“What’s happening?” he asked, looking a bit confused.
“We’re going to the police station, remember? I need to tell Perkins about our plan.”
Miles stumbled back into his house and Myrtle followed him. He sat down in an armchair. “Myrtle, this is your plan. I’m not altogether sure it’s a good one. Plus, won’t it qualify as police entrapment or something? I’m positive Lieutenant Perkins won’t want to be party to some sort of entrapment scheme.”
“No, no. Police entrapment is when officers push someone who hasn’t committed a crime into committing one. Sort of a ‘gotcha’ thing. This is completely different. This is a person who murdered someone but hasn’t confessed.”
“Allegedly,” said Miles. “A person who allegedly committed a crime.”
Myrtle frowned. “You’re being quite gallant over Marigold’s involvement, Miles.”
“I’m just trying to view her as innocent until proven guilty,” said Miles a bit priggishly. Then he added, “I’m going to need to drink some coffee if we’re going to engage in philosophical conversations about the justice system. Would you like some?”
Myrtle shook her head absently. “I’ve already had several cups. Did you not get any sleep last night?”
“Very little. And then, when I did sleep, I dreamed about Marigold getting the third degree in a windowless cell.”
“You’re quite obsessed with this, you know. Besides, all I’m going to do is have a friendly conversation with Marigold. Taped. And I do think it will be far more effective if I approach her alone.”
Miles made the coffee, which looked very strong to Myrtle’s eyes. Quaffing a cup of it quickly, he disappeared to get ready for the day.
Myrtle fretted a little while he was gone. “Do you think Perkins will be at the police station? Or might he be out in the field somewhere?”
Miles muttered something from the back that Myrtle couldn’t hear.
“Perhaps I should give him a call instead. That way I’d be sure to get him.”
This time Miles’s voice was louder. “You have his phone number?”
“Of course I do. Perkins and I are friends. He told me to call him anytime. And I believe that’s just what I’m going to do.”
Miles came back into the living room now sporting his omnipresent khakis and button-down shirt. “Isn’t it very early to be calling anyone?”
Myrtle looked at her watch. “It’s seven a.m. I’ve been up for four hours already and I’m sure Perkins has already started his day.” She took out her phone and started pressing buttons.
Fortunately, Perkins was indeed awake and sounded very alert. “Mrs. Clover. What can I help you with this morning?”
“Good morning! I have an idea I’d like to share with you.”
Myrtle set about explaining her scheme while Perkins listened quietly on the other end of the line.
When she wrapped up, Perkins said slowly, “That’s a very interesting plan, Mrs. Clover. But it also sounds as if it could be a dangerous one. Tell you what—I’m about to head to the police station now and meet up with Red. How about if you come over and cover what you’ve just told me again in person. I feel an obligation to loop Red in on this idea.”
“Must we? Red is such a party pooper.”
Perkins sounded as if he might be suppressing a chuckle. “I can’t really see a way around it.”
“All right, then. See you in about fifteen minutes.” Myrtle hung up the phone and sighed.
Miles arched his eyebrows. “So Red is getting involved?”
“Unfortunately so. Apparently, Perkins has some sort of personal ethics standard or something.”
“Well, he is a police officer,” said Miles.
“I suppose so. Are you ready to go?”
They hopped into Miles’s car for the short drive downtown to the police station. When they walked into the building, Red was standing there looking worried. The red hair that provided his nickname was standing straight up on his head as if he’d been running his hands through it. Perkins gave them a welcoming smile.
“Mama, what’s this nutty plan you have?”
“Good morning to you, too, Red! Are you having a good day so far?” asked Myrtle cheerfully.
“Not really,” grumbled Red. “Fill me in, please.”
So Myrtle did. Red looked more agitated as she explained it all. Miles took a seat on the vinyl sofa and tried to make himself seem very small and inconsequential as Red’s inner turmoil increased.
“What do you think?” asked Perkins a bit cautiously.
“I think my mother has had a small stroke,” said Red.
Perkins said, “The problem I see is the inherent danger of the set-up.”
Red snorted. “Oh, I think my mother can take on Marigold. We’re talking about the woman who felled Nicole Jackson, fifty years her junior, with cans of franks and beans.”
Myrtle straightened. “Well, I have to say I’m pleasantly surprised to hear this enlightened view from you, Red. It’s about time.”
“That doesn’t mean that I think it’s a good idea for you to badger Marigold into confessing. For one thing, we’re not altogether sure she’s to blame for Eloise’s death,” Red told her. Then to Perkins he said, “Mama doesn’t know anything. She bases her clues on psychics and soap operas.”
Myrtle said, “That’s the beauty of this approach, though. We can find out for certain.”
Perkins was quiet for a few moments and then said, “We have currently hit something of a stumbling block, Red. And I’ll admit that Mrs. Clover has a gift for making people open up to her.”
“They underestimate me,” said Myrtle with satisfaction. “To their everlasting detriment.”
Red rubbed his temples. “So we’re talking about putting a wire on my mother and sending her over to speak to a murder suspect.”
