Pretty is as Pretty Dies (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) (24 page)

As Red and Myrtle arrived at the grocery store, both felt smug.
Red was positive he'd created a time-consuming red herring to perplex his mother for hours (and in the knowledge that she'd forgotten
to ask him to reprogram her cell phone), and Myrtle was smug in the
knowledge that she'd searched people online before. She wasn't sure
which suspect she was supposed to be checking into, but it didn't
matter because it would take only minutes to check on each of them.
She finished her grocery shopping in record time, throwing things
into the cart and heading toward the checkout lanes. Red was amused
as he loaded her bags into the back of his police car. His mother was
dying to get back home and figure out what he'd been talking about.
He felt sure that it was going to be a long project for her.

Red brought the grocery bags into Myrtle's house, her screen
door slamming shut behind him. Setting the bags on the kitchen
counter, Red asked, "Want me to help you put these things away,
Mama?"

She shooed him off. "No, that's fine. I've got some things I need
to do for ... United Methodist Women, so you'd better get going. I
can't think with you opening and shutting cabinet doors all the
time." She watched Red walk out, then tossed some groceries in
the fridge and settled in front of her computer. She'd told Red
about the computer course she'd taken at the library a couple of
years ago. Obviously, he hadn't been listening to her at the time.

Myrtle opened the search engine and stared thoughtfully at the
screen. Who should she start with? She decided to go with the
Chamberses. She typed in Benton's name first and saw more than
ten entries. She was excited until further reading uncovered that all of the entries covered his political bid, town hall meeting transcripts, or Benton's civic involvement in various groups.

The search on Tippy was even more disappointing. There were
half as many results and they all dealt with Garden Club and
church involvement. Myrtle leaned back in her chair and looked at
the computer screen glumly. What had she expected, though?
She'd known both Benton and Tippy since they were babies. The
only shocking news she'd come across was Benton's affair, and that
was fairly predictable in this day and age.

She decided to check out a name she knew less about and
searched Parke Stockard. Unfortunately, more than thirteen thousand results came up on the screen. Myrtle sighed. Apparently it was
a pretty common name. She rummaged around in her recycling box
until she came up with the Bradley Bugle that had Parke's obituary
and full name. When she put in "Parke Frances Stockard," she got
only fifty results-and all on the right Parke.

She grimaced. They were all old society column pieces that Parke
had written for the New York Post. Parke's style of writing was the
same as her Lovely Living with Parke column for the Bradley Bugle:
lots of syrupy prose and a coy cozying up to the wealthy and well
known. Myrtle supposed that Parke was the perfect person for the
job. There was a small picture of Parke at a different event at the beginning of each column. She was inevitably perfectly groomed, gorgeous, and wearing something fabulous at an elaborate party with
other well-heeled people. She read through as many celebrity sightings and descriptions of party attire as she could stand before giving
up in disgust.

Idly, she looked up Althea Hayes and found some genealogical
reference that Myrtle was already aware of (since Myrtle knew most family connections in the town of Bradley). There was also an old
file regarding a Garden Club benefit luncheon with Althea's name
mentioned. Myrtle searched for Tanner and found very little. There
was a website for the insurance company that Tanner had been employed with and a photo of all the (then) company employees. Tanner had a mildly distrustful look on his frog-like features, as if he
wasn't used to having his picture taken.

A search for Kitty Kirk brought up a story about her son being
arrested on drug charges. A follow-up article mentioned her son
going off to reform school.

Myrtle typed in Cecil Stockard's name and weeded out the results that came back about university professors, scuba divers, and
actors until she had a page of results that dealt specifically with the
Cecil Stockard from Bradley. On his own website, he bragged
about the parties he'd gone to and the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. Friends of his posted their own pictures of themselves and
the parties, and the friends looked like a rough-looking bunch.
There was also a mug shot from an arrest several years earlier in
New York for drug possession. "Well, he's been busy," Myrtle muttered. None of the information she pulled up really surprised her,
though, or seemed to be connected to his mother's murder.

Finally, she plugged in Josh Tucker's name. Several pages of
search results appeared, which got Myrtle very excited until she
saw that most of the first page of results were all about the journalism prize he had won. Myrtle made a face. Wonder Boy. She
had no idea what Red was looking for on the suspects, but it certainly wasn't leaping off the page. Although she still had a niggling
feeling that she was overlooking something important.

Myrtle shut down her computer and looked thoughtfully at the
dark screen. She knew Cecil was out of the picture, for the second
murder anyway. Tippy wasn't very convincing at the church meeting; she was still in the running as a possible murderer, but she was
onto Myrtle now and was going to clam up as soon as she saw her.
She decided Althea was due another visit. Myrtle couldn't shake the
feeling that Althea knew something. Myrtle would also have to endure another meeting with Wonder Boy. Josh might have some
more information on the case and was still a suspect. Benton Chambers was another person she wanted to catch up with. There was just
something about Benton that she didn't trust. He was spending a lot
of his free time lying about where he was. It wouldn't take much of a
stretch to cover up something as big as murder. She picked up her
cane and purse to walk to the town hall.

The town hall was located in the same building as the police
department. Myrtle looked cautiously around her before turning
the brass knob to open the door. She didn't need another lecture
from Red about detective work. She carefully made her way up the
threadbare stairs to the main office.

A middle-aged woman sitting at the old-fashioned wooden reception desk flipped through a catalog. She looked up with some
surprise when the door opened.

"Hi Lisa," said Myrtle. "Is Benton in?"

Lisa squinted at Myrtle over her bifocals. "Whatcha need Benton for?"

Small towns.

"Is he in? It's ... town business."

