Death Pays a Visit (A Myrtle Clover Mystery Book 7) (21 page)

Myrtle nodded. “And I assume that you’ve been telling people that you did graduate from college.”

Fred shrugged. “Who’d know the difference? Who’d even care? Yes, I mentioned for years that I’d graduated from an Ivy League school. It was the only hole in my resume and I was a clever guy—I figured I could fake it. And that little fib helped me to get my first job in banking. And my second. Until pretty soon I was manager of a bank branch in Charlotte, back in the day. There was no internet back then, you know. Keeping track of pieces of paper with records on it—and fact-checking them—was time-consuming.”

Myrtle nodded. “And you thought you’d gotten away with it.”

“Gotten away with it? By that point, I believed it, myself! I’d been spinning that yarn about graduating from an Ivy League school for decades,” said Fred. “You know how it is with a lie. After you’ve lied so many times, it becomes the truth. I could even talk about my college days with a certain amount of fond remembrance.”

“And you talked about it here?” asked Miles. “At Greener Pastures?”

“Certainly. Why not? It’s like any other place. You introduce yourself … you try to make friends … you give little facts about yourself,” said Fred.

Myrtle nodded. “But Mickey found out.”

Fred said, “It was really a perfect storm. There was a woman here who had been a friend of mine when we were growing up. Sally. She’s passed away now, and had sadly gotten to the point where she had dementia before passing. What happened minutes ago was gone to her, but what happened when she was twenty was clear as a bell. She talked to me as if we were both kids again. And she remembered hanging out at my dad’s hardware store while I was working there. She’d get a soft drink and sit on a stool and we’d chat all day. It was a much more slow-paced time then, you know.”

“So Mickey heard her talking about you and the hardware store,” said Myrtle.

“Mickey was her friend, too, both from when we were kids and now. And Mickey was sharp, very sharp. She recalled my saying that I’d gone to an Ivy League college and she tried to reconcile that to what Sally was saying. After all, we grew up in the same town. I should have been more cautious once I moved back to Bradley from Charlotte. I should have known that someone might remember that I hadn’t gone to college at all. But it had been
decades
. An entire lifetime. These were old people. How good could their memories be? But Mickey’s was very, very good. And there was another problem. Mickey kept
everything
. She was a real packrat,” said Fred irritably.

“Not only that, but Mickey also liked finding out people’s secrets. She liked holding this knowledge over their heads. And she had a certain underground newspaper in which she was fond of writing exposes,” suggested Myrtle.

“That’s correct,” said Fred. He rubbed the side of his face and his eyes didn’t meet Myrtle’s eyes.

“It would certainly have worked out better for you if Mickey were no longer around,” said Myrtle.

But Fred flatly refused to take the scenario farther. “I had absolutely nothing to do with that. Yes, it made my life easier that she wasn’t going to be around to print her findings in her ridiculous newspaper. But I had nothing to do with her murder.”

Myrtle gave him a hard stare. “You were in Ruby’s room tonight. Was that because you were trying to find that newspaper story?”

“And destroy it once and for all. Sure,” said Fred. “Why wouldn’t I? Ruby is forever leaving her door unlocked. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her use a key to get into her room. I figured I’d just get in there, use my little pen-flashlight to find a stack of papers, pull the article out, and then get out of there. That way I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“But Ruby wouldn’t even recognize the importance of the article anyway,” said Myrtle impatiently. “Even if she saw it, it’s likely she wouldn’t recognize either your picture or even your name in the story.”

“Sure,” said Fred. “But if you were in my shoes, you wouldn’t want to take the chance. Maybe she’d have a rare flash of lucidity. Or maybe Mickey wrote instructions on the paper to point out its importance. Maybe someone visiting Ruby would idly read the paper. No, I wanted the thing destroyed. Still do.” His eyes narrowed.

“That’s going to be impossible,” said Myrtle. “You’ve got to realize it gives you a real motive in this case. Mickey
was
murdered. You had a secret you’d kept a long time that you’d like to keep concealed. This is something that the local police need to hear about.”

Fred’s eyebrows drew together and his entire body tightened with stress.

Miles said quietly, “Fred, think about it. It doesn’t really matter anymore. The police may never release this information. Myrtle and I sure aren’t going to go around telling people about it. Even if it somehow were to get out, it’s not as if you’re currently employed and your employer might let you go. The information simply isn’t as devastating as it could have been decades ago.”

