Pretty is as Pretty Dies (A Myrtle Clover Mystery) (27 page)

Red piped in, "And I guess you were on his hit list, too, Mama.
That night you ended up in the lake."
"

I don't know," said Myrtle thoughtfully. "He might have just
been trying to warn me. I'd told him earlier that I had something
important I wanted to tell him." When Red rolled his eyes, she retorted, "Well, I wanted to talk to him and pick his brain to find out
what he knew! He's a reporter, after all."

"A reporter who likes making up stories," said Red.

"I don't think that was an all-the-time thing. He probably used it
when he was coming up on a deadline and needed some embellishment. In fact, he just told me he'd done that. But he chose to do it
around the wrong person. Parke liked holding information over
people's heads."

Perkins closed his notebook. "I have to hand it to you, Mrs.
Clover. You did a great job solving this case."

Red snorted. "Oh, come on. None of that stuff would have held
up in court, you know."

"Which is why I had to search for some evidence to connect him
to the crimes! Except ... Josh wasn't supposed to be at the office."

"Well," said Perkins soothingly. "It's lucky for us that you
thought this through. You've taken a very dangerous and desperate
person off the streets"

Myrtle sipped her wine. "Funny how it ended up. I thought for
the longest time that the murderer was Benton Chambers. I'd gotten the information from Crazy Dan about Benton's affair," she
admitted, stealing a sideways glance at Perkins. He and Red exchanged a startled look. Probably wondering where she'd gotten
that lead, she guessed.

"So what's your next move, Mama? Plan on becoming part of
the space program? Marine biologist? Any other hats you feel like
wearing?"

Myrtle smiled at the admiration in Red's voice.

"Oh, I think I'll take a break for a while and let the world try to
save itself. Just sit back, watch my soaps. Maybe Miles and I can
start our own book club. There's a need for serious literary discussion in the town of Bradley."

Red looked relieved. Myrtle winked at Perkins. Perkins didn't
feel relieved at all.

Red and Myrtle watched as Perkins left, looking curiously at
the gnomes as he walked to his car. Red gave a contented sigh. "Ev-
erything's back to normal. Jean-Marc is going back to France in a
week, and there are no crazed murderers running around. Life is
good." Red walked toward the door, then turned and said, "By the
way, Mama, Sloan Jones said to give him a call about your writing
a front-page story on the capture of Josh Tucker"

Myrtle sniffed. "Sure, he wants my help now that Parke is dead
and his star reporter is in jail."

"It's the least you can do, Mama, considering you smashed up
his big trophy."

"I did the world a favor by smashing it to smithereens. That
was the ugliest trophy I'd ever laid my eyes on," said Myrtle. "By
the way, what are you doing now? On your way back home now
that the murderer's behind bars?"

"No, I think I'll avoid the house for a while. Jean-Marc set the
microwave on fire because of one of your oh-so-helpful hints."

"I'm sure," said Myrtle airily, "that I never gave a tip on arson."

"Your article advised that you could disinfect kitchen sponges
by microwaving them for two minutes," said Red.

"Which is true. Microwaving sponges kills ninety-nine percent
of germs."

"Microwaving wet sponges for two minutes."

Myrtle covered her eyes. "Oh dear God."

"When I left, Elaine had the fire extinguisher spewing at the
microwave. White dust everywhere. French cussing. Fried kitchen
sponge.

"At least Jean-Marc reads my column. He really is a nice boy."
Myrtle was quiet for a moment. "So you don't have anything to do
this afternoon?"

He shook his head, wondering if he'd regret it later.

"Well, considering how well the Altar Guild duty worked out in
the end ... want to help me move some gnomes?"

THE END

I would like to extend my sincere appreciation to the following
people who helped make Pretty Is as Pretty Dies possible:

My husband, Coleman Craig, for supporting me in many different ways.

My children, Riley and Elizabeth Ruth, who make me smile
and make me proud.

My parents, Henry and Beth Spann, and my sister, Mary Ligon
Spann Peterson, for their suggestions and proofreading.

Tom and Dottie Craig and Douglas and Jennings Boone, who
follow my progress with interest and always remember to ask
about my writing.

The people of Anderson, South Carolina, and Matthews, North
Carolina, for the inspiration they've provided me.

The Carolina Conspiracy-especially authors Jim and Joyce
Lavene-for their moral support.

My friends, who politely overlook the wads of note cards and
papers that populate my car, pockets, purse, etc. A special thanks
to Corby Smith, who unwittingly provided me with some great
material for my book.

Courtney Kish, Midnight Ink publicist, for her marketing talent and enthusiasm.

Midnight Ink's Rosemary Wallner for her careful copy editing.

Connie Hill, Midnight Ink editor, for her guidance and suggestions.

Like her characters, Elizabeth Spann Craig's roots are in a small,
Southern town. She grew up in Anderson, South Carolina, where
she spent most of her childhood in the county library, staggering
out with books by the armful.

Her magazine articles have appeared in both the United States
and Britain