A Body in the Attic

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  Red stopped in his tracks. “Supper?”

  “Yes. Remember the state of my pocketbook? The sad lack of funds? I’ll be eating at your house. Elaine said she’d be delighted to have me there.”

  Red’s face as he turned back around indicated that he didn’t share his wife’s feelings whatsoever.

  Myrtle pranced inside with Miles following.

  Miles said, “I’m glad I’m not the one having supper with Red tonight.”

  “Oh, he’ll calm down. He always does. Now, do we want anything to eat? I still have some odds and ends here.” She walked into the kitchen and looked doubtfully inside the pantry. “Sardines? Olives?”

  Miles quickly shook his head. “Not for me. I ate at book club.”

  Myrtle made a face. “All I had there was Pansy’s yucky cookie. I think I’ll snack on some granola bars.”

  They settled down in the living room and Myrtle picked up the remote, but then laid it in her lap. “Before we watch the show, I’d like to run over what we know about the case so far.”

  “We know things?” Miles sounded rather dubious on this point.

  “Of course we do! You just haven’t been paying attention, Miles. Let me recount it for you.”

  “Please do,” said Miles, settling down on Myrtle’s sofa.

  Myrtle looked pleased at having an audience. It reminded her of her days in the classroom. “First off, we know Tripp Whitley was at Darren’s house. We know he asked his uncle for money and that Darren sent him off with a flea in his ear.”

  Miles frowned. “Do we really know all that? It seems rather a leap. I think we really only know Tripp asked for money and Darren refused to give it to him.”

  “Whatever,” said Myrtle, waving away the pesky details with her hand. “We know Tripp thinks Carter Radnor was upset with Darren because Carter wants to date Pansy. Speaking to Carter should be one of our next orders of business.”

  Miles considered this and nodded. “Agreed.”

  Myrtle continued, “We know Orabelle Whitley is very protective of her son and he does no wrong in her eyes.”

  Miles wrinkled his brow. “Again, that’s something of a stretch. She seemed to be a concerned mother to me, yes. But it didn’t seem like she thought Tripp did no wrong.”

  “She wanted to swipe those sunglasses before the police spotted them. Perkins was simply too fast for her. And Sherry didn’t seem to think Tripp was all that great of a son.”

  Miles shrugged. “Just because Tripp doesn’t take the trash out. Sherry has a way of over-simplifying things.”

  “A grown man like Tripp—a man in his 40s—should certainly not allow his elderly mother to haul trash around while he’s living in her house. Red Clover gets on my last nerve, but every Tuesday like clockwork he rolls my dumpster to the side of the road and back. And he doesn’t even live in the same building.”

  Miles said, “Granted. However, I think it’s quite a big step from him being a slouch of a son to him murdering his uncle.”

  Myrtle narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re being quite obstreperous, Miles.”

  “I’m simply playing devil’s advocate.”

  “Well stop.”

  Miles sighed. “Okay. So let’s see. That takes care of Tripp and I guess Orabelle. Although I didn’t quite understand what Orabelle’s motive was. She killed Darren to protect Tripp somehow?”

  “No, no. She killed Darren for money. She was angry with him for denying her son money and things got out of hand.”

  “Things got so out of hand that she clocked him with a flashlight?” Miles sounded doubtful on this point.

  “You’re doing it again!”

  “Sorry, sorry. I think I just want to make sure to respect Darren’s memory by not going after his family if they’re innocent; that’s all.” Miles looked penitent this time.

  “All right,” growled Myrtle. “We might figure out a better motive for Orabelle later on. So let’s move on to non-family-members.”

  “Excellent.”

  Myrtle said, “We have Pansy, Darren’s girlfriend. We have Carter, part of Darren’s love triangle.”

  Miles chuckled.

  Myrtle said, “Yes, Miles? Is there something you wanted to interject?”

  “It just amuses me to think of crusty old Darren in the middle of a love triangle.” Miles’s eyes danced at the thought.

  She gave him a reproving look. “Then we have Pansy, herself.”

  “I might have missed why Pansy is a suspect.”

