Progressive Dinner Deadly (7 page)

“Maybe Jill wouldn’t lend Georgia money? Or maybe Jill wouldn’t pay Georgia back on a loan she made? I’m not sure. But I thought it was interesting that Saint Jill had more enemies than any of us realized.”

“Surely Georgia isn’t an
enemy
. But it’s too bad they weren’t friends any more. I thought everybody liked Jill.” Then Elaine snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot!” She pulled up a big canvas tote bag from the floor and rifled through it, removing ziplocked bags of cereal, baby wipes, and disposable bibs. “Here it is.” She pulled out a plastic bag full of cat food and several printouts and put them on the table next to Myrtle.

Myrtle looked at Elaine with concern. It was clear the stress of mommyhood and Elaine’s constant search for new, intellectually stimulating avenues to pursue had started affecting her brain. Elaine loved Jack dearly, but wasn’t finding her sole calling in diaper changing, cleaning up spilled Cheerios, and chopping carrots into bite-sized snacks. With every new project Elaine took on, Myrtle saw her get more and more scatter-brained.

“Cat food. Very nice, Elaine. Sorry…what’s this for, again?”

“Friends of Ferals,” she said eagerly.

“Feral whats?” asked Myrtle with some trepidation.

“Cats,” said Elaine. “Oh, don’t look like that. It’s not what you think.”

“I think you’re going to end up like one of those kooky ladies with fifty cats draped over their kitchen appliances. Like Willow. Remember how nutty she was last night? Think of Jack, Elaine! Where will he find room to toddle around?”

“It’s not like that at all, Myrtle. The idea is that you reduce the feral cat population by capturing the cats, taking them to a vet to get fixed, then releasing them again to the wild. They don’t come inside. They shouldn’t! It wouldn’t fit their lifestyle. Besides, you’re the whole reason I’ve gotten interested in Friends of Ferals.”

Myrtle wasn’t so sure she wanted to be held up as the inspiration for such a membership. “Why? Oh—you mean because of that stray that’s been lurking around my backyard. I’m not sure it needs a friend. It seems to be doing quite well on its own by decimating the population at my birdfeeder.”

“Just take a look at this information when you have a chance. After all,” Elaine noted archly, “elderly detectives and cats seem to go together.”

Elaine glanced Jack’s way and froze. His red hair stuck up in little yellow spikes all over his head and he was now rubbing buttery pancakes onto his shirt. “Jack!”

So much for that conversation, thought Myrtle, sipping her orange juice.

“Mind if I take a seat?” asked a deep voice behind Myrtle. She stiffened as Red sat down next to her with a heaping plate of pancakes. A puckish look of mischief made him appear younger than his forty-five years. If you ignored the fact that gray was quickly invading the red hairs that had given him his nickname, he could pass for a much younger man.

“How did your volunteer work go this morning?” asked Red innocently. Myrtle fired him a look that should have curdled milk. “It was annoying timing, Red. I would rather have been home, grieving Jill.”

“Grieving
Jill
?” Red’s voice was incredulous. “Why on earth would you be doing that?”

“I’d gotten really fond of her,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “She livened Bradley up a little bit.”

“With her stellar housekeeping?”

“With her personality. She has her enemies, you know. She stirred things up.” Myrtle looked at him sideways, waiting for him to register that she was a fount of information. Red seemed more interested in playing peek-a-boo with a chuckling Jack. “
One
of her enemies is sitting in this very room,” intoned Myrtle in an ominous voice.

Finally she’d gotten Red’s attention. “Who might that be?”

“Georgia. “

“And why exactly,” asked Red, studying the tattooed Georgia who was innocently shoveling pancakes down her throat, “would Georgia be Jill’s enemy?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” said Myrtle smugly. Let Elaine fill him in later, if she wanted to. Myrtle certainly wouldn’t.

Red growled and Elaine quickly interrupted. “Red, how is the investigation going? He was at the Caulfield’s house the rest of the night,” Elaine told Myrtle. “He never did come home.”

This reminder served to make Red look even more exhausted. He rubbed his eyes. Myrtle opened her mouth to remind him how bad rubbing was for eyes, but snapped it shut again. She didn’t want to interrupt him right when he was about to talk about the case. “Just a lot going on. Of course we had Lieutenant Perkins and his crew from the state police and forensics there. Cullen Caulfield was acting like an idiot, which didn’t help. He didn’t want us messing around in his house. And then some of your charming supper club members,” here he rolled his eyes at Myrtle, “wanted their Pyrex dishes back. And Erma Sherman wouldn’t go away and kept saying it ‘was such a shame about all that barbeque going to waste’ and wouldn’t we just put a cooler of it outside and everyone could have some before it went bad?” Red frowned at the memory.

