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

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  She saw that Red had already finished his sandwich and was halfway through the large bag of potato chips. She decided that she should make another sandwich or two for him or else she wouldn’t have any chips left for later.

  Red said, “I guess that makes sense, in a sort of twisted way.”

  “And clearly, Gabriel wouldn’t want his wife to find out that he was having an affair. Although I don’t think his wife would have been all that surprised. He’s a natural flirt.” She quickly made another sandwich and slid it over in front of Red.

  “Is he?” asked Red.

  “He acts like he can’t even stop himself. But flirting is something completely different from actually having an affair,” said Myrtle. She immediately started making a third sandwich.

  Red said, “Gabriel would have felt he needed to keep his wife from finding out. But he isn’t exactly loaded.”

  Myrtle put the third sandwich in front of him right as he finished the second. “I’d imagine he makes a decent income as owner of a garage, but I don’t think he’s sitting on a fortune as Amos apparently was. Maybe he was tempted to solve the problem by getting rid of his blackmailer.”

  “That’s mere conjecture. And if people are saying that around town, I’d be sure to remind them of that fact.” Red stood up and put his plate and glass in the dishwasher. “Okay, well, thanks, Mama.”

  “Did you get enough to eat?” Myrtle sincerely hoped so or else she’d be heading to the store again.

  “I sure did. Enough that now I feel like a nap,” said Red. He gave a yawn as proof.

  “And Elaine doesn’t suspect a thing?” asked Myrtle.

  “Not so far. And at least this time your kitchen sink provided me with the perfect excuse for being here. I feel guilty, though—she’s trying so hard and she’s so excited to be making such healthy food for the family. I’m hoping she finishes up with this particular hobby quickly,” said Red in a fervent voice.

  “The hobbies never last long,” said Myrtle. “Fingers crossed.”

  After Red left, Myrtle made herself a sandwich. She had taken the last bite when the phone rang. It was Puddin.

  Puddin asked sullenly, “Does Red still think I done it?”

  “You mean are you still a murder suspect? Yes, but I don’t really think that he believes you’re capable of it, Puddin. There’s certainly no evidence or else you’d already be locked up by now,” said Myrtle.

  Puddin howled at the words ‘locked up’ and Myrtle pulled the receiver away from her ear.

  “Is that all you wanted, Puddin? Because I really need to visit Miles. He had a migraine earlier and couldn’t even make Amos’s funeral. Of course, I noticed you weren’t there, either,” said Myrtle.

  There was a pause on the other end and then Puddin said, “Didn’t go to the funeral. Didn’t like him.”

  “FYI, it doesn’t help that you keep repeating that statement ,or words to that effect.” Myrtle sighed. “I’m working hard to clear your name and you’re working hard to undo what I’m doing.”

  Puddin said grouchily, “Okay, okay. Just called to get the name of a book.”

  “The name of a book? What do you mean? What book?”

  Puddin said, “Told you I read books. But I need some practice. Tippy at book club told me to come back anytime.”

  “That’s the kind of thing that people say when they’re trying to be nice,” said Myrtle. “Although you could go to book club with me. Why not? I’m already taking Wanda to the garden club gala. Although I’m not sure that you will like the book the club is currently reading. Besides, if you were planning on attending the next meeting, you should already be nearly finished with the book.”

  “I can read fast,” said Puddin. Her doubtful tone contradicted the words. “What’s the book? Does the library have it?”

  “It’s 1984. They’d have it, but all the copies are probably checked out since it’s this month’s selection. Tell you what, I have an old copy from when I taught school. Although the book is covered with marginalia,” said Myrtle.

  Puddin’s voice was suspicious on the other end of the line. “You mean like bugs?”

  “I mean notes in the margins of the book,” said Myrtle.

  Another pause. “You wrote in the book?”

  “It’s allowed if it’s your own book. Ignore the notes if they bother you,” said Myrtle. “When do you want the book? And I’ll remind you that you’re going to need to do some speedy reading if you want to contribute at book club.”

