Murder on the Ballot
A Myrtle Clover Cozy Mystery, Volume 17
Elizabeth Spann Craig
Published by Elizabeth Spann Craig, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
MURDER ON THE BALLOT
First edition. December 1, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Elizabeth Spann Craig.
ISBN: 978-1946227843
Written by Elizabeth Spann Craig.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About the Author:
This and That
Other Works by Elizabeth:
In memory of Amma and Mamma.
Chapter One
“Are you done with the comics?” asked Miles as Myrtle frowned ferociously at the first section of the newspaper.
“Hmm?”
“The comics. I need something to wake me up a little,” said Miles. He looked at the clock on Myrtle’s wall and groaned. “It’s not fair that I’m drowsy now. I couldn’t have been drowsy at four a.m.?”
Myrtle said, “Well, the pancakes you made probably didn’t help, although they were very good.”
“I thought carbs were supposed to give us energy.”
“I think it’s supposed to be the kind of temporary energy that we crash from, later on,” said Myrtle. She tossed the newspaper down with a disgusted sigh.
“I guess you’re done with that section of the paper, at any rate,” said Miles.
Myrtle said, “I think what I’m done with is the complete and total foolishness that’s evident on our town council. They can’t really seem to get anything accomplished and it’s most vexing. They squabble constantly.”
“Perhaps you should run for office,” said Miles mildly as Myrtle thrust the comics section at him.
Myrtle paused, staring at him. “Why not?”
Miles glanced up from reading Peanuts, wrinkling his forehead in confusion. “What?”
“Oh, pay attention, Miles! You just offered me a very valuable suggestion you know.” Pasha, Myrtle’s feral cat, jumped up on her lap and Myrtle rubbed her. She crooned, “What a good girl, Pasha. See, Pasha thinks it’s a good idea, too. You have these moments of brilliance, you know.”
Miles was still trying to work out exactly what his brilliant moment had been. He remembered asking for the comics section. He’d made pancakes. There’d been some talk about carbs. Then he remembered.
“You aren’t serious, Myrtle.”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I run for office?”
Miles said, “It will probably make your blood pressure rise to unacceptable levels.”
“My blood pressure is always ninety over sixty,” said Myrtle proudly.
Miles gaped at her. “Isn’t that very low?”
“Admirably low.”
“Not too low? Don’t you see dots and fuzzy things if you stand up too quickly?”
Myrtle said, “Not one bit. I’m not on any medication whatsoever for it, unlike my son. Red, as you know, has a terrible blood pressure problem.”
Myrtle said the last bit rather smugly. Red was her son, in his late forties. He was police chief of the small town of Bradley, North Carolina, where they lived. Miles strongly suspected, however, that it wasn’t the job that made Red have a blood pressure problem, but his octogenarian mother and her capers.
This belief was once again supported when Myrtle said gleefully, “Think how exasperated Red will be over it.”
“Is there even an open seat on the council?” asked Miles.
“There sure is. Damian Cooper dropped dead at dinner just last month, remember? They’ll be having to replace him on the council.” Myrtle’s tone, when speaking of Damian Cooper, was rather too cheerful.
Miles said slowly, “But the council is a lot of work, isn’t it? They seem to have tons of meetings and you hate meetings. They make public appearances and cut ribbons and are frequently smiling toothy grins. It all sounds like all the things you dislike rolled up into a single entity. Plus, those people really irritate you.”
Myrtle considered this. It was all true. Miles knew her very well. Myrtle said, “What if I just run and then don’t actually fill the open spot?”
Miles gave her a doubtful look. “But what if you win?”
“Well, of course I’d win. Everyone knows how sensible I am. No, I’m saying that I could run, make everyone believe I’m going to take the seat, and then drop out of the race before everyone votes.”
“What would you accomplish doing that?” asked Miles, quite reasonably.
“Quite a bit,” said Myrtle confidently. “For one thing, Red would be most displeased about it. For another, I could have fun fundraising events. Of course, I’d have to give the money back when I dropped out.”
“Of course,” said Miles dryly. “Perpetrating election fraud wouldn’t be a wise idea.”
“Plus, I could really help shape the conversation at the town hall. I could make people think for once. Since I taught everyone currently on the council, I could whip things into shape when I attend meetings and make them all realize how poorly they’re behaving.”
“I’m sure they’ll love that.”
“They should view it as a reminder of how childish they’re being,” said Myrtle. “Anyway, I think it would be a breeze to get support. I’ll have the whole of book club and garden club behind me. I could have Tippy Chambers as a campaign advisor. She loves organizing things and she’s done political things with Benton before.” Pasha, still sitting in Myrtle’s lap, bumped her face on Myrtle’s hand to remind her she was there, and Myrtle absently stroked her.
Miles arched his brows. “With Tippy Chambers in your corner, you’d be a shoo-in. But I’m not sure she would appreciate it when you abandon ship and remove yourself from the ballot.