“Well the supper club’s obsession with casserole dishes and plasticware doesn’t shock me at all. But what exactly does ‘acting like an idiot’ entail?”

“Cullen was just basically underfoot. He didn’t want to leave the house and he wanted to hover right beside us at all times. I swear he was either still drunk or had a flask on him and was continuing to drink. Then, when we started questioning him, he fell apart. Cried, ranted. The whole nine yards.”

Myrtle leaned forward on the sofa. “You questioned him?”

“Well, naturally. Whenever a married person is a homicide victim, the spouse is automatically a prime suspect. That’s just Police Investigation 101.”

“Was he crying because he was upset about Jill? Or was he upset for some other reason?” asked Myrtle.

“I think he was worried about his own hide, mostly. And then he was just mad that he was a suspect at all. Said he was ‘grieving.’ And that he had a gun and by-golly, if he was going to kill Jill, he’d of shot her. What kind of man would kill his wife with a skillet? he asked.” Red rubbed his eyes again.

“Don’t rub your eyes,” said Myrtle absently. “It’s not good for them.” She pondered a moment. “Why
wouldn’t
he have killed her with his gun? And why on earth would he have chosen the supper club night to murder his wife? It’s not like he didn’t have ample opportunity on days when no one was visiting.”

“Who knows? Maybe they had a big argument and it was a heat of the moment kind of thing.” Red’s eyes narrowed. “You sound entirely too interested in these proceedings, Mama.”

“Just like everyone else, Red. Don’t worry, I won’t invade your territory,” said Myrtle caustically. “So what
did
you do?”

“With what?”

“With all that barbeque? And the Tupperware?”

“Well, the forensic guys were basically done with the kitchen this morning. So I set everyone’s dishes outside in the garage so they could pick them up. I was getting three or four phone calls an hour from those women, so I was ready to get them off my back.”

“That’s funny,” said Myrtle. “No one called me up to ask about the uneaten desserts at my house. We didn’t even make it to the dessert portion of the evening. You’d think they’d be asking about all the desserts I had planned for the group.”

Red wisely said nothing, but rolled his eyes at Elaine. Myrtle saw the look and pressed her lips together in irritation. Her cooking wasn’t
that
bad. How horrible did everyone think it was that they’d pass on free sweets?

“And the ill-fated barbeque?” asked Myrtle, changing the subject.

“Not ill-fated at all. Jill had kept the barbeque warm in a couple of slow cookers. It might have gotten a little dried-out, but it was still good. Cullen didn’t want it, so I stuck it outside in the garage, too. Erma Sherman thoughtfully provided a large cooler,” added Red sarcastically.

Myrtle thought about this. “Was there a lot of barbeque?”

“Well, sure. Enough to feed thirty people, I guess.”

Myrtle stood up. “I’m thinking about running by and getting myself a little supper. Seeing as how it was going to waste and everything.”

“It’s good of you to worry about wasted food, Mama.” Red eyed her suspiciously.

“Don’t forget your cat food!” Elaine picked up the baggie and handed it to her before she was successfully able to escape.

G
etting barbeque was
as good an excuse as any to go over to Jill’s house and snoop around outside a bit, thought Myrtle. Bradley was one of those towns where there was bound to be some people standing around the Caulfields’ house, talking. And Myrtle wouldn’t mind listening to them.

Jill’s house looked quiet and there were no rubberneckers as far as Myrtle could see. The rush for barbeque and Tupperware must have died down. Myrtle walked into the garage and saw Erma’s huge cooler there and a perky looking sign in Erma’s schoolgirl scrawl that said: “Free Barbeque. Help Yourself!” It had a smiley face on it. It was a sign that refused to acknowledge that a violent death had occurred mere yards away.

Myrtle also saw Willow there. And Willow looked taken aback when she saw her. “Willow,” said Myrtle, leaning on her cane, “I am so sorry about poor Jill. I just feel sick about it.”

Willow looked pretty sick herself. She was even paler than usual and her white hair hung lankly down. She didn’t look like she’d showered and Myrtle wondered if the clothes she was wearing were the same ones she’d slept in. Willow swayed on her feet and Myrtle wondered if she were going to faint…or throw up. Myrtle hesitated between recoiling and moving forward.

“Did you leave some Tupperware here?” asked Myrtle. “Red mentioned something about leaving the dishes outside.”

“I didn’t make it over here last night, remember? I had to go help Paul with the cats.”

“Here,” said Myrtle, feeling alarmed. “You’re looking very sick, Willow.” She ushered her over to a short brick wall that edged the garage and sat her down. “Sit her for a minute.”