  Puddin’s voice was grumpy again. “Reckon I’ll pick it up today. If Dusty’s truck is workin’, anyway. It’s been ornery lately.” There was yet another pause and then Puddin added, “Seems to me I should get to go to the gala, too. To be fair.”

  Myrtle said, “I don’t know why I have to be fair. I’m not Wanda’s and your mother, for heaven’s sake.”

  Puddin was stubbornly silent on the other end.

  “All right, I suppose you can go,” said Myrtle with a sigh.

  Puddin gave a satisfied chortle on the other end. “Okay. An’ I’ll get that book from you.”

  “Well, I may or may not be here. I’ll leave the book out on my front porch for you,” said Myrtle and then rang off abruptly.

  It took her only a couple of minutes to find the book on the small bookshelf in her hall. The paperback’s cover was soft with age and promptly fell apart in Myrtle’s hands in surrender. She muttered to herself as she pulled some tape out of a drawer and hastily patched the book back together again and put it outside her front door. Then she hurried off down the street to Miles’s house.

  Myrtle was so caught up in her own thoughts of suspects, Miles, and 1984 that she neglected to see if her despised neighbor Erma Sherman was lurking around in her yard and ready to ambush her. And, as it was whenever Myrtle accidentally let her guard down, Erma was there waiting for her.

  “Myrtle!” she shrieked, galloping over.

  Myrtle jumped, startled, and turned her horrified gaze on Erma. Erma was grinning at her, showing her prominent front teeth.

  “Going to see your paramour, I suppose?” Erma leered at her.

  “If you mean my friend, Miles, then yes I am,” said Myrtle in irritation. “He had a migraine today, and I wanted to run by and see if it was any better. So, if you’ll excuse me?”

  But Erma was never one to take a hint. “He didn’t go to the funeral?” she asked, determined to keep the conversation going.

  “No,” said Myrtle, moving forward.

  Erma hurried along beside her, increasing her speed to match Myrtle’s. “Are you investigating? Like you usually do?”

  “Naturally,” said Myrtle. She sped up, making wide swings with her cane in the hopes that Erma would trip over it.

  Erma said, “Do you think his girlfriend did it? Amos’s, I mean?”

  “Which girlfriend?” asked Myrtle, without being able to help herself. Erma, despite being annoying, did have both excellent eyesight and hearing and a willingness to snoop around and absorb all the local gossip.

  “That Amos was a sly devil, wasn’t he?” said Erma. She gave her annoying braying laugh. “I saw his girlfriend, Philomena, at the library when I was checking out the book club book. She was crying,” said Erma importantly. She paused. “You might want to write this down, Myrtle. Your memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “My memory is excellent,” said Myrtle coldly. She had a cold, sinking feeling hearing that Erma was talking about attending this month’s book club. “You’re going to book club tomorrow?”

  “Not this time. I hated the book. I read the first three pages and then had to stop. Anyway! Back to Philomena crying. Of course I went over to see why she was crying,” said Erma. She was huffing and puffing since Myrtle was still walking at a fast clip.

  “Because you’re so sensitive and you wanted to cheer her up,” said Myrtle sardonically.

  “Exactly. So I walked over and naturally she didn’t really want to talk about it, but t
hen I told her she would feel so much better if she did. That’s when she told me how awful Amos was. That he’d made her think that they had some kind of future together and then ended right back with Alice Porper.” Erma beamed at her. “That’s important to know, isn’t it? You can use that. Being mad gives her a motive.”

  “Thanks for that, Erma,” said Myrtle between gritted teeth. It hurt her to thank Erma for anything. But it did prove that Philomena was more upset about Amos’s lack of fidelity than she’d let on. Alice had hinted at much the same thing when she mentioned Philomena’s icy glares at her.

  “Say, what about your housekeeper? That Puddin. I heard that she was really mad at Amos, too. Everybody knows it because she was shouting at him in public. And, like we were saying, being mad gives someone a motive. You might have to find yourself a new cleaning lady!” Erma gave her braying laugh again.