"I'll see if he's available to speak with you," Lisa answered imperiously. She whipped up the receiver of a 1980s-era brown plastic desk phone with more buttons than the office had extensions. She
pushed one of the extension buttons and cupped her hand over her
mouth as she talked to Benton Chambers.

Lisa moved the receiver away from her and asked Myrtle, "What
is this visit in reference to?" She didn't bother to hide her pleasure
in making Myrtle spell it out after all.

"I'm having garbage collection problems," said Myrtle. Lisa reported to Benton, then set the phone carefully back on the hook,
sniffed, and said, "He'll see you now." She picked up her catalog again,
losing interest in Myrtle's unexpected appearance in the office.

Myrtle walked down a short hallway, turning on the little tape
recorder in her pocketbook so she could review her conversation
with Benton later. She pushed open an old, wooden door with
"Benton Chambers" on a sign beside it. Tippy had obviously had a
hand in decorating Benton's office. The town of Bradley sure
couldn't afford Orientals on the floor or soft leather club chairs. A
town that didn't replace ratty carpeting on the stairs sure didn't
invest in oil paintings depicting fox hunts.

Benton was on the other side of a big desk and half rose to his
feet when Myrtle came in. "Miss Myrtle. You have a problem with
your garbage collection? What can I do for you?" His politician face
was on, although his smile was lost somewhere in his puffy jowls.

"Ah ... yes. The truck used to come at eight and now it comes
at seven. I have to try to beat the truck every Tuesday and it's-exhausting."

Benton paused to puff a few times on his cigar. "Why not just
set out your trash container the evening before, Miss Myrtle? That
way you don't have to rush around in the morning."

Myrtle beamed at him as if he were a star pupil. "What a wonderful idea, Benton! Yes, that's just what I'll do. I'll roll out the bin
Monday night." She shook her head admiringly. "You certainly do
have your thinking cap on. I'm just addled. This business with
Kitty Kirk has completely scrambled my brain."

Benton shifted in his chair and hurried on, "Yes, well, you just
prepare the night before and your garbage problems will be a thing
of the past."

"Aren't you just broken up about Kitty? I can't believe that I
was just going about my usual business while Kitty was being murdered. It just doesn't bear thinking about! What were you doing
that day while poor Kitty was being killed?"

Benton frowned at her. "Miss Myrtle, that was a very demanding day. I spoke to the Women's Auxiliary in front of many ladies."

"All day?" asked Myrtle innocently.

"No, of course not. But I was all over town that day, running
errands, speaking to groups..." He looked pointedly at his watch.

"Did you see many people while you were out all day?" Myrtle
decided to drop all pretenses. If he really were all over town that
day, then maybe he could give her some information about the
other suspects.

Benton said, "Miss Myrtle, I hope you're not trying to do Red's
job for him. I can tell you, although I hope you're not asking, that
Tippy and I certainly had nothing to do with these murders. Period. And I did see some folks out that day-I saw Althea Hayes
and her nephew josh at Bo's Diner at lunchtime. And I saw josh
again later in the afternoon." He took a long drag at his cigar, then
placed it on an ashtray. "I understand he had his own ax to grind
with Parke Stockard over print space at the paper."

"It's interesting that you would know anything about that," said
Myrtle.

Benton raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You, of all people, should
know how small towns operate, Miss Myrtle! Good Lord, I can just
walk from here to my car and find out more dirt on people's private
business than a private eye." He snorted a humorless laugh, then said,
"Detective work can be very dangerous, Miss Myrtle. You're probably
just digging up harmless gossip, but if not-I've got to warn you.
Don't mess in this stuff. It's police business and you'll only end up
getting hurt." He punched at the air with a swollen finger in warning.

Myrtle gave an involuntary shiver, remembering the psychic's
words at Crazy Dan's. "You're right, Benton. Right that I'm only after
some gossip. Not too much for us old ladies to do, you know."

Benton seemed to relax. "That might be, Miss Myrtle. But
there's always bingo, you know. They play for rolls of stamps at the
community center."

Myrtle nodded sadly and gathered up her pocketbook. "And
good luck with your garbage collection," he called out as she closed
the door behind her.

She was on her way out the door for what was going to be a fairly
rigorous walk to Althea's when the phone rang.

Miles asked in his measured voice, "How are things going with
the case?"

"Would you mind giving me a lift? I can tell you on the way.
I'm trying to get over to Althea's and don't mind walking back, but
a round trip in this heat makes quite a workout."

A minute later they were in Miles' car and driving toward the
Boulevard. Myrtle filled him in on the Internet search results and
her failure to turn up any dirt. "So I decided to go harass Althea
again. I'll squeeze some information out of her this time," she said
in a determined voice.

"Want me to go in with you?" asked Miles.

"No, there's no point in putting her guard up anymore than it
is already. Besides," said Myrtle, batting her eyelashes outrageously,
"she might end up becoming one of the lovesick members of the
Miles Bradford Fan Club."

Miles frowned in irritation. "All right-I'll just drop you off then.
When I get back home, how about if I double-check everything you
pulled up online? Maybe I can find something you missed."

Myrtle nodded. "I do feel like there's something I should have
noticed there-some clue I should have picked up on."

"And it's strange that Red would specifically mention checking
out these folks if there wasn't anything to be found"

Miles pulled up into Althea's crepe-myrtle-lined driveway,
braked, and turned off the engine. Myrtle sat quietly for a moment. "I've got it," she said, wagging her finger at Miles. "I never
caught on to it before, but both Josh Tucker and Parke Stockard
moved here from New York City in the past couple of years. I wonder if they knew each other there."