A Body at Bunco (10 page)

Miles squinted at Myrtle’s house. “You already have a visitor, Myrtle.”

Myrtle turned to see Mimsy on her front porch. Mimsy gave her a cheerful wave. “Well, speak of the devil,” muttered Myrtle.

“So to speak,” said Miles. “I thought we just decided she was a paragon of virtue. Friend to the friendless.”

“Not necessarily,” said Myrtle. “I think we just determined that she’s been blessed.” Myrtle waved back to Mimsy. “What’s she holding?”

“It appears to be a casserole,” said Miles.

“Am I sick?” asked Myrtle with surprise as they walked toward Mimsy.

Mimsy was calling out to them in her lilting voice, “Miss Myrtle, I just feel so terrible about what happened to you that I simply had to come by with food. Here you were, doing a good turn for the Bunco group by hosting and subbing and you end up with a tragedy right in your backyard! You poor thing.”

Myrtle smiled at her and unlocked the front door, motioning them all in. “That’s very kind of you, Mimsy. But shouldn’t I be the one bringing
you
a casserole? After all, it was quite a blow, losing Luella. You appeared to be very close.”

Miles winced at the mention of Myrtle preparing food. Myrtle glared at him. Miles seemed to be under the impression that Myrtle couldn’t cook. One botched batch of cookies did
not
mean someone was a poor cook.

Mimsy gave Myrtle a fond smile in return. “Aren’t you sweet? No, cooking relaxes and distracts me so it was my pleasure to cook this for you. And believe me, I’ve got plenty of casseroles from caring friends in Bradley, so you needn’t trouble yourself.”

Miles gave a small sigh. Myrtle assumed it was a relieved one and this time she stepped very slightly on his foot. He quickly removed it and Myrtle said innocently, “Did I tread on you, Miles? Here, why don’t we all sit down? Miles, could you stick the casserole in the fridge for me?”

Once Miles had settled next to Mimsy on the sofa, Myrtle said sadly, “You know, Miles and I were just talking about the terrible tragedy. I think discussing something as disturbing as Luella’s demise really helps me to work through all my conflicting feelings. I’m trying to place everyone and everything in my head and relive the entire evening so that I can move past it.”

Mimsy nodded solemnly. “I’m trying to do the very same thing, Miss Myrtle. Actually, that’s one of the reasons I’m here. The doctor said it could be therapeutic for me to talk it over with someone who was there. But everyone else seems to be tiptoeing around the subject so they won’t upset me.”

Miles coughed. “No danger of that here.”

“Which is exactly why I’m visiting,” said Mimsy with a small smile. “I was sitting in a folding chair over close to the kitchen at table three. Much of the time I was speaking with Elaine. She had quite a tale involving their plumbing disaster.”

Myrtle realized she hadn’t checked in with Red and Elaine on how the repairs were going. She made a mental note. “You weren’t in the kitchen at all, then?”

“I’m afraid not. I keep thinking that maybe if I’d been with Luella, this never would have happened. Poppy kept trying to tempt me to join her in the kitchen, though,” said Mimsy. “She was ditching her diet and wanted an accomplice. But my stomach was off, so I didn’t want to push it.”

Miles moved very slightly away from Mimsy on the sofa. He was becoming quite germ-phobic. She’d noticed last winter that he refused to shake hands with people during flu season.

“So Poppy was in the kitchen, then,” said Myrtle slowly.

Mimsy’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, but that doesn’t mean anything, surely. Why on earth would Poppy murder poor Luella?”

“You tell us,” said Myrtle.

“She wouldn’t have. She didn’t even know Luella. I think she only met her briefly once. There would be no reason at all,” said Mimsy.

“If Poppy didn’t have motive, who did?” asked Miles in the thoughtful, slow way he had which made the question completely innocuous. If Myrtle had asked it, she’d have sounded nosy, or worse.

Mimsy looked miserable. “I guess I do. I mean, I’m the only one, surely, who could have really had a motive to kill Luella. I was her only living relative, so it’s only natural…I mean…I’m assuming that I will probably be the sole beneficiary of her will. So that means a house and some property and…well…I think Luella was probably pretty well off. That means money could have been a motive.” She paused. “I don’t think anyone else had a motive. Why would they?”

“We’ve heard that maybe Alma was upset with Luella. And that Florence and Estelle might have had issues with Luella, too,” said Myrtle bluntly.

