Pretty is as Pretty Dies (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) (17 page)

A look flashed in his hooded eyes that she couldn't really readwas it irritation?-then he replied, "That's what happens when you
live in a small town ... everybody knows your business. I was over
there that morning, as Sloan is especially aware of since he set it up.
He assigned me to take some pictures and get a few quotes from the
church meeting for the Around Town piece. I got to the church early,
went over to the dining hall, started setting up, then realized I didn't
have my flash with me. So I left to go back home. When I came back,
there was a mob at the church, Red's police car was parked by the
sanctuary, and I ended up with a much better article than the United
Methodist Women piece. End of story, Miss Myrtle." His voice was
gentle, but his unhappy mouth tugged downward as usual. He
reached over and turned off his tape recorder, signifying the end of
the interview.

The tape recorder and the professionalism it indicated irritated
Myrtle. She pulled out her own tape recorder from her pocketbook and showed it to Josh. "You're not the only one who carries
one around. I find it's so helpful when I'm talking to people for my
tips column. Sometimes they'll just stop me in the street with a
tip ... you know how popular my column is. If I didn't carry this
around with me I'd forget half the tips people have given me."

But Josh seemed to have stopped listening. Myrtle opened her
mouth to ask another question when she noticed an arrested look
on Josh's face. She turned and also froze when she saw Erma Sherman coming through the door. "Yoo hoo!" Erma called to them,
causing people from other tables to turn around. "Miss Myrtle and
Josh! Myrtle, are you gonna hog all the eligible bachelors in town?"

Josh gave an agonized groan and said, "Got to run, Miss Myrtle.
My lunch hour is over." He nodded to Erma Sherman on his way
out the door, careful to wend his way around the tables as far away
from her as possible.

Myrtle crammed the last couple bites of her grilled cheese sandwich and fries down her throat and grabbed her grease-stained
check. When she slid her cane toward her, she knocked her pocketbook over, spilling the contents all over the vinyl booth and linoleum floor. Erma had swooped down on her by that time, shoving
her out of the way (nearly pushing Myrtle over in the process), and
was grabbing handfuls of Myrtle's things and stuffing them back in
the purse. Her mouth ran the entire time.

"Happens to everyone, doesn't it? Just when you think you've
got your purse, things start jumping out of it. So you've been having lunch with Josh? How nice." Myrtle noticed Erma seemed even
more agitated than usual. She couldn't think that Myrtle had designs on Josh? At Myrtle's age? But then, if Erma was delusional
enough to think that Josh might fancy her, anything was possible.

"I'm sorry I've got to run, Erma, but I have ... stuff to do.
Thanks for helping me with my pocketbook." And off she scurried
like a rabbit from a hunter, paying for her lunch at the front counter while Erma found some other people to victimize.

The walk from downtown to her house was a short one, but it
took a while with the combination of the heat and a full stomach
working against her. Besides, she wasn't looking forward to seeing
her poor, scalped shrubbery again. Why Red had decided to wreak
havoc on the poor things she didn't know.

When she reached her house, though, she was in for a nice surprise. Actually, she was in for a miraculous makeover. Jean-Marc
had carefully shaped up the bushes, delicately thinning some out,
smoothing out the rough edges and mangled bits that Red had left,
until the entire effect was well-manicured.

Myrtle smiled at the restoration of normalcy in her yard. Actually, the bushes were much better than normal. Jean-Marc had a
pleased smile on his face which replaced his usual smirk. Myrtle
wondered if the smirk was just a way of dealing with feeling uncomfortable. Feeling uncomfortable must be a constant state of affairs when you're in a different country, experiencing different
foods, entertainment, and culture. And when you're busily breaking every household appliance, of course.

"Jean-Marc, I have to admit, I'm amazed. The bushes are tres
belles. You've done a wonderful job. I really didn't think you could
do anything with them."

He nodded, but looked as if he hadn't been surprised by his
success at all. "Eet was nothing. But the trimmer? The saw? Eet is
broken." He shrugged. "Eet was a casualty in the battle of the good
versus the evil."

Myrtle gave a hooting laugh. "I should give you a tip for that
alone. It'll teach Red not to take out his frustrations on my shrubbery anymore." She rooted in her pocketbook for her purse, but
Jean-Marc waved her away.

"Eet was a pleasure," he said as he walked across the street to
Red and Elaine's house.

Myrtle smiled after him, then jumped at a voice from behind
her. She relaxed when she saw it was Miles Bradford and not Erma
still stalking her.

"Sorry I made you jump," he said. "I just wanted to make sure
you didn't have any ill effects from last night."

"No, not a thing. Except the fact my bushes were annihilated by
a mad pruner this morning."

Miles looked confused and Myrtle said, "Oh, Red cut them way
back. I guess he thought killers are lurking in them and ready to
jump out at me at any moment. Or else he was just trying to get
back at me for getting him out of bed last night. But the exchange
student staying with Red and Elaine is apparently some sort of
French gardening whiz kid, so they look a lot better."

"Have you done any more investigating today?"

"I haven't had any luck. I tried to find out some information
from Wonder Boy today, but he was playing his cards too close to
his chest. Probably going for another award-winning expose." She
frowned darkly.

"Wonder Boy?"

"Oh. Josh from the Bugle. I thought I might be able to get him to
talk about what he's found out, but he went all close-mouthed on
me. I did find out that he had been at the church that morning."

