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’s 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?”
“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 zipper 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. “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.
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