“I’ve enjoyed some excellent dishes at restaurants with kale as an ingredient,” said Myrtle.
“Not the way that Elaine cooks kale,” said Red. He surveyed the pantry again. “There are instant grits in there. I could cook up a batch of grits and cut up the Vienna sausages in it. That’s practically gourmet.” He looked sideways at his mother. “I could even make you a serving. It’s either that or toaster pastries. I’m not at all sure why you have toaster pastries in your pantry. It seems an odd choice for an octogenarian.”
“I bought them for Jack’s visits,” said Myrtle. “He absolutely loves them.”
“And he runs all the sugar off after he gets back home, I’m sure.” Red made two batches of instant grits and cut up the sausages for them.
A few minutes later they were eating. Myrtle said grudgingly, “This isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
Red grinned at her. “I can be a real chef when I choose to be. I’ll try to go to the store for you tomorrow, Mama.”
“Don’t bother. You have the case to worry about. Besides, Miles will take me ... he never minds going to the grocery store.” Myrtle scooped up another spoonful of the grits.
“That’s funny. He never seems to want to run the errand when I hear him talk about it,” said Red.
“Oh, he puts on a big show. But whenever he goes to the store with me, he remembers that he’s out of paper towels or matches or bananas or whatever else he’s overlooked. No, we’ll be fine to run the errand, don’t worry about it. We just got distracted today.” Myrtle paused. “How are things going with your case?”
Red’s expression turned sour. “You know, it’s a funny thing about this case. Every time Lieutenant Perkins and I interview someone in connection with Amos Subers, it turns out they’ve all spoken with you and Miles already.”
Myrtle opened her eyes in amazement. “Isn’t that something! Who’d have thought? That’s how things are in a small town, isn’t it? You run into the same people.”
“I don’t quite buy the fact that you happened to have a conversation with Philomena Fant,” said Red.
“How shortsighted of you, Red! You know how much time I spend at the library,” said Myrtle huffily.
“Of course I do. But I’m also aware that you usually check yourself out at the circulation desk and don’t evers communicate with the librarians,” said Red. “You’ve frequently bragged how much faster you are at checking out books.”
Myrtle said coldly, “Well, this time I was with Miles and we needed assistance. We spoke with Philomena about Miles’s interest in Sherlock Holmes.”
“Among other things,” said Red.
“Naturally,” said Myrtle. “One doesn’t approach someone and ask for a book right off the bat. You engage in conversation first.”
“And Alice Porper? She seems an odd choice for you to speak to, as well,” said Red.
Myrtle said hotly, “Not if you’d seen the state of my funeral dress. I do declare, there are far too many funerals in the town of Bradley, North Carolina. My funeral dress is practically in shreds. Alice helped me find the perfect ensemble.”
Red said, “Okay, Mama. You have an excuse for everything. But I want you to know that you’re treading on thin ice with this case. There’s a very dangerous person on the loose and I want you to make sure you’re keeping yourself safe and sound.”
“Naturally,” said Myrtle in a cool voice.
“And I certainly hope that you’re not writing any newspaper articles about Amos.”
Myrtle said, “Sloan depends on me, Red, to write informative articles for the Bugle. I couldn’t possibly consider doing otherwise. But I’m always prudent and thoughtful in everything that I take on.”
Red sighed and rubbed his temples as if they were pounding. “I know what I meant to tell you, Mama. You know how you’ve always complained that Greener Pastures Retirement Home has horrible events and activities?”
Myrtle leveled a wary look at him.
“Well, you’ll be delighted to know that they’ve brought on a new activities director who is supposed to be excellent,” said Red. His voice indicated that the activities director had turned the retirement home into something akin to Disney World.
“The girls they hire there always treat the seniors as though they’re preschoolers,” snapped Myrtle. “I don’t want to spend my precious free time reliving childhood games of musical chairs.”
“Despite your gender-biased conclusion about the director, it’s a he. And apparently, he provides quite a bit of eye-candy for the female residents,” said Red in a persuasive tone.
