able to carry it home,” said Nicole. “It doesn’t look like you have a car here or that anybody dropped you off.”
“That’s very sweet of you, my dear. But I’m really just fine. How are things with you?”
Nicole shrugged. “I guess things are moving along. Probate is taking forever. One of my clients mentioned that I should just go to the bank and take out a small personal loan and go ahead and move to Atlanta.”
“I see. So then, when probate goes through, you can pay off the loan. It does make sense. Are you going to be sorry to leave the salon? Or, actually, this type of business altogether? I know you mentioned you’d be pursuing fashion.”
Nicole said, “Of course there are parts that I’ll miss. I’ll miss my clients most of all. But I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic that I just can’t satisfy with manicures and pedicures. I used to do a lot of acting when I was a kid—there were summer camps and drama clubs at school.”
Something struck a chord in Myrtle, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “So you spent time in the theater,” she said slowly.
Nicole gave her a funny look. “That’s right. Have you heard anything from Red about the case? And—speaking of the theater—has he been asking Allen about the car tires?”
“Oh, Red won’t tell me a blessed thing about the case,” said Myrtle vaguely. Then she thought about a flair for the dramatic. Her soap opera. And tea. She leveled a serious look at Nicole. “So you can be pretty dramatic, is that right?”
Nicole’s funny look grew a bit more strained. “Sure. I mean, not all the time, but I can be.”
“Does it happen when your emotions get all riled up?” asked Myrtle conversationally.
Nicole gave a short laugh. “I guess so.”
“Like when you lose your temper. Over something, perhaps, like a potential windfall from a real estate deal that your dad refused to cash out on.”
Nicole’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, Miss Myrtle?”
“Just that flinging tea at someone seems to fit in with the personality of a person who has a flair for the dramatic.” Myrtle gave her a serious look.
Pasha growled from a dark place nearby.
“Tea?” Nicole was now apparently trying to backtrack and act as though she didn’t know what Myrtle was talking about.
“I know all about the tea, Nicole, as you clearly do, too. Eloise, bless her, spilled that bit of information to us before Red cautioned her not to mention it to anyone. You may not know this, but Wanda is my friend.”
Nicole didn’t say anything. Pasha came out of her dark hiding spot and stood near Myrtle, still making that rumbling growl to express her displeasure at what was unfolding.
“Wanda is a psychic,” continued Myrtle. “And she mentioned tea. And, actually, drama. Plus, there was my soap opera.”
Nicole said in a low voice, “Miss Myrtle, you’re not making a lot of sense.”
“Yes, but isn’t that precisely what happens when everything starts tying together? All these little bits and pieces of information and images and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle start falling into place. It’s a truly amazing process. But the sad fact of the matter remains—you killed your father.” Myrtle tilted her head to one side. “I wonder, though, if it might not have been intentional. Was it an accident? You were clearly very wound up at the time. Jax was a stubborn man and he wanted to stay in his house on his land. You’re a young person with no ties who wanted to start a new life somewhere else.”
Pasha was staring ferociously at Nicole with her fur puffed up.
Myrtle said, “You were frustrated and you do have, as you put it, that flair for the dramatic. You threw your father’s hot tea at him. He must have screamed, stumbled around. Did he hit his head? Fall? Is that what happened?”
Nicole made a growling sound of her own and lunged at Myrtle. Myrtle reared back and swung the bag of Beanie Weenies at her as hard as she could.
It was apparently quite hard because Nicole went down on the sidewalk. Pasha started caterwauling—a shrill wailing.
Which is right when the young bagger came fearfully out of the store, cell phone in hand.
“Help!” called Myrtle. “I’ve been mugged!”
Despite, of course, all evidence to the contrary. The alleged mugger was out cold.
The bagger did call the police and an ambulance for good measure. Red was there in what felt like seconds. When he arrived, Myrtle was sitting demurely on a bench nearby, the bag of canned beans and franks next to her as she held her cane in a threatening way over the prone figure on the ground. Pasha, having ensured Myrtle was all right, bounded off into the night to do some hunting.
“Assault, Mama?” asked Red in an exhausted voice.
“Thanks for asking,” said Myrtle crisply. “Yes, she was about to assault me. Fortunately, I still possess very quick reflexes and was able to beat her to the punch.”
The amb
ulance pulled up and Myrtle and Red watched as EMTs started working on Nicole.
