Pretty is as Pretty Dies (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) (19 page)

Erma finally started the meeting. The progression of the meeting
was rather chaotic. The idea was for everyone to share whatever recommendation she had for the next month's book club selection, followed by a quick vote for a consensus. The little spiels for the selections quickly grew contentious, however, and everyone ended up
speaking at once. Miles, clutching The Brothers Karamazov, looked
bemused and seemed to be searching for an escape hatch. Most of
the titles were pretty lightweight reads. Myrtle figured they could
compromise by reading several of them before the next meeting.
With those kinds of books, it would only take an afternoon.

Elaine leaned over and gave Myrtle a look. "Like dogs fighting
over a bone, isn't it? I don't know why Tippy isn't jumping in to
impose a little order. She's usually our referee during these crises."

Tippy sat on a sofa near Erma and looked tired and strained. Still
chic, thought Myrtle, glancing over her cream-colored suit. But as if
she was under a lot of pressure. Always thin, Tippy now looked positively transparent. The blue veins in her arms stood in sharp relief
to the rest of her arms and her elegant clothes hung a bit on her
frame. She didn't look at all like jumping in and imposing order. In
fact, Myrtle wondered if Tippy was even paying attention. She
seemed miles away. As far away as Miles wanted to be.

As the book club skirmish faded out with Elaine's suggestion
that they decide to put all the titles on the schedule and read them
alphabetically, the members set their differences aside to put away
some watermelon. Miles took off his wire-rimmed glasses and
rubbed his eyes with a tired gesture. He started edging toward the
door, looking cautiously around him for predatory widows.

Myrtle really needed to get some information from Althea Hayes,
and Althea seemed bent on avoiding her at all costs. Could Miles
help her out? He had been a great listener and not tried to offer his
opinion on everything. He might be willing to help her ask a few
questions-and not try to horn in on her investigation. Still she hesitated. He didn't really know her, and the first time he met her she
had just come out of the lake and was waving a cane at him. As far
as she knew, he thought she was a kook. But she hadn't gotten that
impression from him; he seemed to be genuinely interested in what
she was doing. Just when Miles was on the verge of making his escape, Myrtle caught up with him. "Could you try to get something
out of Althea Hayes for me?" she muttered through her teeth.

He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Well, you might be the only person to be able to do it!" Myrtle hissed. "Everyone's falling all over
themselves trying to talk to you, you know."

He flushed. "I'll give it a try."

"Good. I'm going to try to catch Kitty while she's making sense."

He looked over at Kitty. "Better hurry then." Kitty was staring
out a window with an odd expression on her face.

Myrtle sidled up to her. She cleared her throat. Kitty didn't
budge. She hummed a little tune from Showboat. Kitty didn't glance
her way. Myrtle bellowed, "Christopher Columbus!" She had Kitty's
attention. Or concern. Or something.

"Kitty dear," Myrtle purred. "You're looking really well. Much
better," Myrtle said in a whispery voice, looking around her, "than
you did at the last book club meeting. Death is always so difficult
to deal with, isn't it?" Myrtle clucked. "Although I've had more experience in dealing with it than most, I'm afraid. Age, you know."

Kitty opened her mouth but no words came out, so Myrtle
continued. "How are you doing, dear?"

"Fine, Miss Myrtle. Well, the police don't seem to think I'm
that much of a suspect anyway. That's what was bothering me so
much last time, you know." Myrtle thought something else seemed
to be bothering her too.

"I hear," she said in a halting voice, "that there were actually
two different uh-attackers. That the second blow was the one
that killed Parke." Kitty had an odd expression on her face.

Word traveled fast around here. "That's what I understand."

Kitty spoke slowly. "It was just so funny. You know, that morning Parke was killed."

"What was, dear?"

"The flowers." Myrtle shook her head uncomprehendingly and
Kitty said, "There weren't any roses at the church."

Myrtle frowned, trying to decode this cryptic statement. Her
face was a mass of wrinkles. "But there were, Kitty. There were
roses all over the sanctuary floor."

