“I wanted to follow up again on being a teacher at your school,” said Myrtle with a sweet smile. “As we were discussing at Neil’s funeral service.”
Holt shuffled papers around on his desk. “There’s the matter of your teaching certificate. I’m sure you’ll need to have it renewed. You could start out as a substitute teacher and make sure that you still enjoy teaching. Then we could look at having you on full-time.” He glanced at Miles. “Are you also interested in teaching?”
Miles shook his head vehemently. “Not in the slightest.”
Myrtle said, “Miles is here in a sort of chauffeur capacity.”
Holt raised his eyebrows. “You don’t drive anymore, Mrs. Clover?”
“Of course I still drive. I simply don’t own a vehicle anymore.”
Holt fidgeted with his papers again. “How will you get to school and back every day? There’s no public transportation in Bradley.”
“Oh, Miles will drive me. He doesn’t have anything important going on,” said Myrtle blithely.
Miles gave a grim smile.
“All right, then. How about if you consider starting as a substitute and fill out the online application when you’re ready. You do go online?” asked Holt.
Myrtle’s eyes were cold and her voice was haughty, “Every single day.”
“Perfect. Glad that you’re so computer savvy. That’s going to be very necessary in the modern-day classroom,” said Holt. He started to rise to his feet, but Myrtle raised a hand to stop him. He dropped back in his seat, reluctantly.
“Did you hear the news about Lyle Solomon?” asked Myrtle.
Holt didn’t even try to summon an interested expression. He stared blankly at her and shook his head.
“He was murdered this morning,” said Myrtle.
Holt drew in a quick breath. “Murdered?”
“That’s right. Such a terrible thing. My son is staying so busy these days. Now he’s having to go around and ask everywhere where they were around dawn this morning,” said Myrtle. She gave Holt a pointed, questioning look.
“That is bad news. Of course, I was here at school. School starts and ends early here. Our late bell is 7:15 a.m. You do know that, Mrs. Clover? It’s quite early.” Holt’s voice was eager as if he’d possibly found a way out of his hiring conundrum.
“I don’t sleep,” said Myrtle in a self-satisfied tone. “That’s an absolute perfect time for me.”
Holt’s mouth curved down into its usual dissatisfied expression.
Miles asked, “Do you have any idea who might have been upset with Lyle? Who might have wanted to kill him?”
Holt frowned at his papers and said without looking up, “I’m not a neighbor of Lyle’s, as you are, but I did overhear Lyle and Clara Albert arguing in the grocery store parking lot a day or so ago. Over dog mess, I believe. Someone’s dog was crossing the line into the other’s yard. I can’t remember whose.” He finally looked up at them. “And I nearly forgot. When I was on my way over to school, I saw Clara’s car over at the park.”
“You’re sure it was her car?” asked Myrtle.
“Absolutely. I always wondered why Clara was driving some old heap of a car when Neil was behind the wheel of a brand-new luxury car. It made their relationship seem very inequitable,” said Holt, pursing his lips.
Myrtle nodded. “Well, I suppose we should be leaving. You’ll have plenty of things to do before leaving for the day.”
Holt smoothly rose to his feet and reached out his hand. “And do let me know what you decide about substitute teaching, Mrs. Clover.”
“Yes. And I’ll be sure to fill out an application. I know there must be a stringent background check process. It’s so important to carefully screen staff that will be spending time with our young people, isn’t it?”
Myrtle gave Holt a sweet smile as his eyes narrowed. Hold answered, “Yes. It’s very important. Not that I think you’ll have any problems with a background check, Mrs. Clover.”
She smiled again and they made their goodbyes. As they walked out to Miles’s car, he said, “I thought you suddenly were going to bring up his fake identity.”
“No, I just wanted to keep him guessing. Knock him off-balance a little. I’m glad that he’s not going to be principal anymore. Lieutenant Perkins will be taking care of that soon, I’m sure,” said Myrtle. “So, what did you think about our conversation with Holt?”
Miles carefully backed up out of the parking space. “I think that he doesn’t want you teaching at his high school.”
