Myrtle didn’t mind that Kyle was moving in. She’d been playing matchmaker for years and was gleeful Glinda and the young doctor were getting married. About time, the old woman had exclaimed when Glinda and Kyle, together, had informed her of their impending marriage right before the three of them had gone to Abigail and Frank’s house for the celebratory dinner. About time. “I’m an old woman,” she’d stated petulantly, “and I don’t have all the time left in the world to wait for you two to get hitched. So, about time.”
Kyle had stayed overnight, as he did a couple times a week, and that morning had gotten up before she had. He’d driven into town to continue meeting and getting to know Doc Andy’s patients at Doc Andy’s side. It was the best way to introduce himself, the new doctor, to the townspeople. Kyle was setting up his first practice and there was so much yet to do. Glinda was so proud of him.
Thinking of Kyle, Glinda couldn’t stop smiling. She was happier than she’d ever been. Her lonely, vagabond past was behind her and these days her life had purpose. She’d found a real home, friends and true love in Spookie. Her life had changed, opened up in so many ways. She couldn’t wait to be married and become Kyle’s wife. Mrs. Glinda Lester. A doctor’s wife. My, my.
It was strange, she mused, there’d been a time when she believed she’d never fall in love, never marry or settle down with anyone. It was more a lack of trust in people, especially men, that had had her feeling that way. Once, because of her curse, she hadn’t fit in. But she’d changed and grown. The people here not only accepted her and her gift, they loved her for herself. She belonged. These days she looked forward to her new life with Kyle. With Myrtle. What could she say? She was a woman in love. Life was good.
After her cup was empty she went inside to get another, burn a few pieces of buttered toast, and then carried her cup and plate into her tarot reading salon. She’d meant to read Abigail’s cards again last night, and afterwards Kyle and her cards, but had gotten home too late. She’d do it now.
Laying the first spread out on the lace-covered table, she was frowning as her fingers touched each card. Abigail’s fortune was still muddied. There was danger, but the cards wouldn’t specify what. Something was blocking her from seeing what was truly wrong. She asked again, is it the Theiss house? Is it haunted as the townspeople believe? The tarot wouldn’t answer.
Stop being so fickle! she reproached the cards. As if they cared how she felt. They didn’t. It frustrated her Abigail might be in peril and she couldn’t pinpoint from what. She picked up the cards and shuffled them again. Dealt them. Shuffled again. Dealt them. Still their message was inscrutable.
Come on, cards, why aren’t you telling me what I need to know? Shaking her head, she tried one last time. Still the cards were vague, oblique. She gave up and did the reading for Kyle and her. That was better. Her lips formed a new smile. The cards were all good. Better than good. They were exceptional. There was nothing bad on the horizon for her coming marriage and nothing warning her of anything. What a relief.
“Happy days are here again,” she sang in a melodious voice.
“Hey there, Niece, what are you up to so early in the morning?” Myrtle, in her robe and still sleepy-eyed, stood over her. “Ah, reading the cards in your spooky room again, huh? What do they say?”
Glinda gazed up at her aunt. “Many things, but not always what I want to hear. They can be frustratingly evasive at times.” She paused and tacked on, “Good morning, Auntie. Did you sleep comfortably last night?”
“As well as I could seeing first Kyle was up before dawn making a racket in the kitchen, I guess getting breakfast, and then you. I finally gave up and here I am.” Myrtle flopped down in the chair beside her niece. She stole Glinda’s last piece of toast and began to nibble on it. Her eyes went to the mural on the wall, then swiftly moved off of it. Her aunt had never cared much for the painting. She said it was too scary, though she appreciated how beautifully rendered it was. Myrtle believed Abigail was a great artist even if she didn’t like Glinda’s mural much.
“Sorry. You usually sleep like the dead,” and her soft laugh was loving, “but I’ll ask Kyle to try being quieter from now on. I’ll try, as well.”