Fred stared at him silently before giving a curt nod. “All right. I understand—you’ve got to go to the police with this.”

“It might be better if you talked to them
with
us,” said Myrtle.

“No. I want nothing to do with it. If you want to tell the police, they can come to me with any questions they have. I’m not voluntarily tattling on myself,” said Fred crisply.

“Well, I’m certainly not going to sit on evidence. But I’m not calling the police at this hour, either. Besides, Darrell Smith is probably all over the town by now, trying to rescue people stuck in the New Year ice storm. It’ll wait until the morning when things have defrosted outside a bit.” Here Myrtle leveled a look at him that made the ice outside look warm. “However, I’m issuing a warning to you, Fred. Don’t come back to Ruby’s room. I’m locking the door tight. And I’m keeping that article on my person, so there’s no need to come lurking around for it anyway, unless you’re in good fighting shape. Which I don’t believe you are.” Myrtle gave a sniff. “And now I’m off to sleep.”

Her dramatic exit with her nose in the air was somewhat ruined by the fact that the door was a lot closer than Myrtle had remembered it being. She grunted under her breath as her hip connected with the door handle. Quickly pretending it didn’t happen (and that Miles’s unmanly giggle behind them didn’t happen, as well), Myrtle sailed out through the open door.

She was still so incensed by the entire episode, and the hall was so very dim, that the realization that a very slight man was standing outside Ruby’s door made Myrtle give an undignified jump.

A gruff voice said, “Tried not to scare you Miz Myrtle, but you was deep in your thoughts when I said your name.”

A wave of relief washed over Myrtle as she recognized the very Wanda-like voice. She whispered, “Oh, Randy, it’s you. You scared the living daylights out of me. I guess you’re stuck here tonight, too, aren’t you? Here, come on in Ruby’s room and we’ll talk.”

The Greener Pastures custodian, smelling something of old nicotine grandly held the door to Ruby’s room open for her to enter. He even did a quick check around the room. “Won’t hurt none to check the room for bad guys,” he muttered. “Since nobody locks doors around here.” He gave Myrtle a reproachful look.

“I know, I know. But I was chasing someone out of here at the time, Randy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Trouble?”

“Sort of. No one was trying to murder Ruby, or me for that matter. He was just trying to find evidence against him to destroy it. You know—just everyday life at Greener Pastures.” She pushed aside some clutter on Ruby’s sofa and sat down. Randy hesitated and Myrtle said, “Oh, have a seat, Randy, and tell me to what I owe the honor of this visit.”

Randy seemed to relax a bit and he gingerly sat down on Ruby’s loudly floral sofa after moving several wide-eyed dolls. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Miz Myrtle. But whenever you’re here, it don’t seem like the right time. What with chasing cats and being at parties and whatnot.”

“Agreed,” said Myrtle. “It does tend to be a bit chaotic whenever I’m at Greener Pastures. And I blame Greener Pastures for that. I certainly don’t believe that chaos follows me wherever I go.” Although her son would perhaps disagree.

“And I heard tell from Wanda that you don’t sleep ever. I couldn’t sleep on that cot they set up for me tonight, so I thought I’d head over here and see if you was up. And you was.” Randy bobbed his head at her. “So here I am. I wanted to tell you about Miz Inez and Miz Mickey.”

“Excellent. Because no one in this place talks about anything. It’s the most secretive bunch I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen a lot of folks with secrets before. So tell me. They didn’t get along, those women, right? But why? Was it Mickey’s fault or Inez’s fault?” asked Myrtle, leaning back on the sofa.

“Well, I don’t know as I can dole out the fault. Isn’t my place, is it? But I can tell you that Miz Inez disapproved of Miz Mickey because she thought she was wicked. That’s what she called her—wicked.” Randy gave an emphatic nod that made his ponytail bob.

Myrtle frowned at this. “That seems rather silly. I’d have called Mickey loud. I’d have called her coarse. I’d have called her self-centered. But I wouldn’t have called her wicked. Sounds like hyperbole from Inez.”

The word hyperbole apparently knocked Randy for a loop. He muttered it under his breath a couple of times before giving a small shrug and casting it off. “Don’t see as how I know about that. But I do know that Miz Inez didn’t like Miz Mickey’s cussing. Nor her wine But not only all that—she was also upset that Miz Mickey told her that she’d given away a baby for adoption once when she was young.”

