HOLT GAPED AT HER. “To work?”
“Maybe. At any rate, you may see me over there from time to time. I’d sign into the office, of course,” said Myrtle. That should explain any visits to see Adelaide or Holt.
Holt was stammering now. “When I said there weren’t any changes, I really meant that the kids haven’t changed. We do have a lot more technology now. SmartBoards and that kind of thing.”
Myrtle waved a dismissive hand. “Pooh on that. Oh, I’m fine with technology, if it comes to that. I’m on social media, you know. But I have the feeling that if I could teach Shakespeare on a blackboard, I can teach it any way.”
Myrtle studied Holt carefully to see if he was still knocked off-balance by their conversation. His defenses did still seem to be down, so she quickly said, “Isn’t it awful about Neil Albert? I couldn’t believe it. Where were you when it happened?”
As she’d hoped, Holt didn’t seem to be following her very closely. He gave her a bemused frown, still likely thinking about an octogenarian teacher for his fifteen-year-olds. “Ah, yes. When it happened? You mean, when Neil was ... killed?”
“That’s right,” said Myrtle.
“Oh. Well, it was after school from what I understand. I always go directly home to my wife. That’s where I would have been,” said Holt. The barest bit of wariness was starting to emerge in his eyes.
“I wanted to ask you, because it seemed such a strange coincidence. Someone saw you and Neil having quite an argument. It was at the bank, apparently, and very recently—right before Neil’s death. I heard that you and Neil actually knew each other,” said Myrtle.
Holt frowned now. “I wouldn’t have said that we were friends.”
“But you knew each other,” pressed Myrtle.
Holt gazed off into the distance. “We did.”
Myrtle said, “That’s unusual, from what I hear. My understanding from his wife is that Neil and she hadn’t gotten close to anyone in Bradley. They just hadn’t been interested in making friends, apparently. They kept to themselves and didn’t really forge any acquaintances.”
Holt said, “That’s very likely true. But I didn’t know him here. I knew him from Boston, long ago. And, even though it was long ago, I’m sorry that he’s dead. That’s why I’m here today—to pay respects.”
Myrtle said, “And the argument? Friends do argue.”
“As I mentioned,” said Holt, “we really weren’t friends. Not anymore, anyway. We were having an argument because I wanted to borrow some money from the bank. Neil wasn’t approving the bank loan. I have a tendency to get frustrated sometimes. It’s like I hold back any show of temper during the day so that I can be as patient as possible with the students and staff, but then the temper spills out after school is done for the day. I was simply irritated about not getting the loan, that’s all.”
Myrtle said, “What was the loan for?”
“I want to make some improvements to the house. Nothing major. But I can’t do it without a loan,” said Holt, shrugging.
Myrtle had the feeling that he was holding something back. At the same time, she was realizing that she’d been able to get a decent amount of information from the notoriously tight-lipped Holt. Her announcement that she planned to come out of retirement must have shocked him enough to make him lose his usual reserve. She decided that she’d better not push it.
She was about to thank him for coming to her rescue when Holt, looking across the cemetery where mourners were now leaving, said, “There’s one guy who could be responsible for Neil’s death.”
Myrtle followed his gaze. “Tarleton?”
Holt nodded. “I heard him arguing with Neil in the grocery store recently. He felt like Neil cheated him out of a job.”
“Did he?” asked Myrtle. “Was he sneaky like that? I really didn’t know Neil and no one else seemed to, either.”
Holt considered this. “He could be. Neil might have been hired by Tarleton and then immediately started complaining about Tarleton to the higher ups. I could see him doing that. And, of course, Neil was a very hard worker and a great salesman. He could have replaced Tarleton because he was more productive than he was and because he was bringing in more money. It’s all about the money at the bank.”
Holt stood up and said, “Miss Myrtle, it’s been good talking to you. Do you think you can walk back to your car? I’m happy to escort you there.”
Myrtle saw that Miles, finally free from the despicable Erma, was hurrying their way. “I appreciate that, Holt, and all that you’ve done. I’ll be all right, though. I came here with my friend and he’s here now.”