“Nah, Niece.” Myrtle patted Glinda’s arm good-naturedly. “I was teasing. I was already awake. Old people don’t sleep much. A couple hours a night is all. I needed to get up anyway. I asked Frank last night to pick me up at nine a.m.–he said he was going somewhere or other, I forgot where–and give me a ride into town. I want to visit Irma ‘cause Abigail told me Irma wants to see me. She has some stuff for me I ordered last week and we got plans to make. We’re thinking of taking a cruise, maybe even a river cruise, before the fall. So we’re having breakfast together. Going to Stella’s.”
“A river cruise? Really?” Glinda was constantly surprised at how active Myrtle and her old friends still were at their ages. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”
Myrtle flashed her a sarcastic look. “Life is for living, my girl, and I’m going to keep living, enjoying every second of it, as long as I’m still breathing and walking around. What else am I to do? Sit in my rocking chair in my room and knit afghans? Really. I want to go places I’ve never been to before; see things I’ve never seen before. That keeps me young.”
“Good for you.” Glinda winked at her aunt. “That’s the perfect attitude to have.”
“So, Niece, what do you have planned for today?”
“I have clients this morning and when I’m done with them I think I’ll peddle my bike into town and have lunch with Kyle at Doc Andy’s–soon to be Kyle’s–office. We have some remodeling we need to discuss. Kyle wants to make the office his, modernize it, and I want to pretty it up. There are important decisions to make.” Glinda reshuffled the deck, placing the cards one by one out on the table again. Her eyes darting from them to Myrtle every second or so.
“Ah, you lovebirds,” Myrtle cooed, making a silly face, “you two just want to have lunch together. So sweet.” She got up from the table. “That toast was so tasty I’m going into the kitchen to get some of my own, and brew a pot of coffee, before Frank shows up in that truck of his and spirits me away. I’m starving.”
As the old woman shuffled out of the room, Glinda’s lips fought against another smile. That old woman had a bottomless stomach for sure. She was forever hungry.
Glinda’s attention abandoned Myrtle and returned to the spread of cards beneath her fingers. Again the reading was for Abigail, though unlike the other times...this time it was devastating. If she were reading them right, the cards were telling her Abigail was into something really bad. Stalking. Something was stalking her and it wouldn’t be satisfied until it had her. The only thing was, Glinda grimaced at the cards, they weren’t telling her what or who the stalker was or where it would be coming from, or if it was supernatural or human. But Glinda sensed it had something to do with the Theiss house. Of that she was at long last sure.
How was she going to convince Abigail to stay away from that place? She could call and talk to her again. Convince her painting the house wasn’t worth the trouble it might cause. But she’d already tried that and it hadn’t worked. She’d have to find another way. And, in time, possibly she would.
But for now, she had to get showered, dressed, and ready for her clients. Her first reading would come soon enough. Then she’d be off to town to have lunch with her fiancée. She grinned. She liked saying that word. Fiancée. She liked saying that a lot, but she knew she’d love saying husband even better. She looked down at the ring that sparkled on her left hand. The diamond engagement ring Kyle had officially presented to her at their announcement dinner when everyone had been there to see her get it. It was a simple quarter carat diamond set in a delicate golden band. But she loved it. To her it was beautiful as it glittered under the room’s lights. To her it meant love.
She rose from her chair and went to get ready for her first customer. Darn, she should never make an appointment so early in the mo
rning. Nine o’clock wasn’t that far away. Starting tomorrow, she’d only book her clients for ten o’clock or later, or try to anyway. The woman she was meeting at nine today was stopping on her way to work. Many of her patrons did that. Oh, well.
MYRTLE WATCHED FRANK’S truck rumbling up the driveway and went out to meet him. Glinda was busy with her first reading so she had slipped quietly out of the house, not wanting to disturb her niece while she was working.
“Hi Frank. It’s not going to be so hot today, huh?”
Frank had gotten out of the vehicle and assisted her up into the passenger’s side because his truck was so high off the ground. He was gentlemanly like that. “It’s not supposed to be. And the rain, thank goodness, has passed. I was beginning to feel like a fish. Good thing it is cooler. Abby’s out at that Theiss house again, painting. She doesn’t like it when her paints melt on the canvas.”
