Edit to Death

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  “Who is innocent until proven guilty,” said Myrtle. “And I’m perfectly capable of getting Wanda back home safely.”

  “Regardless, I’d like to do the honor,” said Red firmly. He smiled broadly at Wanda and she gave him a tentative smile in response as she stood up and walked out with him.

  “Blast!” said Myrtle, thumping her hand on Miles’s table and making him jump. “Red is getting all into my business. And where is Dusty with those gnomes? Red is really overstepping the line.”

  Miles said mildly, “Frankly, I’m not much of one for driving at night, myself. As far as I’m concerned, he was doing us a favor driving all the way out to the country to take Wanda back home.”

  “It wasn’t simply a kind gesture. He’ll be quizzing her all the way home, I bet you.” Myrtle fumed.

  Miles said, “Aside from that one misstep on Red’s part, I thought the evening ended up yielding a good deal of information. We now know that Tara really is dead, for one.”

  “We already knew that. Wanda mentioned it ages ago,” said Myrtle.

  “Yes, but now it’s confirmed and they’ve found her. We also found out that Boone simply wanted Tara to be his girlfriend. That he even bragged that she was his girlfriend. Maybe Georgia Simpson thought they were together because of the amount of time that Tara spent with Boone’s sister. But now we know that no matter what Boone said, he and Tara weren’t going out at all,” said Miles.

  Myrtle thought about this. “Yes, but this is completely different information than we’d heard before. Perhaps Red’s memory isn’t reliable.”

  Miles said, “He was very matter of fact about it. And I’ve never known Red’s memory to be anything but reliable. He’s been a police officer his entire life. He lives off his powers of observation.”

  Myrtle said, “Point taken. But the Epps kids must be involved. I suppose Hubert and Pearl are off the hook, considering that they were both out of town . . . a fact that a slew of partying kids could confirm. Tara’s disappearance happened during their party. Boone was clearly fixated on her and she was bent on rejecting him. And she and Rose had an argument . . . I do believe Georgia on that one.”

  “Perhaps Boone became frustrated when Tara rejected him again,” said Miles thoughtfully.

  “Maybe. Oh, it’s all such a mess. How does it all tie into Pearl’s and Nell’s deaths?” Myrtle pursed her lips and stared at Miles’s ceiling. “I know. It’s just like we were saying. Boone is a frustrated paramour. Rose argues with Tara. Tara dies . . . somehow. Pearl finds out and writes a book about it. Now the kids are desperate to cover up the information to stay out of jail!”

  Miles nodded. “It does all make sense. Except for the part where Pearl waits for thirty years to finally tell the story. That’s what I’m not exactly sure about.”

  Myrtle sighed. “I know. But maybe Pearl only recently found out about it. Maybe Hubert and she had some sort of plumbing issue and they had to do some digging. Maybe they tried to plant a tree where Tara was buried and they discovered her. Pearl was quite the gardener, you know.”

  Miles raised his eyebrows. “Such a gardener that she wouldn’t ‘call before she dug?’ If there’s a sewer line down there, surely Pearl would have had the town put markers out.”

  “All right then, maybe she did know about it. Maybe Pearl Epps had this deep, dark secret that she kept hidden for years and years until finally it started eating her up alive and she decided that she simply couldn’t keep it anymore,” said Myrtle.

  Miles sighed. “It certainly seems like the most likely option, looking at all that we know. But it’s hard to imagine cheerful, crafty Pearl as someone with a dark, horrid secret. She always reminded me of Minnie Pearl when I looked at her.”

  “I’ll agree with you that it’s hard to think of Pearl that way. But let’s face it; she said that she was writing that book to disclose some old secrets. The way Pearl was talking, it sounded like she realized that keeping secrets was detrimental to her family. Like the only way to move forward was to own up to whatever the secret was and go from there,” said Myrtle.

  “No wonder they were so upset about the book. She would reveal the fact that someone in her family was a killer. That person would obviously go to jail and who knows what would happen to everyone else for covering up a crime? Sounds like it would have meant jail time for everybody,” said Miles.

  “Right. Pearl got tired of harboring the secret. She stated she’s writing a book. No one believed her until the thing was finished and she announced it at a family dinner. The next thing we know, she’s been pushed down the stairs and the manuscript is stolen and most likely destroyed.”

  Miles said, “None of this really explains what happened to Nell, though.”

  Myrtle shrugged. “Nell knew something. She was a liability.”

  “Do you think that she also knew about Tara’s murder? And her burial in her sister’s yard?” asked Miles.

  Myrtle considered this for a few seconds and then shook her head. “I doubt it. Nell’s not the sort to cover up something like that. She always seemed like a straight arrow to me. No, if Nell had known something about Tara’s death, she’d have reported it straight to the police.”

