Murder on the Ballot

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  Myrtle said, “Oh, it was just fine. Except for the two typos.”

  Sloan blushed again.

  “I wanted to let you know to expect an article from me later today,” said Myrtle briskly.

  Sloan knitted his brows. “Today? It’s not political is it, Miss Myrtle? I can’t be showing favoritism between candidates. Otherwise, I’ll have to give Royce Rollins equal time.”

  “Well, that will be difficult to do,” said Myrtle dryly. “You haven’t heard? I thought the editor of the newspaper surely would have found out. Or that Bonner Lang would have told half the town by now.” She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “Royce is dead. Murdered last night after the event.”

  Sloan’s eyes were huge. “You’re kidding.”

  “Of course I’m not! I wouldn’t kid about something like that, for heaven’s sake. Anyway, I’ll have more information for you later.”

  “And Wanda’s next horoscope?” asked Sloan hopefully.

  Myrtle gave him a disappointed look. “Yes, all right. But you could show a little more excitement over my story, Sloan.”

  “Yes, yes. Sorry.” Sloan looked repentant.

  Chapter Ten

  Myrtle swiftly joined Miles back at the table, hoping Scotty hadn’t taken it into his head to finish his breakfast and head on his way. She was relieved to see him still there, finishing up some scrambled eggs. Miles was looking increasingly uncomfortable as Myrtle approached.

  Myrtle ignored Miles and quickly said, “Hi, Scotty. I’m Myrtle Clover, I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m running against your dad for the town council spot.”

  Scotty was in his early twenties and seemed to have an issue against shaving. He had a half-formed scruffy beard. He was thin and even when sitting down seemed to be very tall. He said laconically, “Then you’re going to have a pretty easy time getting elected. Dad is dead. You might not have heard.”

  Miles froze, menu in hand. Myrtle took a deep breath. “Goodness,” she said. Then, “I’m so sorry, Scotty. He seemed very well last night.”

  Scotty shrugged. “That’s what happens when you’re murdered. You’re fine one second and dead the next.”

  This casual attitude gave Myrtle pause. “May I . . . well, do you mind if I sit down with you for a second, Scotty?”

  He gestured to the chair across from him and Myrtle sat gingerly in it. Scotty took another bite of eggs and looked thoughtfully at Myrtle as if trying to figure her out. Myrtle was trying to figure him out on the other side of the table.

  Myrtle cleared her throat. “So, again, I’m so sorry. Miles is sorry, too.”

  They looked over at Miles at the table next to them. He quickly put the menu down and gave Scotty a small smile.

  “This must have come as a terrible shock to you,” said Myrtle, the faintest note of doubt in her voice. It didn’t seem to come as a shock at all, considering how Scotty was plowing into his breakfast. But she was aware that different people handled grief in different ways. Scotty’s way was apparently gorging himself on food.

  Scotty considered this. “Well, of course it was a surprise. I mean, I had no idea Dad was dead when I woke up this morning. But the police actually sent someone over very quickly. I guess they were worried Mom and I would find out from somebody else if they didn’t tell us first. I don’t know if I’d really call it a ‘shock’, though. Dad had a talent for making people upset.”

  Myrtle said gingerly, “Did he make you upset sometimes, too?”

  “No. No, Dad made me upset all the time. That doesn’t mean I’m not sorry he’s gone. But it sure doesn’t mean that I had anything to do with his death. But after the police told Mom and me, my first reaction was that I wanted to get out of the house and get something to eat.” Scotty shrugged. “Maybe that’s just my way of dealing with bad news.”

  “Did the police offer any information about what happened?” asked Miles.

  Scotty shook his head. “Not really. They just called it a suspicious death. They mostly seemed really focused on trying to find out what I was doing last night.” He snorted. “Guess they thought I might be involved.”

  “What did you tell them?” asked Myrtle.

  “The truth. I was at home with my mom. It was pretty nasty weather last night and I was glad to stay inside.”

  Myrtle asked, “Your father wasn’t upset that you weren’t going to the debate? Or that your mom wasn’t?”

  Scotty shrugged. “He didn’t seem to be. He knew politics wasn’t really our area of interest. I think he was just glad to be out of the house and away from Mom and me. You know how families can get on each other’s nerves.”

