A Body at Bunco (19 page)

Myrtle stared at the receiver in her hand. Then she quickly redialed Florence. The phone rang and rang and rang until finally a breathless Florence picked up. “Florence! You offered yesterday to drive me to the funeral. I need a ride.”

“You do? I did?” Florence was sounding a cross between skeptical and concerned.

“Yes! And we really need to leave now.”

Myrtle hung up, grabbed her pocketbook and cane and stood outside her front door. Five minutes later, Florence drove up into the driveway. Actually, Florence drove into the driveway and the grass next to it, hitting a baseball player gnome and sending him flying into a gnome woman bearing a bouquet.

Myrtle sighed and climbed into Florence’s front seat.

“Did I hit something?” asked Florence in concern. She was wearing a floral shirt and khaki slacks, which Myrtle did not find particularly funeral-appropriate. These younger folks were always messing with tradition.

“Yes, you knocked a gnome.” Florence seemed to want to investigate the gnome’s vitals (or perhaps the vitals of her Buick), and Myrtle added impatiently, “There isn’t time now, Florence. We have to get to the cemetery. And it’s a bit of a drive, which is why I’m not walking.”

“Oh, it’s not Ingleside then?”

“No, it’s Grace Hill. It’ll take us about ten minutes to get there,” said Myrtle.

Or not. Florence took off like a shot, speeding down the residential streets and downtown Bradley as if she were part of NASCAR. Myrtle clung to the door. “Florence, you could go a bit slower. We’re going to end up at Grace Hill permanently if you keep driving like this.”

Florence made a very slight correction in speed. The trees alongside the road were still whizzing by at an alarming rate. Myrtle said a brief prayer as Florence bumped the curb. Finally, they arrived at the venerable cemetery. Florence sped through the vine-covered iron gates and down the narrow, winding road that twisted through the graves.

“I think they’ve already started,” said Myrtle, peering ahead at a group assembled around a tent. “Let’s just coast in.”

No hope of that, though, as Florence hit the accelerator instead of the brake and their tires squealed as they pulled in.

Myrtle’s face felt red as she climbed gratefully out of Florence’s car. Perhaps she could find an alternate ride home. She would like to attend more church and do a few more Good Deeds before meeting her Maker and it didn’t suit her to meet Him today.

There was actually a fairly good crowd at Luella’s graveside. This cemetery did have a lot of atmosphere and perhaps that drew people. One felt as if one were almost part of a movie set. There were ancient, tilting, moss-covered tombstones scattered about, Kudzu-covered trees loomed overhead, looking like leafy ghosts. The fact that a good crowd was in attendance was interesting, since Luella had been new to town and wasn’t exactly popular with many. She saw Mimsy under the tent in the seated area with her husband. Myrtle craned her head and saw that Mimsy clutched a white tissue that definitely appeared used. She had a Bible in her lap. Her other hand firmly held her husband’s.

Since Mimsy was the only represented family, other funeral-goers were sitting under the covering of the tent. Poppy was
not
there, which surprised Myrtle at first. After all, she and Mimsy were such good friends. Wouldn’t Poppy want to be there for support? But then she realized that Poppy had made it very clear that she spent a good deal of time at work…and this was most definitely when preschool would be in session.

Estelle was standing toward the edge of the gathering, looking fairly awkward and uncomfortable in black slacks and a white blouse. She kept pulling at the blouse’s collar as if it were constricting her neck. Estelle likely didn’t spend much time in dressy clothes while chasing storms. And still not a spot of makeup graced her features. She had an ambivalent look on her face as she kept sending flittering glances in the direction of Luella’s casket.

Florence said in a too-loud stage whisper, “Want a peppermint?”

Myrtle shot her a disapproving look and pointedly shook her head, keeping her eyes on the minister, who was now into the ashes-to-ashes stage of the proceedings. She needed Miles there. Miles might sometimes be annoyingly loud with cellophane wrappers, but he wouldn’t whisper.

“Poor Alma,” murmured Florence.

Myrtle rolled her eyes. And one should definitely keep track of whose funeral one was attending. How tiresome. “Poor Luella,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Poor Luella, too. But that was a while back,” whispered Florence loudly.

“Regardless, we are at
Luella’s
funeral,” hissed Myrtle.

Florence blinked at her. “Is that so? Well, for heaven’s sake. I wouldn’t have wanted to come to
Luella’s
funeral, you know. I’d only wanted to go to Alma’s.” She was sounding a bit fussy and her voice rose.