She watched Willow’s pale face and red eyes and said, “Are you here to visit Cullen then? Since you don’t have any dishes to pick up?”

Anger flashed briefly in Willow’s eyes. Did she think Cullen was the killer? “No,” she said fiercely, “I wasn’t here to visit Cullen. I…” she gestured over to the cooler. “I came for some of the barbeque. So we wouldn’t waste it. Erma called me early this morning. I brought a plastic container with me.” Willow held up a Tupperware container with her name written on the side.

Myrtle pressed her lips together in a grim line. She bet Erma
did
call Willow this morning. Maybe it was under the
guise
of leftovers, but it was pure nosiness that would have driven her.

“I’m sure there’ll be women from the church running by with some casseroles for you, you know. There’s a whole army that jumps into action after a death.” Myrtle hesitated, then decided to ask, “What on earth do you think happened in there, Willow? Who’d have murdered Jill?”

Willow gave a strangled sob and Myrtle awkwardly patted her arm. “I’m so sorry, Willow. Never mind, if you don’t want to talk about it. Such a shock,” she murmured.

Willow collected herself. “Did you come over for some food, too?”

Myrtle had the grace to blush. At least she had the excuse of the container. Although it was one of those disposable kinds and she’d never intended on getting it back in the first place.

Fortunately, Willow got distracted by the bags Myrtle was still clutching. “Is that…cat food?” asked Willow with more interest than she’d shown in the rest of the conversation.

Myrtle stopped herself just in time from making a face and instead put on what she hoped was a Saint Myrtle of Stray Kitties expression. “Well, yes. Yes it is. I have a feral feline friend in my backyard that’s decided to adopt me. And I want to take care of my little furry buddy.”

Willow beamed. “Friends of Ferals is a wonderful group. Elaine recently joined, didn’t she? Our animal friends
need
us, you know. I just let Kojak—he’s Cullen and Jill’s dog,” her voice faltered over Jill’s name, “off that chain in the backyard. He needed rescuing. That poor animal,” she said passionately. “I’d bring him back home with me but Cullen would demand him back. He doesn’t care about Kojak a bit—but he doesn’t want him happy. And the poor dog would be happy with me.” Animals seemed to be the one topic that made Willow animated. Besides complaining about Cullen, that is.

Myrtle was quickly losing interest in the conversation. Willow’s brain had shifted gears now and Myrtle doubted there was any way to switch it back. “Yes. Well, I should be getting home to put the cat food out.”

“And a bowl full of water,” Willow called after her as Myrtle hustled away. She turned back to say good-bye to Willow and caught sight of Sherry Angevine peeking out behind one of Cullen’s curtains.

Myrtle didn’t really
feel like going back home yet. She felt more like mulling things over with Miles. On the way back home, she stopped by Miles’ house. A minute went by. Myrtle frowned and looked in Miles’ driveway again. His car was there. She guessed he
could
have walked into town, but Miles usually drove since he’d been so accustomed to living in the city. She rang the doorbell.

Another minute passed before Miles’ face peered out of the window next to his front door. Myrtle swore she saw irritation flash across his face. He slowly opened the door.

Myrtle gaped at him. “Miles! You’re in your bathrobe and slippers!”

“That’s not a crime, is it, Myrtle?” asked Miles with dignity.

“But it’s the middle of the day!”

Miles shook his head in exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, Myrtle. I simply decided to go back to bed after I left Kiwanis. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, to begin with. Then last night we discovered a murder, I had to drag Georgia out of my house, I woke up at the crack of dawn to serve pancakes this morning—it’s all made me completely exhausted. I’m a little better now that I’ve slept for—oh, only about forty-five minutes. Thanks for your concern.”

His annoyance had a subduing effect on Myrtle. “Do you need coffee?” she asked meekly. “I could make some for us.”

Myrtle made a pot of coffee while Miles changed into some jeans and a button down shirt. He eased himself on his leather sofa and asked, ‘So give me an update. How are things going with the investigation this morning? Solved the case yet?”

Myrtle carefully ignored the trace of sarcasm in his voice. “No, it wasn’t all that interesting this morning. Red didn’t have much information to give me about the case, not that that’s anything new. Or if he
had
information, he wasn’t sharing any of it. Except he mentioned that Cullen was acting unusually.”

“Unusually for Cullen or unusual for a regular person?”

“I guess for either one. The spouse is always suspect number one, you know, so I guess he was angry that the police were treating him as if he might have killed Jill. Then I saw Willow and she looked terrible…”

“Well, her sister was murdered,” said Miles.

“….but she says she came back to Jill’s house for some of the leftover barbeque from last night. But I
think
she was actually there to confront Cullen and was just using the barbeque for an excuse. I bet she’s pegged Cullen for the murderer.”