  “It must have been difficult having two men in the same house. At least . . . are you living with your family now?” asked Myrtle.

  This seemed to be a sore spot. Scotty winced a little but didn’t deny still living at home with his parents. “Dad and I got along just fine. We were just two completely different people with different ways of looking at things. But I’ve always been proud of him, of course. Everyone respects him. Respected him. He was a self-made man—he didn’t come from money.”

  To Myrtle, it seemed as if these were well-rehearsed lines that Scotty had recited numerous times. She wondered what sort of relationship they’d actually had. There was a look of mild distaste on his face as he spoke of Royce.

  “Your mother must have been worried sick when your dad didn’t come home last night,” said Myrtle. “Is that when the police were notified?”

  Scotty shook his head. “Mom and Dad have separate rooms.” He shrugged. “Dad snored and Mom is a light sleeper. Dad was a night owl and Mom is always up really early. It worked out better for them to sleep in different bedrooms. So she wouldn’t have known he didn’t come home last night and wouldn’t have realized this morning that he was still out.”

  Miles said carefully, “You mentioned that your dad had a gift for making people upset. Was there anyone in particular that you were thinking of?”

  Scotty gave Myrtle and Miles a tired grin. “Hey, are you two investigating this? That’s pretty wild.”

  “I work for the newspaper,” said Myrtle, looking smug.

  “Got it. Okay, well, this obviously isn’t on the record, then. Because that would be libel, wouldn’t it?” asked Scotty.

  Myrtle nodded. “I wouldn’t be able to print something like that. But it helps with putting the pieces of the puzzle together. I’d like to find out who did this to your dad.”

  “In that case, I’ll give you a name. But just a first name, since I don’t really know this guy, aside from the fact that he kept following my dad around. His name is Foley. He’s like some kind of down-on-his-luck guy. He’s always showing up and trying to get my dad to loan him money or something.”

  “Loan him money?” asked Myrtle slowly. “That seems a strange thing for him to do. Is he related?”

  “Not as far as I’m aware.” Scotty snorted. “Anyway, even if he was, he’s not the sort of family that my family would claim. I don’t know—maybe he wasn’t trying to get a loan, maybe he was trying to get a break on money he owed Dad. Either way, he always seemed upset whenever Dad wouldn’t give him any. Because he didn’t give him any.” He looked at his watch. “Sorry, but I should be getting back home and helping Mom.”

  “Please pass along our condolences to her,” said Myrtle. “Miles and I will be coming by tomorrow with some food for her.”

  Scotty gave them both a quick smile and then headed up to the front to pay for his meal. Myrtle sat down across from Miles.

  “Wanda was certainly right. We found someone important to speak with,” said Myrtle.

  The waitress came by and took their order. When she’d left, Miles said, “Who’s this Foley? I don’t think I’ve come across him.”

  “Funny enough, he’s working for Dusty right now.”

  Miles gaped at her. “Working for Dusty? Does Dusty even do enough work to qualify for hiring an employee?”

  Myrtl
e shrugged. “I thought it was sort of silly, myself. But Dusty has him doing the weed-trimmer and the blower while Dusty runs the mower. It does make things go a little faster. Dusty told me last week that Foley had fallen on hard times and he was helping him out by giving him a job helping him with lawns.”

  “I’d be very interested in seeing how that partnership goes.”

  “Oh, it’s doomed, I’m sure. Last week, Dusty spent the whole time fussing at Foley for doing things ‘wrong.’ Which is hilarious. You’d think Dusty was the exemplary yardman from the way he was talking. Anyway, we should eat up here, get Wanda’s takeout, and head home. If Puddin is at the house now, that means Dusty and crew will be doing my yard before picking her up. We’ll have the chance to ask Foley a few questions about his thoughts on Royce and why he was bugging him for money.”

  “Sounds like fun times,” said Miles dryly.

  After eating, they headed back to Myrtle’s house. Apparently, Wanda had managed to pull herself away from the game shows and was scrubbing diligently at the baseboards with what appeared to be one of Puddin’s rags. Puddin was sullenly slopping dust around with a dust cloth.

