Cleaning is Murder (A Myrtle Clover Cozy Mystery Book 13)

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  Alice’s shocked state alarmed Miles. He blurted, “Are you all right? Should we call someone?”

  Alice shook her head and continued staring at Myrtle.

  Myrtle took this as a sign to continue. She said, “Unfortunately, it didn’t appear to be a natural death. I’m so sorry—I do know that you two were in a relationship for a long time.”

  Alice’s silence became rather uncomfortable, which made Myrtle squirm. Finally, however, she spoke. “What happened?”

  “Someone took it upon themselves to strike Amos with a glass cleaning bottle. I’m sure he never knew what hit him,” said Myrtle. She wondered if she should change tack and give Alice time to process this information. Myrtle abruptly stood. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant.”

  “Like your funeral dress?” asked Miles in a dry voice.

  “Precisely,” snapped Myrtle.

  Alice moved quickly back into the role of shop associate. She stood and moved toward a rack of dresses almost as if from muscle memory. “What color dress were you wanting?”

  “Nothing too lively,” said Myrtle.

  Alice was the type of store associate who had been in the business for so long that she knew exactly what size Myrtle was by looking at her. She glanced quickly at Myrtle’s physique in an assessing manner.

  Alice pursed her lips as she stared at the rack of dresses that were in Myrtle’s size. She pulled out a black dress that had a large, abstract white pattern on it. Myrtle thought she heard Miles snicker from his chair. But when she turned to scowl at him, he was benignly reading from a fishing magazine.

  “Perhaps something more traditional,” said Myrtle.

  Alice slid the dress back onto the rack and considered the dresses again. Then she said, “I know you said that you specifically wanted a dress for funerals. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a top and pant? There would be more choice, for sure.”

  “Not sportswear, surely?” asked Myrtle in alarm.

  Alice said, “Oh no, no. These would be dressy ensembles.”

  Myrtle squinted doubtfully. “Doesn’t that violate some sort of funeral code for women of a particular age? I thought I had to wear hose, dark shoes, and a somber dress.”

  Alice said, “The problem is that we don’t really have any somber-looking dresses. They’re all party dresses. They’re festive.”

  Myrtle blinked at her. “No dark coat dresses? Nothing suitably mournful?”

  Alice regretfully shook her head, appearing quite remorseful over the store’s shortcomings in stocking dreary, bleak garments.

  Myrtle sighed. “I suppose I could use my old dress for occasions that seem to warrant something more formal and perhaps wear slacks and a top for others.” She held up a finger. “Only if they’re appropriately dressy.”

  Alice brightened. “I have just the thing.” She walked farther away, navigating the circular racks that dotted the floor. She returned with a pair of black slacks and a black and white ¾ sleeve top with large black buttons.

  Myrtle nodded slowly, head tilted sideways as she studied the outfit. “That’s perfect, isn’t it? It even covers up matronly arms.”

  “It’s easy to wear, can be laundered at home, and is still rather smart-looking,” said Alice. “Would you like to try it on?”

  Myrtle remembered the calculating look from Alice when she was gauging her size. She had the feeling that the pants and top would be the perfect fit. “Oh, I don’t think so. No, I’ll just take them. Wait a second.” She grabbed the dangling price tags and frowned at them before letting them go. “They even fit in my budget.”

  Alice smiled. “I kept budget concerns in mind when I pulled them out.”

  Myrtle followed Alice to a high counter in the front of the store. Alice was carefully sliding the pants and top in a garment bag when she paused. “Do you mind if I ask you more questions about Amos?” she asked tentatively.

  Myrtle said, “It would only be natural. You must be so shocked to hear the news.”

  Alice said, “Honestly, I feel numb. I’m sure it will hit me soon and then I’ll be positively devastated. Amos and I spent so much time together. He would plan special outings for us and we’d have such fun.”

  Myrtle said, “Amos certainly seemed to be quite the reader. Did he also enjoy the theater and art shows and so forth?”

  Alice colored. “He did. I’m afraid that sometimes we weren’t as good of a match in that department, though. I could get confused going to some of the films that he wanted to see. And I was hopeless going to see plays at the college—sometimes those were especially artsy. If we went to Charlotte to see art shows, those were completely over my head. I haven’t had as much time to read as I’d like, either.”

  Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “It sounds as though you went out quite a bit together.”

  Alice gave a tinkling laugh. “It may sound that way, but these things were all stretched out over a number of years. Amos really didn’t like spending money. Sometimes I’d even pay the way for both of us because I was under the impression that I had more disposable income than he did.”

  “But that wasn’t the case?” asked Myrtle.

  “No. Actually, I learned that Amos had plenty of money. He was simply something of a miser. He spent as little as he possibly could. I still treasured any small thing that he got for me ... but they were small. That’s because I thought small things were all that he could afford. He’d bring me a single rose or a box of chocolates as surprises out of the clear blue. I always considered him so thoughtful,” said Alice, rather sadly.

  Myrtle said, “When did you discover that he had more money than you’d thought?”

  “Oh, a few months ago. His daughter was yelling at Amos because she’d just discovered how much he was worth,” said Alice.

  Myrtle said, “That’s right, he does have a daughter. What was her name again? I can see her in my head as clearly as anything.”

  “Josephine.” Alice seemed to grimace when she said the name.

  “Ah. And she’s not very pleasant, is she? I’m remembering a thin woman with a perpetually unhappy expression and sharp features,” said Myrtle.

  Now Alice wore a faint smile. “That would be Josephine, yes. Frankly, I tried to spend as little time as possible with her, but it was difficult. She was frequently over at Amos’s house.”

  “Was she? Did they get along well with each other?” asked Myrtle.

  Alice shook her head. “Josephine was always upset with Amos and vice versa. Josephine felt as though she spent way too much time trying to help Amos. You see, he’d tell her that he needed some help around the house and she’d have to go over there after work or on weekends and help him with his laundry or scrubbing the baseboards or vacuuming, or whatever else he said he needed a hand with.”

  Myrtle frowned. “But he had a housekeeper. Puddin is my cleaning lady, too, and I know that she cleaned for Amos. Admittedly, she doesn’t do a very good job and certainly doesn’t do laundry, but I wouldn’t think he would need both Puddin and Josephine to clean for him.”

  Alice said, “He only employed Puddin after Josephine refused to do any more work for him. She finally got fed up and took a closer look at his finances while he was out and she was in his house cleaning. She found his bank statements and investment statements and discovered that Amos was actually quite wealthy. And that made her furious at her father. Honestly, it made me pretty unhappy, too. I’d paid for some of our dates with my hard-earned cash, thinking I had more disposable income than Amos did.”

  “Is that why you broke up?” asked Myrtle.

  Alice shook her head and flushed. She glanced in Miles’s direction to make sure he wasn’t listening in, but he had fallen asleep, his head lolling on his chest. “I didn’t break up with Amos. Amos broke up with me. I was completely taken by surprise too and didn’t see it coming. He was seeing someone behind my back. I felt so foolish and I had no idea that he was seeing Philomena. In a town this size! I must have been blind to i
t because I didn’t want to know.”

  “And no one told you?” asked Myrtle. “No well-meaning girlfriend of yours? Because it’s the type of thing that a woman would tell another woman if they were friends, isn’t it?”

  Alice nodded. “Yes, but you see, between working here at the shop and spending time with Amos, I really didn’t have the free time to make or keep friends. So instead of people telling me that Amos was cheating on me, they were laughing at me.” She looked miserably down at the floor.

  Myrtle said briskly, “I’m sure that’s not the case at all. They were probably reluctant to tell you about it because they thought it was none of their business. I certainly haven’t seen any examples of anyone laughing at someone else in this town. Not adults, anyway.”

  Alice gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Miss Myrtle.”

  “What was your opinion of Philomena?” asked Myrtle.

  Alice chuckled. “I suppose I can try to be unbiased, but no promises. She was probably a better intellectual match for Amos. He was always learning, always thinking. Philomena strikes me the same way. She’s very brainy. We were in school together and she was always winning math club competitions and that sort of thing. But she was spoiled silly by her parents. I remember that she always wore the latest fashions and that they gave her a beautiful car on her sixteenth birthday. She always got what she wanted. I think all of us were green with envy.”

