The problem with surviving several attempts on your life, thought Myrtle, was how darned overprotective everybody became. If Red had his way, she’d be wrapped up in cotton wool and packed away in Styrofoam peanuts. It was most disheartening for a star reporter-cum-sleuth.
The only way to really figure out what was going on was to get out and about. But any attempts to really do some investigating were bound to be foiled by Red and Perkins. No, it was going to take more ingenuity to be able to find out some useful information this time.
She thought about the remaining suspects. Georgia had still been angry at the time of Cullen’s death over the lottery money she’d lost. Keeping that fact in mind, Myrtle had decided to use Georgia’s affinity for angels to contact her again about the case. The motive was still there, after all.
The angels came in, as promised, on Wednesday—well-wrapped in protective bubble wrap, they seemed much nicer than anything anyone could get in Bradley. And cheaper too.
Perfect timing. Myrtle was keen to interview the elusive Georgia. Maybe she had some insight on Cullen’s murder. She seemed well-versed in the philosophy of grudges, at any rate.
Thirty minutes later, Myrtle knocked at Georgia’s ratty-looking door.
Georgia beamed when she saw Myrtle and the beam turned up a notch as her eyes rested greedily on the package of angels. Her eyebrows were a high arch, which gave her an appropriately surprised expression. “Come in, come in. Umm—want anything to drink, Miss Myrtle?”
Myrtle didn’t. She had a feeling the kitchen matched the living room in its lack of cleanliness. And the living room’s mess was of epic proportions. She was sure there was an angel collection somewhere in the heaps of paper, magazines, dirty plates, and laundry, but for the life of her, she couldn’t see it. Maybe Georgia really did need an angel—a guardian one. Who liked to tidy up.
Myrtle said hurriedly, “I brought these over for you, Georgia. Found them in a back closet.” No need to make her suspicious by telling her she’d ordered them off eBay. With expedited shipping.
Georgia picked one angel up, reverently. “These are really, really nice. I haven’t seen any like these around.” She wrinkled her brow. “How much do you want for them, Miss Myrtle?”
Myrtle waved her hands in a dismissive way. “Oh, nothing. You were nice enough to take the others off my hand. These are a gift. From a friend.”
Georgia grinned. “Thank you so much, Miss Myrtle. That is really good of you.”
Myrtle had no desire to embark on a long visit with Georgia in the depths of this black hole of debris.
Myrtle small-talked as much as she could bear, then said, “Isn’t this awful business?” At Georgia’s frown of confusion, Myrtle said, “Cullen’s murder.”
Georgia rolled her eyes and said tartly, “Or else he was just getting what he deserved.”
Myrtle tried to look sympathetic.
Georgia continued, “See, I went over there. To Cullen’s house.” She dropped her voice as though her messy house had ears. “You know. To talk to him about the money. Make him see sense. See if he was as greedy as his wife was.” She spat out the last few words.
“And when I got to his house, he was already deep in a squabble with somebody else. So he didn’t get along with anybody real well, did he?”
“Who was he fighting with?” asked Myrtle.
“Sherry from next door. Don’t know what that was all about. Well, talk was that they were having a fling, so maybe it had something to do with that. Sherry was right up in his face, yelling at him. Her face was red as a beet.” Georgia touched her own powdered face as if reassuring herself it was its usual pasty color.
“Then what happened?”
“Sherry saw me and stomped off back to her house. Cullen went inside his house, too. Until I knocked on his door.” Georgia pursed her lips. “He came flying out the door then. I guess he thought it was Sherry again. But he wasn’t happy to see me, either. And,” her ferocious brows drew down into a bunch, “he laughed at me when I asked him for the lottery money. Laughed at me!” Georgia fumed silently, apparently lost in her own angry world.
“Imagine that.” Myrtle clucked. “So did you go back and kill him later?”
Georgia’s black eyebrows went up almost to her hairline. She leaned forward to see if Myrtle was making fun of her. Apparently satisfying herself that she wasn’t, Georgia considered the question. “Well, what’s the real sin? Actually having the gumption to do something, or just wishing it would happen? I guess I sinned in my heart, but no I didn’t kill him. Glad somebody did, though.” Georgia patted an angel, remorsefully.
Myrtle wondered how much longer she should let this visit go on to keep Georgia from suspecting her detecting. She didn’t really think she could stand it much longer. At least she’d gotten some information from her foray into the paper jungle. She reached for her pocketbook, but sat back abruptly when Georgia gushed, “You have to stay and have a coffee with me. You were just too sweet to bring me the angels!”
Myrtle gave a weak smile. Then she noticed the surface that was underneath the piles of magazines and unopened mail in front of her. “Is that ... ?”
Georgia beamed. “A coffin! I got it at a yard sale. The owner’s son had made it for her, and then she ended up beating that cancer with a stick. So I got the coffin for five bucks! Isn’t it a beaut? I’m going to use it for a coffee table until I need one. May as well get my money’s worth out of it.”
Myrtle’s complete loss for words must have somehow translated into admiration. Georgia said, “You love it, don’t you? I get so many comments on it from my visitors. I ended up tracking down the woman’s son, who’s an expert woodsman. I could get him to make you one if you like. You might not get as much time out of it as I will, considering your age and everything, but it would make a nice bookcase for all those books you have lying around. He could put some shelves in it, then Red could have them taken out when it’s time for you to be buried.”
Myrtle started twitching.
“Coffee!” said Georgia, snapping her fingers. “I know caffeine withdrawal when I see it. Be back in a jiff.”
Myrtle was clearly being punished for something.
Progressive Dinner Deadly Page 21