Myrtle said breezily, “Tippy likes fixing things. As long as I’ve influenced town council and whipped them back into shape again, she won’t care if I’m on the ballot or not.”
There was a knock at the door and Myrtle frowned and squinted at the wall clock. “Who on earth is at my door this early? You’re the only one who visits at this time of day and you’re already here.”
“Well, there’s one way to find out.”
Myrtle grabbed her cane and thumped her way to the front door, looking suspiciously out the peephole. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she hissed. “It’s Erma Sherman.”
Erma was one of the banes of Myrtle’s existence. She lived next door and would pounce out sometimes and regale Myrtle with a myriad of disgusting health problems. She also allowed her crabgrass to spill over into Myrtle’s yard and she fed squirrels, attracting them to both of their yards. Erma, in Myrtle’s mind, was an irredeemable disaster on all fronts.
“Shouldn’t you let her in?”
Myrtle said, “Do you want to start your day with her?”
Miles said, “She knows you’re here you do realize.”
�
�I could be in the shower, for all she knows.”
Miles said, “Then she’ll just pester you later on. You know you can’t escape it—you might as well get it over with.”
Myrtle squared her shoulders and warily opened the door. Erma bounded in like Tigger from Winnie the Pooh. Erma was allergic to cats and shrieked when she spotted Pasha. Pasha gave her a cold look before stalking outside. Erma relaxed as soon as the cat was gone. She wore a robe and slippers and a very excited expression. “Hi all!” she sang out. Erma paused, sniffing with her long nose. “Do I smell pancakes?”
“They’re all gone,” said Myrtle crisply. “We have breakfast very early here.”
Erma looked a bit crestfallen, but then quickly bounced back. “Coffee?”
Myrtle was reluctant to fuel Erma’s inexplicable hyperactivity any further by giving her caffeine, but supposed she couldn’t refuse a guest coffee. “I’ll pour you some,” she muttered and stomped toward the kitchen.
“With cream and sugar,” trilled Erma. “You don’t use sweeteners, do you, Myrtle?”
Myrtle growled, “Just sugar here.”
“I figured,” said Erma happily. “I’ve noticed older people like using the basics. Real butter, not margarine. Real sugar, not sweeteners.”
Miles suppressed a grin as he heard Myrtle muttering again from the kitchen. Erma wasn’t a young woman either, but she liked to act as if there were multiple generations between them.
Erma unwisely continued, “Older people have real cream, too. I’m excited about real cream.”
“I have half-and-half!” hollered Myrtle.
Erma’s face fell before she quickly recovered. “Well, that’s fine. At least I don’t have to have sweetener. The last time I had some, my stomach revolted on me. I was in the bathroom for ages. It was awful, the gurgling noises it made.”
Myrtle made a gurgling noise herself and again Miles worked hard to keep his lips pressed tightly together.
Erma glanced around, looking very pleased with herself. “I’ve been wanting to crash one of your sleepovers for a long while, you two. It was so much fun last time.”
Miles gave her a smile. Myrtle said sternly from the kitchen, “They’re not sleepovers, Erma. There is no sleeping going on here, which is entirely the point. This is a gathering of insomniacs.” She walked back into the living room and thrust the cup of coffee at her unwanted guest.
“This is lovely,” Erma said, giving an exaggerated sigh. “Hanging out with other people who can’t sleep either is wonderful.”
Myrtle grunted. She strongly suspected that Erma had had plenty of sleep and had set her alarm early so she could come by just to interfere in Myrtle’s business.
“So, what’s new?” asked Erma, grinning and showing off her large, protruding front teeth that made her resemble a donkey.
Myrtle didn’t seem to be feeling chatty, so Miles cleared his throat and cast his mind about for something to say. “Well, Myrtle has just decided to run for the vacant town council spot.”
Erma’s already bugging eyes got even larger. “Has she?”
Myrtle looked irritated. “Certainly. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
In Myrtle’s mind, that was a rhetorical question meant to be answered with a resounding no. Erma, however, again unwisely had other ideas.
“You don’t think your age is a problem?”
“Age? What on earth are you driving at, Erma? Spit it out.”
Erma said, “I’m only saying that maybe it’ll be too much for you. Tiring. Irritating. And what if you happen to perish in the middle of your term?”
Miles winced and prepared for an explosion. Myrtle narrowed her eyes at Erma.
“I suppose there will be an empty seat. Just as there is now. The important thing is that I’m seasoned enough to provide guidance and leadership to the babies on the council.”
Miles snorted. The “babies” were mostly middle-aged.
“Babies?” asked Erma.
“That’s how they’re acting.” Myrtle sniffed.
Erma’s eyes grew large again. “I just had a great idea!”
Myrtle and Miles waited with some trepidation for Erma’s big reveal.
“I’m going to run for office, too!” Erma grinned her donkey grin at them, waiting for a reaction.
