He turned and several of the book club ladies smiled preeningly at him.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Maybe we’ll survive this meeting, after all.”
The door opened and Myrtle’s eyebrows rose. “Looks like Sally Solomon made it.”
For a few minutes, everyone’s attention was diverted from Miles to Sally as they greeted her. Then Tippy called the meeting to order and handed over the proceedings to Miles to lead the discussion.
Miles stood in front of the group and cleared his throat. “Thanks to everyone for coming today. I hope you’ll continue to get more of this great food as the meeting goes on. And now, let’s start talking about The Mayor of Casterbridge. I hope everyone enjoyed the book.”
Everyone glanced uncomfortably at each other. Then Blanche Clark, covered with jewelry and designer clothing as usual, spoke. “So that bull in the story.”
Miles nodded. “The one that chases Lucetta and Elizabeth-Jane?”
“Sure. That one. Was that supposed to be some kind of like, metaphorical bull?” asked Blanche.
Miles stared at Myrtle and Myrtle said, “No, Blanche. It was a real bull.” She struggled to keep a note of pleasantry in her voice.
Blanche seemed determined to persist in her foolishness. “I thought the bull was maybe an analogy.”
Myrtle gave her a sweet smile. “An analogy compares two things.”
“Oh.” Blanche frowned. “Hm. I lost my train of thought.”
Erma said, “Wasn’t the bull there just to let Henchard show off?”
Myrtle said, “To a degree, but there was more to it than that.”
Miles gave Myrtle a worried look.
Georgia, who’d been shaking her head as Blanche and Erma spoke, said, “Look, y’all. The bull is a symbol. It stands for the stuff in our life that might wreck us or wreck our lives, if we let it.”
Miles and Myrtle blinked. Despite how well Georgia claimed to have ‘gotten’ the book, they never would have guessed that she’d end up understanding it as well as she had. Despite the fact that she persisted in calling it a psychological thriller.
And so it went. The book club members continued offering their convoluted and peculiar impressions of the story while Myrtle did her best to wrestle them back on track.
Finally, the discussion was finished. Miles, who had dots of perspiration at his temples, gratefully handed the floor back to Tippy.
Chapter Eighteen
“NOW IT’S TIME FOR THE next month’s selection to be revealed,” said Tippy. “And then the meeting will be adjourned. It’s Myrtle’s turn to pick.”
There was a nervous murmuring in the room.
Myrtle stood up. “I’d originally thought we’d focus on one of my favorite books, The Sound and the Fury, by my beloved Faulkner.”
The murmuring escalated into a horrified pitch.
“But, after second thoughts and the urgings of my adviser, I’ve decided to pick The Outsiders,” said Myrtle.
Tippy beamed at her. “What a marvelous idea, Myrtle. I think most of us have actually even read the book.”
Although the meeting was officially adjourned, the book club members now started to eat in earnest, as if the rigor of the literary discussions had made them ravenous.
Myrtle walked up to Sally and said, “Thanks again for delivering that story yesterday for me. How were things at the newspaper office? And Sloan?”
Sally laughed. “I don’t know how Sloan finds anything in that office. He put your story on top of a huge stack of paper. I was surprised to see it in the Bugle this morning! I thought it might have been lost in the piles.”
Myrtle said quickly, “Yes, it’s a disaster in there. But I think that’s where Sloan gets all his sloppiness out. I’ve been at his house before and it was neat as a pin, believe it or not.” She crossed her fingers behind her back at the untruth. Sloan’s house had been many things, but ‘neat as a pin’ it certainly wasn’t. “He’s such a nice fellow, don’t you think?”
Sally colored a bit. “He is. It was good to catch up with him.” She hesitated. “He asked if I wanted to meet him for lunch tomorrow.”
“Excellent!” said Myrtle, beaming.
“I think he just wanted to continue our conversation. We were remembering old times from high school. And then, after I accepted, I wondered if maybe he was planning on offering me a job at the paper?” asked Sally. “He’d asked me if I was working and that sort of thing.”
