Chapter Five
Myrtle could tell it was going to be one of those nights where she couldn’t sleep. As soon as she lay down, her mind became fixated on things she needed to do to prepare for the little reception after the funeral. She’d tell herself to relax, take deep breaths, gradually stretch her muscles and feel that she was about to drift off…and some other detail would pop into her head and mess it all up again.
When she finally did fall asleep, her dreams were of that weird, am-I-awake-or-am-I-asleep, quality that played with her head. She kept glancing at her clock, convinced it must almost be morning but saw instead that it was only fifteen or twenty minutes later from the last time she’d checked. Finally, she gave a frustrated bellow, untangled herself from the tangled bed sheets, and propelled herself out of the bed.
It was two o’clock in the morning. This was her usual time for being awake and it wasn’t that she was unprepared for it. Ordinarily, she’d putter around the house—start a load of laundry, put away the dishes from the dishwasher, read a few chapters of a book. Sometimes she’d take a walk down the street. Her neighbors had grown accustomed to seeing a tall, white-headed person in a bathrobe navigating down the sidewalk in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, Red, if he were the one to see her, never missed the opportunity to remind her that Greener Pastures retirement home was an excellent, safe place for wandering octogenarians.
The thought of Red made Myrtle settle docilely in her armchair and turn on the TV for the rest of her Tomorrow’s Promise soap opera that she’d fallen asleep during earlier. Five minutes into the show, though, she became uncharacteristically annoyed by it. Melaina was in the hospital again? That woman had been in the hospital the past few months with every illness known to man—cancer, rehab, a car crash, a gunshot wound. Couldn’t the writers come up with something new for her to do?
Myrtle turned off the TV, feeling restless again. Sleep wasn’t going to happen, so she might as well stretch her legs. Red should be sleeping soundly after all the excitement of the murder. She brightened. Maybe Miles would be awake. He frequently had insomnia himself. She put on her robe, pulled out a bag of cookies and hung them from a plastic bag on her wrist, grabbed her cane, and headed outside the door. She even remembered to lock the door behind her.
Myrtle wandered down the sidewalk, then peered at Miles’s house. There were lights on, all right. They didn’t look like nightlights, either. Myrtle walked up his front walk and rang Miles’s doorbell.
Miles answered the door. “I figured you might come over. I set the coffeemaker to perk at one-thirty.”
Myrtle grinned at him, delighted to have someone to talk to in the middle of the night. “I’m late, then! Let’s get started. I brought some gingersnaps.”
Miles smiled back at her. Minutes later, they munched on cookies and drank milk and coffee. Myrtle said thoughtfully, “You didn’t set an alarm for yourself or anything did you? Because you thought I might come over?”
“Nothing like that. I just anticipated that you might have insomnia tonight—I know your mind starts getting real active when you have a new case to mull over,” said Miles.
Myrtle gave a satisfied sigh. “I like the way you put that, Miles. A case. That’s what I’ve got. A new puzzle to solve.”
“Although more dangerous than any of your crossword puzzles,” said Miles. “You weren’t worried about walking over here in the dark? You did have a murder right in your own backyard last night, after all.”
Myrtle shrugged. “It had nothing to do with me, did it? Seems like it had more to do with you. I’m only trying to get to the bottom of it, that’s all. Why would someone want to kill me?”
Miles wisely bit his tongue. Myrtle looked suspiciously at him.
Miles quickly said, “So what, in particular, is on your mind, Myrtle? What kept you up tonight?”
“Oh, I was mulling it all over. I was also planning the reception in my head,” said Myrtle.
Miles looked blankly at her.
“For heaven’s sake, Miles! You haven’t already forgotten, have you? The family reception that I’m having for you and your loved ones! At my house! After the funeral!”
“My loved ones?” Miles chuckled. “I wouldn’t call them that, actually. We’ll just leave it at family. Yes, I remember all about it now…thanks.”
“Were family members calling you up yesterday afternoon and trying to get information from you about the funeral plans?” asked Myrtle.
“No, they weren’t. I really don’t know who even knows or particularly cares about Cousin Charles’s death. He was a black sheep, after all. I can’t imagine that I’m the only one who isn’t interested in claiming him.”
Myrtle said, “What about your aunt? Surely you’ve talked to her.”
Miles sighed. “I have. She’s distraught in sort of a melodramatic and possibly not very genuine way. She said that the police told her that she would be able to have the funeral four days from now. So…if you’re determined to host people at your house…I guess you can plan it for then. Although I’m still baffled why you’d want to.”