She got one. Miles’s mouth hung open before he snapped it shut. Myrtle gave her a revolted look.
Erma giggled. “Oh, you didn’t hear me! You two need to turn your hearing aids up.”
“I don’t wear them,” said Myrtle coldly. “I heard every word.”
Erma seemed immune to their general shock and disapproval of her big idea. “Isn’t this great? I’ve been wanting to do something to be part of the community for a while now, you know. I thought about helping tutor kids, but then I was thinking about how germy kids are. Then I thought about helping with old folks, but then realized how germy I am.”
Myrtle’s glare was frosty and Miles pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. Erma was too old to talk about “old folks.”
“This is perfect! See, you’re full of good ideas. Running for office should be about bringing tons of different ideas and perspectives to the table, shouldn’t it?”
Myrtle grudgingly said, “Yes. That’s what it should be about.” She was horrified to learn what new ideas and perspectives Erma could possibly offer.
Erma said with a leering grin, “It’s not just old folks who have wisdom to pass along. We middle-aged folks do, too. I’m going to head off back home to make a list.” She abandoned the coffee and practically skipped out the door.
Myrtle hurried over and locked her front door with a flourish. “If she’s middle-aged, she must plan on expiring after 120.”
“She did make one good point.”
Myrtle gave him a doubtful look.
“You need to have a platform. I don’t think you can simply run as a novelty act. If you’re really running to change the behavior of the current council, you’ll need to make an impact.”
“Good point.” Myrtle studied Miles thoughtfully. “My platform is civility. Would you like to be my campaign manager, Miles? After all, with your corporate background in finance—”
“I was an engineer,” said Miles tightly.
“Yes, right. Anyway, you have skillsets that a former schoolteacher just won’t have. Besides, this will be a short-term thing.”
Miles said cautiously, “I suppose I could.”
“Excellent! Now we need to go see the town clerk. That’s BeeBee Cochran. She’s always sort of snippy to me when I see her out. I think I’ll enjoy telling her I’m running for town council.” Myrtle sounded gleeful. “Then we need to think about where I’m going to make my big announcement.”
Miles was looking a little overwhelmed. “Are we putting the cart before the horse?”
“Not a bit. I’m just trying to make up for lost time, that’s all.” She snapped her fingers. “I know just where we’ll go for my announcement. Greener Pastures retirement home.”
Miles rubbed his temples as if his head were starting to hurt.
Myrtle was on a roll. “That’s the perfect place. They love me there. You know I always have ideas for improving life there.”
“The food.”
“Which is ghastly. Most of it is out of a can. The administration should be ashamed.”
Miles added, “You didn’t seem to like the activities they had on their calendar either, as I recalled.”
Myrtle made a face. “Infantile! Coloring and whatnot.”
“Coloring can be very relaxing,” observed Miles mildly.
Myrtle ignored him. “I’ll tell them a vote for me means I’ll constantly be on the administration’s back to fight for more input from the residents.” She smiled to herself again. “Red will be apoplectic.”
“Just be mindful of that blood pressure issue we were just talking about.”
Myrtle said eagerly, once again ignoring Miles, “Let’s go to
the clerk’s office now.”
“Aren’t you forgetting that this isn’t exactly the time of day that government offices are open? They’re worse than banks.”
Myrtle squinted at the clock and snorted in frustration. “They’re denying accessibility for insomniacs. Perhaps that can be one of my campaign issues.”
“I think you’re going to have to do better than that,” said Miles dryly. He yawned while glancing at the clock. “Now I’m wondering if I should go home and try to take a nap.”
“Isn’t it too late for that? You’ll have to set an alarm to go with me to the clerk’s office and you’ll be all groggy.”
Miles said, “Are we sure you need me to go with you to the town clerk’s office to file?”
“Of course I do! You’re my campaign advisor, Miles. You should be with me during such a momentous event.”
Myrtle’s doorbell rang and she narrowed her eyes. “Now who on earth is that? What in heaven’s name is going on this morning? I’ve already unexpectedly had Erma foisted on me.” She grimaced. “You don’t think Erma’s come back, do you? To ask some sort of really ridiculous question about how to become a candidate or something?”
“One good way to find out is to look out the peephole,” said Miles mildly.
Chapter Two
Myrtle walked with some trepidation to the front door and peered out. She started smiling and pulled the door wide open. “Wanda! You’re here so early. And how on earth did you get here?” She poked her head out the door, looking in vain for some kind of vehicle, most likely one on its last legs. There wasn’t anything outside that fit that description. “You didn’t walk here?”
“Needed to think,” said Wanda solemnly.
“You must have been walking all night!” Myrtle bustled Wanda in.
Miles sighed. Wanda was a local psychic and a cousin of his. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of her startlingly accurate predictions.
“Good morning,” said Miles politely.
“Yer in danger,” said Wanda in a level voice.
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