A Body at Bunco (20 page)

“Miles!” barked Myrtle.

Miles jumped, scattering clover wildly around him. “For heaven’s sake, Myrtle!”

“What are you doing out here? If you think I’m nursing you back to health or dragging you off to the doctor again, you’re sorely mistaken!” Myrtle brandished her cane at him.

Miles gave her a wary look and carefully put the remaining clover in the bucket next to him. “I was sick—”

“Indeed! I do remember!”

Miles continued coldly, “Sick of my
house
, Myrtle. And I don’t feel ill anymore. The sun is shining and it’s making me feel even stronger and better being outside. Or at least out of my living room. I think I may need to borrow your Puddin to get my house back to its normal state.”

“I’m going to counteract your claim of being well. Because
no one
would think that Puddin would
improve
the state of their home unless they were feverishly hallucinating,” said Myrtle. “However, if you’re so sick of your living room, why not come over to my house? Our soap is about to start and I’m ready to put my feet up. It’s been a long day and I haven’t even made it to the car dealership yet.”

Miles leaped to his feet. Myrtle decided it wasn’t so much his eagerness to accept her invitation as it was for him to illustrate his excellent health. And potentially show off.

“Let’s do that. And while we’re getting settled, maybe you can fill me in on Alma’s death and Luella’s funeral. I have a feeling there’s a lot of catching up to do.”

They walked to Myrtle’s. And before she could even fish her keys out of her pocketbook, she could hear screaming inside her house.

“What was
that
?” gasped Miles.

Myrtle sighed. “I assume it’s an overtired grandson of mine who should be taking a nap.” She unlocked the door.

“How is their plumbing project progressing?” asked Miles.

“You can ask Elaine, yourself,” said Myrtle. “Although I image that the answer will be that it’s not progressing too quickly since they still don’t have running water.”

Jack was apparently desperately unhappy. As soon as he spotted Myrtle, he darted away from a harassed-looking Elaine and hugged Myrtle around one leg, howling piteously. Myrtle gave Elaine a mock-stern frown. “Have you been upsetting my darling grandson?”

Elaine snorted. “I think it’s the other way around.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.

Myrtle asked, “May I give Jack a c-o-o-k-i-e?”

“That’s fine. Hi, Miles.”

Miles smiled at her. “Hi. You probably need a cookie, too.”

Elaine said dryly, “I think it’s going to take more than a cookie. I might be getting into Myrtle’s sherry soon.”

Myrtle moved into the kitchen and Jack trotted behind her, gathering that some sort of a treat was in order. He happily babbled to her, telling her about his day and the dog he’d seen at his friend’s house. He gave a deep and rattling cough as he went.

Myrtle turned in time to see Miles’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm. “Here’s a cookie for you, Jack. And could you take this one to your mama?”

They rejoined Elaine and Miles in the living room. Miles said hesitatingly, “So…is Jack feeling all right? That’s quite a cough he’s got there.”

Elaine casually said, “Oh, you know how kids are. Jack has a cold. He’s had it for a while now.”

Miles eyed Jack cautiously and slowly moved away from him.

“Miles just got over that nasty bug,” said Myrtle.

Elaine said, “I’m glad you’re better, Miles. Myrtle was quite concerned yesterday when she was trying to borrow a car.” Elaine sighed. “So much going on at the house right now. Plus the car issues. And also with Red’s investigation. It’s very disconcerting have one’s husband investigating one’s Bunco group.”

“I’d imagine so,” said Myrtle. She paused. “So, how’s that going, by the way? Has Red mentioned which suspect might be at the top of his list?”

“He’s been particularly guarded this time,” said Elaine with a sigh.

“How annoying of him,” said Myrtle.

Jack was dropping cookie crumbs in large bits as he spun around Myrtle’s living room. He came precariously close to Miles and Miles came up with some excuse to visit Myrtle’s kitchen as Jack gave another throaty cough.

“Cover your mouth, Jack,” said Elaine automatically. Then she said to Myrtle, “Red does seem especially hard on Mimsy. Which is a bit embarrassing, since she’s a friend. Well, they’re
all
friends, of course.”

“Hm. Interesting. Something else I wanted to ask you, Elaine. You see, I was talking to Estelle today at the funeral.”