“Yes, yes, but aside from that! For heaven’s sake Miles, you weren’t daydreaming again, were you?” asked Myrtle.
“I heard everything he said. The dog mess, Clara’s old car. It made me realize once again how very involved everyone in Bradley is with everyone else’s business,” said Miles.
“Yes, but did you notice what he said about Clara’s car?”
“That it was at the park this morning,” said Miles with a shrug.
“But we didn’t tell Holt that Lyle was found at the park,” said Myrtle triumphantly.
Miles blinked. “Didn’t we?”
“No. And he acted as though he was hearing the news of Lyle’s death for the first time when we were telling him about it.”
Miles said slowly, “So you think that Holt is responsible for Lyle’s death? And trying to implicate someone else?”
“I think he’s definitely trying to implicate someone else. But he might not be involved in the murder. Regardless, he knew about it, one way or another. Either someone else had already given him the details, or else he knew about it because he’s the killer,” said Myrtle.
Miles said, “He certainly seems to be the most likely candidate, considering his background, the fact that Neil might have threatened to expose him, and the way he knew about the location of Lyle’s murder.” He paused. “Where am I driving, by the way?”
“Let’s follow up with Clara. Everyone knows that the spouse is always the most likely murderer. Neil wasn’t the most pleasant of people and Clara had to put up with him all of the time,” said Myrtle. “She could have murdered her husband, driven back home, waited a few minutes, and then come running down the street to find us.”
Miles said, “We’ve heard that they argued a lot. But it’s a long way from arguing to murder, surely.”
“Who knows? Then we have the fury of a woman scorned,” said Myrtle.
“Adelaide Pound,” said Miles, nodding. “She wasn’t happy about Neil not keeping his promise to leave his wife for her. Camping out in the parking lot outside your ex-boyfriend’s bank reflects poor decision-making. But would that poor decision-making extend to murder?”
“You’re looking at Neil’s death the wrong way, Miles. You’re looking at it as though you were the murderer. Everything you do is very planned out. But this is a murder that has every appearance of spontaneity. Neil had a flat tire—that could happen to anyone at any time. Someone passed by, saw him outside his car, and thought it was a good time to try and talk with him. There are quite a few people who would have wanted a word with him.”
Miles said, “Adelaide, Holt, and Tarleton, to name a few.”
“That’s right. Adelaide, to convince him of their mutual love; Holt, to persuade Neil to keep quiet about the Boston prison time; and Tarleton, to ask for a job.” Myrtle counted the suspects off on her fingers. “They’d have parked somewhere in that row of cars outside the factory, killed Neil, and hopped back in their cars to take off. Undetected.”
“But you just said that we’re going to Clara’s house. Clara lived with Neil and could have had a word with him at any time,” said Miles.
“Maybe she was out running an errand, stopped when she saw Neil with the flat, started arguing with him as per usual, and then spontaneously killed him when the argument escalated. It was still a spontaneous murder,” said Myrtle.
They drove to Clara’s house and saw her out in the yard, planting flowers by her mailbox. She smiled and w
aved when she saw them, getting up and dusting herself off as Miles parked on the curb and he and Myrtle got out of the car.
“Just wanted to check in with you and see how you were doing,” said Myrtle in a solicitous voice. “Can I help you with anything?”
Clara smiled at her and said quickly, “No, you’ve already done enough with the soup.”
Miles made a strangled noise and then started coughing to cover it up. Myrtle glared at him and said, “Well, if there’s anything you think of. I worried that you might have had bad flashbacks with all the police cars next door.”
Clara looked solemn. “Yes, that was a disturbing way to wake up this morning. They didn’t have their sirens on or anything, but the police officers were talking to each other. And poor Sally.”
“So you were sleeping in this morning?” asked Myrtle.
“I actually took a sleeping pill last night to help knock me out. Since Neil’s death, I’ve not been sleeping well. And I’m not one to nap,” said Clara, grimacing.
