Progressive Dinner Deadly (6 page)

Tippy took the break from the earring search and smashed glass recovery to make an announcement. “Okay, everyone! For us to keep on track this evening, we need to move on to the next house. I’m sure Erma’s earring hasn’t walked out the door, so we’ll leave Miles to look for it later tonight. Remember, we’re going to Willow Pearce’s house next for soups and salads, then to Jill’s, before ending up at Myrtle’s house for dessert. We’re running a little bit behind,” this with a reproving look at the careless Erma, who seemed completely unaware that she was being reproached, “so we’ll probably spend just thirty minutes at Willow’s.”

They all tramped over to Willow’s house, looking a bit like a well-sauced tour group with Tippy striding ahead as leader. Willow lived down the street from Miles in a smallish brick ranch on the non-lakefront side of the road. The road was lined with old sidewalks and shielded from the sun by ancient, massive trees on both sides. On Myrtle’s side of the street, the houses backed up to the lake, and the other side, including Red’s house, backed up to woods. The road curved to follow the line of the lake so Myrtle couldn’t see the houses on the other side of the bend, including Willow’s, Sherry’s, and Jill’s.

Willow hadn’t left her front lights on, so Tippy called a group halt. “I’ll go ahead and ask her to turn on the porch lights. I don’t want our older ladies tripping.”

Myrtle felt a little huffy about being classified as an “older lady,” considering that Tippy was fairly old herself, just well-preserved. Tippy swept down the front walk, silks floating along behind her. A cat leapt out of a shadow, hissing, and Tippy gave a short shriek before a quick recovery. She rapped at the door, then cautiously opened it. Reaching inside, Tippy turned on the outdoor lights, revealing a tidy yard and an herb garden. “Willow?” called Tippy. She shrugged and motioned everyone to come in. “She
is
expecting us,” she said.

It was clear when they walked in that Willow
had
been expecting them. She had bowls of covered tossed and pasta salads set out on the tables. Clearly, she was, at some level, anticipating their arrival. “Where is she?” asked Myrtle grumpily to Miles. “Really, this is carrying things too far. I know Willow is really New-Agey and everything, but not to be hostessing your own party is really too much. She could at least be asking us if we need tongs for the salad. Because, for heaven’s sake, we need some tongs for the salad!”

Miles was about to answer her back when Willow finally drifted into the room, carrying yet another feline. She wore another flowing garment to replace the one that the wine had spilled on. Myrtle was sure that if she ventured into Willow’s bedroom, that she would find an entire closet full of flowing, hippyesque garments. This one, at least, wasn’t as bright as the one she’d been wearing at Miles’ house.

Willow waved a vague hand. “Help yourselves, everyone.”

The phone rang and Willow picked up a cordless receiver. “Oh hi Paul. Now? Where is the van? How many cats is it? No, that’s fine, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She hung up and glanced around for her car keys until finding them on a table. Willow put the cat down on the table and floated to the front door with her keys.

“Willow?” Tippy asked with a hard edge to her politely cultured voice. “You’re not leaving your guests, are you?”

Willow said in a wispy voice, “Oh, yes, I need to. My friend trapped a whole colony of feral cats and was on his way to transport them to the clinic when his van broke down. I’ll have to help him out. Myrtle knows all about it,” she said. No Myrtle didn’t, thought Myrtle. And Myrtle didn’t want to.

Tippy looked nonplussed. “Right now? The cats have to be transported right
now
?” Myrtle had never heard such a shrill note in Tippy’s voice before.

Willow tilted her head to one side. “The cats will be frightened, Tippy. They’ll need to head over to the clinic for their spaying. Besides, the staff is waiting for them. And my friend is stranded, too.”

Tippy opened her mouth again but Willow had already slipped out of the door.

“Well for heaven’s sake,” said Myrtle crossly. This supper club had been a perfectly rotten idea. If they’d been drinking a nice glass of chardonnay and talking about Dickens, this never would have happened.

Tippy clicked her tongue. “I’m not sure your supper club plan was such a wonderful idea, Myrtle.” Several other members looked reproachfully at Myrtle.

