A Body at Bunco (11 page)

“This is elevator music!” Miles appeared even more stressed out.

“There’s nothing objectionable about elevator music, Miles. Besides, I think this
isn’t
elevator music. We’re nowhere near an elevator and it’s playing on the radio. I believe this must be New Age,” said Myrtle thoughtfully.

Miles reached over and hit the power button. “Let’s just think relaxing thoughts. I don’t really need music right now.”

“So touchy,” murmured Myrtle. She watched as they got farther out of town and into the rundown rural area that the old, unmaintained secondary highway led through.

Minutes later, they were pulling into Wanda and Crazy Dan’s driveway. Myrtle said, “Everything looks more dilapidated than usual somehow.”

Miles said, “Might have something to do with that uprooted pine tree that fell on one of the cars up on cement blocks.” He looked up at the pine trees and carefully selected a parking place that was not close to any precarious-looking pines.

Wanda was at the door before they got out of the car. She pushed at the battered door until it was fully open and then disappeared into the shack.

“I guess we’re supposed to go ahead in,” said Myrtle. She glanced over at Miles. “Take deep breaths, Miles.”

Chapter Eight

Myrtle and Miles entered the dark house. An ancient fan was slowing rotating and blowing the hot air back and forth around the shack. There was a dirty window on the back of the house allowing a modest amount of sunlight through. Wanda plopped full-length onto a slipcovered sofa. She seemed very lethargic, her movements much slower than usual.

Myrtle said briskly, “Okay, let’s get on with it then. Go ahead and give me my special message.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes at Myrtle. “Don’t see no point innit, since you never do listen.”

“But traditions must be observed, Wanda.”

Wanda first gave a prodigiously rattling cough. Then she fixed Myrtle with a baleful expression. “Yer in danger.”

“Noted. Naturally, however, you won’t give me any details as to the quadrant from which this latent danger arises,” said Myrtle briskly.

Wanda shook her head. “It don’t—”

“I know…work that way. We’ve done this little song and dance before, Wanda. Do you at least have some sort of clue to point me in the right direction?” asked Myrtle.

Miles was surreptitiously spreading out a pocket-handkerchief on a portion of a chair and again gingerly sitting down. He looked longingly at the door.

Wanda nodded. “I can give you a clue. Yer totally wrong.”

Myrtle stared at her. “Totally wrong. What on earth does that mean? My outlook toward life is wrong? My politics or religion is wrong? I’m hanging out with the wrong people?” She glanced over at Miles, who was removing what appeared to be hand sanitizer from his pocket.

“Yer wrong about the case. Dead wrong. Ain’t nothin’ personal with that Luella,” croaked Wanda in her gravelly voice.

“Ain’t nothin’ personal…” Myrtle gave a frustrated sigh. “I believe Luella would say it was personal. After all, she’s
dead
. It doesn’t get any more personal than being killed by someone you know.” She paused. “Unless…are you saying that the wrong person was murdered?”

“It was pretty dark outside,” offered Miles.

“But Luella was fairly distinctive. She wore strong perfume and vibrantly-colored clothes. I find it hard to believe that someone would have mistaken Luella for someone else,” said Myrtle. She pursed her lips thoughtfully.

Wanda shrugged a skeletal shoulder. “Up to you. Just sayin’ yer wrong.” She grimaced, placing a hand on her stomach. “Not feelin’ so hot.”

Miles leapt up with alacrity. “I believe that’s our cue, Myrtle. We should let Wanda rest now to recover.” He hurriedly pulled some bills out of his wallet and placed them on a cluttered table. “For the phone bill.”

“Phone’s broke,” said Wanda laconically.

Miles pulled out some extra money. “For the phone bill and for a new phone.”

Wanda added, “There’s broke cars. Everywhere.”

Miles looked a bit nervous about this pronouncement and peered doubtfully into his wallet. “You do have quite a few vehicles up on cement blocks, Wanda. Unfortunately, I don’t appear to have enough cash on me to counteract this problem.”

Wanda shook her head. “Not here. Well, yes, here. But there will be broke cars everywhere soon. Everywhere. I got visions of ‘em.”

Miles coughed. “Yes. I see.” It was clear that he didn’t.

Wanda nodded and gave him a fond, if fairly toothless smile. “And Miles. Don’t worry about bein’ sick. It don’t last long.”

