Murder on the Ballot

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

Erma shrugged. “She felt bad that her husband was going to kill me, I guess.”

  “Is that what she said?”

  “No, no. But it had to be the reason. Anyway, she was trying to get information from me, too, and I just don’t have any.” Erma’s face indicated that this was a tremendous disappointment to her. “She even tried to go over the night Royce died with me, step-by-step, so I could relive it and see if I could remember anything. She seemed practically desperate for information from me.” Erma smiled at the pleasant memory.

  Myrtle said, “It’s not a bad idea. Let’s try it.”

  Erma’s face dropped. “But I don’t remember.”

  “Well, I’d also like to hear what Cindy’s step-by-step was. Did she go through her evening with you, too?” asked Myrtle.

  “A little bit. But not as much as I went through mine. Let’s see.” Erma looked up thoughtfully upwards as if the conversation might be written up on the popcorn ceiling. “She said she came home from work and started making supper.”

  “Preston was home with her, apparently.” Myrtle recalled Cindy’s and Preston’s alibi.

  “No! No, she was by herself and waiting for Preston to come home from the garage.”

  Myrtle frowned. “Okay. Well, maybe this is a bit earlier in the evening, then. Preston did work a little late because he was having a conversation with one of his customers.” And Foley had been trying to convince him to fix his car without being paid.

  “I told her that I was at the debate and that Royce was being rude.” Erma flushed a blotchy red at the memory. “That’s really all I remember about the debate except that it went on and on and that Royce was rude.” She stopped suddenly and beamed at Myrtle. “And you were rude back to him.”

  Myrtle shook her head. “He was insolent. I was blunt. There’s a difference.”

  “Anyway, so then I told her I was talking to some people after the debate. I was showing people my new medic alert bracelet.” Erma fondly fingered the bracelet, which was on her wrist. “Royce was talking with some people, too. I saw that you had left with Miles and Wanda.”

  “Yes. Wanda was entirely too popular. Plus, we wanted to try to beat the bad weather. Miles isn’t fond of driving in storms.”

  “The storm was awful! I hate driving in weather like that. I had the windshield wipers going full-speed and I still couldn’t see anything. Cindy said that when Preston came home, he was totally soaked. I took my huge umbrella. Do you have a huge umbrella, Myrtle? One of those golf umbrellas? They’re the best.”

  Myrtle shook her head. “They’re too awkward when you carry a cane. And a little heavy. I have a compact one.”

  “Okay. Well, anyway, I told Cindy that I saw headlights coming or going. But you know—I was really just focused on trying to find my stuff and get back home. I didn’t know anything bad had happened so I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention. I remember the parking lot at town hall was pretty empty and that’s most of what I remember.” Erma looked a little deflated at this. “Maybe you can help get the word out that I don’t know anything . . . at least this time. I don’t want anybody else sneaking into my yard in the middle of the night to kill me.”

  Myrtle said briskly, “I’m sure there’s not a huge line of people trying to do that, Erma. But I’ll be happy to spread the news that you have no idea what happened that night.” Myrtle decided grimly that it would be her distinct pleasure to do so. She’d just wasted quite a bit of time making Erma a casserole and coming over for a visit. She stood up. “I’m going to let you go, now, Erma.”

  Erma said, “Okay. Hey, thanks for the casserole. I sort of thought you weren’t a good cook but it smells kind of good. I’m going to have some now, I think.”

  Myrtle frowned. “I’m not sure where you got the impression that I couldn’t cook. I cook quite frequently and no one complains about it.”

  Erma gave her donkey-like laugh. “I see. Okay, Myrtle. Well, thanks anyway.”

  Myrtle went back home, still frowning. When she walked inside, Miles and Wanda were looking at her expectantly. Puddin leaped out of a kitchen chair, where she’d been drinking a Coke, and started resentfully wiping down the sink.

  “How did it go?” asked Miles.

  “I was going to write it off as a complete and total waste of time, but I have the feeling somehow that I did get some information. I’m just not entirely sure what it is that I got. Erma was full of nonsense, as usual, and her home was strewn with medical equipment. She said that I had the reputation of a bad cook, which was a bizarre thing to say,” said Myrtle.