  “Because she was Darren’s girlfriend. It’s so frequently the spouse or significant other. Besides, Darren’s newfound wealth makes all sorts of financial motives possible.”

  Miles looked surprised. “You think Darren might have left money to Pansy in his will?”

  “Who knows? Maybe Pansy thought he would. And then we have Liam.”

  Miles pushed his glasses up. “Liam? Is he the lawyer Red mentioned?”

  “Bingo.”

  “And why is he a suspect? I must have missed something again,” said Miles. “I only know Darren mentioned something about him. He didn’t say Liam was on the premises or anything.”

  “You weren’t privy to the conversation Pansy and I had at book club. When I wasn’t choking down the cookie, Pansy told me that there was something Darren had realized about Liam. It all seemed to involve a hurricane.”

  Miles’s eyebrows shot up. “A hurricane?”

  “Or perhaps a snowstorm. At any rate, Liam might have been upset with Darren because he knew something from years before. A secret. Pansy thought that Darren said something about finding proof that Liam wasn’t who he said he was. So Liam is also on our list of people to track down and speak with.” After making this point, Myrtle paused. She looked down at the granola bars in her lap.

  “Change of plans,” she said briskly, standing back up and putting the granola bars carefully back in her kitchen pantry for later.

  “What are we doing?” asked Miles.

  “I think we should speak to Liam now.” Myrtle grabbed her large pocketbook and cane and started walking toward the door.

  “Speaking with a lawyer might be an expensive proposition. They tend to charge by the hour.” Miles stayed put on the sofa. He cast the television a longing look.

  “Don’t worry. Tomorrow’s Promise will still be here when we get back. And we don’t have to go to Liam’s office. I bet you anything he’ll be at Bo’s Diner. His law office is directly next door and he’s at the diner all the time. He’ll be happy to talk to us.”

  Miles seemed doubtful on this point, but stood up. “Did you teach him, too?”

  “Not Liam. He’s from Somewhere Else. I’m just not sure where that somewhere is. Although I’m wondering if it might be Boston since Darren lived there with his wife for a while.”

  They walked back to Miles’s car and climbed in. Miles glanced over at her as he started off down the street. “I thought you were trying not to spend money this week.”

  “Well, I don’t have enough for another grocery shopping trip, but I should have enough for a five-dollar meal at the diner. Besides, I’m starving. It’s not as if I don’t have a cent to my name. I probably could come up with five dollars by rummaging around in my sofa cushions.” Myrtle considered this. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll have to try that when I come back.”

  Bo’s Diner was very crowded this time.

  “Looks like we’re going to have to wait a while,” said Miles gloomily.

  Myrtle was scanning the restaurant and honed in on Liam. “There he is. All by himself.” She started walking in that direction.

  Miles muttered, “Myrtle, it doesn’t look like he wants company. You’re not proposing we join him?”

  But Myrtle was already at the booth. She beamed at Liam, giving him her very best shaky old-lady smile. “Hi there, Liam. Do you mind if Miles and I sit at your table? It’s just that the wait is very long and I’m very old and my blood sugar levels get all messed up
when I don’t eat regularly. Goodness, I might just pass out on the floor.” She gave a convincing wobble.

  Liam, a handsome man in his 40s, rose quickly to his feet. “Of course,” he said politely, although Myrtle detected a hint of annoyance in his eyes.

  She and Miles settled into the booth across from him.

  Chapter Eleven

  The waitress came right up to join them. Myrtle said, “A pimento cheese dog and an iced tea, please.”

  Miles ordered the chicken salad plate.

  Myrtle smiled at Liam. “You are so kind to let us sit here. I’m sure you have other, very important business matters to attend to. Notes to look through. Phone calls to make.” Myrtle made a vague gesture with her hands meant to encompass the daily tasks of the entire law profession.

  Liam said in a light tone, “Oh, nothing that can’t be put off for a little while. Especially for the town matriarch.”

  Myrtle wasn’t altogether sure she liked that particular designation, but she gave a pleased cluck just the same. Miles gave a snorting chuckle and Myrtle gave him a kick under the table.