  “Have you had any conversations with her lately? Since she and Amos broke up?” asked Myrtle.

  “Oh goodness no. No. As I mentioned, I think Philomena has always gotten whatever she wanted. And then, when she didn’t, she wasn’t very happy. The last couple of times that I’ve happened across Philomena at the drugstore or grocery store, she’s given me quite the cold shoulder,” said Alice.

  Myrtle said, “That’s silly of her. After all, it was Amos’s choice whom to date. Do you have any idea who might have done such a thing to Amos? Who might have been unhappy enough with him to have murdered him?”

  Alice’s eyes were weepy now and Myrtle flinched. Fortunately, however, Alice appeared to get a grip on her emotions. “I suppose that I’m the prime suspect and the person who was the unhappiest with Amos. I wasn’t happy when he left me for Philomena. But then, he did come back to me. I swear, Miss Myrtle, I was right here at the shop this morning. Really, I was!”

  Myrtle said, “Someone, who might be wrong, mentioned seeing you at Amos’s house this morning.”

  Alice’s eyes were wide as she shook her head.

  “Let’s move past focusing on you for a moment. Who else might have been the person responsible for Amos’s death?”

  Alice said sadly, “I really hate to think like that. I can’t imagine anyone who could be angry enough to kill Amos. I mean, Amos had his issues, but he sure wasn’t the kind of person who gets himself murdered.”

  Myrtle gritted her teeth a moment before managing to ask in a pleasant voice, “But if you had to choose someone who might have been somehow involved, whom would you pick?”

  Alice said slowly, “I’d choose Josephine.”

  Myrtle said, “His daughter was that unhappy that he had money and didn’t tell her?”

  “She was. And hurt. Plus, she has a terrible temper. Josephine even told me that I should step up and do more for Amos. That was before she realized that he was financially comfortable and didn’t need anything else. She yelled at me like you wouldn’t believe.” Alice flushed again as if she was reliving the moment and it was just as painful as before.

  Alice handed Myrtle the garment bag and said, brow wrinkling, “You don’t think Amos was in any pain, do you? When he was murdered?”

  Myrtle said, “He never knew what hit him.”

  Minutes later, Myrtle woke the sleeping Miles up and he made his stumbling way back to the car.

  “Did you get that black and white splattered-looking dress then?” asked Miles. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It looked like a Rorschach test.”

  Myrtle glared at him. “It certainly didn’t. It was a very fine dress, just not suited for me. I ended up with a pant and top combination.”

  Miles raised his eyebrows. “That’s rather daring, isn’t it? You usually have a set idea of the kind of thing you wear to funerals. I don’t remember pants being in the mix unless you have some sort of wardrobe malfunction.”

  “I’m trying to keep up with the times. I’m surprised you’re focusing on the fashion aspect of our visit with Alice instead of the interview aspect,” said Myrtle.

  Miles said, “Sorry. I dozed off in there. The outdoors magazine was hardly riveting. What did you find out?”

  “I found out that Amos’s daughter was not much of a fan of her father’s. And that Amos had a lot more money than it seemed,” said Myrtle.

  Miles frowned. “He sure didn’t seem to spend it. His house was very modest.”

  “That’s the whole point. He was something of a miser and that’s likely how he ended up with so much money,” said Myrtle. “Apparently, his daughter used to clean for him before she found out that he could easily afford help. Then Puddin came on the scene.”

  “I have a feeling that a visit with Amos’s daughter is on the horizon,” said Miles as he drove.

  Myrtle shook her head. “That’s enough for today. I’d imagine that Red must have started with Amos’s daughter, but I sure don’t have it in me to inform another person today that Amos is dead, if not. We’ll start out with his daughter tomorrow. Josephine, her name is. I want to go home and work on my piece for Sloan before he elbows me out of the writing of it. And I guess I need to transcribe Wanda’s scribbles for him, too.”

  A few minutes later, Miles pulled onto Magnolia Lane and then in front of Myrtle’s house. Staring out the window, he muttered, “What on earth? I don’t remember your having such a large gnome in your collection. Is it new? What’s it supposed to represent?”