Elaine snapped her fingers. “Luella’s funeral! I meant to ask you how that went. I’d have gone, of course, except that I didn’t have anyone to watch Jack for me. And, well, a car to get there.”

“And you know I’d have helped you out with both things if I could have. I had a terrifying voyage to the cemetery with Florence Ainsworth. Anyway, Estelle was trying to recount some old gossip about Florence’s nephew and Mimsy. She intimated that Florence had a grudge against Mimsy,” said Myrtle.

Elaine took a thoughtful bite of her cookie. “I wouldn’t have said that Florence
still
has a grudge against Mimsy. Heavens, that must have been ages ago. I do remember Mimsy mentioning to me before that she’d had a long-ago boyfriend who’d met a tragic end. I must have been pretty little at the time, so I don’t remember anything about it.”

“What did Mimsy tell you?” Myrtle heard Miles bumping around in her kitchen. He appeared to be finding snacks while he was waiting for the germy Jack to depart for home.

“Only that they’d been in a terrible car accident and that he’d been killed. Apparently they’d been at some sort of party and he’d been drinking. She said he was scaring her silly driving as fast and as recklessly as he did. But she survived the accident without a scratch on her.” Elaine shook her head in wonder. “Probably because she had a seatbelt on.”

Myrtle said, “I’m surprised that Mimsy would tell you such a story. Are you really that close?”

“We
are
friends. Not
especially
close. But she was telling me this story in context. Mimsy became a teetotaler immediately after the accident. Saw the entire thing as a sign, or something. At any rate, we always have a non-alcoholic option whenever we have Bunco, for that reason,” said Elaine. “And Florence won’t drink if she drives, either.”

“I thought Mimsy
was
drinking at Bunco,” said Myrtle, frowning. “It seemed as if everyone were drinking quite a lot, as a matter of fact.”

“She puts her tonic water or water in a wine glass,” said Elaine. “She says it makes her feel more festive. But she doesn’t drink. Anyway, as I was saying, this was all ancient history. I can’t imagine that Florence is still nursing hard feelings. She always seems very polite to Mimsy.”

But polite wasn’t the same as friendly.

“Ready, Jack?” asked Elaine. “Thanks for letting us use your facilities, Myrtle. And for the cookies. Bye Miles,” she called.

“Bye!” came a fervent voice from the recesses of the kitchen.

Myrtle said, “Call me after Jack’s nap and I’ll run out to the dealership with you. Don’t you think Red could drop us off there?”

“I’m sure he could. Picking us back
up
again might take a while, but I’m sure he can get us out there,” said Elaine as she walked out.

The door closed behind her and Myrtle called, “It’s safe to come out now.”

Miles hovered in the kitchen door. “I’m waiting for the germy particles in the air to settle, first.”

Myrtle sighed and walked past him into the kitchen. She rummaged under the sink until she found a jumbo sized can of Lysol. She then walked back to the living room and proceeded to spray its contents around the room, using large sweeping motions.

Then she put the Lysol away. “You’ve become quite the hypochondriac, Miles. But I think I’ve got you covered. Did you get snacks ready for us?”

“I just popped some popcorn.”

“Then I’d say we’re ready for our show.”

Miles was apparently still smarting from the hypochondria remark. As he sat on Myrtle’s sofa with his bowl of popcorn, he said, “I’m simply in no hurry to get sick again.” His voice was cranky.

Myrtle nodded absently. “Thinking back—did you
really
want Puddin to clean for you today? Don’t you have anyone else to call?”

“If I called anyone else, they’d be booked,” said Miles. “It’s only the housekeepers who aren’t any good who are available. Besides, even a bad cleaning job sounds better than the alternative … which is
me
cleaning it all up.”

“I suppose I should go ahead and call her then. She needs a certain amount of lead-time, for sure. It’s not as if she’s going to just leap into action, you know.”

Miles considered this. “How about if
I
call her? Have you got her number handy?”

Myrtle pushed across a small, spiral notebook full of jotted down phone numbers. Miles squinted at the page and then dialed.

“Puddin? It’s Miles Bradford. That’s right. Listen, I wondered if you might run by my house this afternoon and clean? I’m at Myrtle’s house, so if you’d stop by and get the key? Thanks.”

He hung up, looking pleased. “That wasn’t nearly as painful as you made it out to be.”