“Mostly I’m trying to look for suspect reactions,” said Myrtle.
Miles raised his eyebrows. “Do you know who the suspects even are?”
“Not really. That’s another reason why I want these people over. It’ll give me a chance to look at them, listen to them, and figure out their connection to your cousin. Maybe it’ll even give me the opportunity to learn which of them might have wanted to do away with him,” said Myrtle. She frowned thoughtfully. “Although, it sounds as if your family may not be cooperative. So I’ll make it an open invitation to anyone who attends the funeral service.”
“Are you sure you want to do that? What if a bunch of people end up showing up at your house? You don’t have a whole lot of room, you know,” said Miles.
“Then they can just go spilling out into the yard,” said Myrtle with a shrug. “I’m not worried. It’s not like they’re sleeping there or anything. I can handle anything for a couple of hours. Speaking of my yard, I was thinking about putting a sort of makeshift memorial in my yard.” As Miles squinted at her in confusion, Myrtle irritably explained, “You know. To mark the spot where Charles met his Maker.” Miles kept squinting at her. “People do that! I see it all the time.”
“What…like a bunch of pink and blue teddy bears with balloons and roses?” Miles’s voice was very doubtful. “That doesn’t sound like Cousin Charles.”
“Oh. Okay. Maybe a simple vase of roses?” Myrtle asked.
Miles shook his head.
“A white cross? It could be discrete.”
Miles squinted. “I can’t see Cousin Charles as a particularly devout man.”
“A small American flag?”
“He wasn’t a veteran,” said Miles. “The military was way too smart to enlist Charles.”
“For heaven’s sake! How about a whiskey bottle and a glass then?” said Myrtle in exasperation.
“Hmm,” said Miles as if seriously considering her suggestion. “Sort of like the bottle of cognac the mysterious visitor would leave at Poe’s grave?” He saw her frowning at him and said, “I know what you mean. I just can’t think of a way of doing something like that without it being super-campy. Besides, any memorial you put out might be hard to see with your grass as tall as it is. Why do you want to have one?”
“I thought that I might catch someone looking morosely out the window at the little memorial. Regretting what they’d done, lamenting the state of violence in this world that influenced them to such a horrid act. That sort of thing,” Myrtle finished vaguely.
“Aren’t they more likely to be looking out the window in a very satisfied manner?” asked Miles, carefully breaking off a piece of a gingersnap. “Admiring their handiwork? Proud of their accomplishment?”
“That’s a fairly cynical way of looking at it,” said Myrtle, annoyed that she hadn’t broadened her imaginings of what a murderer might
feel.
“Remember what we’re dealing with—Cousin Charles. He wasn’t the finest example of humanity ever to walk the planet, regardless of what my aunt might think. In fact, a murderer might even feel quite noble about ridding the world of Charles…who knows?” said Miles.
“Who indeed?” muttered Myrtle. “I think I’ll plan on something small and tasteful to mark the spot, then.” Although she had no idea what that would be.
“I think that Sloan is running an obituary in the paper tomorrow with some of the funeral arrangements listed. Should I get him to add a small sentence about your reception?” asked Miles.
“Why not? When is it running? Tomorrow-tomorrow, or today-tomorrow? Since it’s two a.m. now, you’re not saying it’s running this morning, right? I don’t think we should pull poor Sloan out of his bed to add to the obituary,” said Myrtle.
“No, tomorrow-tomorrow. So it’ll run in another twenty-four hours. Plenty of time to add it. I’ll call him later today,” said Miles.
Myrtle said, “By the way, Sloan assigned me the story. The murder. He said that I could write it for the paper.” She was worried about Miles’s reaction to this news. Sometimes he’d start acting very cold and she didn’t understand why. Myrtle hoped this wasn’t going to be one of those times.
Miles nodded and didn’t appear to change his mood, which was a relief. “I figured you might get that story, considering it happened literally in your backyard.” He paused. “This doesn’t mean you’re going to pester me for quotes, does it?” The coldness was now trickling in a little.
“Maybe just a very general one, Miles,” said Myrtle. “Nothing extremely personal. Just a statement of who he was and how you were related.”
Miles considered this. “No. No, I don’t think I want my connection with Charles in the paper. It’s enough for me to go to the funeral and deal with my aunt and go to the reception and talk to the police. If I can prevent more people from knowing that the two of us were related, that works for me.”
Myrtle just blinked at him. “Well, that’s most disappointing, Miles!” She took a sip of her milk while she thought over the implications of this unexpected complication. “Although I suppose it won’t make a huge difference to the story, since your quote was going to be such a minor one, anyway.” She frowned. “But you’re still going to help me with my investigating, aren’t you? You’ll still be my sidekick?”