Mimsy’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I had no idea. Luella was so new to town that it doesn’t seem as if she’d have had time to make everyone form an opinion of her one way or another.”

“Apparently, she could be abrasive. And a bit of a gossip, too,” said Myrtle. “Do you remember where those ladies were during Bonkers?”

“Bunco,” said Miles.

“Whatever,” said Myrtle.

Mimsy lowered her head, studying her floral skirt as if she could see the party there. “I did notice Alma going into the kitchen. I remember because she came back quickly and her face was flushed. It made me wonder if maybe Alma were coming down with whatever bug I had.”

“And Florence?” asked Miles.

“I don’t even remember seeing Florence there. Maybe she was in the kitchen a lot,” said Mimsy, brow furrowed.

“What about Estelle?” asked Myrtle.

Mimsy said, “I’m not sure where Estelle was, although I do think I spotted her coming out of the kitchen once or twice. But at one point I’d lost my earring and I was focusing on the floor and the tables to see if I could find it.”

“You work at the bank, don’t you?” asked Myrtle curiously. “Were you the one who turned Estelle down for a loan?”

Mimsy sat back in surprise. Then she just as suddenly resumed her usual pleasant expression. “Unfortunately, I can’t confirm or deny that. It’s business, you know.” She paused, looking thoughtfully at Myrtle and Miles. “You’re trying to figure out who did this, aren’t you?” Her voice sounded shocked.

Myrtle realized that Mimsy must think of her as a very old lady who just piddled around her house all day.

“Well, I do write for the
Bugle
,” said Myrtle. “And I’m writing the news story on the…tragedy. And yes, Miles and I do like investigating. When circumstances allow.”

Miles gave Mimsy a reassuring smile since Mimsy looked as if she was discovering an unknown universe where elderly people led exciting and meaningful lives. Where they perhaps didn’t even require consoling casseroles following upsetting events.

“I see,” she said slowly, although it was quite evident that she didn’t see at all. “Of course.”

Mimsy left shortly after that. Miles fastidiously took out a bottle of hand sanitizer and carefully coated his hands in it.

Myrtle rolled her eyes and Miles said, “You might want to have some yourself, Myrtle. Who has time for a stomach bug?”

Put that way, Myrtle decided to reach out a hand for a squirt, herself. “I’m not sure we learned anything from that exchange, Miles. Except, maybe, that Mimsy pities old people.”

Miles said, “Myrtle, you’re being harsh. Mimsy was simply trying to be nice and bring you a casserole to make up for the fact that you had a bad experience on a night you were kind enough to host her Bunco group.” Miles enunciated
Bunco
carefully, in the manner of someone who was making a point.

“All right. You’re being charitable, but all right. She’s nice enough, I suppose,” said Myrtle grudgingly. “But I still don’t feel as if it got us anywhere. Except that she admitted she had motive and that Luella had money.”

“She did tell us that Alma behaved sort of oddly. That she spent a short time in the kitchen and came out flushed,” said Miles. “So Mimsy is the second person to point us in that direction. Estelle also mentioned Alma as a possibility.”

“Well, maybe Alma
did
have a stomach virus coming on. That could explain why she didn’t want to let us in—maybe she’s running back and forth from the restroom or something,” said Myrtle.

Miles’s response to this was to squirt more hand sanitizer into his palm.

“A distraction is in order, Miles, to get your mind off infectious disease. Let’s turn on
Tomorrow’s Promise.
”

“I thought you were supposed to write that news story up,” said Miles.

“I can do both things at once. I’m
excellent
at multi-tasking,” said Myrtle. “Besides, I frequently find the soap opera most illuminating. It’s practically a documentary, Miles. It demonstrates the passion inside people—the passion most people try to cover up. And viewing passion reminds me of the baseness of humanity and what they’re capable of…which in turn helps me figure out a case.”

So Miles made a sandwich and Myrtle sat at the computer and they both watched the show. Myrtle used a laptop and wrote up her news story as she watched.

After the show was finished, Myrtle frowned at the computer. “Is this okay, Miles? Can you read through it?” She handed over the laptop.

Miles carefully peered at the computer screen. “The soap opera plot might have seeped into your story. As well as some strong verbs. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the words
gallop
and
whimper
in the newspaper before.”