Myrtle put her hands on her hips. “Do you have any better ideas right now? Nicole says she didn’t murder Eloise. Ergo, there’s another killer still on the loose in Bradley. That means it could be only a matter of time before this murderer strikes again to cover up the crime.”
Red and Perkins looked at each other. Finally, Red sighed and said, “Okay. If you and Perkins want to give this a go, I won’t stand in your way. Although I do think it might end up being a tremendous waste of time and resources. How are you planning on getting Marigold on her own?”
Miles cleared his throat and they all looked a little startled, having nearly forgotten he was there. “I do know that Bailey is planning to be at chess club at lunch today. At least, during our last meeting he said he was planning to attend. I believe he likes the Cuban sandwiches we have there.”
“Excellent,” said Myrtle. “I’ll go see Marigold at home in just a few hours, then.”
Perkins said, “Are we planning on having Mr. Bradford accompany Mrs. Clover for backup?”
Miles was about to bravely offer to escort Myrtle when she quickly said, “Oh, I don’t think so. It will look much more like some sort of intervention if Miles and I both confront Marigold. No, I think she’ll be much more likely to feel comfortable enough to confess if he’s not there. Just wire me up and I’ll be the solo agent.”
Red rolled his eyes.
Hours later, Myrtle was carefully wired up. She insisted on walking over to Marigold and Bailey’s house so that no one would see her being dropped off in a police car. She was a bit out of breath when she finally arrived. Perkins and Red were parked inconspicuously on the road behind the house.
Myrtle strode right up to the Pratts’ house and knocked on their door. The door opened and Bailey stood there.
Myrtle gave him an annoyed look. He wasn’t supposed to be there. She tried to cover up her annoyance and said sweetly, “Goodness. I thought you’d be at chess club with Miles. I know Miles told me that was today.”
Bailey said, “Well, I was planning on going, but then I realized I had to enter all of my expense reports before the end of the week. Figured I’d j
ust get caught up with my paperwork since I’d already put it off for a while.” He paused. “Sorry, did you have business with Marigold?”
“Is she around?” asked Myrtle. She could already hear Perkins in her ear saying that she should abort the mission. She decided to ignore the voice.
“She’s not, but she should be in after a while. Maybe you’d like to come back.” Bailey was already shutting the door and backing away.
“May I wait for her?” asked Myrtle, still in that sweet voice. “I just wanted to have a little chat with her. I know she’s involved with Chancel Guild at the church and I figured I’d ask her about it.”
Myrtle was rather proud of her wild improvisation. She had no idea if Marigold was involved whatsoever with Chancel Guild, but considering how often Bailey traveled, she figured he wouldn’t know either.
Bailey frowned, but let Myrtle walk inside. “Chancel Guild? Marigold’s not in Chancel Guild.”
“Isn’t she? Perhaps I’m remembering her involvement from long ago.”
“She’s not particularly involved in church whatsoever.” Bailey’s frown grew a little deeper. “You wouldn’t be prevaricating, would you?”
“I’m simply interested in volunteering my time.”
Bailey snorted. “You’re simply interested in being nosy.”
Myrtle peered at him with interest. “You think she did it, don’t you?”
Bailey stared wordlessly at her.
“You think Marigold killed Jax in a jealous rage.”
“You’re delusional,” he said coldly.
“Not at all. I’m putting it all together,” said Myrtle. She tilted her head to one side in a considering manner. “You must not have been out of your house yet today.”
“I’ve been working on paperwork, as I’ve already mentioned.” Bailey’s tone was brusque.
“So you wouldn’t have heard the news. Nicole Jackson was the one responsible for Jax’s death. It seems to have been an unintended consequence.”
Bailey grew very still.
“The problem was,” Myrtle continued blithely, “that you believed Marigold killed Jax. This has caused you to behave in all sorts of illogical ways. You even made a quick confession in an effort to cover for your wife.”
Bailey muttered something and Myrtle got closer to him, worried that her microphone wouldn’t pick up what he was saying. “What’s that, Bailey? You have to speak louder than that when you have octogenarian guests in your house.”
“I was saying,” bellowed Bailey, “that the police said my confession was worthless because I didn’t know all the details concerning the crime.”
“That was certainly true for Jax’s murder. You wouldn’t have known how Jax died because you weren’t there. You believed Marigold had killed him. Then, when Eloise started blabbing around town that Marigold had been responsible for Jax’s death, you decided to eliminate her. Your confession for Eloise’s death was fabricated to sound just as clueless. The difference was that you knew the details of Eloise’s death perfectly well since you were the one who killed her. It’s funny—when I told you about Eloise’s murder, you seemed surprised at the time. I thought that was because you hadn’t heard the news. But actually, you were just surprised she was so quickly discovered. You must have thought you’d have more time.”
Bailey’s forehead had beads of sweat on it and he stepped back a couple of paces from Myrtle.
“That makes you feel a little sick, doesn’t it? You believed Eloise knew something about Marigold’s involvement with Jax’s death. But there was no need to kill Eloise. She was just a gossip in a town full of them. Eloise posed no threat to Marigold whatsoever. You killed her for no reason at all—Marigold is completely innocent.”