"Before the murder?"

"That's what he says. He was in the church hall that morning to
take some pictures for the Bugle of the church meeting. You know,
a typical society-type thing. Well, society for the town of Bradley
anyway. But he forgot his flash, so he had to go back home. When he came back, Red's police car was parked outside and the hordes
had arrived. So he started taking pictures. And sneezing. Which
seems to be his usual reaction to churches."

Myrtle was losing Miles again. "He's allergic to churches?"

"No, he's allergic to roses. Which is one reason why Kitty Kirk's
Altar Guild arrangements always had wildflowers. Parke changed
all that, of course. Had to have formal arrangements and allergies
be damned."

"So Josh hated Parke, too?"

"I wouldn't say that. I kind of think he had a crush on her, actually. He always gets this kind of sweet blush whenever someone
brings up her name. She was a beautiful woman, even if she was
mean as a snake."

"But they never had a relationship?" asked Miles.

"I doubt it. He wasn't in her league when it came to looks. He's
got those round shoulders and a stoop. And he always seems to be
sweating out of his comb-over."

"Sounds like a real winner."

Myrtle looked at her watch. "Well, I've got to get back home.
Otherwise tongues will wag. I've been here twenty minutes already
and another ten would be scandalous."

Miles walked with her through her yard to her front door and
Myrtle said, "Do me a favor? Next time my bushes are getting
butchered, please give me a call. Inquiring minds want to know."

THE NEXT MORNING MYRTLE scraped her burnt toast over the
sink. She slathered it with butter and sat in her sunny kitchen, tapping her pen against the newspaper as she struggled with the crossword. Ordinarily she could knock out the puzzle in minutes and was
confident enough to wage her daily attack with an ink pen. Today's
puzzle, however, had a wicked number of Russian geography clues.
The red pen she used looked as if it had been killed in battle, judging from the number of blots and scratched out attempts on the
page. Myrtle finally pushed the paper away and stood to get another
cup of coffee. She couldn't get the Parke Stockard murder out of her
mind and there apparently wasn't room enough in her brain for
both the murder and the crossword.

What she really wanted to do was to corner Althea and try to get
some information from her. She'd never known her to be so exclusive and evasive ... she had to know something. She couldn't forget
the look on Althea's face when Red had asked what she was doing in
the sanctuary. She'd had just such an odd expression... sort of a combination of guilt and fear. She must know something about the
murder. Either she had an idea who had done it and was covering
up (especially since she'd had her own bone to pick with Parke), or
else she had murdered Parke herself. Myrtle couldn't really picture
Althea whacking Parke over the head with a communion plate, but
stranger things had happened and Althea certainly had been both
distraught and angry about Tanner's death. She also wanted to hear
more about Althea's conversations with her nephew josh about his
problems with Parke.

What did she really know about Althea, after all? Yes, she'd known
her for the past sixty-five years ... since Althea was a child. But Althea wasn't a contemporary of Myrtle's and wasn't exactly the most
forthcoming person in the world. Althea's idea of a good time was
probably to sit inside her old home on the Boulevard and dust her
dead ancestors. And she was as stubborn as her husband Tanner had
been. She wouldn't have taken kindly to a suggestion that she leave
her home. Tanner had grown up in the house after all. And she
doubted that Parke had approached them with any tact. Parke had
thought a lot of herself and apparently figured her considerable
beauty was persuasion enough.

Myrtle hesitated for a minute, her hand hovering over the telephone before finally picking up the receiver and dialing Elaine. Althea might be trying to avoid Myrtle's snoopiness, but she would
have no reason to avoid a visit with Elaine. Maybe Elaine could
trump up some sort of book club excuse to drop by.

Fortunately, life seemed relatively calm at Elaine's. "Hi Myrtle!
What's up?" She listened to Myrtle for a couple of minutes, then
said cautiously, "Well, you know Red wouldn't like to hear about you doing this, Myrtle. Especially after your being thrown in the
lake and everything."
"

I was hoping," said Myrtle delicately, "that he wouldn't have to
hear anything about it. Isn't there something you need to drop by
Althea's? Maybe even a casserole, since she's so recently lost Tanner?"

"Well, but it's past the normal casserole-giving window. Besides, I've taken over a couple of chicken divans."

"Or something for book club?" pleaded Myrtle.

"No-ooo. That's not exactly a paperwork-heavy club, you know.
And she hasn't missed any meetings."

Elaine was quiet for a second, then said reluctantly, "She has
been asking me to bring Jean-Marc by. She apparently lived in
Paris for a while when she was young. I think she wanted to talk to
him about France."

"Bingo!" Myrtle dropped the phone in her excitement. "See how
easy that was? Can you call and set up a time to drop by this afternoon? And I can just tag along with you."

Elaine wondered if Jean-Marc was inducement enough for Althea to suffer through a visit with Myrtle. She might just shut the
door in all their faces. She sure had been keen on avoiding Myrtle
at all costs lately. It could make an interesting visit.

It ended up being a close call. Althea opened her door wide and
greeted them with delight when Elaine rang the doorbell. But she
drew back into her shell when she spotted Myrtle standing behind
them. "I-uh-have Myrtle today, Miss Althea," said Elaine, feeling as
though she was babysitting an extra kid. "I hope that will be okay."