“I guess I wouldn’t, either, if I were an artist.” Myrtle had settled on the seat as Frank circled around and climbed in on his side. The truck jerked out onto the road and they were on their way.
No time like the present, she thought, so she jumped right in. “But I’ll tell you again. I don’t like Abigail going out to that house, Frank. At all.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Dressed cool for the day, she had put on a sleeveless blouse and her stretch pants with the crazy cat face pattern to cover her skinny legs. Glinda had gotten her the cat pants for her birthday. They weren’t so bad. Feline faces and all. They were cute cat faces. Living with that cat lover psychic niece of hers had, over the years, changed her. Now, these days, Myrtle didn’t hate little furry critters near as much as she once had. Cats were okay now. As long as they didn’t pester her too much. She also wore a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head, and sunglasses on her face. Her trusty owl’s head cane at her side to help her walk.
“That house is bad news, Frank. Haunted. Even Glinda says so. Something she saw in the cards.”
Frank glanced over at her. “I feel the same way about that house. I’ve tried talking Abby out of painting it, too, but not because I believe it is haunted but because it’s a falling down wreck. It isn’t safe. But Abby doesn’t listen. She’s hellbent on painting that wreck.”
“I know. She thinks the pictures will be her masterpieces or some such thing. They’ll make her famous. What poppycock. I think she’s already famous.”
“We both see that,” Frank said. “She doesn’t. She believes she has to do these paintings, and we have to trust she can take care of herself.”
Myrtle made a funny noise in her throat, then mumbled, “Unless the ghosts get to her.”
Frank didn’t say anything to that. She didn’t expect him to. He didn’t believe.
They were half way to town when Myrtle, studying Frank’s somber face, saw something in it that alerted her, and she had to ask, “Okay, what’s wrong, Frank? I can tell there’s something heavy on your mind. I know you too well. No, I should ask, what are you up to?”
That was all it took. Obviously, he was dying to tell someone what he was up to and so she didn’t have to twist his arm to get his confession. He never could hide anything from her. Like her grandniece, she was too intuitive.
“Abby doesn’t know this,” Frank whispered, “but I’m looking for Joel’s killer.”
Myrtle was confused, trying to understand what Frank was talking about. Who was he talking about. “Joel?”
“Abby’s first husband. The one who went missing for two years but was eventually found dead in his car? That Joel.”
“Oh. Why are you doing that? After all these years?”
“Because I have come to believe from everything I now know–new information we’ve received–about the case that it wasn’t an accident. I believe Joel was murdered.”
He explained about getting Bracco’s envelope and why and how it had been delivered to them. How he read it and found clues that had never been followed up on, and how he decided he would be the one to follow them wherever they led. That he wanted to solve the mystery of Joel’s death.
“Ha,” Myrtle chortled, “and you can’t resist trying to solve an unsolved murder, right, mister ex-homicide detective?”
“Something like that. I guess what I really want is to solve it for Abby. At last give her peace of mind and, after all these years, give Joel justice.”
“If there is justice to find. You really think there was foul play in that man’s death?” Myrtle had been taken by surprise, but now was excited that here there might be a new mystery to unravel. A new mystery she might be allowed to take part in. Hot doggie.
“I suspect there might have been. But I’m going to find out if there was or not, if I can.”
“And Abigail doesn’t know what you’re doing?”
“I don’t think so. She’s uncannily perceptive, though, and I wouldn’t put it past her to have a tiny suspicion of it.”
“You sure that’s what Abby wants, Frank? To have that old tragedy from her past reopened?”
“Probably not. I won’t tell her I’m investigating anything until–and unless–I find some answers. One way or another.”
“You have any solid leads so far?”
“One or two.”
“Anything I can help with?” She cocked her head, leaned closer toward him, and squinted at him with a hopeful glint in her eyes.
He hesitated before he answered. “Sorry, Myrtle, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but there’s nothing you can do at the moment. So far, this is a one man job. I’m just doing paperwork and following up leads. Really dry stuff. You’d hate it. But I’ll let you know if I need any extra help.”
