Death Pays a Visit (A Myrtle Clover Mystery Book 7) (10 page)

“I don’t know why you would,” said Myrtle impatiently. “There’s nothing remotely interesting about visiting residents at Greener Pastures.”

“As a matter of fact there
is
,” said Erma. “You don’t like it there. Everybody knows that. And I don’t believe you really know any of the current residents there particularly well—remember, I’ve been your neighbor for quite a while, Myrtle.”

Myrtle turned and rolled her eyes at Miles. Yes, Erma had been her neighbor for far too long.

“Miles and I have been visiting Ruby Sims,” said Myrtle. “That’s all. I have a real…fondness for Ruby. And I’m making sure that Greener Pastures is taking care of her because, you’re right, I don’t like it there and I’m not sure they have her best interests at heart.”

Erma shook her head. “Nope. You’re not friends with Ruby Sims.”

Myrtle gaped at her. “You seriously think you know who my friends are?”

“I know pretty well. Well enough to know that Ruby isn’t one of them. You see, I have a theory about what you’re doing over at Greener Pastures. I think you’re there to solve a mystery. After all, you’re Bradley’s very own senior sleuth,” said Erma, grinning at her.

Miles said, “What mystery do you think she’s there to solve? If you’re convinced that’s what she’s doing.”

Erma face screwed up in a hideous expression—apparently, the face she made when she was thinking. “I believe,” she said slowly at long last, “that you’re there to find out what happened to Evelyn Pelias, better known as Mickey.” She looked back and forth eagerly at Myrtle and Miles, mouth agape at her own cleverness. “Am I right?

Myrtle was extremely irritated that Erma could be right about anything at all. But Miles seemed interested.

“Why do you think Mickey’s death might be suspicious?” asked Miles.

“Because people didn’t like her, of course. Especially that Fred. Have you seen him? He’s grouchy and mutters to himself. He’d argue with Mickey all the time. If Mickey said the sky was blue, Fred would say it was polka-dotted. He hated her.
Hated
her,” emphasized Erma.

Myrtle and Miles glanced at each other. Myrtle was aware that she should be asking Erma questions about Fred’s beef with Mickey, but it was annoying to do so because it meant that she was drawing out the length of Erma’s visit. She sighed and gritted out, “Why did Fred hate Mickey?”

“Mickey kept teasing Fred that she knew his secrets,” said Erma, blinking quickly as if everyone should have known that. “Didn’t you know?”

“What is this huge secret? Is it something silly like Fred has a crush on someone at the home? Or is it a
real
secret?” asked Myrtle impatiently.

“It’s a real secret to
Fred
. Real enough to make him furious with Mickey for teasing him about it,” said Erma. Her long face fell, making it even longer. “But I don’t know what the secret was. Mickey said that she was going to print it in the newspaper, making it an exposé for everyone to read.”

“But she died first,” said Myrtle in a thoughtful voice.

“My point exactly,” said Erma with satisfaction.

Myrtle didn’t care for that smug tone from Erma. She said briskly, “Well, we’ll check it out, Erma. Thanks for letting us know.”

“So you
are
investigating Mickey’s death,” said Erma gleefully.

Miles gave her his most serious and repressive expression. “You’ve got to keep this under your hat, Erma. Otherwise, our entire investigation will be hampered. We want everyone to think that Myrtle and I are just nosy. If they know we’re trying to solve a murder, we’re never going to get anywhere.”

Erma nodded solemnly. “Oh, I promise I’ll keep my lips zipped. You’ve got my word.” She practically wiggled with excitement. “I feel almost like a sidekick. So thrilling!”

Myrtle gave a weak smile. “Yes. Well.”

Erma said, “There’s something else that I wanted to come over to ask you about, Myrtle. Can you give me the number for your yardman? My mower is broken and I need someone to cut the grass this week.”

Myrtle said reluctantly, “In December?”

“We had all that rain and a couple of warmer days, remember? Besides, my grass always seems to grow unevenly. It just needs cleaning up,” said Erma.

Because of all the crabgrass in her yard, thought Myrtle. “Are you sure you want Dusty? You know the kind of trouble I have dealing with him. He never, never wants to come over. It’s always too hot to mow, too cold to mow, too wet to mow, or too dry to mow. Then, once you threaten him enough to get him onto your property, he takes shortcuts when he mows. And his edger frequently doesn’t work.”

“He does a better job than Puddin, anyway,” said Miles.