Holt introduced himself to Miles and then made his goodbyes.
Myrtle called after him, “And don’t be surprised if you see me in the halls at the school soon!”
Holt turned, gave her an uncertain smile, and lifted his hand in a wave.
Miles said, “You gave him a heads-up that you were planning on spending time at the high school interviewing Adelaide and him? I thought you were trying to keep him from being defensive and quiet?”
“I was trying to keep him from being defensive and quiet. I told him I was coming out of retirement and returning to the classroom,” said Myrtle.
Miles stared at her, blinking. Then he burst into laughter.
“It’s not that funny. I was a great English teacher. I taught for thirty years. He should be falling all over himself to pull me out of retirement,” said Myrtle with a sniff.
“Was he?” asked Miles, gently wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.
“He was merely surprised,” said Myrtle. “And he seemed to question my ability to learn classroom technology. For heaven’s sake! I’m online and on social media all the time. Sometimes people act as though seniors can’t do things that they’re way too qualified to do. It gives me half a mind to submit an application over there.”
“That’ll give him something to worry over,” said Miles. “Well, did you find out anything?”
“He admitted that he knew Neil back in Boston. But I think he was lying about the argument he had with Neil. He claimed that it had something to do with being denied for a bank loan.”
“What was the loan for?” asked Miles.
“Holt said he was making improvements to his house, but I could tell he wasn’t giving the whole truth,” said Myrtle. “And he said that he heard Tarleton arguing with Neil in the grocery store.”
“We already knew that Tarleton and Neil weren’t getting along. I suppose more corroboration isn’t a bad thing, though,” said Miles. He stood up from the bench where he’d been sitting next to Myrtle. “Ready to go?”
“I guess so. As long as there isn’t a chance that I might run into Erma Sherman again,” said Myrtle with a shudder.
“I’ve already seen her file out to the parking lot, so we should be safe. Believe me, I’d do anything to avoid an additional Erma encounter today,” said Miles as they walked toward his car.
“What was her health care complaint of the day today?” asked Myrtle. “Tooth decay?”
“Bunions,” said Miles succinctly. They both shuddered.
The next morning, Myrtle was solving her crossword puzzle when there was a tap at her door. She peered out, and then opened the door to Miles and Pasha. Miles was attempting to stand as far away from Pasha as possible and the cat was quickly closing the distance between them and winding in and out of his legs lovingly.
“You’re up early,” said Myrtle.
“I’ve been up since three o’clock,” said Miles grimly as he followed her inside. Pasha bounding alongside him.
“Really? Me too. You should have walked over for a coffee.” They walked into the kitchen and Miles fixed himself a mug of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. Myrtle opened a can of cat food and put it on a paper plate, watching as Pasha hungrily dove in.
“Say, what’s going on at Lyle’s house?” he asked.
“Lyle Solomon’s? I don’t know of anything. Why, what did you
see?” asked Myrtle, joining him at the table.
“A bunch of police cars,” said Miles with a shrug. “And I didn’t see him or his wife outside.”
“Police cars? I swear, if Red has already solved this case then I’m going to be extremely aggravated with him,” said Myrtle hotly.
“Why not call him and see what’s up?” asked Miles. “He’s the one with all the info.”
“He’s not the only one with all the info. I have friends in high places,” said Myrtle. She picked up her phone. Pasha, who’d made quick work of her can of cat food, jumped onto Myrtle’s lap.
“Lieutenant Perkins? This is Myrtle Clover. I’m well, how are you? Is this a bad time?” she winked at Miles.
“What?” This time her voice was sharper. “Really?” She paused and then, when there was no other information that seemed to be forthcoming, she said, “I was really calling to follow-up on our diner dinner. Otherwise, you know I’m going to really have to insist that I have you over at my house for supper.”
There appeared to be a spate of sudden dialogue on Lt. Perkins’s side. After a minute Myrtle said, “Late lunch instead? Today? One-thirty would be fine. See you then.”
Myrtle hung up and looked at Miles. “Lyle Solomon is dead.”
“What?”
