Myrtle found, to her great surprise, that the workout wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. The weights were set to her specifications, there were several people she knew in there (including Miles, who was already on the stair climbing machine and looked pleased to see her), and she felt like she had more energy at the end of the exercise. She made plans to return to Fit Life on Monday. But only, she told herself, because that would give her another chance to see Sherry and Simon.
Red, luckily hadn’t seemed too upset by the fact that she was asking questions, and hopefully no one else was, either. Maybe Red was right. There was absolutely no reason for anyone to murder Maisy. She was fluffily innocuous and her horoscopes were a favorite feature in the Bradley Bugle. Besides, Willow had taken over writing the horoscopes for a whole week before Maisy was poisoned. If anyone was upset about a prediction, they had only Willow to blame.
But there were definitely reasons for someone to want to murder Myrtle. Most people just thought of her as a snoopy old lady. For someone who really had something to hide, though, they might consider her a threat. Erma’s loud mouth at the visitation had broadcast that Myrtle knew exactly who the killer was. And then Sloan ran that big story about his octogenarian investigator. Myrtle locked her front door behind her as she went in—a rare daytime occurrence.
She opened the door back up again when there was a soft “meow” outside. Pasha, thought Myrtle. It was amazing how used she was getting to that cat. She’d really beefed up, too. She wasn’t the scrawny creature she’d been a week ago. And she had all the tuna cans in the trap to thank for the fat grams.
“Hey, kitty,” cooed Myrtle as she opened the front door. “How’s Pasha today?”
Pasha darted in furtively and, to Myrtle’s horror, appeared to have something in her mouth. “Pasha?”
Pasha turned and, seeing she had Myrtle’s attention, made a great show of putting a chipmunk down on Myrtle’s throw rug. To Myrtle’s gaping horror, the chipmunk began hobbling around drunkenly. Pasha looked disapprovingly at Myrtle. It was clear that Myrtle was not doing what she was supposed to. She gave the chipmunk a swipe and looked up at Myrtle. Myrtle still stared openmouthed at the wounded creature. Finally, in disgust, Pasha lifted a paw and, swiftly brought it down again onto the chipmunk. She leaned over again and picked up the chipmunk by its neck and looked at Myrtle as if to say, “See? This is what you’re supposed to do.”
Myrtle opened the front door. Pasha shot her an icy glare and left with the chipmunk firmly in tow. Thankfully.
The chipmunk incident had completely destroyed her appetite. Which was a shame, since she’d been ravenous when she’d gotten back from exercising. And Elaine had given her a batch of her famous pimento cheese, too. Pity.
She looked at the clock. Her sidekick had left the gym before she had. He should be cleaned up and ready for a phone call by now, thought Myrtle.
Progressive Dinner Deadly Page 14