Pretty is as Pretty Dies (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) (12 page)

"Well, here we are. I'll see you later." Myrtle was about to open
her mouth to protest when the driver's door slammed. As abruptly
as she'd appeared, Erma disappeared, barreling through the "exit"
door of the grocery store.

Stunned, Myrtle sat in Erma's car for a couple of minutes before fishing in her pocketbook for her cell phone.

"Elaine? Thank God you're there! Can you run by the grocery
store and pick me up? I was hijacked by Erma Sherman. I was
planning on walking back home, but that woman sapped all the
energy out of me. You don't need anything from the store, do you?
No? Yes, five minutes would be great."

Myrtle pulled herself out of the old Cadillac-which wasn't
easy since she was practically sitting on the pavement in the car.
She slammed the door in irritation behind her. Damn woman. She
walked to the front of the grocery store and leaned against the wall
to wait for Elaine.

The day was a real scorcher with steam rising off the parking
lot pavement and Myrtle cursed, wishing she could perspire better
than she did and cool off a little. It was the kind of day where the ice cream truck trolled the streets for hot, thirsty kids. And the
kind of day where the kids' ice cream immediately melted on impact with the humid wall of air.

A Mercedes sped into the parking lot and Benton Chambers,
the councilman, jumped out. Well, jumped out was an exaggeration, since he was carrying a crutch and had a large cast on his
right leg. Myrtle squinted at him. He seemed to be talking to himself in a very animated fashion until she noticed the cell phone
attachment clipped to his ear.

He talked on his phone as he hobbled past Myrtle. She sniffed.
She was sure she hadn't been yelling when she'd called Elaine. She
couldn't stand people who bellowed into their phones.

"I'm right on it, Don. Yes, the file is on my desk and I'm looking
at it as we speak." Benton met Myrtle's startled gaze and winked at
her. She supposed politicians spent a majority of their time fibbing.

Elaine's green minivan pulled into a space and Myrtle climbed
into the front seat. Elaine looked frazzled. Her normally sleek bob
stuck up in places where she must have run her fingers through it.
Jean-Marc was smirking in the backseat, next to Jack in his car
seat. "Accidentally broke the coffeemaker," murmured Elaine. No
more explanation was necessary. Myrtle could envision a morning
in the Clover house without an immediate caffeine infusion. Red
without java? It wouldn't have been a pretty picture. Myrtle turned
a suspicious eye at the backseat (she was convinced Jean-Marc
knew more English than he was letting on) and then told Elaine
about getting hijacked by Erma Sherman and the conversationactually a monologue-that followed. But she wasn't sure Elaine
was really listening. Jean-Marc was paying more attention in the
back of the car. He gave a nod when she looked back at him again. "Erma Sherman," he repeated. Then he pantomimed something
that looked like a giant rodent. He looked questioningly at Myrtle
and she nodded in affirmation. That was Erma all right. Jack giggled and made a rat-face, too.

"By the way, thanks for buying the new cell phone for me,
Elaine."

"Hmm? Oh. Yes, it had all the bells and whistles on it."

Exactly what Myrtle didn't like about it. But she guessed that
you couldn't find just a regular phone anymore. Now if she could
only figure out how to make the thing stop playing the "Star Spangled Banner" when it rang.

Elaine seemed to realize that Myrtle was waiting for her to do
or say something. "Um ... yes, poor Erma. Those bunions can be
awful. Well, I'm off to get another coffeemaker. Take care, Myrtle."

Myrtle slowly opened the minivan door and stepped out. She
walked slowly up to her front door. So there would be no crimefighting duo-Elaine had too much going on. She was on her own.

MYRTLE AND ELAINE SQUEEZED into a packed pew in the packed
sanctuary of the church for Parke's funeral. "Too bad we couldn't
get better seats," Myrtle muttered, pulling her glasses out of her
pocketbook, and closing the purse with a snap.

"Well, it's not a play. We should be able to follow what's going
on from back here."

"Not a play, but maybe a circus. Is that a brass section in front
of the choir loft? What's this thing they handed us?"