“That’s for you to keep to yourself,” reprimanded Myrtle. “They’ll likely wrap up before you know it.”

Despite Luella’s apparent wealth, the service was very plain. Myrtle wondered if that was Luella’s stated wish or if Mimsy just hadn’t been able to pull together anything more elaborate. There was a short homily, a hymn, a prayer, and a wrap-up. Snappiest funeral Myrtle had ever attended. And she’d been to a slew of funerals.

There was also, apparently, no reception after the service. Although, that was somewhat understandable, given the fact that Mimsy was the sole family. Receptions made more sense when there was a herd of out-of-town relations descending on the cemetery.

Estelle quickly and rather clumsily hugged Mimsy and her husband in an abrupt and uncomfortable-looking embrace. Then she hurried away toward her car, which led her past Florence and Luella. Myrtle sighed. Estelle was someone that she’d have asked for a ride from, but she couldn’t very well do it in front of Florence. Florence did seem very defensive about her driving abilities.

Estelle pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Nice service,” she said, shifting from one foot to the other as if uncertain of really what to say.

“It was,” said Myrtle.

Florence said, “I’m a little surprised to see you here, Estelle. I thought you were unhappy with Luella for being such a pill about your storm chasing van.”

Estelle flushed. “I’m not here for Luella’s sake—I’m here for Mimsy’s. And I might say the same about you, Florence. I know you weren’t exactly pleased with Luella, yourself.”

“That’s right. But I’m here for the same reason you are—to support Mimsy,” said Florence.

Actually, Florence was here because she thought it was Alma’s funeral. But Myrtle decided not to press the point.

Myrtle summoned her fluffiest, most scatterbrained old lady persona and asked in a gossipy voice, “Isn’t it just awful about poor Alma, Estelle? I suppose we’ll be at her funeral next week. It’s so tragic.”

Estelle nodded. “I don’t know what we’re coming to here. I couldn’t believe it when I heard. So terrible.”

Myrtle said, “Red has been questioning everyone, of course. Trying to see if he can find someone who might have seen something. Maybe even something that they don’t realize is important. I know you probably keep some unusual hours, don’t you? As a storm chaser? Did you happen to see anything at Alma’s house?”

Myrtle could tell that Estelle liked being recognized as a storm chaser. She puffed up a little bit and smiled. Maybe having someone acknowledge her profession made it seem a little more real.

“As a matter of fact, I
was
out night before last. I was actually coming back from a short jaunt to the coast to document some water spouts that were happening over the ocean,” said Estelle.

“The ocean!” said Florence. “That’s not exactly a day trip, is it?”

“It’s a day trip if you don’t have the money to stay overnight,” said Estelle sadly.

Myrtle said, “When did you make it back into town?”

“Oh, it was probably around eleven. It’s a good nearly four-hour drive. I did pass by Alma’s house on the way in, although of course I wasn’t paying a lot of attention. I didn’t see anything,” said Estelle, rather regretfully.

Myrtle got the impression that Estelle was enjoying being the center of attention, no matter how briefly or for what reason. Suddenly remembering the earring evidence, Myrtle leaned closer and peered at Estelle’s ears underneath her short, sandy hair. She did have pierced ears and wore earrings, but they were gold studs. “That’s too bad. But what do you make of all this, Estelle? Who might have been upset with Alma?”

Estelle looked thoughtfully at a nearby tombstone as the collected funeral goers moved slowly to their cars. “I can’t really imagine anyone being upset with Alma. I guess family are usually the first to be considered suspects in these types of things. But I know Alma to be in the same financial situation that I’m in. In other words, she didn’t have two pennies to rub together.”

Then Estelle frowned. “You know, I did actually see something. Someone. You, Florence. I thought I spotted you wandering around outside when I was coming back into town.”

“Me?” Florence colored. “Why on earth would I be outside that late?”

Estelle seemed to be kindly trying to help her out with ideas. “Maybe you were letting your dog out?”

“Haven’t got one.”

“Or feeding your cat?” asked Estelle helpfully.

“No cat either.”

“Perhaps you were stretching your legs,” said Myrtle briskly. “I often do that.”

“At night?” asked Florence.

“Why not? If they need stretching, legs don’t check with the clock,” said Myrtle.