“That’s right. His poor wife apparently found him this morning,” said Myrtle. She frowned. “He wasn’t giving out much information, but I guess that’s because there were other cops around him.”
“There was probably Red around him,” said Miles. “Wow. So was this a heart attack? Too much yardwork?”
“Lt. Perkins called his death ‘suspicious.’ It sounds to me as if he was murdered,” said Myrtle slowly. She rubbed Pasha, and the cat bumped her head under Myrtle’s chin.
“Why on earth would someone kill Lyle? Mr. Nature Walk didn’t seem like a very likely murder victim.”
“I don’t know. But I know one thing. I’m going to call Elaine and see what I can find out from her,” said Myrtle.
The doorbell rang and Myrtle said, “This place is Grand Central Station this morning. I’ve never been so popular.”
Pasha, who wasn’t fond of hearing the doorbell, jumped down from Myrtle’s lap.
She peeked out and saw Elaine and Jack there. Myrtle pulled open the door.
“We’re here to water and fertilize!” said Elaine in a happy voice. Jack held up a red watering can. “Hi Miles!” she called to Miles in the kitchen.
Pasha watched Jack warily from behind Myrtle’s sofa. The preschooler’s actions were just unpredictable enough for Pasha and Jack not to be very close friends.
Myrtle gave Jack a hug and said to Elaine, “You’re just the person I wanted to see.”
“Is that because of the yard?” asked Elaine. “What do you think of it?”
Miles gave something that sounded between a giggle and a cough.
Myrtle said carefully, “I think the flowers and shrubs are very nice. Very artistically placed.”
“I thought they were cute, scattered among the gnomes,” said Elaine with a relieved grin. “I’ll just need to help you out with the watering until the flowers are really established. But what was it that you wanted to see me about if it wasn’t the yard?”
“Lyle Solomon,” said Myrtle.
“Yes?”
Myrtle said, “Did Red say anything about him this morning?”
“Red? No, but he had a call and had to get up early. Why?”
Myrtle said, “He’s apparently been murdered.”
“Murdered?” asked Elaine. The tone of her voice made Jack look up at his mother in concern and she absently ruffled his hair. In a quieter tone, she said, “But who on earth would do such a thing? He was completely harmless. All he cared about was his yard and nature.”
“I’m guessing it must have been Neil’s murderer. He must have thought that Lyle knew something to implicate him,” said Myrtle with a shrug.
“Wow. That’s just ... wow. It really makes you realize how precious life is. Lyle is the reason I’ve become so interested in gardening,” said Elaine, shaking her head.
It appeared that Lyle was to blame for lots of things, decided Myrtle.
After Elaine and Jack headed outside to water, Miles looked at Myrtle. “What’s our plan of attack for today?”
“Well, I really need more information before I can do anything else. I was hoping that Elaine would know more than she did. I’ll have to pump Perkins for information over lunch, I guess,” said Myrtle.
Miles said, “I’m coming with you, aren’t I?”
Myrtle tilted her head to one side in a considering fashion. “All right, I suppose so. Two sets of ears are better than one. In the meantime, we need to consider our neighborly responsibility toward Sally Solomon. Especially since her husband just perished under suspicious circumstances.”
Miles raised his eyebrows. “So we’re going to inflict ourselves on Sally this morning?”
“Not immediately. Especially not with the police swarming everywhere. And we wouldn’t want to go empty-handed. That wouldn’t be right,” said Myrtle.
Miles gave Myrtle a stern look. “I hope you’re not suggesting that we bring her food.”
“Of course I’m suggesting that we bring her food. This is the South, remember? Death cannot be endured without heaping helpings of food,” said Myrtle.
Miles said, “Since we’re short on time before our lunch with Perkins, there are ready-made meals in the Piggly Wiggly deli section. They’re quite good. I have them on Thursdays since Thursdays are the nights I don’t cook for myself.”
Myrtle blinked at him. “I hadn’t somehow realized how deeply you’d fallen into routine.”
Pasha, curled up in a sunbeam, lifted her head to give Miles a disdainful look.