“Adoption? What on earth is wicked about that? It seems like a perfectly lovely thing to do—to bless someone else with a child. What an odd woman Inez is,” said Myrtle, shaking her head.

“I was cleaning windows nearby, so I heard it all,” said Randy blandly. “What I heard was Miz Inez saying that it was wasteful. That Miz Mickey hadn’t understood what a gift a child was. But Miz Mickey just laughed like she was surprised. She told Miz Inez that she
did
know what a gift a child was. Which is why she
re-gifted
the baby to someone else.”

“Ha! Clever of Mickey,” said Myrtle. “She certainly wasn’t a stupid woman. What did Inez say to
that
?”

“She stomped off in a huff, she did. But before she did, she told Miz Mickey that she herself hadn’t been able to have no children. So she could call it a waste if she wanted to. And told Miz Mickey that she was the wickedest person she’d ever known. In this real mean voice, she said it, and sort of like she was about to start crying. That’s when she left,” said Randy.

“What was Mickey’s reaction to all that?” asked Myrtle.

“She just looked real thoughtful. I’d turned around at that point, to make sure Miz Mickey was all right. And she gave me a smile and then made a face, nodding her head toward where Miz Inez had left and said, ‘I done made myself an enemy, Randy.’”

Or words to that effect, thought Myrtle.

“You liked Mickey, didn’t you Randy?” she asked.

He sighed and looked down at his scruffy tennis shoes. “Yes ma’am, I sure did. She always said hi to me—and by name. I don’t even have my name on my shirt, but she asked me the first day she come here what my name was and she never had to ask again—her memory was that good. She gave me candy sometimes, too, from the store. I liked her a lot.”

“And you were worried about her, clearly. Enough to tell your cousin about it,” said Myrtle.

“Yes. Wanda said that you can’t change the future, but you can get revenge,” said Randy.

“It won’t be revenge, it’ll be justice,” said Myrtle in a stern voice, echoing Wanda’s words on the matter.
Justice must be meted out.

Chapter Eighteen

Myrtle actually did end up clocking a few hours of sleep after Randy left. But she must have had one ear or eye open the whole time, listening for trouble, because she woke up feeling as if she’d been awake the entire night.

“Might as well make use of the time I’ve got left in here,” she muttered. She needed to find Fred’s newspaper and put it in her pocketbook to secure it. She also wanted to have a look and see if there was anything else in Mickey’s pile of papers in Ruby’s room. Maybe Ruby was the owner of a huge bundle of blackmailing material and was completely unaware of it.

After about forty-five minutes of searching, Myrtle was beginning to get stiff and irritable. Half of her wanted to just head over to the dining room and be the first in line for coffee and breakfast, ,but the other half was certain that she needed to make sure she’d taken the opportunity to thoroughly go through these papers while she had the chance.

Finally, she found the newspaper that had both a story on Mickey’s graduation (she was dressed in a carefully ironed dress and was wearing a smirk on her face) and Fred’s interment at his father’s hardware store (a resigned look on
his
face). Myrtle found neither story to be particularly interesting or well written. “Silly of Fred to care about this so much,” she muttered.

Myrtle folded the newspaper and stuck it into the depths of her large pocketbook. As she did so, she realized there were a couple of pieces of notebook paper underneath that paper.

One of them was a to-do list of Ruby’s from last week that had gotten mixed into the fray. In her careful hand, she’d written down the date, a list of tasks involving laundry, things to buy at the Home’s on-campus store, and meals that she particularly wanted to eat at the dining hall. But the other was a note of
Mickey’s
that was covered in a sideways scrawl and lots of exclamation marks.

On closer examination, Myrtle saw that it was a printed-out picture of Winston Rouse. He was sitting next to an old woman in the dining room and his hand was inside the purse hanging on the back of her chair. On further inspection, Myrtle saw that the old woman was
her
. Mickey must have been following Winston around trying to get proof of his activities. How she’d managed to give Natalie the slip long enough to shadow Winston was the question. Probably sent Natalie on another fool’s errand and then hurried out to see what she could see. Obviously, Winston would have had the best opportunity to pick someone’s purse or pocket at mealtimes or other community events.