A Body at Book Club (Myrtle Clover Mysteries) (10 page)

Suddenly, she heard a bumping noise from the direction of the kitchen. She straightened up after having been stooped over the end table and stuck her hand in her purse, grabbing her pepper spray. Was this person coming after her?

Chapter Ten

Myrtle heard the kitchen door swiftly slam behind whoever was rapidly leaving. She hurried to the window, but saw nothing. There were woods bordering that side of the house (more of Rose’s precious trees) and the intruder had taken advantage of their cover to escape.

So Rose must have just been murdered. Myrtle shuddered at the thought that she could have walked in on a murder in progress if she’d arrived moments earlier. She jumped as she heard the sound of a door again and then realized it was Red coming at last.

Red called out, an anxious sharpness to his voice, “Mama? Mama, where are you?”

“I’m in the living room, Red. Right here.”

Red hurried in, his face relaxing a little when he saw she was all right, but then tensing up again when he saw the slumped figure on the floor. “What in the Sam Hill is going on here? Two murders in Rose Mayfield’s house in the last week?”  He pulled out a handkerchief and quickly swabbed his forehead. Then he placed a quick, terse phone call to the State Bureau of Investigations (SBI), which was the North Carolina State Police. “What were you doing here again?”

Myrtle hesitated. After receiving the phone call from Greener Pastures that morning, she wasn’t exactly in a sharing, cooperative type of mood. Red would be furious if he thought she was poking around in the murder still. She thought she might just test his detective skills a little and see if he or the state police noticed the crossword puzzle book. Myrtle had a feeling they might overlook the clue—the
real
clue.

So, instead, she said firmly, “I’d asked Rose to be on the lookout for Pasha. I gave her a flyer and all. I was following up with her to see whether she’d spotted her. Rose spends a lot of time outside, gardening.”

Red raised his eyebrows, glancing around. “Doesn’t look like Rose paid all that much attention to the flyer. I don’t see it lying around or posted on her French doors or anything.”

Myrtle snapped, “Maybe she’s got it on her fridge. Who knows? Maybe she has a photographic memory and simply stared at Pasha’s picture and then tossed the paper. Who cares what
I
was doing here, anyway? I didn’t kill Rose. But I surprised the person who did.”

Red drew in a gasping breath. “You did? You saw him?”

“No, I didn’t see him, I
surprised
him. When he heard me calling out for Rose when I opened the door, he hid in the kitchen. I heard him run out a few minutes later. I guess he must have run into the woods,” said Myrtle.

“Seems likely,” said Red. His lips were pulled down into a ferocious frown.

“I’m sure no one saw a fleeing suspect, either,” said Myrtle. “No one sees anything in this town!”  She glared at Rose’s body.

“Now, it’s hardly Rose’s fault that she was too dead to witness the killer’s getaway,” said Red with a roll of his eyes. “I told you to keep out of all this, if you remember. Don’t think I’m buying the story about the cat. I have a terrible feeling this is all going to end poorly if you don’t butt out, Mama. This person means business. He might even have seen you through the kitchen door or a reflection or something. Might have recognized your voice.”

Myrtle guiltily recalled that she’d identified herself as she’d entered Rose’s house. “So this murderer might have seen you snooping and is deciding that you’re next, Mama.”

“I wasn’t snooping!”  Myrtle drew back as if she’d been stung, her face flushing with the lie.

“Regardless, you’re probably in danger. Why don’t you just do something fun to distract yourself? Go to Bo’s Diner with Miles or something.”

Myrtle looked away and Red said slowly, “Oh no. You haven’t offended Miles, have you?”

“He offends
me
!”  Myrtle clenched her hand tightly over the hook of her cane. “And so do you!  What on earth was that phone call this morning about?”

Red genuinely looked puzzled. “Phone call? I didn’t make a phone call this morning.”

“From Greener Pastures. They called me and said I had to be interviewed by them to see if I were suitable or some such nonsense.”

Red sighed. “They called you? Well, that’s irritating.”

His mother continued to glare at him and Red said quickly, “Mama, is this really the right time and place to have an argument about this? Standing over a dead woman?” 

He could see Myrtle wasn’t letting him off the hook, though. He said, “I knew something was up when I saw those blasted gnomes in your yard. Yes, I put you on the waiting list. It’s the kind of waiting list where you can wait for until you need them. If they call and tell you there’s an opening, we can tell them no and then they put you back on the waiting list again. See? The place does fill up, Mama. There might come a time when you need them and
they’re
not available.”

“I will
not
need them.”

“You might like Greener Pastures if you took a real tour of the place,” said Red.

“I’ve been there a million times!  Visiting my poor, pitiful friends who ended up in that dive.”

Red closed his eyes. “But it wasn’t a tour. And the people you were visiting probably weren’t making it sound as great as it is.” He was about to continue on this line of thought when his phone rang again. “Okay, we’re done here, Mama. I need to get you out of here—the state police are on their way.”  He walked Myrtle safely outside and then walked back in to wait for the state police.

Red’s mulishness on the subject of Greener Pastures merely reinforced Myrtle’s decision not to share her crossword puzzle findings with either him or the state police. If Red was so smart and knew best, then let him figure out that the clue in the margin wasn’t related to the puzzle at all.

Besides, Myrtle didn’t know exactly what it meant, herself. But, at least it had given her a line of inquiry. What seating arrangements was Rose talking about? Did it have something to do with book club? Myrtle furrowed her brow. No, it couldn’t have. There were never any seating arrangements at book club. It must be that garden club luncheon that she didn’t attend. Had someone been sitting in the wrong place? Had someone rearranged the place cards, perhaps? Perhaps Rose had seen the person do it. Had Rose contacted the killer to ask about it?

