Chapter Seven
When Myrtle opened her door the next morning to get the paper, she was horrified to see a grinning Erma on her doorstep. “I was just about to knock!” she beamed, breathing noxious fumes into Myrtle’s too-close face.
“Really?” asked Myrtle coldly. “Since I’m still just waking up, Erma, so maybe another ... ”
“We’ll have a nice cup of coffee,” said Erma, already striding into Myrtle’s house.
“I don’t drink it.”
“Sure you do! I’ve seen you drink it dozens of times.”
“I don’t anymore, though. My doctor recommended I stop.” For some reason, Myrtle thought grimly, being around Erma always made her start lying through her teeth.
Erma stuck her head in Myrtle’s fridge. “Okay. I’m easy. Here are two Cokes, so let’s stick with that then.” She popped them open and put them on Myrtle’s kitchen table with its red-checkered tablecloth.
Erma was always like this. Always. She just hijacked your day.
“So, let’s talk about the murder,” said Erma in a salacious voice that Myrtle found entirely inappropriate. “I saw that story in the paper today, Myrtle. All about your investigative reporting and all. I’ve got some really good theories about Jill’s murder. Good ones.” She guzzled noisily from her Coke can.
“Erma, what are you talking about? What story—“
“I’m liking Tiny Kirk for this murder,” said Erma decidedly.
Now Erma had Myrtle’s attention. “Tiny? Why on earth would Tiny Kirk want to murder Jill? They didn’t even know each other.”
Erma looked affronted. “Sure they did. They were even at the same party together. And Tiny helped break up that fight between Jill and Willow.”
Myrtle clucked. “That doesn’t mean they knew each other. Tiny was the only person young enough and big enough at that party to separate them. Look, I do know who did it, okay? I know exactly who did it because I remembered something right after the murder. I just need to collect some evidence before I unveil the killer to Red.”
“Don’t you mean share it with the newspaper?” asked Erma. “You’re supposed to be writing the story for them.”
Myrtle got up and walked straight outside to wrest the slender newspaper from the gnomes. Well-known Octogenarian Tackles Murder Investigation. And the subtitle: Bugle Investigative Reporter Myrtle Clover Hot on the Trail of a Killer. Great. Sloan could always be counted on to take the sensational route when he was desperate for subscriptions. No chance of working undercover as a gossipy old lady now.
Irritably, she said to Erma, “So now you know. As soon as I get some evidence, I’ll have this case all wrapped up for the police.”
It was worth any little white lies to see Erma’s face, gaping at her, thought Myrtle with satisfaction. Tiny Kirk! Tiny didn’t have the brains to show up for a murder, much less orchestrate one.
“Oh. Okay. I’ll see you at the visitation this afternoon then,” said Erma, sounding for all the world like they were both going to be guests at a garden party. “Can’t wait to hear who the killer is.”
Progressive Dinner Deadly Page 10