Miles pushed his plate away. “She’s not a member, is she? I haven’t been gone that long.”
“She’s not, yet. But I think she’s about to be. Tippy invited her. And, as a matter of fact, I believe Pansy is something of an anomaly for our group in that she appears to be an actual reader. Despite how silly she can appear sometimes, she actually seems to be fairly clever.”
Miles said, “Well, she was dating Darren, after all. I don’t think anyone but another reader would have been a good match for him.”
“Exactly. Anyway, I think she’ll fully-support my plan to read House of Mirth. And we’ll have the chance to speak with her about Darren,” said Myrtle.
Miles shook his head. “There’s no way she’ll be there, Myrtle. Darren just died. She’s probably just found out about it from Red. Tomorrow morning she may want nothing more than staying in bed all day with the covers pulled over her head.”
Miles had sounded far too wistful at that last bit. She’d have to do everything in her considerable power to keep him distracted. “Ordinarily, I’d agree with you. But you know how Tippy is. She thinks the best way to handle grief is distraction. I bet you anything Tippy will go right over to Pansy’s house and trot her directly over to the library for our meeting.”
The waitress came by the table and glanced at Miles’s untouched salad. “Can I box that up for you, hon?”
Miles winced and shook his head rapidly. “I’m all done.”
Myrtle said, “For heaven’s sake, Miles! Box it up and eat it for supper. You’ll be hungry again eventually.”
Miles shook his head stubbornly and Myrtle sighed. She asked the waitress, “Do you mind boxing it? I may eat it for supper, myself.”
As the waitress whisked it away, Myrtle said, “Here. I saved you some French fries.” Miles shook his head again and Myrtle pushed the plate at him. “Have one. Sometimes greasy food is better.”
Miles could tell that Myrtle wasn’t going to be dissuaded. He reluctantly put a fry in his mouth. It sat well enough, however, that he ended up eating the rest of them.
Myrtle gave the empty plate a look of satisfaction. “Healthy food isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes a little good old-fashioned comfort food is better.”
They paid their bills and headed back to Miles’s car. Miles started up the engine. “How about if I drop you back home, Myrtle? I think I may take a nap.”
Myrtle didn’t think much of that plan. Miles might have a maudlin tendency to dwell on things. “Actually, I need your help. Let’s go to the grocery store and I’ll pick up a few things for book club tomorrow.”
Miles gave her a startled look. “You’re not cooking, are you?”
“The expression on your face, Miles! Why shouldn’t I cook? I want everyone to enjoy being at the library tomorrow.”
“Precisely.” Miles’s voice was dry.
“I have some really wonderful old recipes for hors d’oeuvres that the rest of the ladies are sure to love.”
Miles said pointedly, “Do you have the recipes with you? Sometimes you don’t remember the ingredients when we’re shopping. It forces you to make creative substitutions.”
“People go to school to learn how to cook. We went to school to learn how to cook. It’s an art . . . a creative endeavor. Substituting is the way to make something average truly great.”
Miles appeared doubtful at this. “What are you planning on bringing?”
“A couple of favorites from the 1970s.”
Miles flinched. “I don’t recall the 70s being especially well-known for its culinary contributions.”
“You’re clearly forgetting olive balls.”
Miles said fervently, “Clearly, I am.”
“They were very good and very easy. They had olives and cheese and whatnot.”
It was the whatnot Miles was worried about.
Myrtle said, “And I really think I should make something for poor Orabelle.”
Miles muttered something that sounded very much like she doesn’t deserve that.
Myrtle gave him a sharp look and continued, “Perhaps a casserole of some sort. One filled with the comfort foods we were just talking about.”
Miles looked alarmed. “A French fry casserole?”
“Don’t be silly, Miles. Of course not. No, this would be a tater tot casserole. That’s much fancier than French fries, but has the same tummy-filling comfort.”
“And you remember the ingredients?”
Myrtle said, “Certainly. I’ve made it many, many times. Red will remember.”