  Miles said slowly, “So maybe she knew something about Pearl’s death.”

  “Hard to imagine. It looks to me that Pearl was alone with her killer. But maybe Nell somehow did know something. Maybe Pearl mentioned to her sister that she was planning on speaking with Boone or Rose that morning. Who knows? Maybe she really didn’t even know anything at all and someone merely thought she did and murdered her,” said Myrtle.

  “What’s our next step?” asked Miles.

  “Rose,” said Myrtle simply. “Edward thinks that she was spending time over at Nell’s house. I’d like to know more about it.”

  “And how do you propose that we go about finding that out? Hover around her dog-walking route?” asked Miles.

  “Better than that. Her mother’s funeral is tomorrow. I believe that will be an excellent time to catch her,” said Myrtle. “And if not, I can deliver this casserole we picked up at the store. Otherwise, I’ll have to eat it myself.”

  The next morning, Myrtle fed Pasha and herself and started getting ready for Pearl’s funeral. Fortunately, she had a new funeral outfit. Relatively new, anyway, as it had already been worn on a handful of outings. She still felt rather daring wearing slacks to a funeral since the Southern decree had always been a somber dress and pantyhose with polished shoes.

  She glanced at her watch. She hoped that Miles was ready to go. He was supposed to pick her up for the funeral. At this point, she was starting to think she should simply drive herself and leave Miles up to his own devices. Finally, there was a tap at the door.

  “There you are!” she fussed, hurrying out the front door.

  “I’m only three minutes late,” said Miles mildly as he followed her to his car.

  “Mark my words, this funeral is going to be standing room only. Pearl was an important figure in this town,” said Myrtle, quickly getting into the car and buckling up. “What made you run behind? That’s most unlike you.”

  “The newspaper,” said Miles gloomily. “Didn’t you see it this morning?”

  Myrtle smiled. “You mean the wonderful promotional pictures of the book club? I predict Tippy is going to get a ton of requests from people to join. Everyone looked like they were having such fun.”

  “If that’s what you’d prefer to call it,” said Miles, face set grimly.

  “Think of it as good promo. No one would want to come to book club ordinarily. It’s way too crusty and formal,” said Myrtle. “Besides, I’m sure no one even noticed the picture of you.”

  “Me napping,” said Miles unhappily.

  “As far as anyone could tell, you might simply have been blinking when the photo was taken. Don’t worry about it Miles, for heaven’s sake. Let’s just get to the church before we have to stand in the back.”

  Sure enough, eve
ry pew was packed.

  Myrtle sighed. “This is what I was afraid of. We should have been here forty-five minutes ago.”

  “But you’re the one who set the time for me to pick you up,” said Miles.

  Myrtle said, “Clearly, I didn’t really think it through. What a mess. Oh, there’s Red. He always stands out with that hair. I never had a hard time picking him out at a sporting event, growing up. Except for football—those helmets didn’t help.”

  “Does he have a seat?” asked Miles, sounding hopeful. “He might give it up to us. Maybe the two of us could squeeze into his spot.”

  “Nope. He’s standing.” She turned to Miles. “Here, look frail.”

  Miles stared at her. “Frail? I can’t pull that off.”

  “Sure you can,” said Myrtle impatiently. “Here, take my cane. Now lean over it and blink a lot. I’ll do my usual doddering old lady act.”

  “Aren’t we blocking everyone, standing in the middle of the church aisle?” murmured Miles.

  “Certainly not! We’re looking for a spot. Either an usher will come over or some good Samaritans will offer us their seats,” said Myrtle. She effected looking exhausted and put out a hand to clutch the end of a pew for support.

  A minute later, a strapping young man and his somewhat annoyed-looking wife offered them their seats.

  “They didn’t look that handicapped to me,” Myrtle heard the wife complaining as they walked to the back of the church to stand.

  “Don’t be silly. They’re old folks. I couldn’t have slept tonight knowing that I sat while they stood,” retorted the young man.

  Myrtle and Miles sat in their spots, which were excellent at about five seats from the very front of the church.

  “Now, isn’t this better?” asked Myrtle smugly, taking her cane back from Miles.

  “I suppose. Although my pride is stinging,” said Miles.

  “We have no idea how long this service will go on. We might as well be comfortable and those young people didn’t need to sit down. That’s what’s wrong with our country—too many people sitting all day long.”

  Miles said, “So that’s what’s wrong with our country?”

  “Exactly. When I was their age, I was standing all day long as a schoolteacher. And I’m sure as an architect, you were standing a lot at building sites,” said Myrtle.

  Miles gritted through his teeth, “Engineer. I was an engineer.”

  “Whatever. The point is that they don’t need their seats,” said Myrtle blithely.