Myrtle smiled at her. “Well, you have the right friends for that. Miles and I are both notorious insomniacs. We frequently have middle-of-the-night visits and drink coffee or play cards or watch TV. Feel free to join us at any time.”
Miles’s smile was fainter and less-welcoming. He looked as if he didn’t particularly want to hang out with murder suspects in the wee hours of the morning. He was likely considering Wanda’s warning about ‘stuff happens.’
“But that’s funny that you said you were sleeping in,” said Myrtle thoughtfully. “Someone I was speaking with said they were sure that they’d seen you at the park this morning.”
Clara flushed and suddenly became very interested in her spade. “Oh. I forget what a small town we live in. All right, let me amend my statement. I slept remarkably well, but the sleeping pill did wear off around four o’clock, considering that I’d taken it at eight o’clock the night before. I took a drive with Amber.”
“Amber?” asked Myrtle blankly.
“My dog,” said Clara with a smile. She reached into the gardening tote on the ground next to her and picked up a very small, very sleepy Pomeranian. It blinked at them and then proceeded to fall asleep again as Clara placed her back in her bag.
“I thought Amber could use a walk before it got hot. I took her to the park and then came back home and crawled back into the bed again. I was able to sleep some more until I heard the police practically outside of my window,” said Clara.
Myrtle asked, “And you and Amber had a good walk?”
Clara shook her head. “Not so much. We started out just fine, but then she saw, heard, or smelled something and she would not stop barking. It wasn’t mere barking, either; Amber was howling. For a dog this size, that’s something else.”
“Did you see anything, yourself?” asked Miles.
“No. To be honest with you, I just followed my gut instinct and left, drove home, and climbed back in the bed. Amber is usually such a laid-back, sweet dog. Seeing her act that way made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.” Clara gave a shiver.
Chapter Fifteen
MYRTLE AND MILES EXCHANGED a glance. Myrtle said, “You see, Lyle was murdered at the park this morning. He apparently went out there early in the mornings to fill the feeders and clear the paths. Maybe Amber was picking up on something.”
Clara’s eyes opened wide. “Then she’s a little heroine for getting me out of there! In the park with a killer? Ugh.” She hesitated and then sighed. “That does make me sound really insensitive. Poor Lyle. I was sorry to hear that he was dead. And poor Sally, too. I know what she’s going through now. I’ll have to go over and visit.”
“You were on good terms with Lyle?” asked Myrtle.
“I wouldn’t have said that we were best friends or anything, but we never had a problem with each other. And it was easier to be civil once Neil died. The argument was between the men, really,” said Clara.
“Did you ever engage in an argument with Lyle over dog mess?” asked Myrtle, tilting her head to one side.
“What? Who is doing all this gossiping? Or, in this case, lying. I never argued with anyone over dog mess. And I didn’t kill Lyle, if that’s something else that people are saying.” Clara was now looking really annoyed.
Miles said in a comforting voice, “No one has said anything about you killing Lyle.”
Myrtle said, “Do you have any ideas who might have wanted to murder him?”
Clara shrugged, clearly done with their conversation and wanting to return to her gardening. “No idea. He was probably just someone who knew too much.”
Myrtle frowned. “It seems like I wanted to ask you something else, but I can’t remember what it was.”
Miles said, “It’s just as well, because we really should be going. You wanted to check and see if Puddin had finished cleaning, right?”
Myrtle nodded and Clara said, “That’s your cleaning lady? I was thinking I might want one now. Could you give me her name and number?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of inflicting Puddin on you,” said Myrtle. “You should ask someone like Tippy who she uses. I’m just stuck with Puddin. She’s in my price range and I’ve employed her too long.”
“Well, I certainly like the job your Dusty has done in the yard,” said Clara beaming. “Thanks for sending him my way. He came by to check and see how I liked his mowing and if I needed to be on his schedule next week. We chatted a little. He’s really very witty, once you get to know him. Such a delight!”
Myrtle was too stunned by the accolades for Dusty to do anything other than nod.