“So the last time you made it, Red was still a kid?” Miles now looked even more alarmed. Red was in his late-forties.
“Making it will be muscle-memory. It will all come right back to me. It has cream-of-something soup in it and some vegetables.” Myrtle didn’t sound too certain about the pesky particulars.
In a few minutes, they were at the grocery store. Miles morosely pushed the cart while Myrtle thoughtfully perused the shelves, trying to remember the suddenly elusive ingredients of the tater tot casserole.
“Well, we know it has tater tots in it,” said Miles dryly.
“We do. Good point, Miles. Let’s start with what we know and then the rest of the ingredients might naturally fall into place.” They walked to the other end of the store and got a bag of the frozen grated potatoes.
Myrtle became distracted in the frozen food section and ended up with ice cream and frozen waffles.
“Surely those aren’t going in.” Miles frowned at the items as Myrtle threw them in the cart.
“Don’t be absurd. Of course, they won’t. But now I need to find something for me to snack on. It occurs to me that I don’t have much in my house right now. Besides, both these things are on sale.”
There were, apparently, many things on sale at the store. Miles watched glumly as the groceries piled up in Myrtle’s cart. “Have you figured out what else might be in the recipe?”
“Olives,” muttered Myrtle as she threw in a box of cereal.
“In the tater tot casserole?” Miles’s voice was scandalized.
“No, no, in the olive cheese balls. I have two recipes, remember?”
Miles was trying hard not to.
Myrtle ended up getting olives and tater tots and cream of mushroom soup. She felt sure she likely had the other ingredients at her house. Besides, the cart was getting quite full with sale items and she wanted to make sure her bank account was able to handle the hit.
After checking out, Miles pushed the cart full of bags to his car. Myrtle grumbled, “That was an excessive amount to pay for groceries. Those things were all allegedly on sale.”
“I don’t think it’s the price of the individual items. I think it’s the collective price as a whole.”
“Spoken like a true CPA.” Myrtle plopped down in the front seat and scowled out the window.
“Engineer,” said Miles coldly.
“Whatever. This will curtail my spending for the rest of the week until my retirement check comes in. That’s so bothersome.”
“Were you planning on spending money? That sounds rather unlike you.”
“I suppose not. But I might have wanted to return to the grocery store for a few items. I didn’t have my list with me so I just shopped the sale. Now I’m not altogether sure if the things I purchased can be assembled into any sort of a meal or not.” Myrtle frowned.
Miles thought back over the items in the cart. “Well, I know you can make meals out of cereal. You did purchase a box of cereal.”
“But I’m not at all sure I have milk. This is all very vexing! Miles, you’re so reasonable . . . you should have stopped me.”
“You’re a force of nature, Myrtle. Unstoppable. You were very focused on buying things on sale.”
Myrtle said, “Which seems fiscally conservative until you realize you don’t actually have anything to eat. I recall putting a good deal of laundry soap in the cart.”
“It was buy one, get one
free, I believe.” Miles pulled into Myrtle’s driveway.
Myrtle mused for a moment. “Hm. Perhaps it would be a good time to see more of my family. And friends.” She gave Miles a sideways glance.
Miles sighed. “You know you’re welcome to eat over at my house. But you usually don’t like the offerings there.”
“That’s only because you have a very odd taste in food. There’s always a lot of watercress at your house. And cucumber. And blue cheese-stuffed-olives.”
“You just bought olives. Clearly, you like them,” pointed out Miles reasonably.
“Not as an entire meal.”
Miles frowned. “Have I eaten olives as an entire meal?” He shook his head. “Anyway, I have a simple solution for this. You’ll find your grocery list here at the house. We’ll head back to the store with your receipt and we’ll return items you don’t want. You’ll get the things you need to make meals for the next week and you’ll have food until your check comes.”
Myrtle said, “That’s no good. You know who works at the customer service counter.”
“Do I?”
“That Tracy Thudmore. She’s ghastly and she has a big mouth.” Myrtle made a face.