Miles’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Did you hear that?” asked Miles as they walked back to his car.

“I know. I can’t believe that she thinks we’re on the wrong track. I mean—how is it not something personal against Luella?” said Myrtle huffily.

“No, I meant the part about it ‘not lasting long.’ I think Wanda knows that she’s passed a virus on to me.” Miles’s eyes were panicky as he pulled out the hand sanitizer again. He offered it to Myrtle and she shook her head in irritation.

“For heaven’s sake, Miles. It’s not as if the poor woman has leprosy or Ebola or something. So what if you pick up a bug?”

“What if
you
pick up a bug?” asked Miles icily. “That would rather effectively shut down your little investigation.”

“I’m the very picture of health. I
rarely
fall ill.” Actually, Myrtle believed that falling ill was a sign of personal weakness. She opened the passenger side of Miles’s Volvo and plopped herself inside. “Going back to Luella. I’m trying to remember if Luella could potentially be mistaken for someone else. Could she have borrowed someone’s hat? Or jacket? That always seemed to happen in Agatha Christie murders. It would result in a case of mistaken identity.”

Miles reluctantly let go of the virus as a conversation thread. “Myrtle, as you mentioned earlier, Luella was hard to mistake for someone else. She wore a lot of expensive perfume and she wore very brightly colored clothing. It’s not as if someone would mistake her for poor Florence or someone.”

Myrtle snapped her fingers. “Florence. I knew I was forgetting someone. Let’s run by and see her on the way back.”

“I thought we were planning a trip to see Poppy.”

“We are. But we don’t even have a possible motive for Poppy to have killed Luella and we know Florence was mad at Luella for tattling about her driving. Let’s get all the interviews with suspects who have motives out of the way first,” said Myrtle.

“And what excuse do we have for seeing Florence?” asked Miles. “I don’t think she’s lonely like Estelle. And after the snub we got at Alma’s, I’m in the mood for an excellent justification for our visit.”

“Lipstick, Miles! Definitely the lipstick ploy for Florence,” said Myrtle.

“I just hope she’s not sick,” muttered Miles.

Florence, fortunately, did not appear to be sick. She blinked at them absently when she answered the door. Then a flood of recognition apparently occurred. “Well, hi! Come on inside and let’s have a visit.”

They followed Florence in. The elderly woman’s house was nearly as cluttered as Wanda’s had been. And Florence was looking disheveled herself. Her white hair was pulled up into a bun at the top of her head, but most of the hair in the bun was cascading out. She still wore a dressing gown, although it was afternoon. She smelled heavily of peppermints…as if she’d consumed an entire bag herself.

Miles seemed abashed at their dropping in, which Myrtle assumed was due to the fact that Florence was in a robe. “Uh, we’re here because we wondered if you might have accidentally left something at Myrtle’s during the Bunco game.”

Florence gave Miles a startled look. “Did I? I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” said Myrtle quickly. “We’re not even sure it was yours. It’s just this lipstick here.” Myrtle held out the tube of lipstick.

Florence immediately took it. “Yes, I think that might be mine. Thank you.”

While she was making room on the sofa for them to sit down, Miles gave Myrtle a meaningful look. Florence didn’t seem a hundred percent lucid. She even took the lipstick that wasn’t hers to begin with. Myrtle guessed that Miles was going to be pushing for them to go soon, believing that Florence would have nothing much to offer in the form of information. But Myrtle had a feeling that she did.

Florence gave Myrtle a wistful look. “Did you drive over here? I thought I saw you driving around the square a few days ago. It’s nice that you’re still able to get around.”

Miles frowned and said in an aside to Myrtle, “The
square
? I thought you were taking my car to some doctor appointment you had in another town.”

“I did. And then I decided to take a spin around the square. For fun,” said Myrtle breezily. To Florence she said, “I don’t have a car any longer, actually, but I still have my license. And it doesn’t expire for years. I borrow a car when I want to go somewhere.” She paused before deciding to simply jump right in. “I’m sorry about the way the Bonkers ended. But I understand that many people, although they’re sorry Luella was dead, weren’t very fond of her when she was alive. Was that true?”

Florence’s blue eyes darkened. “She was going to tell my daughter that I’d had some trouble in the car recently. But I didn’t want her to do that because my daughter wouldn’t let me drive any more. And she’d probably make me move up north to be near her.”

