Puddin made a face. “Too hot to wear a scarf, Miss Myrtle!”
“I don’t mean a winter scarf. I mean a decorative scarf,” said Myrtle.
Puddin considered this for a couple of seconds. “Nope.”
“Well, I have one that you’re welcome to borrow,” said Myrtle with a shrug.
Puddin was quiet for a few moments in the backseat. Then she muttered something under her breath.
“What was that?” asked Myrtle sharply.
“I just said that I’m not your same age. Maybe the scarf thing won’t look good on me as on you,” said Puddin.
Miles smiled at Puddin’s attempt at diplomacy. He pointed out, “Not that I have any desire to go there, but we are approaching the Centerville Dress Shop.”
Myrtle brightened. “That’s perfect. Puddin can buy a scarf and we can speak with Alice Porper again.”
Puddin said, “Puddin ain’t buying nothing. I’m broke, remember? And still haven’t got my money from Mr. Subers.”
“But Alice Porper is the person that he left all of his money to, Puddin. So if you have any hope of getting that money you’re owed back, you might as well bring it up with her. But let’s handle the topic carefully and after I’ve asked her a couple of questions,” said Myrtle as Miles pulled off the road and into the shop’s parking lot.
Puddin grumbled, “Seems she’d be buttered up enough by us buying stuff.”
“Regardless, we’re not here to pressure her,” said Myrtle sternly as she and Puddin got out of the car. “Coming, Miles?”
“Not this time. I’ve read all the magazines of interest. I’ll stay in the car. Take your time,” said Miles. He was putting his seat back down as if preparing for a nap.
Puddin screwed up her face in thought as she and Myrtle walked toward the store. “Alice Porper. Right. So her is that woman with Mr. Subers.”
Myrtle said, “She’s the woman that you recognized leaving Amos Subers house. Or perhaps the woman that you hallucinated leaving there since she spends almost all her time at the dress shop.”
“Probably’ll spend less time now she got money,” prophesized Puddin.
Chapter Nineteen
THE BELL RANG AS THEY entered and Alice looked up from behind the checkout counter. She gave Myrtle a genuine smile as she stood up. “Miss Myrtle! How did the outfit work out?”
“It was perfect,” said Myrtle, returning the smile. “And now I’m back, but with Puddin.”
Alice put her hand out and Puddin reluctantly shook it as if shaking hands was a foreign and rather invasive experience. “It’s good to meet you, Puddin.”
“She’s going to the gala tomorrow and needs a scarf to wear with the outfit she’s wearing now,” said Myrtle.
Alice gave Puddin’s black top and black pants a quick and experienced appraisal. She strode over to a table that had a variety of different accessories on it. After a few moments of careful thought, she pulled out a colorful red print. “Try this one,” she said, handing it to Puddin.
Puddin handled the scarf as though it were a poisonous snake. Myrtle sighed.
Alice said, “May I?” She positioned Puddin in front of a nearby mirror and tied the scarf around her neck. “There. What do you think?”
Puddin preened. “Looks good.”
“I thought a colorful scarf for a colorful personality would work well,” said Alice with a smile.
Myrtle suddenly remembered the tickets still burning a hole in her purse. “Speaking of the gala, are you at all interested in gardening, Alice?”
Alice laughed. “Before you go any further, you should know that Tippy Chambers has already beaten you to it. She sold me gala tickets weeks ago.”
Myrtle grimaced. “I should have known. Tippy has been a ticket-selling whiz kid. And naturally, she probably spends a good deal of time here.” And money.
Alice said, “She seems thrilled about the event. Her excitement was contagious.” She smiled at Myrtle. “I suppose you’ll be going with your young man?”
Myrtle’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”
“I mean Miles. Everyone is always so jealous of the amount of time the two of you spend together,” said Alice with a grin.
Puddin snickered, her eyes full of malicious merriment.
Myrtle said with a hint of frost in her voice, “Then everyone is very silly. Miles is far too young for me. Besides, we’re friends.”
Alice beamed at her. “That’s the best type of relationship.”