Myrtle scowled at him. “Wait until she’s completely finished with the job before you evaluate her performance,.” Myrtle glanced at the clock. “Wow, I think this is the first time I’ve watched the show live in forever! Usually I have to watch one I’ve taped.”

“Oh boy,” said Miles, swallowing down a bunch of popcorn. “So now we can’t fast-forward through all the household cleaner commercials.”

Myrtle sniffed. “It’s called a
soap
opera for a reason. Besides, we need to watch the household cleaner commercials, Miles. Puddin is systematically annihilating mine and is about to do the same with yours.”

Miles slumped on the sofa, a bit deflated. “She won’t bring her own?”

“Of course not. That would be something a professional would do. And this is Puddin.”

The theme music for the soap opera started playing. Miles mumbled, “This is worst part of the whole show. The opening music. Sappy, sappy.”

“It’s historic, Miles. They
have
to play it. It’s practically required. It’s the same opening music they’ve had on the soap since the 1950s. If they started playing rap or hip-hop or something, no one would know what show this was.”

Miles chuckled. “I think most rap artists would have a problem with their music being used to represent
Tomorrow’s Promise
. So, after this, you’re telling me how everything went at the funeral, right?”

Myrtle nodded and then put her finger to her lips. “Shh! It’s starting.”

Miles said idly, “Isn’t it amazing how well dressed these people are? I mean, no one ever looks like we do. You even went to a funeral today and don’t look as well dressed as these folks.”

“Shh!”

The soap opera, in its attempt to produce an original storyline that had not made an appearance since the 1950s, veered into Extremely Unlikely territory. Still, it was pretty riveting stuff. And, as usual, the soap demonstrated to Myrtle some intriguing possibilities regarding the case.

A commercial break gave them the opportunity to discuss what they were seeing. Miles seemed, as usual, fixated on Briana. “The thing about this storyline that bothers me,” he murmured, “is that Briana is by all accounts a woman with a very limited world view. Her entire universe is that salon. Her life revolves around doling out pixie cuts and perms.”

“And melodrama,” added Myrtle absently.

“Yes, and melodrama involving clients’ love triangles and those of her own making. So how does someone with this very truncated world view end up as an international terrorist?” Miles’s expression was bewildered.

“It’s stunning that you have a problem with poor Briana when you’ve accepted the fact that little Johnny who was born a couple of months ago is now a four year old. What’s interesting to me is that the show has developed her motive a little. Before, they were indicating that Briana was radicalized by her next door neighbor. And she’s clearly impressionable. And disenfranchised. Isn’t that how people who join cults or terrorists are described? Disenfranchised,” said Myrtle. “But now we’re seeing that Briana was actually sympathetic to the radicals for a long time, considering all the old literature that she’s got in her house. But I have a bigger takeaway from the show so far today.”

Miles raised his eyebrows. “Really? What’s that? That all the women in the cast should put a bell around Alexandra’s neck so they know when she’s approaching their husbands?”

“No. That this case boils down to something very simple, very basic. What’s the basis of all the storylines on
Tomorrow’s Promise
?”

“Suspension of disbelief?” asked Miles.

“No. Passion. And it’s one type of passion or another, but all very strong emotions. Very
real
emotions. Love, hate, fear, envy. And I have the feeling that’s what we’re dealing with with these murders,” said Myrtle. “I’m just not sure which emotion it is.”

She paused as there was a rustling outside, followed by a jangling of keys and someone unlocking her front door. Myrtle frowned at Puddin as the housekeeper walked right in. “Puddin! I didn’t realize you still had a key to my house.”

Puddin shrugged. “Didn’t want to worry you to get up.”

“I’ll take that key back now, Puddin,
thank
you,” Myrtle held out her hand and Puddin slouched over to return it.

Miles fished in his pocket for his own key. “Here you are, Puddin. Thanks so much for doing this for me at the last minute. You might want to wear gloves in there. I’ve been sick and I’d hate for you to catch something from me.”

Puddin batted her eyelashes at him. “Ain’t that sweet, sir? But I never do get sick none.”

“Unless you count her thrown backs,” muttered Myrtle.

“I’ll get it real clean,” she said to Miles. She quickly left, key in hand.

The entire encounter aggravated Myrtle. “She called you
sir
? And she didn’t try to hang out with us and eat popcorn and watch the soap?”