Bailey continued perspiring. His skin had a decidedly green tint about it.
Myrtle said, “It’s rather amazing that you were so determined to see your wife as guilty. I can’t help but think it had to do with the fact that she didn’t have an alibi for Jax’s death. In fact, I wonder if she could have been out that night.”
Bailey said gruffly, “So she was out. It doesn’t really matter now, does it? You just said that Jax’s daughter killed him.”
“Marigold has given every impression that she’s moved on from your relationship. I think she may even have been tiring of her fling with Jax. She may have someone completely new she’s seeing now. And I believe that’s what you didn’t want to face. You’d rather believe that she was murdering Jax than having another affair.”
Now Bailey’s eyes held a desperate shine to them.
“Did you hit Eloise on the head with something first? Or just shove her in the water?” asked Myrtle like a teacher quizzing a student.
“Miss Myrtle,” said Bailey with a short laugh, “No one even knows for sure if Eloise was murdered at all. She couldn’t swim. Seems to me she might just have fallen into the water.”
Myrtle regarded him solemnly. “That’s very interesting that you know she didn’t swim. That was something Eloise was embarrassed about and didn’t speak of.”
Bailey turned red and then white. He said in a dangerous voice, “Miss Myrtle, I can’t believe that you were silly enough to approach me about this. I’m really sorry, but I can’t let you tell your son what you’ve found out.”
“So you admit it,” said Myrtle quickly.
“It was an accident. I didn’t realize she couldn’t swim. I was just furious with her—threatening her with a lawsuit for defamation. She was telling everybody in town that Marigold had killed Jax and I thought she had a reason for saying that.”
Myrtle snorted. “Eloise didn’t have a reason for saying anything.”
“She fell in and called to me. She said she couldn’t swim.” Bailey’s eyes were unfocused as if he were right back in the moment.
“And you didn’t rescue her.”
Bailey held his hands out in a pleading gesture. “I froze up! There was nothing to hand to her, either. No buoys or life vests or anything. If I’d jumped in to help her, she probably would have drowned me, too.” He took a step closer to Myrtle. “That was an accident,” he repeated. “And I hate that you’re making me do this on purpose. You’re an old lady. The oldest in town.”
Myrtle said sharply, “No. That honor goes to Irabelle at Greener Pastures.”
Bailey had just grabbed hold of the fireplace poker when Perkins, Red, and a couple of other police officers barreled into the house with their guns drawn.
Bailey’s jaw dropped.
Myrtle said, “Beware of old ladies, Bailey.”
Minutes later, Bailey had been read his rights and was in a police car with a couple of state policemen questioning him. Marigold had returned and was watching from a distance with a scowl on her face.
Myrtle, Red, and Perkins were in the front yard of the Pratt home.
Red said in a somewhat snarky tone, “I thought we were trying to arrest Marigold. That seemed to be the whole point.”
Myrtle shrugged. “It became clear to me that Bailey was the perpetrator, not Marigold. You heard it all unfold. Besides, he shouldn’t have known that Eloise couldn’t swim. That was something only those very close to her knew.”
“Well, I guess all’s well that ends well. And you didn’t even have to clobber anyone with groceries this time.”
Perkins gave Myrtle a concerned look. “Are you okay? That must have been a really stressful thing to go through, even though it did turn out just fine.”
Myrtle decided to play it for all it was worth. “Maybe lunch at the diner would be good. It might make me a little steadier on my feet.” She wove a bit worryingly and Perkins took her by the arm.
Red said, “Mama’s just looking for a free lunch, Perkins. Her retirement check doesn’t come in for another day or two.”
Myrtle leveled a blistering glare at him.
Perkins smiled at Myrtle. “I’d be honored to pay for your lunch. What you did was very impressive, Mrs. Clover. You were just like a prof
essional operative.”
Myrtle beamed at the word operative.
“I only wish I could join you myself, but now my hands will be full with paperwork and questioning as we wrap things up. But I think Mr. Bradford should escort you since you’ve been a little unsteady. I have the feeling he’s been waiting anxiously for news.”
Perkins pulled his wallet out of his pocket. Myrtle’s eyes lit up as Perkins handed her two twenty-dollar bills.
Red glowered at the money. “Perkins, it’s just the diner. The most expensive entrée there is $8.00.”
“I insist. Mrs. Clover, you put yourself in harm’s way to further the course of justice. Great job.”
Myrtle straightened up proudly. She thanked him for the lunch as Perkins was called away.
“Need me to give you a ride, Mama?” asked Red.
She shook her head. “I’m going to call Miles. I know he wants to be filled in.”
Myrtle pulled out her phone and rang Miles. He answered the phone immediately.
“Lunch is on me,” she said with a grin.
About the Author
ELIZABETH WRITES THE Southern Quilting mysteries and Memphis Barbeque mysteries for Penguin Random House and the Myrtle Clover series for Midnight Ink and independently. She blogs at ElizabethSpannCraig.com/blog, named by Writer’s Digest as one of the 101 Best Websites for Writers. Elizabeth makes her home in Matthews, North Carolina, with her husband. She’s the mother of two.
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