  Myrtle frowned sternly at her and then said firmly, “Puddin had nothing to do with it, Erma. That’s something that you can do for me—spread the word that she’s innocent.”

  Erma’s face fell. “Oh, really? I’d thought it was pretty exciting if I had a killer right next door to me at your house. That would be something to talk about, wouldn’t it?”

  Ordinarily it would be nice for Erma to talk about anything but her own disgusting health problems, which were ordinarily her go-to topic of conversation. “Well, that’s definitely not the case. So spread the word, like I said. I’ll talk to you later, all right? I really do need to check in with Miles.” Now she was standing in front of Miles’s house and she did need to rid herself of Erma. Miles would never forgive her for allowing the woman to wander in with her when he had a migraine.

  Erma said, “I’ll let you know when I hear more clues!” She bounded away.

  Myrtle rapped on Miles’s door with great urgency in case Erma decided to extend their visit.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Miles answered. He was pale and his eyes squinted as if the sunshine hurt him.

  Myrtle pushed her way past him. “Lock the door!” she said. “Erma may still be lurking out there or might remember something she forgot to tell me or something else equally horrid.”

  Miles immediately locked the door.

  Myrtle walked over to Miles’s sofa and plopped down. “Erma is so nosy and loud that I simply can’t figure out why on earth no one murders her. All of these perfectly respectable people end up murdered and somehow Erma is always left in the land of the living. The murderers in this town are exceptionally dimwitted.”

  Miles carefully sat down in his recliner and immediately put it in the reclining position. “It’s unfortunate. Thanks for managing to shake her off before she ended up in here. I couldn’t have handled an Erma encounter today.”

  “I do bring good news. Erma is not going to the book club meeting. She didn’t read the book because she disliked the first few pages,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “Typical Erma.”

  “That’s excellent news.” Miles gave a wan smile.

  “But the bad news is that Puddin has decided that she’s a reader and is determined to crash book club.” Myrtle made a face.

  “Didn’t I hear Tippy invite her, though? At the end of the meeting last time?” asked Miles. “She can’t crash it if she was invited.”

  “Tippy only said that to be nice. I’m sure the last thing she wants is an obnoxious Puddin there. But I did give Puddin my old classroom copy of the book. After all, maybe it will distract her from making any more self-incriminating comments around town. Erma took great delight in informing me that the entire town believes Puddin is responsible for Amos’s death,” said Myrtle. She frowned at Miles’s pale complexion. “How is the headache?”

  Miles sighed and pushed his hands against his temples as if trying to offer himself some counter pressure. “It’s much better but still somewhere in the background. I’m glad I didn’t try to go to the funeral. I spent the morning with an icy gel pack on my face, lying in a dark room. The sun at the funeral service wouldn’t have helped. Did you find anything out there?”

  “I found out that Gabriel Tharpe is rather flirtatious. He was even flirting with Elaine as if it was some sort of compulsive reflex he had,” said Myrtle.

  Miles said, “That’s chancy, isn’t it, flirting with the wife of the police chief? Especially if you’re a murder suspect.”

  “Like I said, I don’t think he’s able to help himself. That’s why I wondered if perhaps Amos was blackmailing Gabriel over an affair,” said Myrtle.

  “Blackmail? When did blackmail come into the picture?” asked Miles.

  “When I tricked Red into disclosing that fact. We knew that Gabriel and Amos had been on the outs, but we really didn’t know why. Gabriel gave some sort of lame excuse about being irritated with Amos because Amos was trying to make him pay up on a silly horse racing bet. But I wonder if Gabriel had bragged to Amos about an affair and then Amos decided to hold it over his head and make him pay out,” said Myrtle.

  “It seems like an odd thing for Amos to do,” said Miles.

  “Amos was rather odd. Let’s face it. He had a lot of money but behaved as though he didn’t have any. This definitely would have been a way to supplement his income and also stick it to Gabriel. Maybe he was mad at him for not paying up after the horse racing bet,” said Myrtle.

  “Anything else?” asked Miles.