“Alas, I’m attending the gala with Puddin and my friend Wanda,” said Myrtle with a tight smile. “Although Miles will certainly be there.” She paused. She had fewer misgivings about probing into Alice’s personal life since she’d just probed into her own.
Myrtle jumped right in. “I was actually wondering how much longer you might be working here or if you’ll be putting in as many hours as you were. I would miss getting your help here if so.”
Alice flushed. “I suppose people are talking about it all over town. I was as surprised as anyone when the lawyer told me that I was inheriting Amos’s estate. Of course, I haven’t gotten a penny of it yet. It all makes me feel sort of sick, to tell you the truth.”
Puddin made a scoffing noise and Myrtle gave her a repressing look. “How do you mean?”
Alice said sadly, “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose because at the time Amos made the will, he clearly thought that we had some sort of future together. But then he deliberately did things to sabotage our relationship. It didn’t make any sense.”
Myrtle said, “What did you think about how he left his daughter out of the will?”
Puddin made clucking noises at this and Myrtle gave her a discreet kick until she stopped.
Alice’s face was sober. “It was a shock. It’s as though he wrote his will specifically to hurt Josephine. I never was much of a fan of Josephine, but I’ll say one thing for her: she was devoted to her father. Once everything settles down and I actually receive Amos’s estate, I’ll have to make sure to provide for his daughter. It’s only right.”
Puddin gave Myrtle a prompting look. Myrtle cleared her throat and said, “On that note, Alice, Puddin here was also wondering if you could possibly pay her monies owed by Amos when the estate settles.”
Alice smiled at Puddin. “Of course I will. I could write you a check right now, if it’s not too much.” She shook her head. “Isn’t that just like Amos? A cheapskate to the end.”
Puddin exclaimed, “Fifty dollars!” and then anxiously watched to see if Alice thought that amount too great to reach for a checkbook.
But Alice immediately wrote Puddin a check for the amount. “I’m sorry that Amos treated you like that. It must have made you very frustrated.”
Puddin took the check from her. “But I didn’t kill ‘im!”
“Of course not,” said Alice soothingly.
Myrtle said to Alice, “You must feel as though your head is spinning. It’s been quite a week, hasn’t it?”
Puddin, bored now that her check was in her pocket, took a stroll around the store.
Alice nodded. “Yes. And I was so shocked to hear about Gabriel as well. We’d only just seen him at Amos’s funeral that morning.”
Myrtle said, “There had been talk that Gabriel might have been blackmailing someone over Amos’s death. That perhaps he knew something.”
Puddin exclaimed over one of the price tags and hastily put the garment back on the rack as if she might have to pay for it for looking at it.
Alice frowned, tilting her head to one side. “Blackmail doesn’t really sound like Gabriel.”
“Doesn’t it?” asked Myrtle.
“No. Don’t get me wrong—he was no angel and had a devilish sense of humor. But I don’t see him profiting off Amos’s death. Although I can see him telling the person that he knew what had happened. He liked to hold things over people’s heads,” said Alice.
“Did you like him?” asked Myrtle.
Alice gave a short laugh. “I liked
that Amos and he got along so well. But there was a little tension between us. Sometimes I think Gabriel was a little jealous over how close Amos and I were at one point. He would ask to go to the movies with us or to a concert and groups of three usually don’t work as well—somebody always gets left out. And Gabriel’s wife has never been one to enjoy going out.”
Myrtle said, “Who do you think could be responsible for Gabriel’s death?”
Alice sighed. “I really don’t know. Although after the funeral, I was in the parking lot and heard Josephine and Gabriel having an argument.”
Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “At the cemetery? How remarkable. What was the argument about?”
“I didn’t hear all of it because I didn’t want to seem to be snooping. But Gabriel seemed to be telling Josephine not to count her chickens before they hatched or some such.” Alice gave a shrug.
“What do you think he meant by that?” asked Myrtle. “And what did Josephine say?”
Alice said, “I really didn’t have any idea until the lawyer spoke with me. Then I guessed that perhaps Gabriel already knew about Amos’s will and was trying to give Josephine a hint that she might not be inheriting his estate.”