“
My
—”

“Well, I guess there’s nothing left to be done but assume responsibility for the hostessing duties.” Tippy immediately disappeared into the kitchen, then returned with a pair of tongs. She manned the salad table and started helping plates. Myrtle scowled. She hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place, Miles was still off cleaning up the mess at his house, and now she was feeling guilty about a party that hadn’t been her idea to begin with. Then she sighed. Plus the fact she was supposed to be documenting the thing for Sloan’s blog. She desolately pulled out her cell phone and snapped off a few pictures, unenthusiastically.

Maybe it was time for a small drink. She hadn’t really imbibed at Miles’ house since there was so much competition over the restroom facilities. She looked around her. No drinks. Not only were there no alcoholic beverages, there was no water, no iced tea, and no lemonade. She’d have to completely abandon her idea of drinking a glass of wine. Clearly, Willow’s careful regard for her health extended to abstaining from alcohol. Darn her.

“Unforgiveable!” muttered Myrtle under her breath.

“There’s no tea,” murmured Tippy to Myrtle in a flat voice. Apparently, the dire lack of courtesy at Willow’s house had put her in a state of shock.

“I’ll see if there’s any in the fridge that we can use. Surely Willow made some,” said Myrtle.

“I can check,” said Tippy quickly.

“Now Tippy, I’m not going to fall and break my neck in Willow’s kitchen, I promise you.” Tippy’s overprotectiveness grated on Myrtle’s nerves. She leaned on her cane and thumped off to Willow’s kitchen.

It didn’t look anything like Myrtle’s own sunny, kitschy kitchen. Where Myrtle had red-checkered curtains, Willow had dark linen. Where Myrtle had natural light, Willow relied on lava lamps. And where Myrtle had candles for those rare candlelight suppers, Willow had incense. At least, thought Myrtle, Willow seemed to share Myrtle’s affinity for roosters in the kitchen. At least on her potholders. Although roosters didn’t seem to jive with the otherworldly theme of the décor, Myrtle thought as she rummaged through Willow’s refrigerator, which was stuffed with organic foods. Myrtle finally found, behind the tofu, cut up vegetables in zipper bags, and heads of broccoli and cabbage, a pitcher of iced tea shoved way in the back.

Everyone heaped their plates. At least the food looked decent, even if Willow had flaked out. Actually, thought Myrtle, all in all there seemed to be an overwhelming amount of drama going on. Blanche looked like she’d been run over by a truck, which was probably the strain of being around Jill. Even though she hadn’t noticed Jill in a while. Not since she left Miles’ house to go stir the barbeque. But Blanche could still be stressed out, just worried they were going to have a run in. Myrtle couldn’t imagine Jill starting something with Blanche at a supper club, though she
had
gotten into a fight with her own sister there.

Sherry had surfaced from wherever she’d been. She seemed to have even more eye makeup on and looked like the cat that’d eaten the canary. She was rumpled, keyed up, and laughing very loudly at something Blanche was saying. And Myrtle was pretty sure that Blanche was in no mood to be funny.

Miles was back, face flushed from his cleaning exertions. But he looked unhappy about being there.

Erma Sherman was in an uncharacteristically hushed mood and kept fingering the earlobe where the missing diamond earring used to reside. Myrtle was just relieved to have a break from Erma’s usual foolishness.

Much of the salad seemed to be falling onto the floor. The intoxication of many of Willow’s guests was likely to blame. Miles walked up to Myrtle and said, “I’m going to run back home for a few minutes. Just in case anyone is looking for me.”

“Must be your Type-A nature kicking in. Are you fretting over the red wine stains on your carpet?”

Miles shrugged a shoulder. “Just a little. Most of it fell on hardwoods, but I did pay a lot for those throw rugs. I’ll just run over there and press on the stains with some paper towels. I’ll be back before we go over to Jill’s house for the barbeque.”

Plenty of women noticed that Miles had left. The older, female population of Bradley paid close attention whenever there was a new, eligible, attractive, older man in town. They brought over their tastiest casseroles, being sure to say that it was so
hard
cooking for one person—could he please take the extra helpings? They dressed up in their prettiest dresses for book club and wore carefully-applied makeup. And Miles was still considered a newcomer. The way Bradley operated, he’d probably
still
be considered a newcomer ten years from now. His obituary would probably read “Miles Standish, a recent resident of Bradley, died….”

Erma grabbed Myrtle’s arm tightly. “Where is Miles, Myrtle? Where did he go?”

Myrtle shook her arm free in irritation. “He’s gone home to clean up the mess, Erma. He didn’t want the stains to set and he didn’t spend much time on stain removal before he came to Willow’s.”