Miles said mildly, “I’m not sure returning unwanted food would constitute a scandal, Myrtle.”
“Of course it would. We’re in Bradley. Tracy would tell everyone that I lost my mind and bought a cart full of groceries and returned nearly every bit of it. Then the next thing I know, Red will stick me in Greener Pastures Retirement Home and I’ll be stuck eating their disgusting food. You’ll come visit me and we’ll be enduring canned pears with mayonnaise and grated cheese.” Myrtle shuddered.
“Or she’ll say you’re a smart shopper who realized too late that she didn’t shop around her weekly menus.”
Myrtle said, “Or she’ll say that I’m too broke to take home random groceries. No, Miles, the damage has been done. I’ll simply snack on whatever I purchased and then camp out at your place and Red’s for meals. I suppose I can get used to cucumber and olives.”
“Great,” said Miles without enthusiasm. He followed her in, helping to carry groceries. “Do you need a hand putting this stuff away?”
“Nope. I’m all good.” She peered at him through narrowed eyes. “But now I think we should watch Tomorrow’s Promise together.”
Miles looked at her suspiciously. “Are you trying to keep me here under false pretenses?”
“Since when has our soap opera constituted false pretenses? Besides, we can sit around and snack on chips. I appear to have lots of chips.”
Miles said, “You’re not worried about me, are you?”
“Me? Of course not. After all, at our age, we’re accustomed to losing friends.” Regardless of the questionable truth of that statement, Myrtle suspected Miles could still use a diversion.
“We’re not quite the same age,” said Miles stiffly.
“But we’re both seniors. We’re in the same age category. And Tomorrow’s Promise is going to be especially good today. We’ll get to find out who poisoned Antonia and who’s the father of Gretchen’s baby.”
Miles shook his head. “I just don’t know. I’m feeling a little restless. I’m not sure I can sit down and even pay attention to a TV set.”
Myrtle unloaded a few more of the bags and thought this through. She brightened. “I know exactly what we should do. We should visit Wanda.” Wanda was a friend of Myrtle’s, a cousin of Miles’s, and was a psychic to boot.
Miles groaned. “I’m pretty sure I’m not up to a visit with Wanda today.”
“You know how helpful she is. She has a completely different perspective on things.”
“I’ll agree with that.” Miles watched glumly as Myrtle put away a can of French-fried onions. “At least, I’ll agree on the ‘completely different perspective’ part.”
Myrtle said, “It’s important to hear her thoughts at the very beginning of an investigation. Otherwise, we waste time. It’s also likely time for us to check in with her and see how she’s doing.”
Miles sighed. “That’s the part that’s so difficult. She’s always struggling.”
“Not true. She gave up smoking and that’s really helped her health.”
Miles said, “Except she still coughs and her voice is completely ruined.”
“She’s given away all the piles of junk that her brother had collected in the shack.”
“Except Crazy Dan keeps bringing in more,” said Miles.
“And Sloan has improved her lifestyle by giving Wanda a well-deserved raise for her column.”
“It’s a horoscope, not a column,” pointed out Miles.
“The way Wanda writes it, it is a column.” Myrtle put away the last of the groceries and headed for her front door.
Miles sighed. “Just hop in the car and I’ll be there in a minute. I need to run home. I’ll need to grab cash and some hand sanitizer.”
Myrtle knew better than to try to argue. Whenever they saw Wanda, Miles was always exceptionally paranoid about touching things without using hand sanitizer. And he never left Wanda without putting a bit of cash into her hand.
Chapter Four
The old rural route highway was a museum of small businesses from the past. There was an ancient motel that still had a sign out front advertising color TVs in the rooms. There was a diner that never seemed to have any customers. There were church billboards scattered along the way that started with the affirming “Jesus Loves You” before becoming rapidly more dire (culminating with “Choose the Bread of Life or You Are Toast!”) And then, finally, there was the hubcap-covered shack where Wanda resided with her brother Crazy Dan. They had a sign, as well: it advertised live bait, boiled peanuts, and fortunes from Wanda.