“Which probably made her furious,” said Myrtle thoughtfully.
Alice said dryly, “Josephine did tell him to drop dead.” Then she covered her hands with her mouth and her eyes grew wide.
“No one is fond of the bearer of bad news,” said Myrtle.
Alice said in a horrified voice, “But surely Josephine wouldn’t have murdered Gabriel because she was angry about him hinting about the inheritance?”
Myrtle shook her head. “Not likely. But what if Gabriel also used that opportunity to tell her to meet him later at his garage? That he had seen or knew something?”
Alice put her hand up to her neck. “Mercy. That’s truly awful. I never really thought that I could feel sorry for Gabriel, but now I can’t seem to help myself.”
Puddin was now suspiciously surveying the shop’s lingerie collection.
“Could you see Josephine reacting like that?” asked Myrtle. “I don’t know her very well.”
Alice thought about this for a minute. “As much as I hate to say it, I think I could. She has a good self-preservation instinct. And she’s tough as nails. I don’t believe that she was ever crazy about Gabriel, either. She thought he was a bad influence on your father.” She paused and said as Puddin wandered back over to them, “You know, we have a pair of earrings that would go really well with the new scarf.”
Puddin shot Myrtle a sideways glance.
Myrtle shook her head quickly. “We’re done for today, but thanks. Did you ever tell me whether you were planning on remaining at the shop?”
Alice laughed. “I can tell that you are a natural-born reporter, Miss Myrtle. The truth is that I really don’t know. I know I won’t put in as many hours as I do now, for sure. But I might be bored if I completely retired. It’s good to stay busy, isn’t it?”
Myrtle totally agreed. That was not to say that one of the highlights of her day wasn’t watching her soap opera, but she couldn’t imagine spending the rest of it hanging around the house.
“See you at the gala!” called Alice as Myrtle and Puddin walked to the door.
Suddenly Myrtle snapped her fingers. “Forgot something!”
“The earrings?” asked Puddin hopefully.
“No, poor Wanda,” said Myrtle. She turned around. “Alice, I should probably pick up a top or something for my other friend who is going to the gala.” Myrtle frowned as she tried to remember exactly what her bank balance was. Then she smiled as she remembered that Miles had offered to pay. “Puddin, if you could run out and ask Miles for his credit card?”
Alice, who worked on commission, beamed at her. “Of course, Miss Myrtle. What size is your friend?”
“Triple zero,” muttered Puddin, walking out, with the derisive snort of someone who had never been a triple zero.
“She’s very thin. Too thin. Maybe if you have something that covers that up? And maybe something that isn’t too expensive?” Myrtle wasn’t sure of the exact extent of Miles’s generosity and was still reflecting on the nebulous nature of her own bank account.
Alice said in a swift, understanding fashion, “We do have an excellent selection on the clearance rack.”
Myrtle suddenly felt more cheerful. “Yes, I’m sure you do.”
Puddin walked back in and presented Myrtle with the card.
Alice strode over to the clearance rack. “What color should I try to match with?” asked Alice, giving the rack a calculating look.
“Black,” said Myrtle and Puddin in chorus.
A few minutes later, Myrtle and Puddin were getting back into Miles’s car. As Myrtle suspected, he was sound asleep. He woke with a start when they slammed the car doors.
He readjusted his seat and rubbed his eyes. “We’re all good?”
Puddin apparently didn’t seem to think so. “Except I gotta go to the gala with a witch.”
“You should be happy that you’re going at all and with a new scarf, to boot,” snapped Myrtle. “You’re not even interested in gardening like Wanda is. You’re just there to eat free food and bring a plate home to Dusty.”
“Ain’t nuthin’ wrong with that! Leastways I’m honest about it. Why does the witch suddenly wanna garden? For food? Guess the witchin’ business ain’t been so good lately,” said Puddin with a shrug.
Myrtle rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I picked up a new top for Wanda with your card. I’ll put the receipt in your wallet.”
“Are we taking it to her now?” asked Miles.