“Sloan wanted something vivid and sensational. He’s trying to encourage readership.” Myrtle rolled her eyes.

Miles said primly, “It’s a very lively account. A bit lurid. But I suppose the facts are generally correct.”

“It was easy to write a lurid account while engaged in
Tomorrow’s Promise
. Because there was something in it today that was pertinent to our case,” said Myrtle.

Miles lifted his eyebrows. “Briana’s startling transformation from hair stylist to terrorist?”

“Actually … yes.”

“Excuse me?” Miles was looking at Myrtle as if rather concerned now about her mental state.

“Well, not that
specifically
. But I do think we’re looking at something similar. We’re looking for an innocuous woman who has transitioned from someone very harmless to someone very lethal. And something has provided that trigger,” said Myrtle thoughtfully.

“Like Briana was radicalized by her next-door neighbor?”

“Right. Except I think we’re looking for an event and not a person,” said Myrtle.

“So how do we figure out who this innocuous person is?” asked Miles. “Everyone’s going to be faking it and pretending they’re not the guilty party. Just like Briana.”

“Yes, but the stress got to Briana in the end and she started making mistakes. I’d beware of anyone seeming
too
sweet. Like Poppy? All I keep hearing is that she’s a wonderful friend to Mimsy and that she doesn’t have anything against Luella.”

“You sound skeptical.”

Myrtle said, “I am.
Everyone
had something against Luella.”

“Not
everyone
.”

Typical. Miles had an aversion to absolutes. “Right. But so far, all the people at the party who had the
opportunity
to kill Luella also had
motives
to kill her. So why not Poppy?”

Miles said, “So let’s pay Miss Poppy a visit then.”

“Okay. Just let me email the article to Sloan first.”

The phone rang and Miles stood up. “I’ll get it.” He strode to the kitchen wall phone. “Myrtle Clover’s residence,” he said into the receiver.

“People will talk,” muttered Myrtle.

“Wanda?” asked Miles. “Is something wrong? All right.” He listened for a moment. “Yes, she
is
working on her article, as a matter of fact. But we’ll come as soon as she’s done.” He hung up and returned to the living room.

Myrtle said, “Wanda is requesting a visit, I suppose. How did she make the phone call? I thought her phone service was disconnected.”

“Apparently, Crazy Dan was able to jumpstart one of the vehicles in their yard and drive her to a payphone outside a gas station,” said Miles.

Myrtle nodded and hit
send
on the story. “All right, let’s head over there.” She picked up her cane.

Miles rolled his eyes. “Myrtle, you already know what Wanda will tell you. I can’t imagine why she couldn’t tell you on the phone. She’s going to tell you that you’re in danger and you’re going to get irritated because she doesn’t give details. Then I’m probably going to end up paying their phone bill for another month or slipping Wanda some cash.”

“All of those things will happen, Miles, and it doesn’t take a psychic to know it. You’re their cousin, so naturally you’re going to feel obligated to help, after all. But what I’m looking for is the extra detail, the extra clue. There’s always something to wonder about when we leave Wanda’s house.”

Miles grumbled, “Like how they survive from month to month?”

Myrtle found some food in her pantry and put it in a plastic bag to bring to Wanda and Crazy Dan. “Still need to get to the store,” she muttered. But at least she could bring Wanda some odds and ends to eat. It was an odd combination of saltine crackers, peanut butter, pasta noodles, and pickles. But she was sure Wanda would take the food no matter what.

They got in the car and Myrtle fiddled with the radio. “Let’s get some music on. You’re always so tense when we set out to see Wanda, Miles.”

“Only because I feel responsible for them. And very conflicted about what my role should be,” said Miles with a sigh. He glanced over at Myrtle’s punching of radio station buttons. “I think button three is a good station.”

Myrtle hit button three. It appeared to be a public radio station that offered jazz music. Myrtle made a face. “I don’t like jazz unless there’s a vocalist. If there’s no Billie Holiday or Dinah Washington or Louis Armstrong, I’m not interested.”

Miles looked scandalized. “Not even
Take Five
by Dave Brubeck?”

“Okay, I’ll make an exception for
Take Five
. But that’s my only exception.” Myrtle continued hitting buttons and making faces until she came to a station that was playing non-lyrical relaxing music. “This is better. Very relaxing and peaceful. Should make your blood pressure go down a little.”