  Miles and Wanda exchanged glances. Puddin made a snorting sound from the kitchen.

  Myrtle said, “So she wasn’t really making a lot of sense, but still there was something in there that was a kernel of information. It’s just lost in all of Erma’s ridiculousness.”

  “Maybe if you think about it for a while you’ll realize what it was,” said Miles.

  “I suppose so. I think it’s time to check in with Sloan about another special report on Preston’s death. I’ll run down to the newspaper office shortly.”

  Wanda said carefully, “I was gonna ask Miles if he could take me back home.”

  Myrtle’s eyes widened. “Back home? Is something wrong with Crazy Dan?” Myrtle believed there were many things wrong with Crazy Dan, but it would be worse if there was now something extra-wrong with him.

  Wanda looked solemn. “I gotta look after him. He’s my brother. He’s no good by himself. Gets crazier than usual.”

  Miles cleared his throat. “While you were gone, Wanda called him.”

  Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “The phone was connected over there still?”

  Wanda nodded. “He paid the bills. The power’s back on now. Said he ain’t buyin’ no more stuff fer a long time. He misses my cookin’ and cleanin’ and my company.”

  “Well, that is good news,” said Myrtle, beaming. “But you know you’re more than welcome to stay here. It’s been a nice break for me.”

  Wanda looked a little sad. “Nice fer me, too. But I gotta take care of him.”

  Myrtle said, “You’re a very responsible sister. I’ll let you know what happens on Tomorrow’s Promise since I know you don’t have TV up there.”

  Puddin made a gasping sound from the kitchen at the thought of anyone not having a TV.

  Wanda grinned mischievously. “Already know what’s gonna happen.”

  Myrtle sighed. “I swear that I’ll never understand how your gifts work. You can know future episodes of the soap opera, but don’t know who our neighborhood murderer is.”

  Wanda shrugged. “That’s just the way the sight works.” She gave Myrtle a stern look. “Yer in danger.”

  Myrtle threw up her hands. “Yes, yes. But it seems like that’s something I can’t really avoid. You don’t have any sense of when this mysterious danger is going to crop up, do you?”

  Wanda shook her head sadly. “But it’s right around the corner.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” said Myrtle.

  Myrtle set off while Wanda packed her few belongings so that Miles could take her back to the hubcap-covered shack. Puddin finally started noisily vacuuming.

  Pasha slipped out of the door when Myrtle left and padded down the street until she caught up with her, being careful not to be seen.

  A few minutes later, Myrtle opened the door to the dimly-lit newspaper office and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Pasha darted in behind her and stood sentry by the door. “Sloan?” Myrtle called out peremptorily in her best schoolteacher voice.

  But there was no reply.

  Myrtle sighed. She suspected Sloan’s work ethic wasn’t all it could be. He appeared to spend a good deal of time at the bar down the street. When asked about it, he always said that he was just gathering information for the paper from his informants. It sounded better than drinking beer and playing pool, she supposed.

  She sat down at Sloan’s desk to wait, fishing her phone
out of her purse to give him a call and see when he intended to be back on the job.

  The door swung open and Myrtle rose. “Sloan!” she said crossly.

  But it was just Jenny Rollins.

  “If you’re looking for Sloan, he’s out of the office,” said Myrtle.

  Jenny walked up to Myrtle. “Do you have any idea when he’ll be back? I was going to give him the information on the craft marketplace the church is hosting.”

  “No idea,” said Myrtle, still feeling grouchy over the whole thing. “He’s abandoned his post. I’ll give him a call to find out. He’s probably down the street at the bar—I just don’t feel like searching him out right now.”

  Myrtle plopped back down in Sloan’s chair and Jenny sat in a chair next to her.

  “How are you doing?” asked Myrtle, thinking about Puddin’s proclamations about Jenny’s grieving.

  Jenny sighed. “Well, each day is something of a struggle, but one gets through it. I hear that it will get easier over time. You lost your husband, I know. How long did it take for you to resume life as normal?”