“No, I’ll tell her we’ll pick her up early tomorrow so that she can come to my house and change,” said Myrtle.
“If her house phone is all paid up,” said Miles.
Myrtle said, “She has that phone that Sloan gave her for newspaper business. I’ll call her on that.”
Miles said, “So what time tomorrow, then? Seven? And what are our plans between now and then?”
Myrtle said, “Seven works. And my plan involves writing another article for Sloan and then doing some thinking. I feel as though I should know something. But I don’t know what it is.”
Puddin said, “I’m just glad I got my fifty dollars.”
“All in all, I’m really tired of hearing about that money, Puddin,” said Myrtle in a warning tone. “Although it was sweet of Alice to give it to you.”
Puddin nodded, looking lazily out of the car window. “Yeah. Especially since I ain’t never even laid eyes on her before.” She glanced at Myrtle, “What are you wearin’ to the gala?”
“Me? I haven’t even spared it a thought. I’ll simply pull some black slacks and a white or yellow blouse out of the closet and pair it with some pearls and black shoes. It’s easy enough,” said Myrtle.
“No one is asking what I’m wearing to the gala,” observed Miles mildly.
“No one is asking because everyone knows what you’ll wear,” said Myrtle. “It’ll either be the gray suit with the red tie—”
“Or them khakis an’ blue sportscoat,” said Puddin, finishing up.
“Am I that predictable?” asked Miles with a grimace as he pulled the car into Puddin’s driveway.
“In a good way,” assured Myrtle.
Puddin grinned in the backseat.
The next evening Miles picked Wanda up early to drop her off at Myrtle’s house to get ready. He muttered to Myrtle, “You may want to feed her a little, too. Otherwise, you know what may happen.”
“Otherwise she might eat most of the food at the gala,” said Myrtle. “Got it. Although I haven’t run an inventory of my pantry yet. Red might have had a couple more meals out of me.”
Miles left to get changed before he picked up Puddin. Then he would drive all four of them to the gala.
Myrtle said to Wanda, “I hope you’ll like this top I found for you. I figured it would go well with your black pants.” Not that Wanda
ever wore any other color of pant. For all Myrtle knew, it was the same pair each time.
She removed the garment bag and presented the top to Wanda. Myrtle was a little nervous about the top. The reason it might have been on the clearance rack was likely because it was a bit too sparkly for the average Bradley matron. It was red with black sequins and an asymmetric hem with a fringe hem sleeve that would reach Wanda’s elbows.
Wanda reached out and touched the top reverently before taking it gently from Myrtle. She looked solemnly at Myrtle. “Thank you. And Miles, too.”
“You’re very welcome Wanda, but I only hope it fits! It was the smallest size the shop carried,” said Myrtle. “Why don’t you try it on and then we’ll eat a snack before the event?”
Wanda shook her head, carefully touching a sequin. “Better eat now and try it on after. Don’t wanna spill on it.”
“Good point,” said Myrtle. She frowned. “Oh wait. Speaking of spills, I just remembered that I spilled mayo on my new funeral outfit after Amos’s service. It’s still at the cleaners.”
“Got other clothes?” asked Wanda, walking toward the kitchen.
“That’s an excellent question. Ordinarily the answer would be yes, but I have the feeling that the dry cleaner is actually the repository of more than one outfit,” said Myrtle, frowning even more ferociously.
She hurried to the kitchen and yanked open the pantry. “I’ll pull out some ideas for things for you to eat, Wanda, and then I better see what I can find to wear.” Myrtle hurriedly pulled out cereal, milk, bread, ham, cheese, tomatoes, and chips and then strode off to her room.
When she opened the closet, she groaned. “This isn’t good,” she muttered, sliding the hangers around and looking at the clothes. Nothing said gala. Many of the choices didn’t even say Bo’s Diner. She made a face.
Wanda wandered in, holding a sandwich and surveying her closet thoughtfully.
“What do you think, Wanda?” asked Myrtle.
“I think you should git to the dry cleaner,” said Wanda.
Cleaning is Murder Page 16