They made their goodbyes and drove back to Myrtle’s house. Myrtle said, “The only reason she liked Dusty’s yardwork is because her own yard was so awful. And are we sure it was Dusty who stopped by? He has a schedule? I very much doubt that. And if he was witty and a delight, perhaps he’s been dipping into the cooking sherry. My yard is a complete disaster. Despite the fact that Dusty scalped my yard because he still isn’t used to the new mower, the rain made my grass grow like a weed. Now it needs to be cut again and I have no hope of being able to get him out to my house. Between his mowing, the grass growing between the gnomes, and Elaine’s pitiful attempts at landscaping, my yard is doomed. It’s just as well that Lyle Solomon isn’t around anymore. I’m sure I’d be on his hit list.”
Miles said, “At least it’s mowed regularly. I think tall grass is the only thing that Lyle really had a problem with.” His phone started ringing from the center console of the car. “Can you grab that, Myrtle?”
Myrtle gave him a droll look and answered, “Miles Bradford’s answering service. Myrtle speaking.” She paused. “Oh, hi, Blanche.”
Miles rolled his eyes, which alarmed Myrtle, since he was pulling into her driveway and needed not to hit her house. She waved a hand at him.
“A question about The Mayor of Casterbridge? What’s your question?” asked Myrtle.
Miles parked the car in Myrtle’s driveway and dropped his head into his hands.
“I see. Well, the meeting is tomorrow, isn’t it? Unless I’ve completely gotten my days messed up. Why don’t you bring that up as a point of discussion tomorrow, in case the rest of the group has questions about the same thing? That’s right. I’ll see you then.” Myrtle hung up. “What is wrong with these people?”
“I don’t know. That’s the last time I pick anything even remotely challenging,” said Miles.
“But it’s not challenging. It’s not difficult reading,” said Myrtle, fishing her key from her large pocketbook.
“Others apparently disagree. Maybe next time I can figure out something somewhat literary that can be understood by our club,” said Miles morosely as he followed Myrtle into her house.
“Maybe The Old Man and the Sea? Most people read that in middle school so it certainly shouldn’t be a challenge. And you won’t have to pick for a while, after all. It’s my pick for next month. But don’t worry, I’ll choose a different book in case yo
u want to do Hemingway,” said Myrtle. She walked into the kitchen and started making a bowl of microwave popcorn as Miles turned on her television to find the recording of their soap opera.
“I think the only person besides Georgia who hasn’t asked a bunch of questions about the book is Erma,” mused Miles.
“That’s rather depressing. I prefer my enemies to be stupider than that,” said Myrtle.
“Thinking about contentious relationships, how does your kitchen look? Did Puddin manage to clear away the mess from the soup?” asked Miles.
Myrtle glanced around her kitchen and shrugged. “She did a fair-to-middling job,” said Myrtle. “I wouldn’t give this cleaning an A, but at least most of the stuff is cleaned up.”
The phone rang and Myrtle picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hi,” croaked a ruined voice on the other end.
“Wanda!” said Myrtle, a smile on her face. “What a surprise. Is it time for more horoscopes? I suppose it must be.” She dug in a kitchen drawer for a notepad and pencil.
Wanda said, “Georgia Simpson will go broke if she don’t stop buyin’ angels.”
Myrtle’s pencil paused. “All right. I’ll have to finesse that a little bit. I don’t think Sloan will want us putting people’s dire financial conditions in his paper. But I know she searches far and wide for angels for her collection.”
Wanda was moving on, not concerned over publicizing individual finances whatsoever. “Sloan should be bold with his love life,” she intoned.
Myrtle duly wrote it down, along with the rest. When Wanda reached the end of her list, she said, “Got one for Miles, too.”
“Well, he’s here. Want to deliver it in person?” asked Myrtle, looking at Miles with raised eyebrows.
Miles shook his head, scowling.
“Naw. Just tell ‘im not to pick Old Man and the Sea fer his next pick. Won’t go over well.”
“How odd and interesting. The mysteries of book club will never cease. You wouldn’t have any suggestions for me would you? I’m picking the next month’s selection,” said Myrtle.
“The Outsiders,” said Wanda’s growling voice.
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