“But you’re not interested in moving, are you?” asked Myrtle.

“Not at all.” Florence hesitated and then said, “I’ve got a friend, you see. He lives about thirty minutes away. We met at a bridge tournament. He’s not driving anymore so I drive every day to see him. If my daughter forced me to move or took away my car keys, he and I would never see each other again.” She slumped, just thinking of it.

Miles’s eyes clouded with concern. “I’m sure that won’t happen,” he said gruffly.

Miles was such a softy. Myrtle said, “I’m sure it won’t happen, too. Because Luella White is dead and she was the one who was going to tattle.”

Florence should have become wary at Myrtle’s tone and words. Instead, her gaze clouded. “That’s right. She’s dead. Are you trying to tell me something?”

“I’m just saying that in a lot of ways, it’s fortunate for you that she is no longer in the land of the living.” Myrtle bit back a sigh as Florence continued not to register understanding. “Florence, what did you see or hear that could help us figure out who is behind Luella’s death? Where were you at Bonkers?”

“Bunco,” explained Miles helpfully as Florence knit her brows.

“Oh. Well, let’s see. I was in the kitchen. I do love kitchens—they’re the heart of a house, aren’t they? And this kitchen was very cute with lots of red and white checkers on the towels and tablecloth and the rooster clock.” Florence brightened as she spoke of the room.

Myrtle brightened, too. It wasn’t often that she was praised for her decorating ability. “That was my house, you know.”

“Was it? Well, it was precious. At least, the kitchen was.” Florence tried to gather her thoughts again. “So I was in the kitchen, eating some of the food. I didn’t have any wine, since I was going to drive home.” This was stated in a virtuous voice.

“With whom did you talk while in the kitchen?” asked Myrtle. “Did you notice anyone in particular?”

“You,” said Florence, smiling at Miles. “You were in the kitchen and I spoke with you.”

Myrtle raised an eyebrow at Miles. He gave a small cough. “I was tracking down the cookies.”

“Besides Miles. And, specifically, did you see anyone go out the back door?” asked Myrtle.

“Luella,” said Florence. She made a face. “And that’s when I decided to go back into the living room. I didn’t want to see her or have to talk to her.”

“Besides Luella.” Myrtle felt as though her patience was being sorely taxed.

“Poppy,” said Florence simply. Then she frowned. “Isn’t Poppy the chubby one?”

Myrtle’s head started pounding. “Can you describe her?”

“Younger than me,” said Florence with a shrug.

That would apply to everyone at Myrtle’s party besides Myrtle.

Florence had nothing more to offer in the way of information so they soon left. Myrtle said, “I agree with Luella—Florence has no business driving a car. Probably didn’t have any business driving a car when she was sixteen.”

Miles said, “But she did appear to have seen something.”

“What good is that, if she can’t even remember what she saw? And you’d think she’d have made special note of it, considering that there was a murder that occurred minutes later,” said Myrtle in irritation. She opened Miles’s car door and then squinted down the street. “Wait a minute. Is that Alma walking toward us?”

“It is,” murmured Miles. “A sighting of the elusive Alma.”

“I wonder where she’s heading,” said Myrtle thoughtfully. “Surely she isn’t walking for her health. She’s not wearing casual clothing.”

“Considering the condition her house was in, maybe she’s trying to conserve money by walking instead of driving,” said Miles. “Which would be healthier, too.”

“Maybe. She has the appearance of a stranded motorist though, somehow.” Myrtle and Miles got in the car and peered through the back window. “Do you think she’s going to visit Florence?”

“She could be on her way to visit
any
of the suspects,” said Miles. “Everyone lives pretty close together here.”

Alma continued heading their way. Miles and Myrtle slid down in their seats. But apparently, Miles’s mild-mannered Volvo stood out among the other vehicles on the street. As Alma approached, she stared suspiciously at the car.

“I think our cover is blown,” said Miles.

“The problem is that we didn’t have a cover,” said Myrtle. “We might as well just get out and pepper Alma with questions instead of wasting the opportunity.”

Myrtle popped out of the car right as Alma was passing it on the sidewalk. “Alma! What a surprise to see you here. You seemed so … busy … when we tried talking to you earlier.”

Alma bared her teeth in a smile. “It’s just that I didn’t have anything to tell you. Period. And I wasn’t feeling well.”