Miles grinned at her. “So you admit that I am a sidekick? In the past, you’ve downplayed my role in your cases. Pooh-poohed my contributions.”
“I’ve done no such thing. Naturally, you’re a sidekick. For heaven’s sake. You have a car, and everything! You’re still driving, too,” said Myrtle.
“Oh, now I know my desirability as a sidekick. I’ve got wheels and a driver’s license.”
“Don’t be silly. I have a driver’s license, myself. But I don’t have a car anymore,” said Myrtle. Reluctantly she added, “And you contribute more than just transportation. I like bouncing ideas off, too.” She was still waiting to hear what he had to say about getting involved in the investigation.
Miles said, “I have the feeling that even if I say I want nothing to do with this case, which I’m sorely tempted to do, that I’ll somehow get dragged into it against my will. Since being dragged into things usually irritates me, I’ll go ahead and plan on being involved.” Myrtle clapped her hands and he quickly added, “But I’m getting involved not as a relative of this person. I want to treat this as an ordinary case where we work on the side of justice to subvert evil in Bradley, North Carolina.” Myrtle looked closely at him to see whether he was being facetious. It wasn’t like Miles to speak in such grandiose terms.
“How about solving it because you’re clearing your name?” suggested Myrtle. “Considering how you are a suspect in the case.” He glowered at her and she said, “All right! All right! I’ll presume you’re completely innocent while investigating the murder.”
“Thanks,” said Miles. She thought she detected a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
They munched silently on the cookies for a minute or two. “So,” said Miles finally, “since I’m your sidekick, why don’t you share some of your investigation with me? Who are you considering as suspects?”
“First of all, I’m putting Lee Woosley on my suspect list,” said Myrtle.
“Of course—the man who was fighting with Charles at the poker game,” said Miles, nodding. “That makes sense. Good thing that Red mentioned that he’d broken up that fight or we wouldn’t even have one name on the list.”
“Actually, I don’t even need Red anymore,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “I have Elaine.”
“Elaine? Myrtle, you’re not sticking Elaine in the middle of all this, are you? Putting her in the middle between you and Red on a case? She can’t win!” said Miles.
“No, it’s nothing like that. Elaine has a new hobby,” said Myrtle.
Miles’s eyes widened in alarm behind his steel-rimmed glasses. He’d been right there beside Myrtle through Elaine’s other hobbies. None of them had ended particularly well and usually entailed his home being the repository for various bits of Elaine’s pottery or other malformed artwork.
“Don’t worry,” said Myrtle. “It’s not as bad as it usually is. This time it’s photography.”
Miles relaxed in the kitchen chair. “It’s hard to mess that up.”
“Well, don’t underestimate Elaine. I think we have some blurry images in store. And lots of photos of her various fingers. Not to mention pictures that should have had the flash turned on.”
Miles groaned.
“But I will say this for her—she has a knack for being in the right place at the right time. She took a picture of the exciting fight that Red broke up…she was with Red at the time that he got the call and was practicing action shots. She also took a fascinating picture of Hugh Bass having a very serious conversation with your cousin,” said Myrtle.
“Hugh Bass? Isn’t he a dentist here in town?”
Myrtle said, “He’s everyone’s dentist. Bradley is a very small town.”
“How on earth could he have known Charles?” Miles frowned. “That’s rather disturbing. I don’t think I’ll let him put his hands on my teeth.”
Miles’s teeth were apparently a source of pride to him. She supposed that anyone who made it to seventy with all their teeth in perfect condition would feel that way. Myrtle wouldn’t know.
“I don’t know how he knows him, but I’m going to find out. I’m going to the dentist tomorrow to have my teeth cleaned and I’m prepared to ask questions,” said Myrtle.
“How are you going to do that? Whenever I go to the dentist, I can’t get a word in edgewise because someone’s hands are always in my mouth.”
Myrtle said, “Oh, I have my ways. People can be extremely deferencial when it comes to old, frail, garrulous ladies. I’ll let you know everything I find out.” She looked at Miles’s wall clock. “I wish I were feeling sleepy, but I’m not. Did you watch Tomorrow’s Promise this afternoon?”
Miles was still somewhat chagrined that he was hooked on the show, but he clearly wanted to talk about it. “I only got as far as Melaina being admitted to the hospital again.”
Myrtle clapped her hands. “That’s where I left off, too!”
“I’ll start up the tape.”
A Body in the Backyard Page 5