Miles parked the car in the middle of the red clay, grassless yard. The borders of the property were marked by wheel-less cars atop cement blocks. The curtains fluttered inside the shack.
Myrtle frowned. “Looks like Crazy Dan is home.”
“Wonderful,” said Miles with a groan. “Did you spot him through a window?”
“No, but Wanda never has to look out to know we’re here. She always knows we’re coming.” Myrtle climbed out of the car.
Miles pressed his lips in a thin line. He was never fond of hearing about Wanda’s gifts.
Myrtle rapped on one of the hubcaps on the house with her cane and a wild-looking man opened the door. “It’s you,” he barked as if Myrtle and Miles visited half a dozen times a day.
“Delighted to see you, too, Dan,” said Myrtle, sweeping past him into the dimly-lit home. She was glad to see that in the war between Crazy Dan’s hoarding and Wanda’s cleaning, Wanda currently appeared to have the upper-hand. “Is Wanda home?”
“A-course she is. Knew you wuz comin’ didn’t she?” He picked up a golf club from a cluttered corner and knit his bushy eyebrows as he peered around. “Seen my gawf balls?”
Myrtle shook her head and Miles cleared his throat and reached under the coffee table. That was a feat in itself because the coffee table was partially obscured by some stacks of Dan’s things. “Here’s one.”
Dan beamed at the golf ball and snatched it out of Miles’s hand. “Good. Got to practice my swing.”
Myrtle said sternly, “Before you head out, where is Wanda?”
He scowled at her. “Picking herbs out back. Be right in.” And with that, he popped out of the house with the golf club and ball, looking rather like a sportive oversized troll.
Miles immediately pulled the bottle of hand sanitizer out of the pocket of his khakis and squirted a generous portion into his hands.
“You must go through that stuff like crazy,” said Myrtle.
“I buy it in bulk,” said Miles, replacing the bottle into his pocket.
Wanda hurried in through the back door, looking tired but happy. She had a little plastic pot with an herb in it and proffered it to Myrtle. “Thought you might want to spice up some of yer cookin’.”
; Myrtle leaned over and drew in a deep breath. “Basil?”
Wanda beamed at her, revealing missing teeth in the process.
Myrtle took the basil and sat with it in her lap as if it were a precocious infant. “Thank you, Wanda. Garden club will be most impressed that I’m branching out into herbs.”
Miles glanced unhappily around the room for a place to sit. He finally gingerly perched on a rather rickety chair that had seen better days. He absently patted the pocket that held his hand sanitizer as if it comforted him.
Wanda looked at them shrewdly. “Yer wonderin’ about that murder.”
“You know about that?” asked Miles, startled.
“Of course she does, Miles. For heaven’s sake, how are you always surprised at Wanda’s abilities?” Myrtle gave him an exasperated look.
Wanda, however, gave him a sympathetic smile. “Y’all was friends.”
Miles gave a quick swallow. “We were.”
“He’s in a better place,” said Wanda with conviction.
Myrtle had always thought this a rather comfortless platitude with which to offer the grieving. But the way Wanda used it, it sounded as if she knew something they didn’t.
Myrtle said, “Regardless, it wasn’t his time to go.”
“Reckon somebody thought differently,” said Wanda.
“Do you know whom that somebody might be?” asked Myrtle.
Wanda gave her a sad look. “The sight just don’t work that way. Wish it did.”
Myrtle nodded briskly. “I remember. I guess I keep asking because I’d like the answer to be different or I hope things have somehow changed. How about this: do you have any insights about the murder? Any recommendations about anyone we should speak with or what sorts of questions we should ask?”
“Yer in danger,” said Wanda. “Shouldn’t be askin’ questions.”
“Yes, yes, I know all about that. My advanced years make me fearless, Wanda. No one will say ‘what a pity! Myrtle died so very young!’ Besides, I always find a way to get out of my jams.”
Wanda sighed and said, “Reckon you should talk to that lawyer.”
A Body in the Attic Page 3