Myrtle said, “Oh, I doubt that. He has a full staff at the paper. In fact, he likely has too many paid employees. No, I’m quite sure he intended the lunch to be personal. He’d mentioned to me recently that he’d love having someone to go to lunch or dinner with, or to go to the movies.”
Tippy swept up and Myrtle glared at her. Matchmakers didn’t have it easy, that was for sure.
Tippy said, “I just wanted to check in with you, Sally, and see how you were doing, dear. Is there anything that you need? I’m running errands as soon as we leave here—is there anything I can do for you? Grocery? Post office? Drugstore?”
“No, thanks, everything is going well. It was wonderful to come to your book club meeting today—thanks so much for having me,” said Sally. “It was such an interesting discussion.”
Myrtle looked doubtfully at her. “Was it?”
“Of course it was. It was stimulating,” said Tippy. “And I’m sure we’ll all enjoy The Outsiders next month, and I hope that you’ll join us then, Sally.”
“I’ll try to,” said Sally a little shyly. “Right now, I have lots of time on my hands, but who knows what the next month will be like.”
Tippy said kindly, “I have the feeling when the investigation is over and the perpetrator is put in jail that things might start looking up for you. It must be very hard to move on, considering the circumstances.”
Tippy, always the lady, was too careful not to directly reference either Lyle or murder. But Sally seemed in the mood to try and talk through her worries.
“You’re right—it is hard to move on. I think that’s because I feel sorry for Lyle. He shouldn’t have died so young ... he still had so many plans. I think about how much he loved the early mornings at the park and how sad it was that someone took advantage of his vulnerability there and killed him.”
Tippy shifted a little uncomfortably at the switch from small talk, but nodded understandingly at her.
Myrtle was afraid that Tippy was going to gently change the subject and try to distract Sally with other topics. She quickly said, “And it was pointless, wasn’t it? That must be the most frustrating of all. It seems as if his murder made no sense at all. Why kill Lyle Solomon?”
Tippy narrowed her eyes at Myrtle for mentioning Lyle’s name and the words murder and kill. In Tippy’s mind, Myrtle was clearly committing a dire social faux pas.
Sally was nodding, though. “That’s definitely part of it. Although I know his death wasn’t some random act of violence. It had to do with something he saw, or something he knew. I know it did. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“But you don’t really remember what he saw or knew?” asked Myrtle. “Or Lyle didn’t tell you?”
“I’m not sure he really realized what he saw or knew,” said Sally, sounding frustrated. “All Lyle said was that he saw Neil working on his car when he was driving back home. He was sort of mischievously gleeful over Neil’s fancy car having car trouble. It’s not as if he saw some killer lurking on the edge of the woods, wielding a weapon.”
Tippy said, “It’s hard enough to imagine what happened to poor Neil. He was always such a well-dressed, nicely turned-out man. So impressive when I went into the bank. He remembered details about committees I was on and always followed-up to ask how they were going, or how the little events I was involved in had gone. He looked like the bank. I don’t think I ever saw him look casual.”
Myrtle frowned at Tippy. There was something significant in what she was saying, but Myrtle wasn’
t quite sure what it was.
Tippy, completely oblivious to the fact that she had said anything at all significant, continued chatting, desperately trying to wrangle the conversation away from distressing topics. “Myrtle!” she said quickly with a smile. “What’s this fascinating rumor I’ve been hearing that you’re going back to teaching?”
Myrtle could tell that Tippy thought this must be an example of Bradley rumors running amok. She could also tell that Tippy thought that Myrtle might not be up to the job. “Oh, the high school has asked me to return for years. They apparently need an experienced teacher in their English department. Usually I just laugh and tell them about the wonders of retirement, but this time, who knows? I think I might have more career years ahead of me.”
Tippy blinked at this. “Isn’t that amazing?” she said to Sally. “Very, very inspiring.” But, lest Myrtle suggest that Tippy return to working, Tippy again rapidly changed the subject to the valuable work that Tippy was doing in Bradley as a volunteer. Before Myrtle could again fall victim to Tippy’s recruiting efforts, Myrtle murmured an excuse and slipped away to find Miles.