  Myrtle said, “Wanda, you need to stop doing that and let Puddin take a whack at it.”

  Puddin glared at her. “Told ya my back was thrown.”

  “Okay, then. Wanda, you need to stop, period. It looks like you got the baseboards that were the most scuffed-up, anyway.”

  Puddin happily tossed her dust cloth on the floor and Myrtle said, “Not you, Puddin! You’re supposed to be cleaning.”

  Puddin gave her a spiteful look. “Time to vacuum anyway.”

  Myrtle was convinced that Puddin chose to vacuum whenever Myrtle was trying to have a conversation. And that she continued pushing the vacuum around far past any time when she might actually still be sucking dirt up off the floor.

  “Fine. Miles, Wanda, and I will go sit outside in the backyard while you’re vacuuming. I do have one question for you, Puddin. Is Dusty coming by to do my yard in a few minutes?”

  Puddin shrugged. “Ain’t Dusty’s keeper.”

  Myrtle kept a careful leash on her temper. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you were. I simply wanted to know if he’s coming and if he’ll have his new assistant with him.”

  Puddin said scornfully, “That Foley?”

  “You don’t like him?”

  Puddin shrugged again, this time more expressively. “He makes Dusty mad. Can’t work the equipment right.”

  “And Dusty is such an exceptional yardman and perfectionist.” Myrtle rolled her eyes.

  Puddin squinted at her. “Don’t like it when you don’t speak English.”

  “Anyway, is he coming?”

  “Who?” asked Puddin.

  “Foley.” Myrtle said this through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t know. Like I said, I ain’t Dusty’s keeper.” Puddin swept out of the room to get the vacuum out of the closet.

  Miles said, “I can tell by the color in your face that your blood pressure is up, Myrtle.”

  “My blood pressure is perfect, like I said. Red has the blood pressure issue. This is just plain, old-fashioned irritation.”

  Puddin started up the vacuum with a roar and Miles, Wanda, and Myrtle escaped to the back yard.

  “I’d say we could all sit out on the dock and watch the water, but I suppose we need to stick around up here until we can speak with Foley. If Foley’s even going to be here. It’s all utter nonsense, all the time. I constantly feel as if I’ve wandered through the looking glass whenever I’m around Puddin,” growled Myrtle. Then she snapped her fingers. “Wanda, I totally forgot. Your lunch is on the table in there, if you’re ready for it. That’s what happens whenever I’m with Puddin—she makes me distracted.”

  Wanda braved the vacuum and Puddin’s ferocious pushing of it to get the bag of fries and hotdogs. Then the three quietly sat outside for a few minutes as Wanda consumed the entire lunch.

  Wanda, rather daintily considering how she’d wolfed down her food, dabbed at her mouth with the napkin. Then she said, “You got the information you needed at lunch?”

  Myrtle grinned at her. “You make me feel like I’m in a spy novel, Wanda. Yes, I did. Miles and I spoke with Scotty Rollins, Royce’s son. I got the clear impression that he wasn’t much of a fan of his father, despite what he said. He’s the reason we’re waiting so patiently for Dusty and Foley’s arrival—Scotty said that Foley was haranguing Royce for money. We wanted to ask him about it. Plus, I want to tell Dusty to put the gnomes out.”

  Miles gazed around them. “But the gnomes are out. Even in the backyard.”

  “Yes, but not all of them. And I want that monster gnome out in the front.”

  “That’s a little excessive, isn’t it?” asked Miles slowly.

  “Not a bit. Wanda and I had a wonderful idea earlier to use the gnomes for a dual-purpose. So I won’t only irritate Red by having them all crowded in the yard, but I can host a sort of petting zoo for the gnomes. Parents can bring their kids to have their pictures taken. All for a small campaign donation that I will contribute to a worthy charity after I drop out of the race.”

  Miles said, “I certainly hope you’re not planning for me to be the photographer for this fundraiser. My picture-taking days are over.”

  “I’m sure I can get someone else to help.” She tilted her head to one side. “I think I hear Dusty’s truck.”

  Dusty’s truck did indeed have a very distinctive sound to it, rather like a dump truck spilling its load. It was fond of backfiring, too.