  “Gabriel gave a lovely eulogy, but I suspect he’s the sort of person who’s able to fake it. Aside from that, he said that he believed Philomena or her brother must be responsible for Amos’s death. And when I had my horrid run-in with Erma on the way over here, she said that she’d seen Philomena crying at the library and had harassed her until she confessed that she was crying over Amos and that he’d gone back to Alice. There were definitely some bad feelings there,” said Myrtle.

  Her phone started ringing, and she frowned as she pulled it out of her purse. Myrtle rolled her eyes when she saw who it was.

  “Puddin? Did you find the book?” asked Myrtle.

  Puddin’s voice was suspicious. “Are you sure this is the right book?”

  “It is.”

  “Didn’t think y’all read history books at this book club,” said Puddin, sounding sullen.

  “History? No, we’re decidedly not a history-reading book club. What makes you think so?”

  “Because 1984 was a long time ago,” said Puddin.

  “Yes, but it was supposed to be a long time in the future. So you have to read it as though it’s written about a time that’s coming in the next hundred years or so,” said Myrtle.

  “This book is falling apart and has a lot of writin’ in it,” continued Puddin.

  “Then leave it, for heaven’s sake!” snapped Myrtle. “But you’re the one who was so bound and determined to come to book club. Good luck finding another copy of the book. Although I happen to know that Erma Sherman picked up a copy from the library. She’s not likely to be the kind to return it promptly, even though she has no intention of reading it. You could run by there and ask to borrow her copy.”

  The grumblings on the other end of the line indicated that Puddin thought a visit with Erma Sherman was not exactly on Puddin’s agenda. Then Puddin said ungraciously, “Suppose I’ll read yours then. Even though you wrote in it.”

  Puddin hung up and Myrtle sighed as she put her phone away.

  Miles intoned, “I foresee disaster.”

  “That’s Tippy’s problem. She shouldn’t have encouraged Puddin,” said Myrtle, making a face.

  “It seems to me that part of the problem is your own making,” said Miles. “You’re the one who implied that Puddin doesn’t read books.”

  “That’s because Puddin doesn’t read books! She watches game shows and soap operas. Which reminds me, our soap should be coming on soon,” said Myrtle, glancing at the clock.

  Miles flinched as he frequently did when Myrtle used the words our soap. He enjoyed Tomorrow’s Promise as much as she did but would rather k
eep it under his hat. The last thing he wanted was for the entire town of Bradley to know about his television viewing habits.

  Myrtle stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Let’s end this headache. It’s getting tiresome. Have you had anything to eat?”

  Miles shook his head.

  “Have you had an aspirin or ibuprofen or anything in the last four hours?”

  Again he shook his head.

  “All right. So I’ll make us sandwiches, give you some medicine, and we’ll watch Tomorrow’s Promise.” Myrtle bustled away.

  Ten minutes later, they were watching the show. Carmine had a secret baby that was turning out not to be secret anymore because Tristan was blackmailing her over it and she was trying to decide whether she should just let the knowledge be public.

  After it was over, Miles said, “There’s nothing like a soap opera to make real life seem dull and manageable in comparison.”

  “Exactly. Even though it’s apparently full of blackmailing, too.” Myrtle turned to look at Miles. “How are you feeling?”

  “I think I’m back to normal,” said Miles in surprise.

  “Good. It’s about time.” Myrtle’s phone rang again, and she scowled. “Is it that Puddin again? I swear I’m going to let her have it this time.”

  But it wasn’t Puddin. It was Elaine.

  “Everything all right?” asked Myrtle.

  “Everything is all right here, but I have some terrible news. At least, it was terrible for me and I’m thinking it will be terrible for you, too. After all, we were both just talking to him!” Elaine sounded breathless.

  “Who?” demanded Myrtle.

  “Gabriel. He’s been found dead!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  There was a wail on the other end and Elaine said hurriedly, “Got to go.” She abruptly hung up.

  Miles said, “What is it?”

  “Gabriel Tharpe is dead. Jack is crying and Elaine can’t give me any more information than that while he’s upset. Let’s go over there,” said Myrtle.