“I’ve got to catch up with him,” said Erma breathlessly. “What if he forgets about my earring? He might throw it away with the trash!” She barreled out of the house.

Willow’s portion of
the progressive dinner wasn’t nearly as lively as Miles’. Time seemed to drag on and on. There was an audible sigh of relief from the group when Tippy announced it was time to head over to Jill’s house.

The guests were more muted this time as they walked. Myrtle felt worn out from the evening and everyone else was probably the same. In contrast to Willow’s house, Jill’s house was brightly lit both outside and inside. Tippy breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad we’re going to Jill’s,” she said. “I don’t like playing hostess at someone else’s house. And Jill is always so on top of things.”

“Jill will be more organized than her sister,” agreed Myrtle.

But Jill
wasn’t
on top of things enough to greet the party at the door, which was a bit of a surprise. Tippy cautiously opened the front door and peeped in. “Jill?” she asked. She hesitated. “Maybe she just had to run in the back for a minute. She
is
expecting us!” Tippy gave a forced laugh as the scenario at Willow’s house repeated itself.

The group walked quietly through the front door. Miles caught up with them from behind and gave Myrtle a questioning look. “Jill’s AWOL,” she said quietly.

“Jill?” called Tippy again. She wavered before calling, “Cullen?” Sherry, their next-door-neighbor, seemed to think that Cullen might need a louder summons. “
Cullen
!” she hollered.

Cullen walked in, looking hung-over. Or maybe still drunk, Myrtle wasn’t sure. He registered the large group of people at his door. “Oh, the supper club,” he said. Then, “Where’s Jill?”

“You tell us!” retorted Myrtle. What was wrong with this family? Had they never thrown a party before?

“Maybe she’s in the kitchen. She could have plugged in her headphones and not be able to hear us.”

“When she’s expecting company at any minute?” asked Tippy dubiously. Even Tippy’s ladylike manner was slipping after all the rudeness she’d observed over the evening.

“This,” said Myrtle in an aside to Tippy, “is exactly why we should give up on a supper club and return to the book club model. This would
never
happen if we were all eating cucumber sandwiches, drinking iced tea, and reading
Pride and Prejudice
.”

They opened the kitchen door and stopped short. They’d found Jill, all right. Lying on the floor with a puddle of blood under her head and a cast iron skillet lying next to her.

T
he next few
minutes were complete pandemonium. There was shrieking, people bumping into each other, and several simultaneous calls to the police. Cullen looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. Sherry competently poured him a drink and pushed it into his hand, although Myrtle was fairly sure that Cullen didn’t need anything else to drink that night.

“I think,” Miles’ voice rose through the cacophony, “that everyone needs to step outside. Probably all the way to the sidewalk, so the police can pull up in the driveway. We’re probably trampling on potential evidence.”

Everyone poured out the door, some more eagerly than others. “I knew,” mused Myrtle aloud to Miles, “that supper club would mean disaster.”

“It’s been nothing but disaster tonight,” agreed Miles. “And it’s too bad about Jill.”

Myrtle nodded gloomily. “I know, it’s terrible. I liked her. Despite the rummaging around in the medicine cabinet thing.” She saw the lights of a police car approaching and felt suddenly very sad. “Such a shame.”

Red’s car pulled into Jill and Cullen’s driveway and Red stepped out, still buttoning up parts of his uniform. He strode over to his mother. “It’s you—the professional body locator. Where is she?”

“The kitchen,” she said.

Red gave everyone instructions to stay back away from the house and grounds and walked in the front door, dialing on his cell phone as he went.

“Probably calling in the state police,” said Myrtle. “They’ll need to have a forensic team here. And I suppose he’s going to have to question us.” She paused. “You know, Miles, we’re probably one of the last ones to see her alive. She was calling Cullen when she suddenly left to go home. Right after her big fight with Willow.”

The police questioning wasn’t nearly as interesting as Myrtle had hoped. The state police let many people go home, and the statement she gave was fairly brief, as was everyone’s, probably. There hadn’t been much to report, after all—Jill had been at Miles’ house, talked to a few of the guests, waited for the restroom, made a phone call, fought with Willow, and gone home to check on the food. When the supper club had arrived at Jill’s house, she was already dead. Myrtle did notice that Red and his deputy were trying to get an idea where everyone was when the party was taking place.