  Sure enough, a few minutes later, Dusty shuffled around the side of the house. “Puddin says you wanted ter talk to me?” He didn’t look very pleased at the thought.

  “Yes. If you could please remove the remainder of the gnomes from the storage shed and put them in the front yard?”

  Dusty scowled at her. “Ain’t no room for more gnomes.”

  “Sure there is. Just squash them together. I’m planning an event.”

  Dusty scratched his head. “Can’t mow with more gnomes out.”

  “Just use the weed trimmer to get around them a little. Oh, and be sure to blow the driveway and front walk off since I’ll have people by.”

  Dusty muttered to himself under his breath.

  “While you’re doing that, I wanted to have a word with Foley,” said Myrtle.

  Dusty glared suspiciously at Foley and he gave Dusty a hang-dog look and a shrug as if to say he had no idea why this elderly woman wanted to speak with him. He was a hollowed-out man with shaggy work clothes and a five o’clock shadow.

  “Whatcha need to talk to him for?” growled Dusty.

  “That’s between Foley and me,” said Myrtle severely.

  Dusty stomped away toward the storage shed, his muttering fortunately getting fainter and fainter as he went.

  Foley gave Myrtle, Miles, and Wanda an anxious look as if he was facing a tribunal of some kind. He attempted to clear his throat, which led to a small coughing fit. Wanda gave him a sympathetic look. She’d kicked a smoking habit herself and had mostly conquered the lingering cough she’d had.

  “You wanted to see me?” Foley asked in a meek voice.

  “Yes,” said Myrtle. She paused, trying to figure out how best to leap into the subject as Foley looked nervously over at Dusty who was lugging out gnomes and looking annoyed. “You’ve been helping Dusty out, I see,” she finally said.

  Foley nodded. “I done fallen on bad times and Dusty’s lettin’ me help him out.”

  “Well, I’m very sorry to hear about your hard times. As a matter of fact, I was recently speaking with someone and they mentioned something about your financial troubles. They said they might intersect somehow with Royce Rollins.”

  Foley lifted both of his hands up and turned rather pale. “Ain’t had nothin’ to do with his death.”

  “Calm down, Foley. I never said you did. I was simply trying to get a better picture of who Royce Rollins was. He
was my rival candidate for town hall, you may remember.”

  Foley knit his eyebrows together in the manner of someone trying to retrieve a memory that didn’t exist.

  “Anyway, were you trying to extract money from Royce Rollins in some way?” asked Myrtle.

  Foley, already something of a sad sack, seemed to fold down even further into himself. He scuffed his foot through some pebbles. “Just wanted him to forgive some debt.”

  “You owed him money?”

  Foley nodded miserably. “Done lost at poker too much.”

  Miles said, “Royce was a gambler?”

  “I guess. Anyways, he gambled with cards,” said Foley. He took a deep, steadying breath, which made him dissolve into another coughing fit.

  They waited patiently for him to stop coughing. Foley finally continued, “Then my car done broke. Got to have money to get it fixed. Lost my job because I couldn’t get to work.” He shrugged again at his remarkable bad luck.

  Myrtle said, almost to herself, “I suppose, since Royce is dead, your debt is erased.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Foley looked a bit panicky again. “Got nothin’ to do with that, like I said.”

  “I know. Maybe an alibi would help, just in case someone else asks you about it. Where were you when Royce was killed?”

  “Don’t know when he was killed, do I? But that was when I was at the garage tryin’ to get my car fixed.”

  Miles asked, “Did they fix it?”

  Wanda croaked, “No money.”

  Foley gave Wanda an admiring look. “That’s right. Yeah, they could fix it, but I couldn’t pay for it. Still sittin’ at the garage.” He glanced back at Myrtle. “Called Dusty an’ he had to pick me up since the car is broke for good.”

  Myrtle nodded. “Now someone mentioned seeing you hanging around Royce quite a bit.”

  Foley made a face. “Don’t hang around him. Wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with him!” He spat on the ground, which Myrtle took as a dramatic indicator of Foley making an emphatic statement. Then she realized he was simply spitting out his chewing tobacco.