“Absolutely. But a child would do a better job than Puddin. At least Dusty doesn’t cost much,” said Myrtle grudgingly.

“Sounds perfect,” said Erma. “I have a lot of odds and ends I want done in the yard, too.”

Myrtle shuffled off to write down Dusty’s number. She should have known Erma would like the idea of hiring Dusty. Erma’s yard was a riot of crabgrass, clover, and dandelions. She and Dusty were the perfect match.

Erma took the piece of paper from her and then looked with interest at the muffin on Miles’s plate. “Are those homemade? And blueberry? Because blueberry is my favorite. I guess I could find room for one muffin—”

Pasha, Myrtle’s feral cat, decided at that moment to come out of the shadows of the kitchen and stare intently at Erma. Myrtle had frequently suspected that Pasha believed Erma to be a jumbo-sized rodent. The look on Pasha’s face was that of a hunter studying prey.

Perhaps it was the intense predatory stare. Perhaps it was the fact that Erma was highly allergic to cats. But as soon as Era spotted Pasha, she backed away toward the front door, tripping over Myrtle’s coffee table in the process. “Talk to you later,” said Erma in a high-pitched squealing voice that likely only fueled Pasha’s belief in her rodent hood.

Chapter Eight

As Myrtle and Miles walked through the large front doors of Greener Pastures, Miles said in a low voice, “Where do we start this morning? I’m guessing we don’t just knock on residents’ doors and start questioning them about where they were when Mickey was murdered. Especially since the Greener Pastures staff is onto us.”

Myrtle gave Miles an annoyed look. “You’re entirely too concerned about what the Greener Pastures staff thinks about you.”

“Only because I don’t want them throwing away my application for residency,” said Miles. “This place is looking more and more attractive by the second. I can only imagine how large the bill for the air conditioning repair is going to be when the worker comes out this evening.”

Myrtle decided to ignore Miles’s irritating affinity for the retirement home. “To answer your question, I think we should start with Ruby Sims. For one thing, we need to regularly show up at Ruby’s door so she doesn’t forget who we are. For another, I’m wondering if she knows more than she’s letting on.”

They entered the elevator and Myrtle pushed the button to head down to the basement level. Miles said, “You mean, you think that Ruby might be hiding something from us?”

“No. I’m pretty sure that Ruby doesn’t have the faculty for hiding things. I think she might know more details about what happened the night Mickey died—but that the details might be foggy. Maybe we can go in with a defogger and pull some of those clues out of her,” said Myrtle. “And maybe we can catch up with Inez, too.”

Ruby seemed happy to see them when she opened her door. “Did you bring your cat?” she asked Myrtle eagerly, looking down to see if Myrtle were carrying a carrier. Her round face fell comically when she didn’t spot one.

“I promise I’ll get Pasha up here, Ruby,” said Myrtle. “Although it might be a short visit.”

Ruby invited them into her room and Miles said in a low voice to Myrtle, “Let me know when you’re planning the field trip for Pasha and I’ll make sure to stay at home that day.”

Yes, Miles was getting entirely too concerned about what Greener Pastures might think of him. Something drastic would have to be done. Myrtle would think on it.

Ruby’s room was a cluttered place. She also had an interesting fondness for baby dolls. Some of the dolls appeared to be collector’s items and were in their original boxes on stands. Others appeared to be played with—recently. Miles raised his eyebrows at her as they saw several dolls on Ruby’s loveseat that seemed to be getting their hair done in different styles.

“Here, I’ll move the babies,” she said and tenderly picked up each doll and laid it down in a separate location.

“So,” she said looking at Myrtle and Miles eagerly, “did you find out who did it? Did you find out who hurt Mickey?”

Miles said gently, “Ruby, I wish I could say we have. But it’s going to take some time. Myrtle and I are going to need to speak to people who may have been upset with Mickey. We’re going to have to find some clues that point to the murderer.”

Ruby listened intently to Miles, nodding in agreement. Then she turned to Myrtle and without any segue asked, “How many rings does it take?”

“Rings?” Myrtle stared down at her hands. She wore only the worn gold band of a wedding ring. The one that was there to frighten off any potential suitors. “For what, Ruby?”

“You know—telephone rings,” said Ruby earnestly. “How many rings does it take you to get the phone?”