  “New gnome?” Myrtle glowered out the passenger window. “That’s no gnome, that’s Puddin! Why is she sitting in the middle of the gnomes? Plus, the gnomes aren’t arranged at all, but thrown in a pile in the middle of the yard. Where’s Dusty?”

  Miles put the car in park and turned off the engine. They got out of the car and surveyed Myrtle’s yard.

  “I think that’s Dusty there,” said Miles, gesturing to a figure propped up against the wheel of his truck. Dusty appeared to be sleeping and Puddin, upon closer inspection, was most definitely sleeping as she slumped against two gnomes, her mouth open.

  Myrtle walked over and positioned herself between Dusty in the driveway and Puddin in the yard. “What’s going on here?” she bellowed.

  They both jumped like guilty children.

  Dusty glowered at Myrtle as if she was somehow to blame for the whole mess. “Back was thrown. Puddin had to help.”

  Puddin glared at Dusty. “Wasn’t fair. Wasn’t my job. An’ I’ve had a rough day!”

  Myrtle clucked. “Are thrown backs contagious? That’s usually Puddin’s excuse. These gnomes look horrid . . . and now what am I supposed to do? I can’t leave them like this.”

  Puddin growled under her breath and Dusty said in a slightly louder voice this time, “Puddin’ an’ I’ll fix it. My back’s better after the nap.”

  “They don’t have to be perfect, they simply shouldn’t be in a pile in the yard,” said Myrtle.

  The two continued grouching as they lifted and moved the gnomes.

  This being settled, Myrtle waved to Miles, who returned to his car and drove home.

  Myrtle turned to Puddin. “I heard something very interesting about you today.”

  Puddin frowned at her and Myrtle continued, “I heard that you had an argument with Amos Subers at the library. And I have some questions about that.”

  Puddin said fiercely, “Weren’t no argument. Just told him I wanted my money.”

  “Loudly? With a good deal of emphasis?” asked Myrtle. “In an argumentative fashion?”

  Pu
ddin tilted her head to one side to decode all of that. “I was mad.”

  “And what exactly were you doing at the library? You rarely hang out there,” said Myrtle.

  “I read!” said Puddin in a defensive tone.

  Myrtle frowned at her and Dusty gave a dry cackle.

  “I do! Went to your stupid book club, didn’t I?” demanded Puddin.

  Myrtle said, “You did. Of course, the meeting and discussion were already over and your attendance there consisted of bragging and eating leftover club food. Which takes me back to my original question: what were you doing at the library?”

  Puddin continued stubbornly holding Myrtle’s gaze until she suddenly dropped it. “Saw his car,” she said sullenly.

  “Amos’s car? At the library? So you popped in to confront him,” said Myrtle. “I do recall he had something of a distinctive car. A classic car, perhaps?”

  “An old car!” said Puddin disdainfully.

  “Well, it’s most unfortunate that you chose the library as the place for your dispute. Loud voices stand out there and the library is popular on hot days. Now half the town probably knows that you had an issue with Amos directly before he was murdered,” said Myrtle.

  Puddin squinted at her. “But you’ll figure it out.”

  “Of course I will. But in the meantime, be cooperative. Help me to help you,” said Myrtle as she walked up to her front door and closed it behind her. “Complete and utter nonsense,” she muttered to herself.

  Chapter Nine

  Myrtle walked into her kitchen and was greeted by Pasha, who bounded in through the kitchen window. “Good kitty,” crooned Myrtle as she set out a paper plate with a can of tuna on it. Then she opened her pantry door ... and belatedly remembered that Red and Wanda had both wiped her out of pretty much anything interesting to eat. She’d forgotten to go to the store with Miles.

  “Pooh,” she said, staring into the pantry. She heard the front door loudly shut in the living room and called out, “If that’s you, Puddin, those gnomes better be sitting pretty in the front yard!”

  “Very threatening, Mama,” drawled Red as he joined her in the kitchen. “But it’s me.” He shot her an irritated look. “Although I don’t know why you elected to have your yard art pulled out. You and I have been getting along pretty well lately, I thought.”