Red plopped on the pew between them and put his arms
around them because there wasn't enough room for his arms next
to him in the pew. "These things are programs, Mama." He chuckled at the stricken expression on Myrtle's face. "Apparently we're
going to be treated to most of Handel's Messiah while we're here."

Myrtle pulled up on the pew in front of her and squinted to
prove to herself that there was indeed a brass section next to the
full choir in the loft. She plopped back into the pew, wincing at the
hardness of the wooden pews. "You'd think if Parke Stockard were so keen on updating the church that she'd have pitched in for some
pew cushions." Red raised his eyebrows. "You know," said Myrtle,
waving her hands around. "You'd have thought she'd have wanted
to add red pew cushions as a nice complement to the sanctuary's
furnishings. Considering how much she liked to show off, too."

"She was a real Philistine," drawled Red, rolling his eyes.

Elaine tried ignoring their exchange, taking a deep breath and
letting the beauty of the church relax her. The smooth, hand-carved
wooden pews gleamed with polish. Although the pews seated 350,
the way the pews curved around in semi-circles on each side toward
the altar gave the sanctuary a more intimate feel. Corinthian columns held up a vaulted ceiling and large, leaded, stained glass windows featuring elaborate depictions of Biblical stories lined the
walls. The church dated back to the late 1800s and functioned not
only as a church, but also as a host for different community events.

The brass ensemble suddenly trumpeted and Myrtle jumped off
the pew. To cover her confusion, she picked up a hymn book from
the rack in front of her. She flipped idly through its new pages, then
peered at the composers and hymn titles in dismay.

Elaine leaned over and bellowed into Myrtle's ear to compete
with the music. "What's wrong? You have a horrible expression on
your face."

"I'm at a funeral after all," said Myrtle crossly. She pointed at a
hymn and thumped the page. "These new hymn books have only
modern music in them. Nothing written before 1975!" She flipped
to the front cover of the hymnal. "Ah. `Donated to the Glory of
God through Parke Stockard - Myrtle frowned. "That's worded
oddly. Like she thought she was God's conduit or something."

The horns swelled, then mercifully quieted while the choir sang
a quieter selection. Elaine whispered, "Well, there's been a lot of
disagreement with the changes that Parke Stockard has implemented in the church since her arrival." Myrtle looked surprised
and Elaine coughed. "You-haven't attended church for a while."

"All right. Point made. What other changes has she made?"

"Modernized the service. She paid for so much that I don't
think Nathaniel Gluck could tell her no. Brought in huge bouquets
for the altar. New robes for the choir and minister. Spruced up the
sanctuary. Hired special musicians to come in and play-not always the most formal music either."

"Really?" Myrtle asked dubiously as Handel's Messiah reached
another fever pitch in front of them.

"Sometimes really contemporary stuff. Made a lot of the old
fogies in the congregation upset, but what could the preacher do?
She was paying for it all."

Myrtle opened her mouth again, but stopped short when Erma
Sherman glared at her and pointed dramatically to the open casket
before assuming a pious facade. Elaine hid her giggles by coughing
as Myrtle grouchily snatched up her program to see how much
progress they'd made. She made a mental note to brave Kitty Kirk's
house and ask her about the changes to the church service. She'd
be amazed if Kitty had an understanding, Christian attitude about
the changes. She peered around the sanctuary until she spotted
Kitty. She sat near the front, wearing a respectful black dress and
she actually appeared somewhat pulled together. Her hair was up
in a nondescript bun. She had a faint smile on her face. Thanking
God for her blessings?

Nathaniel Gluck was now delivering some sort of homily. Myrtle groaned loudly enough for Elaine to shake her head. "Can't we
cut all this mumbo-jumbo?" hissed Myrtle. But a minute later she
sat up to attention. Parke's daughter, right off a plane from New
York, approached the microphone and introduced herself as Cecilia. Parke's son, Cecil, dragging his feet a bit, followed at a distance
behind her. Myrtle watched Cecil with dislike. He had the carefully
cultivated look of a complete degenerate. His black hair was thick
with oily gel, making him look as slick as he sounded. He was
handsome in a smarmy kind of way, with big, white, perfect teeth
that had the unfortunate habit of flashing when he smirked, which
was frequently. His clothes were flashy, as if a pimp were his principal fashion influence.