“Yeah, you just don’t want me getting hurt again, right?” She lightly tapped the arm she’d broken on their last mystery adventure.
“Well, that, too. Looking for a murderer, as you already know, can be a dangerous pursuit.”
She slapped him playfully on his bluejeaned knee. “Then good luck, friend. I hope you find whatever you’re looking for. And if there is anything I can do, remember, just let me know. I’m ready.”
“When it comes to a mystery, Myrtle, you’re forever ready.” Frank laughed. “Nevertheless, I have to do this by myself. But, you have to keep my secret. You can’t tell Abby what I’m up to. I’m trusting you.”
“No, I won’t be blabbing anything about your secret mission to Abigail. You’re right, she don’t need to fret any until and unless it’s a done deal.” She didn’t push any more to be included. Truth was, now that she had a second to ponder over it, she was more than content to sit back and let him run with this one. It wasn’t as exciting as finding a crazy serial killer or a buried treasure, her other mystery exploits. Since she’d nearly drowned in that creek accident, she had to admit, she was not as keen to play amateur old woman sleuth as she once had been. That’s what breaking a limb, and the pain resulting from it, did to a person’s sense of adventure. It dampened it considerably.
They’d reached Irma’s shop and, as soon as Frank parked, he helped her out of the truck and she said goodbye. She watched him drive off, thinking, I meant to but I never asked him where he was headed today. Her memory wasn’t as sharp as it used to be. Oh well.
And darn, she’d forgotten her cane in the truck. She should start tying it to her waist, hang it from her shoulder by a strap, or something. Put a beeper or a flashing light on it. Pivoting around, she hobbled into The Fabric Shop. Irma would be waiting.
“HI THERE, MYRTLE,” the shop owner greeted her as soon as Myrtle was in front of her. Irma was sitting, as most times, on her stool behind the cluttered counter, fiddling with something or other, a Tootsie Roll Pop stuck in her mouth. Appeared as if she was sticking price tags on new merchandise, or old junk, depending on the way one looked at the stuff. Her eyes took in the objects. Humph. Junk for sure.
“Hi there yourself, Irma. How are sales going?” Myrtle leaned against the counter and grinned at the other woman. Irma was looking old. Real old. Ha, but Myrtle
knew she was looking really old, too. Well, they were two ancient crones, all right. No one could deny that.
“Going...going...gone.” Irma snorted, her head tipping to one side. “I haven’t sold a darn thing so far all day. It’s dead as a graveyard here.”
Myrtle snickered. “Then grab your walking cane and your purse, put up the closed sign on the door. And let’s mosey on over to Stella’s for some breakfast or early lunch, whichever you want. I’ll have lunch–because I had a mess of toast earlier at home–and I do have a great hankering for Stella’s lunch special for today, ham and beans, and her chocolate pie for dessert. We can talk over our next traveling adventure while we eat.”
“Okey dokey,” Irma muttered, coming out from behind the counter. One gnarled hand collected her cane, her purse, and the other hand picked up her OUT TO LUNCH sign. “Let’s go. Ham and beans are also one of my favorites. Heck with breakfast. I reckon I’ll just have lunch with you.” She hung the sign on the door on the way out.
“Hey, Myrtle,” Irma spoke up as they came out of the shop, “where’s your cane?”
“Left it somewhere else. Again. This time in Frank’s truck to be exact. But I’m okay. I can make it to Stella’s just fine. I’ll lean up against the buildings as I go if I need to.”
Myrtle trailed behind her friend along the sunny sidewalk, skimming her right hand along the buildings for balance as she passed.
“Good thing it’s cooler out today. I can’t abide it when it’s so hot I sweat enough to soak my clothes up,” Irma griped, peering up at the sky. “My old body likes the warmth, but doesn’t like it so much when it gets as hot as a blast furnace.” She chuckled at her joke.
Moving slow but steady, the two made their way to Stella’s Diner, chatting about this and that as old ladies who’d known each other for decades often do.
All Those Who Came Before Page 17