Myrtle made a face. “If I’m unswayed by Miles’s charms, and Miles is the hottest senior commodity in Bradley, then I’ll hardly fall for a baby. That would make me a coyote, anyway.”
Red frowned and said, “I believe you mean ‘cougar.’ But suit yourself. I just want to make sure you’re not courting danger.”
“The only thing I’m courting is a win in Scrabble,” said Myrtle.
After Red left, Myrtle worked on the article for the Bradley Bugle and Wanda’s horoscope. Then she quickly emailed them to Sloan. It was doubtful that they were in time for the next day’s edition but would run the day after for sure.
Then she got ready for bed and read her book for a while. Myrtle didn’t feel sleepy one bit, but it was definitely time to turn off the light and try to sleep.
Three hours later she rose again in irritation. Sleeping was apparently not on the agenda. Insomnia was a recurring issue. Fortunately, she knew that Miles shared the same affliction, at least most of the time. She would walk down to Miles’s house to see if his lights were on.
Myrtle grabbed her bathrobe and her cane and walked out of the house. She kept an eye out for Pasha since the black cat had startled her before by leaping out of the shadows at her. Sure enough, she saw her move out of the bushes and jog toward her. The cat lovingly rubbed against Myrtle’s legs.
“Good kitty,” said Myrtle, reaching down carefully and rubbing the cat. “Want to visit Miles with me?”
Pasha gave every indication that she wanted to do so. She padded next to Myrtle as Myrtle walked, bathrobe swishing against her legs. They passed Erma’s house and Myrtle held her breath until they’d safely cleared her property. The only nice thing she could say about Erma was that she was a good sleeper. Usually Myrtle didn’t have to deal with Erma’s antics in the middle of the night.
When Myrtle approached Miles’s house, she saw his lights were indeed on. In fact, most of the house was lit up. She smiled as she walked up to his door and rang the doorbell.
Miles opened the door. “I have the coffee made.” He stepped aside to let Myrtle in, grimacing as Pasha pranced in after her. “I’m not sure I have anything for Pasha, though.”
Myrtle swept by him, heading for the kitchen. “You were expecting me, then? Have you been spending too much time with our psychic friend?”
“I’ve simply noticed a pattern where you frequently don’t sleep the first night after a murder. As it happens, I wasn’t able to sleep tonight after the full day. So I anticipated your arrival and perked the coffee.” Miles followed her into the kitchen and opened a cabinet, inspecting the contents. “Do you think Pasha would care for canned salmon?”
“Always the thoughtful host. Yes, I’m sure Pasha would think she’d won the lottery if she had canned salmon. It’s usually tuna at my house.” Myrtle poured her coffee and added cream and a generous helping of sugar.
Miles eyed the sugar as he put a paper plate full of salmon down in front of an eager Pasha. “So you’re not planning on turning in the rest of the evening, then? Judging from the amount of sugar you’re putting in that coffee.”
Myrtle shrugged. “I don’t feel tired. And I’m having coffee, so there’s probably not much hope of sleep, anyway. Maybe I’ll catch some shuteye around 3:30 or so.”
Miles watched as Pasha annihilated the salmon. “Maybe we should eat, too. Scrambled eggs? I think I have
enough.”
Myrtle said, “That sounds heavenly. I don’t have any breakfast foods at home besides toaster pastries.”
Miles raised his eyebrows and Myrtle waved her hand impatiently. “They’re for my grandson. Anyway, I forgot that we were planning on going to the store.”
Miles pulled out the eggs and scrambled them while Myrtle made toast. Soon they were eating at Miles’s kitchen table.
“What’s our plan for today? Besides catching a couple of hours of sleep and going to the grocery store,” said Miles.
“Josephine Mossom is the clear forerunner for interviews later today,” said Myrtle. “She’s the one that Alice thinks is responsible for Amos’s death.”
“Patricide?” asked Miles, making a face.
“It sounded as though she had legitimate issues with Amos,” said Myrtle. “Anyway, she should be our first stop.”
“Where does she work?” asked Miles.