  Myrtle twinkled her eyes at Liam and said, “You know, I’ve always been so interested in language and dialect. I think of myself as something of a local expert. At any rate, I can usually tell when someone grew up very close to Bradley or when someone spent most of their life in a different place, like Miles. But I just can’t seem to place your accent. Where are you originally from?”

  Liam seemed to wish they were back talking about town matriarchs instead of this alarming offshoot of the conversation.

  “Oh, I’m a New York guy. Born and bred there,” he said with a quick smile.

  “Are you? I’m certainly less-confident about my dialect-gauging talents for other parts of the country, but I could have sworn you have a Bostonian accent,” said Myrtle sweetly. “Don’t you agree, Miles?”

  Miles bobbed his head. “I sure do.”

  Liam’s eyes grew a bit colder. He said stiffly, “My father was from Boston. Perhaps that’s why I carry traces of the accent.”

  “You’ve never been there?” asked Miles.

  “No.” Liam took out his wallet pointedly and gathered up his phone as if preparing to leave.

  Miles said, “I had a friend who spent time in Boston. Did you know Darren Powell at all?”

  Liam rested his phone back down on the table. “I’m not from Boston.”

  Myrtle said, “But you knew Darren.”

  “Of course I did,” he said, his genial demeanor now becoming irritated. “We live in a tiny town. I know nearly everyone.”

  “Was Darren a client of yours?” asked Myrtle.

  “Attorney-client privilege,” said Liam with a sniff.

  Miles said thoughtfully, “Which you couldn’t claim unless Darren was a client and you were his lawyer.”

  Liam leaned over the table and hissed at them, “What’s this about, then?” His tone was icy and he glanced around the room to see if anyone was listening in.

  Myrtle used her very own icy voice. “I’m simply asking an innocent question. However, now it’s apparent that there is something there. Did you and Darren not get along? Was there a problem between the two of you? Would you care to comment?”

  “On what authority are you asking questions?” he asked, a pompous expression on his face. “You’re just a nosy old woman.”

  “And the crime desk reporter for the Bradley Bugle,” growled Myrtle. She decided she might as well go whole-hog. “I’ve heard from several sources that you had an altercation with Darren Powell. I’d very much like to hear more about it. How did you know him? Can you offer a perspective on Darren for my upcoming story?”

  Liam gave an uncomfortable laugh. “I only had business dealings with Darren related to the sale of the painting he’d found in his attic. I knew nothing about him.”

  “Even in a small town where everyone knows everyone else?” asked Miles, frowning.

  Myrtle said, “We’re trying to help figure out what happened to Darren, that’s all.”

  Liam said, “Well, I certainly had nothing to do with Darren’s death. I’m horrified that you could even think so. I’d gone to the office early the day Darren died, which I’ve already told the police.” He frowned. “Does your son know you’re investigating Darren’s death? Isn’t that supposed to be his job?”

  Myrtle said breezily, “Red Clover appreciates my valuable insights when he’s solving cases.”

  Miles made a strangled sound and Myrtle glared at him.

  She looked directly at Liam. “Do you have any thoughts about who might have ended Darren’s life? Since you were in the office and not involved?”

  Liam gave her a thoughtful look. “You have to understand that anything I say is off-the-record. My name is not to be used in any way in any sort of publication. You also need to know that these are just musings, not evidence.”

  “Spoken as a true attorney,” murmured Miles. He didn’t appear to like Liam very much.

  Myrtle said coolly, “Of course.”

  “Besides, this constitutes hearsay. Because what I’m about to tell you is from Darren’s mouth. And Darren, naturally, is dead,” said Liam.

  Myrtle was starting to fidget. “Of course,” she said again, tersely.

  “What’s more . . .” started Liam.

  “For heaven’s sake, just spit it out!” said Myrtle.

  Liam looked miffed. “I was just about to get there. So, here’s the thing. Darren told me his family was encroaching on him since the sale of the painting he found in the attic. They’d never asked for money before, nor indicated that they needed any. It seemed to be bothering him deeply. I advised him to put the money into investments instead of keeping it liquid.”