  Myrtle considered this. “You know, it was so long ago that I don’t even remember. Red was still a boy. At the time, I was so intent on making money to support the two of us and working out the will and the bills that I didn’t even take time to grieve. Which is not what you’re supposed to do.” She paused. “And then, of course, I think the way one loses a husband can also contribute to grief.”

  Jenny winced. “You mean it’s harder on you when someone shoves your husband down a staircase? I have to agree.”

  Myrtle froze. But she tried to keep her face calm and her voice level. “I’m sure it is, dear. Now, how about if I make that call to Sloan? He’s clearly dilly-dallying somewhere—probably the local watering hole. I can get him here pronto.”

  Jenny tilted her head to one side and looked thoughtfully at Myrtle. “You know, Miss Myrtle, you had a funny expression on your face just a moment ago.”

  Myrtle gave a short laugh. “Oh, it’s probably the barbeque talking back to me. I do enjoy barbeque, but sometimes it will chirp up for days.”

  Jenny’s face was brooding. “Scotty mentioned you came by the restaurant. Then he said one of his coworkers was teasing him later about an older lady calling up and asking about his shifts. She thought it was cute. But when Scotty told me about it, I knew what it must mean.”

  Myrtle lifted her chin a little. Apparently, the jig was up. “You realized it must mean that Scotty’s alibi was no good.”

  “Who was it who saw him leave the restaurant early?” asked Jenny in a carefully careless voice.

  “A good reporter never names her sources,” said Myrtle with a sniff. She punched a few numbers into her phone until Jenny swiftly knocked it away with a clatter onto the floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Sorry,” she said. She really did look regretful. “I can’t let you make that call, Miss Myrtle. It really wouldn’t do to have a tipsy Sloan wander back in here right now.”

  Myrtle pushed the rolling chair back a bit to gain a little distance from Jenny. “So, let’s see. We have a few pieces of information that are very interesting, don’t we? First off, there’s something that a good friend of mine mentioned a while ago. She spoke about the rain.”

  Jenny lifted a perfectly-groomed eyebrow. “She’s a weather forecaster?” Jenny rummaged in her purse.

  “No, she’s a psychic. You met Wanda. You’d never guess it, but getting these little psychic insights are sort of like a shaky picture on a television full of static. She knows they’re important, but she doesn’t really know how they fit in. I didn’t either, until just a few moments ago.” Myrtle hoped that, by stalling, Sloan might realize he really did have a paper to publish before the end of the day. Surely he’d be walking in the door momentarily.

  Jenny looked curious. “How does rain figure into the equation?”

  “Cindy Cook said that Preston came home sopping wet. But Preston said that he’d left the garage and gotten home before the rainstorm hit. Why else would he lie about his movements?”

  Jenny gave a small shrug and very gently removed a large wrench from her purse. “I’m guessing you’ve reached the conclusion that Preston killed my husband.”

  Myrtle saw the swish of a black tail behind Jenny and blinked. Then she quickly said, “I can’t come to any other conclusion. I believe that Preston was upset with Royce for having an affair with his wife. He left the garage and headed over to town hall. Royce had shaken a lot of hands and had stayed a bit later. He also prided himself on taking the stairs instead of the elevator. I’m going to presume that the custodian, when locking up, used the elevator instead and that’s why no one discovered Royce’s body until I showed up the next morning.”

  Jenny’s eyes had the thinnest veneer of tears covering them before she briskly batted her lashes a few times to rid herself of them. “I suppose so.”

  Myrtle took a deep breath. “The problem, Jenny, is that no one else knew how Royce died. Red expressly asked me not to say anything and I know he didn’t say a word. But somehow you knew exactly how Royce was murdered.”

  “That’s why your expression changed a minute ago,” said Jenny dryly. “I knew a light bulb had gone off in your head.”

  “I’ve also been thinking a good deal about love,” said Myrtle. “Do you watch Tomorrow’s Promise?”

  Jenny shook her head.

  “Well lately, it’s all been focused on different types of love. Naturally, the show being a soap opera, the love all turns out remarkably badly. It made me think of you, actually,” said Myrtle. She saw Pasha’s face. The black cat’s eyes were narrowed as she peered, unseen, at Jenny.