As Red spoke with the state police, Myrtle mulled over her next move. It was probably time to pay another call on Claudia Brown. She’d seemed very earnest when she’d told Myrtle she’d look out for Pasha. Who knew—maybe she’d even had a Pasha sighting? Besides, the way Maxine had talked, she thought perhaps Claudia was more upset over losing her soloist position at the church than Myrtle had realized.

“Mama?”  Red’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “The folks from the state police would like to ask you a few questions.” Myrtle walked toward the group of officers and Red muttered to her, “Probably want to hear firsthand how you keep finding dead bodies everywhere.”

Actually, the state police had not asked her such a rude question. Myrtle’s favorite SBI policeman, Detective Lieutenant Perkins, had been on the scene and had listened carefully to every word she said, sometimes jotting down a note or two in a small notebook. He seemed to accept Myrtle’s story without question. He was interested more in the time of her arrival, the noise she’d heard in the kitchen, and whether she’d seen the escaping murderer. Then he’d politely thanked her and let her go.

“Do you need a ride somewhere, Mama?” asked Red in a rushed manner.

“Won’t you be tied up here for a while?” asked Myrtle.

“Not necessarily. The state police are pretty capable of …” He broke off as Perkins called him to come over.

“Never mind,” said Myrtle. “I think you’re going to end up more tied up here than you think. A walk will be good for me and give me the chance to keep an eye out for Pasha, too.” And to talk to Claudia Brown without Red being difficult.

Claudia didn’t seem excited to see her. Actually, Claudia Brown seemed completely appalled to see Myrtle. Her always-tightly-permed mousy hair was practically standing up on end and she looked as though she had been doing yard work. Very diligent yard work according to the amount of perspiration that appeared to have been generated.

“Miss Myrtle,” said Claudia weakly. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

“My dear, I’ve had a simply terrible morning. Terrible! I need some consolation.”

Claudia stared blankly at her.

“Consolation,” repeated Myrtle slowly. When that engendered no response, Myrtle rephrased. “I need someone to invite me in and offer me lemonade.”

“Oh!”  Claudia finally nodded her understanding. “Come on in, Miss Myrtle. Have a seat.”

She led Myrtle into her small and very untidy living room where she hurriedly made room for her on a sofa covered with what looked like scrapbooking supplies and bits of fabric. “You’re crafty,” said Myrtle. “How very impressive.” The room, if it were possible, was even more cluttered than it had appeared the last time Myrtle stood in it.

Claudia seemed as if she were trying to hold onto a thought. This was apparently a painful process, judging from her squished-up face. Finally, she said, “Lemonade. That’s right. I’ll get it.”

“Or just water, if that’s what you have,” called Myrtle behind her as Claudia trotted off to the kitchen.

Myrtle took the opportunity to glance around her a bit. There was so much clutter that it was a bit overwhelming. It was easy to find a clue in a house like Rose Mayfield’s, where everything had a special spot…and was
in
its special spot. In a house like Claudia’s, however, it was a different story. Claudia did have pictures, unlike Rose. In fact, Claudia had so many pictures that it was difficult to absorb them all. There were pictures of what must be Claudia’s parents, pictures of what looked to be a Sunday school class. Pictures everywhere and the frames appeared to have been personally matted by Claudia herself.

Myrtle reached across to the scrapbook next to her on the sofa. It was full of church bulletins. Upon further investigation, Myrtle noted that Claudia was mentioned in each and every one of the bulletins that she opened.
Soloist Claudia Brown
. She even had a couple of newspaper clippings that mentioned her singing at the church. Well, that just goes to show the kind of newspaper that Myrtle wrote for.
The
Bradley Bugle
was nothing if not a small town paper.

She heard Claudia returning and quickly pulled back from the scrapbook, instead gazing innocently out the window as she approached with a glass of lemonade and a single ice cube. She’d filled the glass all the way to the rim, which was particularly shortsighted since she’d known she’d have to walk with it. Sure enough, the resulting sloshing over the rim as Claudia approached meant for a sticky glass. Claudia hadn’t brought a napkin with her…and seemed rather oddly oblivious to the spill.

“Here we are,” said Claudia brightly. She sat down next to Myrtle, perching on the bit of sofa that appeared after she’d shoved the scrapbook farther away. She gazed uncertainly at Myrtle through her cat eye glasses and shifted a bit uncomfortably. “Are you having a good day?”

Myrtle gave Claudia her best, reassuring, old-lady smile. Claudia appeared even mousier than she usually did. Today she wore a brown top
and
brown slacks. She didn’t want to scare off this woman before she’d even started really asking her questions, but she was here for a reason.

“It’s been a difficult day, I’m sorry to say. Very difficult. You see, I discovered Rose Mayhew’s dead body in her house this morning.” Myrtle pursed her lips primly and sat up straight in her seat.

Claudia gave a ragged gasp and clutched her throat. But there was a flash, just for a fraction of a second, of some unidentifiable emotion in her ordinarily-dull eyes. “Did Rose have a…heart attack?” asked Claudia in a hopeful voice.

“She did not. She had a murderer attack her with a fireplace poker.” Myrtle made her voice as grim and schoolteacher-like as possible. Some people responded well to this tactic and she hoped that Claudia would. There were actually many things Myrtle would like to tell Claudia in her schoolteacher voice. Sit up straight, don’t bite your nails, and stop pulling your earlobes or else they’ll reach down to your knees. Being around Claudia made Myrtle agitated.

Claudia was looking rather green. “Murdered?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Myrtle briskly. She leveled a look at Claudia. “What were you doing this morning?”

“
This
morning?” asked Claudia frantically.

“This morning.”