Pretty is as Pretty Dies (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) (22 page)

Miles was not thinking very charitably about Kitty Kirk as he
was beginning to associate her with his rumbling stomach. "At
least they can ask us a few questions now and let us go back home.
I'm starving."

Myrtle absently tapped her fingers on the dashboard. "Hold on.
I'm thinking." She reached over and pulled Miles' sleeve. "What if
we make some excuse and have them question us at the station?"

"Why would we do that?" groaned Miles, wondering if this
night was ever going to end.

"The cells are right there at the station. Sort of like Mayberry.
If we can get over there, we can maybe stick our head in the jail
section and ask Cecil a couple of questions."

Sarcasm was bubbling up inside Miles at the thought of more
delay. "Oh, I just bet that Red and Perkins will be delighted to have
us question Cecil. What exactly are they supposed to be doing in
the meantime while we're following this line of inquiry?"

Myrtle ignored his tone. "We'll think of something. Maybe we'll
send them out for food or something."

By this time a forensics truck was pulling up and a team was
already jumping out and setting up crime tape around the scene.
With all the activity and police vehicles arriving, Miles was looking even more uncomfortable by the minute. When Red walked by the
car, Miles rolled down his window and called, "Shouldn't Myrtle
and I get out of the way? Should I drive somewhere else?"

Red answered, "You are kind of in the middle of everything,
but I do need to get a statement from you."

Myrtle leaned over Miles and asked, "Why don't we go down to
the station?"

Red considered this. "I could stand to pick up some things
from there. I didn't realize when I left your house that I'd be gone
this long. Okay. Just follow me over to the station then. It should
only take a minute. I've got other things to do-like informing
Kitty's husband."

Myrtle could only imagine how that would go. Red would
probably tell Tiny Kirk that Kitty was dead and he'd answer, "She
is not!" He appeared to be very indignant over any of Kitty's perceived shortcomings. He'd likely view death as the ultimate character flaw.

The drive to the station took only minutes and soon Miles and
Myrtle were sinking into the vinyl station sofas with the broken
springs and Red sat with his pen poised, waiting for their story.
Myrtle was stalling. It was all going too quickly for her plan. And
there were too many policemen going in and out of the station.
She said, "Red, I'm famished. Could you run get me some food
right quick before we go over this? I'm starting to feel kind of
sick."

Red frowned and opened his mouth to give her a piece of his
mind when Miles quietly added, "Actually, I'm pretty hungry myself, Red. I hate to cause you anymore problems tonight, but don't you need supper, too, before you keep working? If memory serves,
you were at the same dinner party I was tonight."

"And there's that fast food place around the corner that's open
until two a.m.," offered Myrtle. She blinked innocently at him as if
thinking she'd given a very helpful suggestion.

"I thought you'd gone for a nice ride in the cemetery on your
full stomach," Red reminded her sourly and he was rewarded with
a blush from Myrtle. "Okay. I'll pick something up real quick and
we can eat while I get your statements from you. Just stay put," he
said firmly, "and don't go finding any more dead bodies." He took
his keys out of his pocket and walked out the door.

Myrtle grabbed her cane and struggled to her feet. "Let's get
moving before somebody else comes through the revolving door.
You'd think the whole universe was centered around the Bradley
Police Department tonight."

The small police station featured a door leading to Red's office
on one side of the lobby and a metal swinging door leading to a
series of six jail cells on the other side. The Bradley jail usually
served as a holding tank for more serious offenders until they
could be transferred elsewhere, or as a place for DUIs to sober up.
Such was the case tonight with Cecil Stockard.

Cecil sat on the cot in the cell. His black hair hung greasily in
his face and he didn't look like he'd shaved in at least a day. Myrtle
doubted he smelled minty fresh and stayed far enough back to ensure she wouldn't find out. He looked up when they walked
through and smirked at them. His voice was slurred and Myrtle
wondered if he could possibly still be drunk after so many hours
behind bars, or if he were just tired. "Miss Meddlesome Myrtle and
friend. How nice to see you. I'd offer you some refreshments," he waved a hand around, "but as you can see, there's not much in the
way of snacks here."

"Ah ... sorry to see you here in such circumstances, Cecil."

He nodded, lank hair falling into his eyes. He pushed it back
with a grubby hand. "And you're sharing these aforementioned
circumstances because ... ?"

Myrtle took a deep breath. "Because we discovered Kitty Kirk's
murdered body. We're here to give our statement." She watched
Cecil's features carefully and saw what looked like genuine surprise
pass across his face. "Really. Kitty Kirk?" He looked puzzled, as if
he couldn't connect Kitty Kirk with a violent death-as if he knew
far better candidates for such a fate.

Miles coughed. "And we also found your checkbook. At the
scene of the crime."

A crimson flush spread over Cecil's face and his eyes glittered
with rage. "What the hell? I haven't been anywhere near the
woman. And I've been rotting in this dungeon all day long. I mean
all day." His eyes flicked around the cell. "Somebody tried to set
me up. My checkbook has been lost at least a week-someone
must have swiped it and put it there."

Miles poked Myrtle. "We'd better get out to the lobby, Myrtle."

"Can't be seen fraternizing with the criminal, hmm?" jeered
Cecil as they beat a hasty retreat. They had just taken their seats in
the lobby when Red came through the door bearing a large white
bag with grease dripping through.