Myrtle shifted on the sofa a bit. These conversational roundabouts were very confusing. “Well, I suppose it depends on what I’m doing. If I’m in my chair in the living room, it likely takes me three rings. If I’m in the back of the house, it might take me four. But I don’t have a very big house, so it doesn’t take me too many rings. Plus, I don’t get many phone calls. I don’t really enjoy talking on the phone.”

Ruby nodded thoughtfully again. Since she appeared not to be interested in a follow-up question, Myrtle asked, “Does it take you a while? Do you get many calls?”

“Oh, about the same, I guess. Sometimes I take naps and there are more rings before I answer. I don’t get many calls.” Ruby paused, frowning. “But I did get one this morning.”

“Who was it?” asked Myrtle.

“I don’t know,” said Ruby. “It was a strange voice. Like someone trying to pretend it was their voice. It said that I needed to stop talking about Mickey’s death or there would be trouble.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Oops. I guess I’m talking about it now.” Then her brows drew together and she said in a more confident voice, “But who cares? Mickey was my friend. I
do
know that someone murdered her.”

Myrtle said, “Ruby, this is very important. The fact that someone called you trying to scare you off shows that Mickey’s death
was
murder. And that the murderer thinks you know something. You need to tell the police this story.”

“Or Greener Pastures?” asked Ruby.

“I wouldn’t bother with Greener Pastures. They lost their chance, didn’t they, when they wouldn’t believe you? But you need to tell the police,” said Myrtle intently.

Ruby was looking right at Myrtle, but Myrtle could tell that her mind was somewhere else. “What time is it?” she asked.

Miles glanced at his watch. “It’s ten-thirty.”

“In the morning?”

Miles’s expression was weary. “Yes, Ruby.”

“Oh. Well, we should go to the ice cream social. I think that’s what we’re supposed to do at ten-thirty.” She stood up abruptly and started rifling through papers stacked on the floor next to the sofa. “Let’s see if I can find that paper.”

It would be a miracle if she could put her hands on it. The entire room was full of papers, knick-knacks and other things. It was complete chaos in there. And it seemed to reflect the chaos in Ruby’s mind.

“Isn’t morning sort of a funny time for ice cream?” asked Miles.

“Anytime is a good time for ice cream,” said Ruby simply.

Miles looked as if he needed some air. Ruby was a bit frustrating to deal with—she was just so scattered. Myrtle said, “I’ll tell you what, Ruby. Why don’t we just head over to the commons area? I could use a walk, even if there’s no ice cream over there.”

Ruby brightened. “Okay.” She walked out of her room, leaving the key on the desk.

“Don’t you want your key?” asked Myrtle.

“Oh no. No, it’s very safe here,” said Ruby.

“Except for murderers, right?” muttered Myrtle to Miles. “And mysterious and threatening phone calls.”

Miles shrugged. “It’s a struggle to keep Ruby focused.”

Fortunately, there
was
ice cream in the commons area. Myrtle was sure at this point that she needed some sort of fortification—and if a glass of sherry weren’t available, then chocolate ice cream would fit the bill just fine. There were a good number of residents there despite the early hour.

Myrtle wasn’t sure she wanted any ice cream at ten-thirty in the morning, but she did see some people she wanted to talk to at the ice cream social. One of them was Inez, who appeared to be eating a bowl of chocolate ice cream with chocolate syrup and whipped cream with gusto. The other was Fred, who Erma had been talking about earlier. Fred still looked grumpy. You’d think his mood would have improved at least marginally after Mickey’s demise.

Ruby was standing in line for the ice cream. Miles made a face at Myrtle. “It makes me feel slightly nauseated to be even contemplating eating ice cream at this hour of the day.”

“I think we can skip it. Let’s talk to Inez,” said Myrtle under her breath. “Ruby is so spacey today that we might get more done while she’s busy in line.”

Inez’s bright green eyes narrowed thoughtfully on Myrtle and Miles as they walked up to her. She raised her carefully penciled-on eyebrows. Today she was wearing a red blouse with black linen pants, and jewelry that seemed to be ancient Egyptian-inspired. “So … here to visit your friend again?” There was the slightest sneering emphasis on the word
friend
.

Miles said glibly, “We had such a good time seeing Ruby the other day that we thought we’d come back and spend more time with her.”

“Right,” said Inez. Her eyes were ironic.

Myrtle cleared her throat. “We actually came because Ruby was so distraught. Because of Mickey’s demise. She called me that morning and seemed absolutely devastated. Miles and I felt terrible for her.”