“That would make sense,” agreed Miles, “since she’s never liked Cullen.”

They sipped their coffee for a few minutes in silence.

“Did I tell you about my new friend?” asked Myrtle.

“You mean the furry, wild friend? Yes, you mentioned it. How are things going with it?”

“I think things are about to get even better.” She held up the zippered bag with the cat food. “Elaine gave me some food for her. Although really, she eats like a king. You know how Erma’s squirrel population always spills over into my yard? Wiping out the sunflower seeds in my feeder?”

Miles nodded.

“Well now the squirrels are terrified to even tiptoe into my yard. That cat is so fast that the squirrels never know what hit them. ”

“So this ferocious animal is female?” asked Miles. He pursed his lips doubtfully. “Are you sure about that?”

“Quite sure. It’s female and tough as nails. Elaine wasn’t kidding when she said these cats aren’t adoptable. It’s quite antisocial and temperamental,” said Myrtle with satisfaction.

“Isn’t it interesting,” drawled Miles, “how animals can have so much in common with their owners?”

Miles ramblings were going to bore her again…if she paid attention. Which she had no intention of doing. “I know you were taking a nap and everything, but what do you think about investigating with me?”

Miles’ face left no doubt what he thought of that idea. “Really, Myrtle…”

“I know. You’d rather be reading Faulkner. But I could use the help.” She leaned heavily on her cane to remind him of her age and infirmity.

He sighed. “Help with what?”

“I’m going to try to catch up with Sherry in a little while. I saw her inside Cullen’s house when I was leaving it today.” Myrtle wiggled her eyebrows at Miles.

“That’s not so strange, is it? After all,
you
were over at Cullen’s house. And it sounds like Willow was there. Actually, it sounds like half the book club was over getting barbeque.”

“Absolutely. We were all
at
Cullen’s house. Not
in
Cullen’s house. That’s a big difference in prepositions. Anyway, I think it might be a good idea to touch base with Sherry and see what’s up. You can set a clock by her weekend schedule—she always goes out to garden at two o’clock on Saturdays. She lives right next door to the Caulfields, so maybe she heard or saw something. Or has an idea who might have done it. Maybe she’s having some sort of relationship with Cullen.”

“Or maybe,” said Miles in a dry voice, “she was just being a good neighbor and trying to see if Cullen needed any help this morning.”

“You’re illustrating my point exactly. We don’t
know
why she was there this morning. But we’ll find out. Because,” Myrtle drew herself up stiffly, “Jill’s death must be avenged. Justice must prevail!”

“Help with
what
? You still haven’t told me what you need help with.”

“Oh.” Myrtle thought hard. Really, she just wanted a sidekick with her. It was practically a detective prerequisite. But she wasn’t sure Miles was totally sold on the sidekick idea. “Listening to Sherry. She’s a soft-talker, you know. It’s hard for my old ears to catch everything she says.”

Miles frowned, “I haven’t noticed that Sherry is a—”

“So,” said Myrtle hurriedly, “if you could just meet me outside Sherry’s house at two o’clock. That’ll give us a little time to eat some lunch and put our feet up for a few minutes. Okay! See you then.”

Myrtle bustled out, leaving Miles to wonder how his day had gotten hijacked so quickly.

Myrtle fixed herself
a sandwich and some chips for lunch and watched soap operas for a few minutes with her feet up. Completely refreshed, she decided to jump right into her investigation. Myrtle looked wistfully around her living room. Dust was already starting to collect. She missed energetic, cheerful, cleaning sensation Jill. She could easily have put up with the nosiness—there wasn’t anything in her medicine cabinet that was interesting, anyway. The conversation, company, and cleaning would have made up for any privacy loss.

Sure enough, Sherry was outside promptly at two wearing ratty gardening gloves and a wide-brimmed, flowered hat. She bent down to pull some intrepid weeds that sprouted by her mailbox, then noticed Myrtle standing there. “Hi, Miss Myrtle. Getting some exercise?”

Sherry was always one to get right to the point, so Myrtle decided not to tiptoe around the issue. “I am. I always find that a little exercise helps with stress. And, with poor Jill’s murder…” Myrtle shrugged helplessly.

A cloud passed over Sherry’s face. Literally. So Myrtle couldn’t read her expression as well as she would have liked. “I know. It was
awful
.” Sherry paused. “But there’s something even worse.”

“Worse than the murder? But…”

“Oh, here comes Miles. He’s a nice guy, isn’t he?”

About time, thought Myrtle. Some sidekick.

“Wait….I guess he’s going back inside,” said Sherry.

“Must have forgotten something,” said Myrtle in a cross voice.