“What exactly happened?” asked Red as more police cars arrived. “The bagger said there was a lot of racket outside and then she saw ‘an old lady clobber a young woman with her groceries.’”
“A poor description of the events, but at least she called for help when prompted.” Myrtle gave a sniff. “I was speaking with Nicole after shopping. She’d approached me, allegedly to help me with my heavy bag.”
“Allegedly.” Red looked toward the heavens.
“As we were speaking, all sorts of things came to mind. Nicole described herself as dramatic. I started thinking about the tea. And Wanda. And Tomorrow’s Promise, too.”
Red rubbed his forehead and then his left eye as if there was a throbbing he couldn’t quite reach.
“Throwing tea at someone is a rather dramatic gesture, isn’t it? It’s not just something one does every day. Nicole was very upset with her father and that was how she decided to show her displeasure.”
Red said, “Not by killing him?”
“I never really got to the bottom of that, but here’s what I suspect: Jax’s death was an accident. Nicole threw hot tea at his face and he staggered about his kitchen before falling and hitting his head. She never meant for it to happen, although she certainly stood to benefit from it.”
Red said slowly, “So you came to this conclusion and then walloped Nicole with your groceries.”
“Don’t be silly. I confronted Nicole with my conclusions and realized she knew all about the tea. And no one knew about the tea except for Eloise, Miles, me, and the police. And, of course, the killer. She charged at me and then I walloped her with my cans of Beanie Weenies. Pasha started howling and the young bagger came to see what was going on.”
Red nodded wordlessly.
“Sadly, she didn’t regain consciousness. I’d have liked to inquire over Eloise’s death, but I didn’t get the chance.”
They watched as the EMTs were able to revive Nicole. She looked woozy and confused but then her gaze sharpened and she started glancing around her. Myrtle gave her a cheery wave and Nicole briefly closed her eyes again. It looked, to Myrtle, like an admission of defeat.
“Did you kill Eloise, dear?” called Myrtle, still focused on solving the last piece of the puzzle.
“I did not,” said Nicole defiantly.
Red hastily intervened, “We’re going to talk all about that at the police station.”
Nicole refused to go to the hospital for more care, so the EMTs got back into their ambulance and left. The state police, headed by Lieutenant Perkins, were already hustling Nicole into a car.
Then Perkins joined Red and Myrtle. “Are you all right, Mrs. Clover?” he asked with concern.
“Fine and dandy,” said Myrtle with a chipper smile.
Red said to Perkins, “I’m going to take Mama back to her house and then I’ll be right over at the station.”
Myrtle said, “I really don’t need an escort, as I told you earlier tonight.”
“I’d say this episode proved that you do need an escort. At least in order to prevent other people from being attacked with your groceries.”
Myrtle sat primly in the passenger seat of Red’s police car as he headed back to her house. After a moment she said, “If Nicole didn’t murder Eloise, then I wonder who did.”
Red groaned. “Mama, you need to leave this to the professionals. You’ve already done enough tonight.”
“Yes, I have. I have single-handedly found and disabled Jax’s killer,” said Myrtle smugly. “That’s quite enough for one night, I think.” She could hardly wait to tell Miles.
“So you’re going to turn in now and go to sleep, aren’t you?” There was a note of suspicion in Red’s voice as if he thought Myrtle’s nocturnal activities might not be done for the day.
“For heaven’s sake, Red. It’s ten o’clock. I’m not a child.”
“I was just thinking that it might be good for you to put your feet up and take it easy. You’ve had a big evening. I mean, I’m tired and I’m in my forties.”
“Barely,” Myrtle helpfully pointed out.
“And I had a lot of carbs for dinner that are making me feel like I could drop off to sleep at any moment.”
“Octogenarians keep different hours,” said Myrtle.
“Oh, I’m aware of that.”
“Besides, I have to write my article for the Bradley Bugle. It won’t run in tomorrow’s paper, of course, but Sloan may even want to release a special edition. Or an online ‘breaking news’ piece.”
Red muttered under his breath.
“After that, maybe I’ll be able to fall asleep.”
Red drove rapidly away after he walked his mother to her door. Myrtle got right on the phone and called Miles.
Despite the early hour, Miles sounded suspiciously like he might have been sleeping.
“Guess what!” said Myrtle triumphantly.
Miles hazarded a guess in a drowsy voice. “The pudding upset your stomach.”