Miles was talking with Blanche, Georgia, and Erma and gave Myrtle a ‘help me’ look as she approached. As she walked up, she could tell that they were still talking about the book and Blanche sounded as if she was still focused on pushing her alternate theory of the bull to anyone who would listen. Georgia, the skeptic, kept belly-laughing and refuting her.
“Miles,” said Myrtle. “Could you show me where the cleaner is in the kitchen? Something spilled.”
Miles moved away from his conversation with alacrity. “Coming!”
“Thanks for rescuing me,” he muttered as they ran off to the kitchen. “I still don’t understand why they struggled with that book. I simply can’t wrap my head around it. And now my head is starting to hurt. I hope it’s hurting from frustration and not from some germ I’ve picked up at the party,” he added, fretfully.
“Never mind that!” said Myrtle. “Let’s get them all out of here. I feel as if there’s something that I know that’s important, but I can’t figure out what it is. And with all their mindless blather, I can’t think until they’re gone.”
Miles leaned back against the kitchen counter. “What do you want me to do? I can hardly go in there and start throwing them out of my house. It wouldn’t exactly be hospitable.”
“I could tell them that you’ve suddenly become ill,” suggested Myrtle.
Miles shook his head. “That sounds like tempting fate. The last thing I want is to get sick right now, and saying it might make it a step closer to being true.”
“Such magical thinking, Miles! Never mind. I’ll just hide out in the kitchen until they all leave. Maybe I can mull some things over while I’m alone,” said Myrtle.
She glanced up to see Erma Sherman leering around the kitchen door at her. Myrtle jumped, which made Erma snicker.
“I should go back to the book club,” said Miles, rushing off ungallantly to leave Myrtle with her nemesis.
“You and Miles arranging tête-à-têtes in the kitchen? How sweet!” gushed Erma, coming over.
“Hardly. I’d spilled something and Miles dug out the cleaner. What a horrid imagination you have, Erma.” Myrtle didn’t feel in the mood to even attempt pleasantries with Erma.
“Well, I’m glad I caught up with you. I’m sooo glad you picked The Insiders to read. You know, when I read that book in school, I made an A on the paper that I wrote about it. I bet I still have the paper,” said Erma.
“Sounds likely,” said Myrtle. “Except it’s The Outsiders.”
Erma said, “I knew everything about that book. I still have the paper.”
Keeping a graded high school English paper for decades upon decades sounded like something Erma would do. “Fine, then. Look, Erma, I hate to cut this short, but I think I’ve somehow picked up Miles’s headache. If you could leave me alone with it, I’m sure it would be better,” said Myrtle. She put a hand to her temple as if it was tender.
“I’ll find you some aspirin,” said Erma, rushing off.
There was nothing worse than Erma in a helpful mood. She wouldn’t leave it alone. A minute later, she returned with two different pills, of two different colors. Myrtle looked at them suspiciously. She had the feeling that Erma might be one of those people who thinks it could be kinder to put someone out of their misery than treat their headache. “What are these, Erma? They don’t match.”
“I found them in my purse. One is an aspirin, one is an ibuprofen. Or acetaminophen. Something.” Erma frowned, trying to piece together the pills’ mysterious identity.
Myrtle closed her eyes. Maybe Miles was right. Claiming a fake health issue appeared to be bringing on a real one. But she wasn’t taking any suspect medicine, that was for sure.
Erma, ever-oblivious, was prattling on her usual stream of nonsense. “Before I remembered the pills in my purse, I took a little trip to Miles’s bathroom to see if I could find some in there. Do you know, he hardly has any kind of medication in there at all? I must have thirty different old pill bottles in my medicine cabinet.”
“Yes. Well, you’ve been afflicted,” said Myrtle.
“Ha! Haven’t I? I’ve had some of the most awful diseases and stomach bugs and conditions. A medicine cabinet full of pills, I tell you! And while I was back there, I popped my head into Miles’s bedroom, since maybe he had a bottle of aspirin next to his bed. You know how people our age take an aspirin a day? But there wasn’t anything in there. His room was just as neat as a pin! Oh, except his closet door was open ... he must have gotten ready in a rush. And every single piece of clothing of his was on the same color hanger and hung by color! Isn’t that a little on the OCD side? Very, very tidy. His suitcases were stacked inside each other—I couldn’t resist checking. And he had row of hats on the shelf above his shirts, slacks, and suits. Don’t you wish men wore hats these days? Miles would look so elegant in a fedora,” said Erma, clasping her hands in a swooning gesture.