Myrtle leaned over and stage-whispered at Red, "Parke Stockard was obviously deranged. Who names their children Cecil and
Cecilia?" Red ignored her.

Parke's daughter cleared her throat. Looking out over the packed
sanctuary, Cecilia cleared her throat again. She was dressed in an
expensive-looking navy suit and wore many large diamond rings.
She twisted one of these around on her finger and hesitated. The
sanctuary waited with bated breath for whatever words of wisdom
Cecilia was going to offer. Doubtless hoping for some sort of clue as
to the killer. This was the moment they'd waited for, the reason for
attending. No Handel for this crowd-they wanted dirty laundry.

Parke's daughter paused again. She seemed to be searching the
recesses of her brain for something to say. She looked at Cecil, who
shrugged. Finally, she dredged up a deep breath and said, "Mother
would have loved the service. Thanks so much for coming." And
she scurried back to her pew, high heels clicking on the hardwood before she reached the thick red carpeting. Cecil smirked as he
trailed behind her.

The sanctuary sighed with collective disappointment. There was
a rustling of programs as if everyone was checking to see if the service was nearly over. It was, after the grand finale of the Hallelujah
chorus, which everyone in the congregation stood up for. Myrtle
caught the florist looking heavenward as if echoing the words. Myrtle looked around for anyone else looking especially smug. The Hallelujah chorus during a service for a widely disliked woman was really asking for sarcastic smiles, after all. Kitty Kirk looked frumpy
and gray-faced. Benton and Tippy Chambers stood at attention, but
Benton's eyes were cutting all over the sanctuary. Looking for hands
to press after the service, probably. Politicians never took a day off.
Althea Hayes was there, looking sad. Probably thinking about the
quick graveside service her husband Tanner was given just days ago.
From Myrtle's vantage point she couldn't really see any other faces.
Red gave her a hard look and she stopped craning her head around.

A graveside service followed the funeral. Judging from the way
the sanctuary emptied out ten minutes later, Myrtle doubted there
would be anyone in attendance but Cecil and his sister. She noticed they were at the front of the sanctuary, talking to the minister. Parke's daughter looked more and more displeased as Cecil's
smirk grew.

"Coming, Myrtle?" asked Elaine, looking at her watch. Red edged
toward the sanctuary door.

Myrtle cast another glance at the now-dueling siblings. "I'm
going to just sit here for a few minutes." Elaine stared at her, uncomprehendingly. Red gave a gusty sigh and made a shoving, hurry-up
motion in the direction of the door to Elaine. Since Elaine was still staring at Myrtle, who had seemed too eager to leave only a few minutes ago, Myrtle repeated, louder, "I'm just going to sit here for a few
minutes."

Red ran a hand through his red hair, standing it up on end.
"What are you going on about? We're driving you home and we're
leaving now. Service is over, Mama."

"I'll walk home." Now Red was staring at her. "It's a nice day,"
she said stubbornly. "Besides. I want to ... pray."

"Pray!?" chorused Elaine and Red.

"Yes," she answered with determination. "I'm an old woman
who might not have much time left on this earth. Funerals just remind me of the ticking of the clock." She smiled sweetly at Elaine
and Red's stunned expressions. "So ... just leave me." They continued looking at her. "To pray. And then walk." Myrtle pointedly
closed her eyes in a pious posture.

Red opened and closed his mouth several times like a guppy,
while Elaine pulled him toward the sanctuary door. Elaine had her
own suspicions about Myrtle's sudden spirituality. She couldn't wait
to see the end of the service, and an octogenarian seemed a little old
to have a sudden change of heart. Plus, she had noticed the feuding
siblings at the front of the church, too. It seemed very convenient
that Myrtle had picked that moment to find God. She knew there
was no use changing her mind once it was made up, however. She
directed her spluttering husband to his car.