Kitty waved her hands in the air with irritation. "Well, enough
about all that, anyway." She seemed to be searching her brain for
something to say. "Um ... what did you think about the meeting
today?"

"Thought it was crazy," answered Myrtle, snorting. "Why Tippy
didn't step in and put a stop to all that wrangling is beyond me.
Book selection isn't always a free-for-all, is it?"

Kitty gave a short laugh and jammed her hands into the pockets
of her khaki capris. "I guess she has a lot on her mind right now."

Myrtle thought that sounded promising. "Why would you
think that? Benton's election?"

"No, but the way he trots her out and makes her go to all these
clubs like a trained pony keeps her busy enough." Kitty paused and
looked around her. Althea and Miles were still talking. There was a
large group standing around Erma that looked in need of rescue. No
one appeared to be paying any attention to Kitty and Myrtle. "I mean,
she probably has a lot on her mind because of Parke's murder."

"But Tippy and Benton were both at home. They were each
other's alibi."

Kitty shook her head. "Well, I know for a fact that Tippy wasn't
at home. And if she wasn't at home, then how does she know that
Benton was at home?"

"But she didn't seem to be bothered by any of that at the last
book club meeting," Myrtle said.

"Maybe she didn't think Benton could have done it then and
was fine with giving him an alibi," said Kitty. "Maybe now she's
changed her mind for some reason."

As if she'd found out that Benton was cheating on her and Parke
knew about it. "How do you know that Tippy wasn't at home?"

"Oh, she was motoring around in her big Cadillac that morning, looking for grease. She called me from her cell phone about
the church meeting and said she wasn't going to be able to make
the United Methodist Women meeting that morning, that she had
a terrible headache and was going to just stay home in bed."

Myrtle shrugged. "So?"

"So then I heard a voice say, `Want some hashbrowns with
that?"' Kitty smiled. "It wasn't Benton's voice."

It sounded like everyone in Bradley, North Carolina, was wandering around town that morning. Myrtle hadn't been able to eliminate anyone for lack of opportunity. Kitty said, "The meeting's breaking up, Miss Myrtle. I'll catch up with you later."

Myrtle looked around her with alarm. Sure enough, the large
group of Erma's hostages had broken free of their captor and were
streaming out her front door. Myrtle gripped her cane and hurried
to the door. Don't look back, she thought. You might turn into a
pillar of salt. She heard a nasally voice calling her name behind her
and blatantly ignored it, as she escaped from Erma's house and
hastened to the refuge of her own home next door.

A few minutes later there was an insistent rap at her door. She
cautiously peered through the peephole, expecting to see a distorted version of Erma's rodentesque features on the other side of
the door. Instead, she saw Miles' steel-gray hair and irritated face.
She opened the door and he stepped inside. Myrtle noticed a cluster of white heads turned in their direction. Biddies. Lord knew
what kind of talk was going to be circling around about them.
Small towns were the pits sometimes.

"Thanks for throwing me to the sharks," he grumbled. "I love
the way you beat a path to the door, saving yourself and leaving
me in the clutches of Erma and company." He glowered at her behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

"All's fair in love and war," reminded Myrtle breezily. "Besides,
you were supposed to be talking to Althea. Couldn't you have left
when she did?"

Miles sighed. "You might have warned me you were sending
me on Mission Impossible. Not only was she about as responsive
as a rock, but she seemed to get the opinion I was hitting on her.
Which she seemed to find deplorable, since she was so recently
widowed." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "In fact, I caught quite a few glares during my so-called conversation with
Althea."

"Oh, they were all just jealous you'd gone over to talk to her.
Besides, they've already forgotten about your social faux-pas of
courting a new widow and are focusing on the fact you bolted into
my house as soon as book club was over. You could have just called
on the phone, you know."

"That's gratitude for you"

"You didn't find out anything at all? You must have picked up
something from her. You talked to her long enough. I was pumping
Kitty for information the same amount of time and found out all
kinds of things."