Myrtle remembered lots of coming and going during the party. Red and the state police were going to have their hands full.

Miles waited for Myrtle to finish her statement before walking home with her. Red gave Miles an appreciative wave when he saw them set out. “I guess Red wanted you to deliver me safely back home?”

“Well, there
is
a murderer running around, you know.”

“I doubt they’d want to kill
me
, though. Not yet, anyway.”

Miles gave her a hard look. “You’re not putting on your detective hat again, are you? Last time you almost got yourself killed.”

“There are several very good reasons why I want to get involved, Miles. For one, I did like Jill and I’m sorry she’s dead. For another—it delights my very soul when I solve mysteries before Red does. Plus, of course, I’m a newspaper reporter. I’m just following the story.”

“You really just write a helpful hints column, Myrtle. You aren’t a reporter covering a beat, you know.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Miles. Sloan has me writing extra news stories for the new
Bradley Bugle
blog. Which makes another excellent reason for my getting involved. Let’s just say that I
a
m
covering the story. What could you add to it? Did you see or hear anything unusual?”

Miles nodded, slowly. “Well, there’s something unusual at my house right now, actually.”

“What?”

“Georgia. Passed out in the back bedroom.”

“Miles! What will you do with her?”

“I’m won’t have my wicked way with her, Myrtle, if that’s what you’re implying. I
was
planning on getting Red to help me heave her back home but that plan has changed now that Red’s evening is looking like a busy one.”

“How long has she been back there?” Myrtle tried in vain to remember the last time she saw Georgia. She seemed to remember taking a picture of her at some point when she was acting particularly obnoxious at Miles’ house.

“I was trying to figure that out,” said Miles, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I don’t think I remember seeing her after she’d upset Blanche at my house.”

“I guess that takes her off the suspects list for Jill’s murder,” said Myrtle. “’She'd have been a prime candidate, too…what with her Jill hatred and all.”

Miles shook his head. “I don’t think it gives her an alibi at all. She could easily have stumbled out my back door and headed over to Jill’s house. Several people warned me tonight that Georgia can have a horrible temper when she’s drunk….they told me to keep my eye on her. So she could have gone over there to have it out with Jill, clobbered her on the head with the skillet, and then staggered back over to my house to fall asleep.”

“Wouldn’t she be covered with blood?” asked Myrtle with a small shiver.

“Not necessarily. There might have been a little spattering, but on the whole, probably not too much.”

“Do you want
me
to try to help you with Georgia?” asked Myrtle. Could Georgia possibly make any sense at this part of the evening? Maybe it would be the best time to talk to her—if she started spilling secrets.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Miles as they passed his house on the way to Myrtle’s. “You’d be off-balance with your cane and everything. Maybe Elaine could help me. Do you think she’s still up? You could stay in Red and Elaine’s house with Jack while Elaine is gone.” He added in a persuasive voice as Myrtle set her lip, “You won’t get any sense out of Georgia tonight. She was talking nonsense the first time I tried to wake her up. That’s when I decided just to let her sleep.”

Myrtle shrugged. She sat in the house and watched out the window as Elaine and Miles helped a staggering Georgia back to her house.

Under ordinary circumstances,
Myrtle would have been happily gossiping with suspects and eking out information the day after a murder.

Unhappily, however, she was instead on her way to volunteer at the Kiwanis Club’s pancake breakfast. She couldn’t let the Kiwanis Club down—Red, though, would end up paying some consequences soon.

“Myrtle,” teased Miles with a smile, as stood next to her in the buffet line, “Volunteering out of the goodness of her heart.”

Myrtle scowled and waved a spatula threateningly at him.

“And volunteering the morning after a murder—that’s real dedication.”

Myrtle now attempted to pretend he wasn’t next to her in the serving line. How did she get the job of serving pancakes when an actual Kiwanis member merely had the job of pointing out there was both apple and orange juice?

“Remind me again why Red set you up with this gig? What meddling were you doing that made him decide to find busywork for you?”

Myrtle narrowed her eyes, “I didn’t meddle one bit. Red’s behaving extremely irrationally. In fact, I worry about the welfare and safety of Bradley citizens with Red at the helm. Red takes his law and his order just a little too seriously.”

They heard a booming belly-laugh close by. Miles jumped. “That laugh…” He frowned as he tried to remember.