  Jenny was too elegant to snort, but she made an approximation of the sound. “Of me?”

  “Yes. You seem this sort of tragic figure to me.”

  Jenny clearly didn’t like this one bit. She straightened up in her chair, her hand gripping the wrench. “How do you figure that?”

  “Here’s how I see it. You’re interrupting a love triangle, aren’t you? You were the one who didn’t belong. Cindy, Preston, Royce—they all went to high school together. They all have this history, this back-story. You’re not from Bradley at all and just didn’t have any context to their love story. You were the fourth wheel, so to speak.”

  Jenny didn’t say anything, but her eyes watched Myrtle intently.

  Myrtle took another deep breath and wondered why on earth Sloan was taking so long.

  “My housekeeper told me you cared very deeply for Royce, although you present this very composed front to the world. Perhaps you were more devoted to Royce than he was to you. I understand something might have been amiss between the two of you because you slept in different rooms.”

  Jenny didn’t seem at all surprised that Myrtle knew this rather personal bit of information. “Royce snored,” she murmured.

  “So what I believe happened is that you realized Preston had killed Royce. I think you did go to the town hall the night of the debate. You got there after the debate had ended and when the storm had started up. Royce liked to walk to town hall, you said. I think you didn’t want him walking back in the rain—or maybe he called and asked you to come pick him up. At any rate, you drove over there. When you arrived, you saw Preston leaving . . . and probably Erma Sherman arriving, as well. But Royce was nowhere to be seen. You hopped out of the car and found him.”

  Jenny slumped just a little in her seat at the memory.

  Myrtle said, “But there was nothing you could do. Royce was beyond help. And here you were, Royce’s wife, and at the scene of a crime. You’d know, of course, that spouses are always the prime suspect in a murder case. You went back home and figured no one would be the wiser.”

  “Except for you,” said Jenny dryly.

  “Well, naturally. So you knew the truth about Royce’s death and you were heartbroken. You decided to enact revenge on Preston for killing your husband.” Myrtle p
aused. “Erma was extremely loud at Royce’s funeral, saying that she’d seen something important. Preston, who’d seen headlights when he was leaving the town hall, likely thought Erma had seen him. He left the garage late the other night and headed out to take care of Erma so that she wouldn’t expose him as the murderer. What he didn’t know is that you had been carrying out surveillance on him, looking for just the right opportunity to enact your revenge.”

  Jenny smiled a little condescendingly. “You really think I was sneaking around in your neighbor’s yard to kill Preston Cook?”

  “Yes, I really do. I don’t think, as a rule, it’s something you’d ordinarily do, Jenny. But your emotions got the better of you. I think your desperation is evident right now, too, and that’s why you’re here. Why wouldn’t you have just emailed the information to Sloan about the church event? Why would that even be something the church would put you in charge of right now anyway, with your husband just-buried? No, you followed me here, the same way you followed Preston. It has to do with another type of love, doesn’t it?”

  Jenny tilted her head to one side. “You’ve lost me.”

  “A mother’s love. My questions to Scotty are starting to make him wonder exactly where you were when Preston was murdered. He’s covered for you because he knows you weren’t at home like he says you were. The only problem is that now his own alibi is falling apart because he wasn’t working as late as he says he was. You’re worried, as his mom, that he’s going to become more of a suspect. So you’re here to silence me. Just the way you silenced Preston.” Myrtle glanced at the heavy wrench. “You’re fond of blunt force trauma it would seem.”

  Jenny opened her mouth to respond, but never did. At that moment, Pasha decided to leap on Sloan’s desk, right in front of Jenny. What’s more, Pasha hissed, her lips drawn back over a sparkling array of sharp teeth.

  Jenny gave a short shriek and pushed back away from the desk. Myrtle took the opportunity to head quickly for the door.

  Unfortunately, Jenny was much younger and it took her mere seconds to recover from the shock of seeing a very angry black cat unexpectedly in front of her. Plus, Myrtle, usually fairly surefooted, stumbled over a pile of clutter in the dimly-lit newsroom.