"Well, that's the difference between your conversation and mine.
In my conversation, I was doing most of the talking and in yours, it
sounds like Kitty was doing most of it. I was just desperate for a
topic after a while. Finally got on the topic of her nephew, josh
Tucker. The newspaper guy," he explained.

Myrtle nodded impatiently. "I know who he is."

"She just talked about how he had been such a big shot reporter
in New York, then such a devoted son that he left all his success
behind to come home and be near his aging parents."

Myrtle rolled her eyes. "Not exactly helpful information,
Miles."

"Althea said he wanted to keep churning out award-winning
stories so he could still make his parents proud, even though he's
really slumming with the paper he's working for."

"The Bradley Bugle is a fine paper," retorted Myrtle, stung.

"Sorry, Myrtle. I know you write a column in the Bugle. But it's
not exactly the New York Times, is it?" Getting no answer, he con tinned, "I know you were put out because Parke's column was getting your column cut back. Maybe Sloan was doing the same thing
for Josh Tucker-making him cut back on his stories because of
Parke's piece."

Myrtle gave a short laugh. "Not a chance. Sloan worships Wonder Boy and has this mega-trophy shrine on his desk that the paper
won because of a story Josh did. No, Sloan wouldn't tread on Josh's
toes. Not like mine," she added grumpily. "Isn't there anything else
you found out?"

"Well, no, as you'd have known if you hadn't bolted like a bat
out of hell. About that time Erma Sherman lumbered up, since
Althea was discussing what was apparently Erma's favorite topic.
She started going on like a lovesick calf, asking all sorts of soppy
questions about Josh." Miles plopped down onto Myrtle's sofa and
took off his shoes.

"Make yourself comfortable," Myrtle said in a caustic tone. "Let
me catch you tip with what I found out from Kitty." Miles listened
attentively while she described Kitty's conversation with Tippy on
the morning of Parke's murder. When Myrtle was done, he squinted
thoughtfully at Myrtle's ceiling for several minutes. Myrtle was beginning to realize that when Miles was thinking things through he
liked to be quiet, so she walked into the kitchen to pour a couple of
Coca-Colas. When she walked back in, Miles said, "So you're thinking that Tippy believes Benton might have killed Parke to keep her
from talking about Benton's affair. Or maybe Tippy could have killed
Parke. She was out driving around, after all. Half the town was parking at the church for the United Methodist Women meeting... she
could have run in, beaned Parke on the head with the collection
plates or candlesticks or whatever, and gone on home."

"I'm not sure that Tippy would have killed Parke," answered
Myrtle slowly as she handed Miles his drink.

"Why not? She had just as much to lose as Benton. She'd have
been humiliated if Benton's affair with the floozy was common
knowledge. It could have made real problems for Benton's political
career, which would have damaged Tippy's lifestyle, too."

"I guess. There's something Kitty said that was kind of odd,"
said Myrtle. "She started going on about flowers at the church.
Something about roses not being there. She looked almost worried
about it."

"Well, it probably has to do with the fact that she was the one
who put the wildflowers in the sanctuary and Parke came in to
change them out with one of her grand arrangements. Maybe Kitty
is still piqued about it."

"Maybe," said Myrtle, "But she didn't sound piqued. And she
seemed more concerned that the roses weren't there."

"But they were. You saw them yourself when you discovered
Parke's body. There were roses all over the place you said."

Myrtle sighed. "I don't know why I'm trying to make sense out
of Kitty Kirk anyway. Even at her best, she's not playing with a full
deck."

Miles took a long drink from his Coke. "Better than trying to
get information from the secretive Althea." He took his glass into
Myrtle's kitchen, putting it in the sink. "I'd better go. The spies are
probably out there timing my visit anyhow."

"Well, they have nothing else to think about, you know. Give
me a call tomorrow and maybe you can help me decide what I
need to focus on next." There. She'd firmly put him in his sidekick
place.