“Georgia Simpson.”

“Ahh, right. The sweet magnolia blossom of the South. Who passes out drunk in strangers’ houses.”

“Better watch it, Miles. Don’t think she won’t knock you into next week. She won’t make any allowances for the fact you’re volunteering at the Kiwanis pancake breakfast.” Then Myrtle smiled sweetly at Georgia as she approached. “One pancake or two?”

“Two of the biggest you’ve got, Miss Myrtle. None of those dainty baby ones, okay? I’ve got to get fortified for my day today.” She thumped at her stomach.

Georgia clearly wanted to be asked about her day and Miles appeared to be at a total loss for words. “So what’s on your agenda today?” asked Myrtle, obediently, as she put two of the heftier pancakes on her plate. “Some exciting judo on the schedule?” Miles gave a helpless groan next to her as if he feared her imminent demise. “I’m not being facetious. Miles, you might not know this, but Georgia is a black belt in judo.”

Georgia grinned. “And the best in the state of North Carolina, according to my last tournament. But no, I’m trolling for angels today.” To Miles, who was still trying to digest this statement, she bellowed, “Milk, OJ, and apple juice? Where the hell’s the coffee?”

“Not my jurisdiction,” said Miles, waving a hand across the room to a table set up with all the coffee fixings.

“Trolling for angels,” said Myrtle thoughtfully as she stuck a pancake on someone else’s plate. “That’s right, you and Jill Caulfield used to visit yard sales on Saturday mornings, didn’t you? You collect angel figurines, right? I remember you were even doing that in high school.”

Georgia’s face became a mask of hostility. Myrtle frowned. Was it the mention of angels? High school? Or had accidentally served Georgia dainty pancakes?

“Jill,” spat Georgia, “was no friend of
mine,
Miss Myrtle. That cow robbed people of their money. Robbed them! I’m not sorry she’s gone. And you shouldn’t be, either.”

“We’ll be sure to take that under advisement,” said Miles hurriedly.

Myrtle wasn’t done yet. “But I am, Georgia. Jill was my employee—she did some cleaning for me.” She absently put two more pancakes on someone else’s plate and Miles vaguely gestured to the juice.

Georgia leaned in as close to Myrtle as she could with the serving table between them. “Well obviously she musta not found anything she could use against you in the days she cleaned for you. Thank your lucky stars that she’s dead. Whups—pancakes getting cold.” And with that, she plodded off to a table.

Elaine and Jack
were two of the last customers in the line. Elaine had Jack on one hip, which she kept turned away from the serving line while she gestured to the bacon, sausage, eggs and pancakes and pushed along two plates. Myrtle took one of the plates and heaped it full of food and carried it to a table before doing the same with another plate. “Miles, my time is up. Can you handle it from here?” She was pleased that there wasn’t the slightest bit of sarcasm in her voice. It wasn’t like Miles’ juice duty was such a heavy load to bear.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here today, Elaine.” She scooted her chair over and Elaine plopped Jack into a high chair and sat down next to Myrtle.

“I thought I needed to offer you a little moral support, considering Red was the one who got you into this.” She cut into her pancakes, putting some on Jack’s tray. His small hand closed into a fist over the food, stuffing it into his mouth. “How did your shift go?” she asked.

“It was okay. But don’t tell Red that. Next thing I know he’ll have me doing a worthy cause a week.”

“Mm. I saw the gnomes were still out there this morning.”

“
Precious,
aren’t they? Red can enjoy the scenery for a while,” Myrtle scrubbed at some butter that had found its way into Jack’s wispy red hair. “I did hear something interesting when I was in the serving line.”

Jack had bored with eating the pancakes by this time and now busily rubbed them into his hair. Maybe he thought that’s what Myrtle had been doing. Fortunately, Elaine was preoccupied with sugaring and creaming her coffee or else the entire rest of the breakfast would be consumed by Elaine scrubbing at Jack’s head. “What was that?” asked Elaine.

“Georgia Simpson was downright furious with Jill Caulfield.”

“What? I thought they were BFFs.”

It drove Myrtle nuts when Elaine used texting language in conversations. At her age, too! “I’d thought they were going to be Best Friends Forever, too,” said Myrtle, pointedly drawing out the acronym. “But money apparently came between them.”

Elaine furrowed her brows. “Money? How is that possible….they’re not related or anything. How does money come between friends?”