“Mine require very little stretching,” said Florence indignantly. “Estelle, you must be mistaken.”

Estelle bit her lip. She said nothing in response.

Myrtle swiftly changed tack. “I have a question for you both. Might anyone have something against
Mimsy
?”

Florence and Estelle both blinked at Myrtle as if she’d suddenly displayed signs of senility. Finally, Estelle said, “Don’t you mean Alma? Or Luella?”

“No. No, I mean Mimsy.”

There was a long pause. Florence said, “Well, her little dog is annoying. It barks outside all hours of the day and night. I honestly don’t know why they don’t bring it inside. It seems to be so distraught whenever it’s outside.”

Estelle said, “Mimsy is a really nice person. She’s been one of the nicest people I’ve met here.” Estelle, at least, seemed genuinely to like Mimsy. But when Florence wasn’t looking, Estelle gave Myrtle a meaningful look. There was something Estelle didn’t want to say in front of Florence.

Myrtle said quickly, “Estelle, I wonder if you might do me a favor. Florence was kind enough to drive me here, but she mentioned she might have an errand to run on the way back.”

“Did I?” Florence’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Could you drop me back by my house?” asked Myrtle.

“I’d be happy to,” said Estelle. “Especially if you’re ready to leave.”

Chapter Fifteen

The ride home wasn’t nearly as harrowing as the ride to the funeral. Estelle, despite the fact that she chased storms for a living, appeared to drive at much more restrained pace than Florence. Once they’d left the cemetery, Myrtle got right to the point. “Estelle, it seemed as if you wanted to tell me something back there. Was it something about Florence?”

Estelle’s hands briefly clenched the steering wheel. “Well, I hate to say anything. This is long-ago history. In fact, you may know it much better than I do. I’ve only heard it secondhand.”

Myrtle frowned. “Well, you have whetted my interest. Although I can’t say I remember anything about Florence from the past.” There did seem to be some sort of faraway memory trying to poke its way to the surface, however.

“It’s about Florence’s favorite nephew. She doted on him, apparently. Seemed to care more for him than even her own daughter. And he ate it up. He was always dropping by and bringing her gifts and giving her a hand with her yard work or whatnot.”

“And this nephew that she doted on had a connection to Mimsy?” asked Myrtle.

“Yes. He started dating Mimsy back in the day.” She took her eyes off the road for a moment to glance over at Myrtle.

Myrtle said thoughtfully, “This is slowly coming back to me. So this young man—he had some sort of an accident, didn’t he?”

“He apparently died tragically in a car accident,” said Estelle.

“And Mimsy was driving? Surely, though, wouldn’t she have faced some sort of charges of some kind?”

“That’s just it, though. Mimsy
wasn’t
driving. The nephew was. What’s more, he’d been drinking. But at the time, Florence was inconsolable. From what I heard, she blamed Mimsy. The nephew had been a teetotaler until he’d started dating her. Mimsy’s crowd was a little fast, Florence thought. She figured he’d still be around if it weren’t for her,” said Estelle.

“Hm. Well, she certainly doesn’t run with a fast crowd
now
,” said Myrtle.

Estelle read her mind and snorted. “Everyone changes, I guess. From what I gather, Poppy wasn’t exactly in Mimsy’s crowd back in school.”

“Have you heard of anyone else who might have a grudge against Mimsy?” asked Myrtle.

“Everyone thinks she’s wonderful,” said Estelle with a shrug. “She’s been nice to me since I’ve moved here. But why are you asking about Mimsy, Myrtle?”

Myrtle said, “Oh, just a hunch.” She wasn’t about to start blabbering on about psychics. Estelle seemed to be a woman of science, after all. If storm chasing were science. At any rate, she seemed to be on a first-name basis with science.

As Estelle pulled onto Magnolia Lane, Myrtle leaned forward and squinted through the windshield. “What on earth? Is that
Miles
?”

Estelle raised her eyebrows. “Seems to be. He’s just doing a little yard work. Why? You seem surprised to see him.”

“Surprised is an understatement. The man was practically on his deathbed yesterday and now he’s pulling weeds? Just wait until I get my hands on him.”

“Should I drop you off in your driveway? Or his?” asked Estelle.

“His. And thanks for driving me home, Estelle.”

Myrtle got out of Estelle’s car and walked slowly toward the oblivious Miles. He was sitting on the ground and busily pulling clover from a patch in his yard.