“Don’t be silly, Miles! It did no such thing. I solved the case and Nicole is arrested!”
There was a pause. “I’m coming over.”
“All right, but I’ll have to kick you out rather precipitously. I have an article to write for Sloan.”
Miles appeared a few minutes later wearing hastily adorned khaki pants and a button-down shirt that seemed to be incorrectly buttoned-up. He was also a good deal more alert than he had been.
“What happened?”
Myrtle filled him in as Miles listened, frowning. From time to time he interjected a question.
At the end of her recital, he said slowly, “It was accidental then.”
“That’s what I’m assuming. I suppose it might count as manslaughter, but I really don’t know. At any rate, she’s in trouble. She didn’t report a death and she tried to assault me.”
Miles knit his brows. “That must have been scary.”
“Well, I sort of saw it coming, so it took away the element of surprise. After all, I was pushing her. Once it all came together, though, I really couldn’t help myself.”
“And she didn’t have anything to do with Eloise’s death?”
“That’s what she said.”
Miles said, “And we’re sure that a murderer’s word is good?”
“We’re not, actually. But I’m open to the possibility that someone else murdered Eloise.”
“That means there are two murderers in Bradley.” Miles looked distinctly dissatisfied by this idea.
Myrtle shrugged. “It’s happened before. The important thing is to stop them before they can kill again. We’ve already taken care of Nicole. And now we need to shut down Marigold.”
“Marigold!”
“Don’t sound so shocked, Miles. Marigold is the natural choice for a second murderer.”
Miles said, “I don’t see how you’re coming to that conclusion. We just heard that Allen slashed Jax’s tires. It seems as if he’s a more-likely candidate.”
“The problem with Allen is that he had a better motive for killing Jax. But Nicole killed Jax. The only reason Allen could have for wanting to murder Eloise is if she knew he was responsible for Jax’s death. Which he wasn’t.”
Miles closed his eyes. “You’re making my head hurt.”
“Look at it this way—even Bailey thought Marigold was the killer. That’s why he came up with that crazy confession of his . . . he thought he was protecting his wife.”
Miles said, “And Bailey really couldn’t have done it?”
“It sure doesn’t seem so. He didn’t know things that the killer should have known. Besides, Marigold had a good reason for wanting to kill Eloise.”
“Which was?” asked Miles.
Myrtle sighed. “You really should be paying better attention. Marigold doesn’t have an alibi. And Eloise was spreading lies about Marigold—and they were definitely lies. She was telling everyone that Marigold had kil
led Jax. Marigold would have wanted to shut Eloise up for good.”
“What are you going to do now?” asked Miles with some trepidation.
“I know exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to write the story for the paper. But tomorrow morning I’m going straight to Perkins and ask him to put me in a sting operation.”
Miles just blinked at Myrtle disbelievingly.
“A sting operation is just a method the police use to act deceptively to catch someone who they believe to have committed a crime.”
Miles said, “Yes, I’m familiar with sting operations. I just don’t completely follow how you and the police would ensnare Marigold.”
“I’d bait her, of course. And I’d be wearing a wire and record everything that came out of her mouth.”
Miles frowned. “Are you sure that the Bradley police department has wires and taping equipment? That seems sort of high-tech. We’re talking about a police station that has vinyl furniture and two cells.”
“Of course they don’t have that sort of equipment. But Perkins would. The state police are probably rife with it. After I get Marigold’s confession, I can write an amazing story about the experience for the newspaper. I bet it’s another article of mine to be picked up on the news wire and run in other papers.” Myrtle looked very pleased with herself.
“It all sounds rather unsafe. Baiting suspected murderers and such.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and then bravely said, “If Perkins agrees to it, I’ll go with you. Just to make sure everything goes smoothly.”
Myrtle didn’t actually like this idea at all. There was a limit to how much glory a sidekick should get. This covert operation was entirely her plan and she wanted to do it solo. “We’ll see. For now, I’m going to write this piece for Sloan for the paper or the paper’s blog. We’ll have a big day tomorrow, so be sure to get some sleep.”
“I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink,” said Miles grimly.
Chapter Nineteen
MILES APPARENTLY DIDN’T, because when she arrived at Miles’s house bright and early the next morning, he looked bleary-eyed at her and was still wearing plaid pajamas and a navy bathrobe and slippers.
Death of a Suitor Page 16