“I believe she’s employed by the fast food industry,” said Myrtle. “Which is one reason she would be so enraged that her father had money when she was sharing her hard-earned cash with him.”
Miles nodded. “We’re off to the golden arches later? I suppose I can find a salad or something to eat there.” His face was doubtful.
“Actually, I took the initiative to call them yesterday after I arrived home. Josephine is not working today. I suppose that she has taken the day off because of her father’s death,” said Myrtle. She frowned. “I sure would like to hear what was in Amos’s will. I wonder who he left his money to. Apparently, he had a sizeable estate, despite how he lived. Maybe he left his money to Josephine.”
“Which would provide another excellent motive for killing Amos,” said Miles. “Not only was she furious with him for being duped about the state of his financial affairs and for cleaning his house, she might also be interested in getting a financial leg up by inheriting his estate.”
“Right. So Josephine it is.” Myrtle polished off the rest of her scrambled eggs and downed them with coffee.
“But how will we see her if she isn’t working?” asked Miles.
Myrtle said, “We’ll run by her house.”
Miles raised his eyebrows. “On what pretense?”
“You were a friend of Amos’s, Miles. Naturally you want to pass along your condolences to his daughter,” said Myrtle.
“Friends? We simply played the odd hand of bridge or the occasional game of chess together. That doesn’t seem much like friendship to me. It seems more like occupying the same space for a short period of time,” said Miles.
“Which is good enough. And we’ll bring a casserole over. She’s grieving. It would be the nice, neighborly thing to do,” said Myrtle.
Miles’s face indicated that he wasn’t sure it would be nice or neighborly to do so. “Look, we’ve already had a long day. We won’t be operating on much sleep at all. I hardly think that your cooking, or mine of course, improves with exhaustion. Why don’t we pop by the store and pick up some ready-made food-stuffs of some sort?”
Myrtle frowned at him. “What sort of ready-made food-stuffs? Really Miles, that doesn’t sound appealing at all.”
“I’ve seen all kinds of things there. We could pick up a quiche, perhaps?” Miles looked anxious.
“Do you think Josephine Mossum is the type to enjoy quiches?” asked Myrtle doubtfully. “It all seems rather too much of an international flavor for someone in her line of work. Her palate is more accustomed to fried foods.”
“All the better to change it,” insisted Miles.
Myrtle said, “You seem quite passionate about this, Miles. All right, we’ll pick up the quiche on the way over. Should we say ten o’clock?”
A wave of relief washed over Miles’s features as he eagerly nodded.
Chapter Ten
AT TEN O’CLOCK ON THE dot, Myrtle and Miles were at the grocery store. Myrtle dubiously surveyed the quiches.
“Are we sure Josephine will want a croque monsieur?” she asked.
“Just call it a ham and cheese quiche,” said Miles. “And I’ve eaten these before—they’re delicious.”
Myrtle said, “Let’s pick up aluminum foil while we’re here to cover the pie tin and replace the plastic cover. I want to make it look as if I made it myself.”
“And then refrigerated it?” Miles pointed out.
“I could have made it last night and then kept it in the fridge until we left,” said Myrtle.
Back in the car, she quickly arranged the aluminum foil over the quiche, accidentally dropping the quiche in the process.
Miles pointed out that some of the quiche transferred to Myrtle’s lap in the process. She opened the car door and brushed it out.
Miles said dryly, “I suppose the fact that it’s broken makes it look especially homemade now.”
“Precisely!”
Josephine lived in a modest apartment building a short drive from Bradley. When they rang the doorbell, she answered with a suspicious expression which quickly became tearful when she saw Myrtle and Miles and the covered dish.
Myrtle said brusquely, “Here, have a tissue, dear.”
Josephine wordlessly motioned them to come inside. The inside of her apartment was just as modest and unassuming as the exterior but neat as a pin. Like her father, she was also a reader although her budget apparently ran to used paperbacks. Either that, or else she read the books repeatedly. As Myrtle peered at a crowded bookshelf, she noticed the books were arranged in alphabetical order by author. Josephine was a bit of a librarian, herself.