“Remember? I was telling you that I’d gotten bored,” said Miles.
“Maybe if you shifted things around a little bit and did something wild? Like cooked on Thursdays and didn’t cook on Saturdays? That might help with the monotony. But back to what we were talking about. I think bringing meatloaf from the Piggly Wiggly isn’t exactly sending the right message to poor, grieving Sally Solomon,” said Myrtle.
“They have more than just meatloaf,” said Miles.
“I’m making something, and that’s that. Just let me take inventory of what I have in my kitchen and I’ll come up with something magnificent and meaningful from us.”
“From you,” said Miles. “I don’t want any association with this meal.”
Myrtle ignored him. “Maybe I’ll do something different this time. Not the same old casserole.”
“Something different would be good,” agreed Miles.
Myrtle opened her freezer and peered inside. Then she opened her cabinets.
“I have frozen broccoli,” muttered Myrtle.
“I don’t think Sally would want to snack on frozen broccoli,” observed Miles in a helpful tone.
“Of course not! I’m thinking about a creamy broccoli soup. I seem to have all the ingredients,” said Myrtle. She reached for a recipe book that was nearly as old as she was and pondered its charred and spotted pages. “Here it is. Hmm. No cream cheese. Well, I’ll just skip it.”
Miles said, “It’s time for me to be getting home. I’m going to do a little work around the house.”
Myrtle said absently, “Fine. I’ll cook this and call you when it’s over and we can go over there.” She frowned. “Speaking of work around the house, I think I was supposed to contact Tarleton and give him some more work. That outside spigot still needs to be replaced. And there’s a closet door that closes itself—quite annoying. I suppose its hinge needs to be tightened or something.”
“I wouldn’t try to call him and cook at the same time,” said Miles. His voice was stern.
“He doesn’t need to come by while I’m not here, anyway, and we’ll be leaving in an hour. The soup won’t take long. Hurry up and get your stuff done at home,” said Myrtle, mak
ing shooing motions at him.
“I’ll wait for you to call me,” said Miles, walking toward the door.
“No waiting necessary! Just come back in an hour,” said Myrtle.
As Miles walked out the door, he heard Myrtle rummaging around in her pots and pans with a great deal of banging. Pasha bolted out the door behind him. He hurried away.
Chapter Twelve
AN HOUR LATER, MILES returned. He gave a cautious tap on the door.
“Come on in!” hollered Myrtle from deep in her house.
Miles opened the door and cautiously sniffed. He relaxed. There was no acrid smell of burning, which was a good sign.
“Everything all right?” he asked as he headed for the kitchen.
He glanced around wordlessly. There was spilled milk, several used mixing bowls and other containers, and an assortment of spoons and forks on the floor and counter. Shredded carrots were orange accents scattered about everywhere. Additionally, there were muddy footprints all over the place.
Myrtle was glowing with perspiration and looked cross. “This soup was a pain. And I kept dropping things. Call Puddin, would you, and ask her to come out here? I don’t have the time or patience to clean this stuff up—I just want it gone.”
Miles nodded and tentatively approached the mess. He picked up the nearly-empty milk container that was sitting on the kitchen table and peered at it. “Myrtle, this milk is expired.”
She glared at him. “The ‘best by’ date is just a suggestion. It’s the store’s way of forcing you to go back in as often as possible. A scam!”
He delicately smelled the container. “It’s sour. Did you use this milk in the soup recipe?”
“Naturally—that’s why it’s not in the fridge. And it’s perfectly fine, Miles. It’s an essential part of the recipe. It will simply give the soup a distinctive taste.” Myrtle spoke between gritted teeth.
“No argument there,” said Miles with a sigh. He cautiously approached the pot on the stove and peered inside. “It looks very thin, Myrtle. Did you add flour to it?”
Myrtle hesitated. “Good question. There was a lot going on during the middle of the recipe. Elaine and Jack finished in the yard and talked to me for a few minutes. Jack was so excited to help Elaine water the plants, but he apparently spent some unsupervised time jumping in a mud puddle and tracked it all through the house.”
A Body in the Trunk Page 10