  “And that’s what he did?” asked Miles.

  Liam shook his head. “I don’t think so. He didn’t seem very interested in doing so. As he put it, he wanted the money more liquid for himself. In his view, he was an older guy and didn’t have time to keep money tied up in investments for decades. So I advised him to at least tell his family that he’d tied the money up. That way they’d stop bugging him for loans.”

  Myrtle asked, “Was Orabelle asking Darren? Or just Tripp?”

  “He didn’t specifically say. To me, though, ‘family’ is plural.” He looked at his watch. “Now, I really must go. Enjoy your lunch.”

  And, with apparent relief, he quickly left.

  Miles just as quickly moved to the other side of the booth. “It looks weird for us to be sitting next to each other with no one across from us,” he said. “People will talk.”

  “In Bradley, it’s all they seem to do anyway,” said Myrtle.

  “What do you make of Liam?” asked Miles as he took another bite of his salad. He hadn’t made much progress with his meal while they were talking to the attorney.

  Myrtle, on the other hand, had neatly polished off her food. She said, “I think he’s a man with secrets. New York, my eye.”

  “You think he was from Boston,” said Miles.

  “I do. I think he has some sort of secret buried in his past and didn’t want Darren digging it up.”

  Miles put his fork down and placed his hands on either side of his forehead.

  Myrtle gave him an alarmed look. “Do you have a migraine, Miles?”

  He shook his head. “I’m thinking.”

  “It appears to be a painful process,” muttered Myrtle.

  Miles said slowly, “I think I’m remembering something from one of Darren’s and my chess games.”

  “Well, it’s about time!” Myrtle leaned across the table. “What do you remember?”

  “I remember Darren saying something about realizing someone wasn’t exactly who they seemed.” Miles stopped.

  “Come on, Miles, you can do it.”

  He continued, “He kept saying he never forgot a face.” He stopped again. “That’s all I’ve got.”

  “Never forgot a face,” said Myrtle thoughtfully.<
br />
  Miles said, “That’s right. I remember it because I admired that trait. I frequently forget faces.”

  “That must have been quite a hazard as a pharmaceutical salesman. I’d have thought knowing faces should have been part of your stock-in-trade.”

  “Engineer,” grated Miles coldly. “I was an engineer.”

  “Whatever,” said Myrtle in an airy voice.

  Miles finished his salad and looked at the bill the waitress had left on the table. “How about if I get this?”

  Myrtle shook her head. “I’ve already carefully counted out my portion of the tip and bill. I can pay most of it with spare change.” She pulled a bulging change purse out.

  Miles knew better than to argue with Myrtle when she’d made her mind up. They paid up at the front, with Myrtle carefully counting out what seemed to mostly be nickels and dimes, and then headed to the car and returned to Myrtle’s house.

  Miles cast a wary eye on the giant gnome at the front of the yard as he put the car in park. “That gnome is particularly disturbing to me somehow.”

  “It’s because it’s unnatural. Gnomes shouldn’t look like that.” Myrtle glanced across her yard and scowled. “You know, I don’t think Dusty remembered to spray my weeds.”

  “It does take a while for them to curl up and die, you know. You probably won’t see any results for a couple of days.”

  Myrtle got out of the car. “I won’t see any results for longer than that because he didn’t spray.” She walked in her front door and out to the back. Sure enough, the weed killer was completely full and still sitting outside.

  “That Dusty,” she growled. “I’ll have to call him and give him a piece of my mind.”

  “There’s no point in worrying about it now. You can call him later. I’m not sure weeds could survive under all those gnomes anyway.” Miles settled back on Myrtle’s sofa. Myrtle settled back in her armchair and once again picked up the remote to put the soap opera on.

  But the phone rang. Miles rolled his eyes as they were interrupted again. “I could use some mindless entertainment right about now,” he said with a sigh.

  “Tomorrow’s Promise isn’t mindless. We must think really, really hard to keep up with the convoluted storylines.” Myrtle dug her cell phone out of her purse and frowned at it. “Wanda?” she asked as she answered. “Is everything all right?”