Josephine gestured for them to have a seat and Myrtle sat on an impeccably clean, if elderly, sofa. Miles, who for once didn’t seem to have any issues regarding the cleanliness of Josephine’s place, perched in an armchair. Josephine quickly put the quiche in the fridge in her galley kitchen and then joined them. She appeared to have completely recovered her composure. Myrtle thought she looked even thinner and frailer than usual. Plus, she seemed completely exhausted. Clearly, Red and Lt. Perkins had spoken with her.
“It’s kind of you to come by,” she said, holding out her hands helplessly. “I’m afraid that I didn’t even realize you were close to my father.”
Miles, who always had a hard time prevaricating, said, “I wouldn’t say that I was close, but I played bridge and even chess with him sometimes.”
Josephine raised her eyebrows. “Chess? That was brave of you.”
Miles chuckled. “I only made the mistake of playing chess with him once. I didn’t realize that a chess game could end so quickly. Amos checkmated me ten minutes in. It’s like playing Scrabble with Myrtle.”
Myrtle said, “It’s nothing like playing Scrabble with Myrtle. We’re having a very competitive game.”
Miles’s expression indicated that perhaps the Scrabble board would suffer another catastrophic fall in the near future.
“We’re both so sorry for your loss, Josephine. Honestly, I’m still in shock from it all,” said Myrtle, trying out her frail-old-lady act to see if it would work with Josephine.
It seemed to. Josephine said softly, “It was quite a surprise, wasn’t it? And I understand that you and Miles were on the scene very quickly. Before the police made it there, right? That must have been distressing for you.”
Myrtle nodded sadly. “It certainly was. You see, your father and I shared a cleaning woman. She’d cleaned my house before going to Amos’s and apparently, I was on her brain. She called me before calling the police. Not that there was anything I could do. Who could have done such a terrible thing, Josephine? Do you have any ideas?”
Josephine slumped. “Unfortunately, Dad seemed to get on many people’s bad sides. He could be pretty feisty. There are probably a few people that he’d recently made unhappy.” She gave a harsh laugh. “To be honest, I was even unhappy with him in the weeks leading up to his death. I feel so guilty about that now—that we weren’t on better terms.”
Miles said, “But you had no idea what was coming. As
far as you knew, you had plenty of time left with your father.”
Josephine gave him a small smile. “Thanks for that. But even though I didn’t realize how little time he had left, I shouldn’t have held such a grudge against him. I mean, he got the picture that I was mad at him and I should have made up with him a week later or something.”
“What was the nature of your disagreement?” asked Myrtle. “Sometimes it can be harder to forgive and forget than other times.”
Josephine nodded and then sighed. She said, “I had been helping my dad out for years. I thought he was basically living very lean. And he was living lean. The only things he seemed to splurge on were books. He frequently even made his lady friends pay for dinner when they went out. I came over once a week to clean for him. The only things he ever bought were books and that classic car of his.”
Myrtle made a clucking noise. “And you didn’t have much free time, yourself.”
“No, not working where I do, and what’s more, I always feel exhausted. But there’s not a lot of job opportunities in a small town, you know. And when someone has found themselves a position, they usually hang onto it forever. There’s no turnover. I’ve been divorced for years and there’s no one else for me to rely on ... or so I thought. I’ve been stuck in this dead-end job and trying to help him out and even taking part-time jobs on the side when I could. When I realized that he was actually pretty wealthy, I lost it.” She paused and looked wary. “I’ll admit I was angry with Dad. But I had nothing to do with his death. I mean, why would I kill my father when he was all I had left of my family?”
Miles said in a comforting tone, “Of course you wouldn’t.”
Josephine gave him a tearful smile. “Thanks. I only wish the police agreed with you.”
Myrtle said, “They think you’re somehow involved?”
“Well, I don’t have an alibi. I didn’t think I’d need one!” she said with a harsh laugh. “And the truth is that I’m still pretty mad at Dad’s treatment of me. I think that comes out when I talk about him. But aside from arguing over that one discovery about his money, Dad and I always got along fine.”
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