"Hey," said Red, "that took a little longer than I planned. Here's
your food ... Miles, I super-sized yours, because I figured you'd be
starving by now. Let me just jot down your statement and I'll eat
mine on the road." With that, he wrote their story down, shaking his head from time to time. Finally he said, "Okay, I think that's it.
You can go on home now." He left, chomping down huge gulps of
a cheeseburger as he went. Passing him on the way into the station
were several officers from the state police.

"Wanna blow this joint?" Miles gritted through his teeth in
what he fondly imagined was a realistic film noir manner.

Myrtle, still munching on French fries, said, "Sure. Oh, can you
run by Nathaniel Gluck's house on the way home?"

Miles, beginning to regret that he still had a valid driver's license, sighed. "The minister's? Why? No-never mind. I don't
want to know."

Nathaniel Gluck greeted them at the front door. He was wearing a
long nightshirt, which Myrtle thought had gone out of fashion in
the 1950s. His spindly arms and legs stuck out of the nightshirt like
a stick person and he bore a striking resemblance to Ichabod Crane.
Or Wee Willie Winkie. And there was something else ... Myrtle
wrinkled her nose.

"You smoke!" she barked in surprise.

Nathaniel turned bright red. Poor guy, thought Miles, probably
trying to sneak in a last cigarette of the day before turning in. Caught
in the act by Myrtle "The Nose" Clover.

"I'm trying to break the habit," Nathaniel said, gathering his
dignity around him.

Myrtle was completely put out. Her main clue from Parke's murder scene had turned into a red herring. She'd obviously just smelled smoke from Nathaniel's clothing in the sanctuary. She tried to remember her train of thought.

Miles stepped in, trying to keep the poor minister from thinking that an anti-smoking committee had arrived on his front
porch. "The reason we're here," he glanced over at Myrtle for affirmation because he really had no idea exactly why they were
there, "is because Kitty Kirk has been murdered." As the minister
gaped at them, Myrtle stepped in, "And Red is getting ready to go
notify Tiny Kirk. You might want to run by there. And since it was
Kitty, and knowing what a big role she played at the church..."
Myrtle shrugged. "I thought you'd want to hear about it."

Nathaniel nodded. "Thanks for letting me know, Miss Myrtle."

Possessing a natural killer instinct, Myrtle realized this was the
perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard. She quickly added,
"One more thing that's been on my mind for a while, Nathaniel.
You really jumped to Althea's defense when she showed up at the
sanctuary the morning of Parke's murder. Could you tell me why
that was?"

The minister gave Myrtle a stern look. "I certainly will not,
Miss Myrtle. That's confidential." He gently but firmly closed the
front door behind him.

Finally, Miles and myrtle were on their way back home. Myrtle
was quiet on the short drive, planning her suspect interviews.
Miles, no longer obsessed with the vacant nature of his stomach,
felt sleepy and was eager to divest himself from his new friend ... at
least temporarily. He'd never dreamed that retiring to a small town
would end up being so exciting.

THE LIST OF SUSPECTS seemed to be dwindling. Kitty Kirk could
still have killed Parke Stockard, but it made more sense that she
was killed because someone else was the murderer and she'd
known about it. Cecil Stockard could have killed his mother, but it
seemed unlikely since he'd had an iron-clad alibi for Kitty's murder and it appeared the two murders were linked. Which meant
the suspects Myrtle still needed to talk to were Benton and Tippy
Chambers, Josh Tucker, and Althea Hayes.

She was just figuring out how to manipulate a time to talk to
each of them when her doorbell rang. She frowned and checked
her kitchen wall clock. Seven a.m. She picked up her cane and
walked over to the front door, peeking out through the sheer curtains at the window next to the door. She saw Josh Tucker standing
out there, and figured that Wonder Boy was all ready to interview
her for the big story. Hopefully he wouldn't use too many adjectives in his article. Myrtle could just see it now: "Myrtle Clover, appearing wan and wearing a tatty-looking polyester robe, recounted her harrowing story..."

She opened the door and saw josh glance over her appearance
and start to apologize for coming over so early. She cut him off:
"It's no problem, josh. I'm just getting a late start to my day. Come
on in and have some coffee with me. I guess you're wanting a firsthand account of what happened last night? Word spread fast, but
that's pretty typical."

They settled into Myrtle's kitchen. Although it was the scene of
many culinary disasters, its cheeriness made it her favorite room.
Red-checked curtains hung at the windows, the walls were a sunny
yellow, and Myrtle poured hefty helpings of java into a pair of
soup-bowl-sized coffee cups in improbably wild colors.

Myrtle told josh about the drive to the cemetery the night before, conveniently leaving out any account of the dinner party that
had led to the outing (and hoping that the odors of the charred food
weren't still evident). She hadn't had a chance to take out the garbage yet.

When she wrapped up the story, josh looked at her admiringly.
She had a suspicious moment when she wondered if he were trying
to butter her up to get more information out of her. He was nuts if
he thought she was going to share her clues and insights with him so
he could get the credit for solving the case. He said, "So by following
your gut instincts, you ended up discovering Kitty Kirk's body in the
cemetery. Your intuition is really beating the police department's,
Miss Myrtle. And it sounds like you're really perceptive, too. Did
you-ah-uncover any clues as to the murderer's identity while you
were there?"

Myrtle preened at the praise, but wasn't tricked into giving
away any information. "Well, that's Red's job though, isn't it? I'm
sure they've canvassed the area and if there's anything to be found,
they found it."