“Men do wear hats. They’re just baseball caps,” said Myrtle through gritted teeth.
“I bet his linen closet has every towel and sheet perfectly folded. Even his fitted sheet.” Erma frowned, staring off in the direction of Miles’s bedroom. “I wonder where his linen closet is.”
“Look, Erma, enough of this nonsense. I’m heading back home. Tell Miles that I’ll catch up with him later.” Myrtle headed for the kitchen door. But when she saw the number of people still blocking her escape to the front door, she turned around and left out Miles’s back door to cut through his yard and to the sidewalk that way.
The sun had been covered with clouds and a light breeze picked up as Myrtle walked the short distance home. What was causing Myrtle great consternation was the thought that Erma had actually said something significant. In all her non-stop verbalizing, Erma had said something that Myrtle should pay attention to. That thought was causing the fleeting headache back at Miles’s house to return to a more persistent pounding.
She was so involved in her thoughts that she didn’t hear her name being called until she was all the way at her front door. She turned and saw Tarleton hurrying up behind her.
“Miss Myrtle!” he said, gasping a little. “I swear, I had no idea that you could move so fast. Now I feel like I need to start heading to the gym. I couldn’t keep up with you.”
Myrtle said, “Oh, don’t be silly. I wasn’t moving that fast. And—did I forget that you were coming by? How did we leave things last time?” She looked at him more closely and said, “And why are you carrying a ladder?”
Tarleton said, “It’s Red, actually. He asked me to come by.”
Myrtle rolled her eyes. “No surprises there.”
“He asked if I could replace your outdoor and indoor lightbulbs,” said Tarleton.
“For heaven’s sake! All of my lightbulbs? You’ll never leave.” Myrtle realized that she was sounding uncharitable, but the whole reason she’d been eager to get
back home again was to think. It was going to be hard to think with Tarleton banging around from room to room with his ladder. And she’d learned that he had the irritating habit of whistling as he worked.
“Not the lightbulbs that you can reach, Miss Myrtle. All the other bulbs. So, any ceiling bulbs and then the exterior bulbs that you have in your motion detectors and whatnot,” explained Tarleton. His brows drew together in concern. “Is that all right? Should I come by another time?”
“It’s fine, Tarleton,” said Myrtle as she fished her key from her purse. “Come on in.”
Tarleton, unfortunately, seemed to want to start inside and underfoot. Myrtle, feeling somewhat self-conscious about staring off into space to think, decided to sit at her computer and stare at its screen as if lost in thought. Tarleton, however, didn’t seem to realize that she was trying to concentrate as he worked on replacing the bulbs in an elaborate fixture with several bulbs in it. He resumed his cheerful whistling, which Myrtle recognized as My Favorite Things from The Sound of Music.
Myrtle turned to snap at him to be quiet and then stared at him. Tarleton was wearing the same, rather threadbare but semi-dressy clothing that he had previously, but this time something else made her stop still. He wore a baseball hat, as he had the last few times she’d seen him. He looked casual. Unlike Neil, who never looked casual, as Tippy had so helpfully pointed out.
Lyle had reported seeing Neil, wearing a hat, by the broken-down car. What if he’d seen Tarleton, instead?
Chapter Nineteen
TARLETON LOOKED DOWN at Myrtle and his eyes narrowed. “Something wrong, Miss Myrtle?” he asked lightly. His voice sounded strained.
Myrtle casually reached for her phone and typed a text to Red. Get over here. To Tarleton, she said, “No, I was just remembering something that I need from the store. I’ll get Red to pick it up.”
“But that’s my job, remember, Miss Myrtle?” asked Tarleton. “Odd jobs and errands. No, I don’t think that was it.”
A Body in the Trunk Page 16