  It ended up that it was a good thing that they were both seated. It went on and on. There were hymns to start out with.

  “We shouldn’t have to sing all the verses of each hymn,” whispered Miles after a particularly dragging rendition of How Firm a Foundation, Ye Saints of the Lord. “Especially when they have six stanzas and the organ part drags a bit.”

  “It has to drag a bit. It was written in 1787. They didn’t know how to write peppy stuff back then,” said Myrtle. “But I agree with you. It seems like an odd choice for Hubert or Boone to have picked out.”

  Miles whispered gloomily, “I have the feeling that Rose and the minister came up with the service together. She seems the type to pick hymns as a sort of penance.” He brightened. “At least we have a shorter one coming up. Sweet Hour of Prayer.”

  “A lovely hymn. But I don’t believe it’s going to be played at a fast clip here. Or even at its normal pace. The organist is taking her sweet time today,” said Myrtle.

  And indeed, each note was drawn-out as long as was possible by the organist. Myrtle noticed that Hubert and Boone were looking antsy, restlessly shifting in the pew. Boone pulled at his suit collar as if it were too tight on him.

  Miles said, “The program shows one final hymn at the very end. Everything should be speeding up now.”

  But then the minister, perhaps rather carried away with the huge crowd in the sanctuary, delivered a full twenty-five-minute sermon, mentioning Pearl only in passing as a godly woman.

  Even worse, the woman behind them apparently had some sort of dire affliction. Her coughing had been going on since they arrived, but now reached a crescendo. She loudly unwrapped cough drop after cough drop, to no avail. Miles flinched each time she gave her deep, grating, productive cough.

  “I’m glad I don’t have to worry about germs anymore,” he said fervently to Myrtle.

  Myrtle gave him a short smile. She had the feeling that Wanda’s lie had actually been that Miles didn’t need to be careful of germs. That Wanda realized Miles was rather incapacitated after her prediction. She turned and glared at the culprit after a particularly wet cough that didn’t sound covered.

  “Surely we’re almost done now,” said Miles, studying his church bulletin as if it held the secret to life buried in its text.

  “Looks like there are to be readings,” said Myrtle. “And then eulogies.”

  The readings varied from lyrics of rather sappy modern songs to a quotation from Hamlet: “To die, to sleep – to sleep, perchance to dream.”

  Myrtle snorted. “They can’t even get the quotation right. Nor the tone! It’s not a happy statement on being dead. They left off the end of the quotation: ‘– ay, there’s the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come...?’”

  “Put an F on their paper with your red pen,” said Miles mildly. “Come on, it’s nearly done. Just the eulogies to go.”

  But the eulogies ended up taking the most time of all. It appeared every person in Bradley wanted to speak and that none of them had prepared for it. This resulted in rambling and repetitive narratives that frequently veered off the topic of Pearl. Hubert appeared at one point to be nodding off.

  Myrtle growled, “We should try escaping.”

  Miles murmured, “We’re so close to the front that we can’t really slip out undetected.”

  “People would understand. We’re seniors. Seniors get uncomfortable sitting down for too long and it makes them develop clots. Seniors frequently need to visit the restroom, for heaven’s sake. They’d all forgive us and wish that they were seniors themselves and could leave without a fuss,” hissed Myrtle.

  But then there was a soaring crescendo of organ music indicating the end of the service and the mourners rose to sing one final, and mercifully shorter, hymn. Then it was all over.

  “Now we can go,” sighed Miles in relief.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “GO? NO, THIS IS PRECISELY when we need to stay. This is when we need to speak with Rose so we don’t have to chase her down on the road when she’s dog-walking,” said Myrtle. “Or give her that casserole. I’ve a mind to eat it for my supper.”

  Miles said, “But look at that line. There’s a huge line of people waiting to speak to the family.”

  “We’ll stand up and stretch for a few minutes and then we can sit back down again and wait for the church to empty out,” said Myrtle.

  “Can’t we just go to the funeral reception?” asked Miles, sounding hopeful. “We’ve done that before, haven’t we? Spoken to family at the reception?”

  “Yes, but never for a funeral that’s this big. Most of the town is here. I doubt we’d get an opportunity to even get close to Rose there.”

  They did stretch and even walked around the sanctuary, pretending interest in the stained-glass windows. An old man slapped Miles heartily on the back, surprising him and nearly sending him through the aforementioned window. The man guffawed and asked, “Did you have fun at book club? Didn’t know it was the place to party. And lots of fillies there, too.” He gave Miles a big wink. Seeing Myrtle, he winced and politely said, “Heard you’ve been under the weather, Myrtle. Hope you’re better now.” He headed on his way. Miles stared miserably after him and Myrtle glowered.

  “Imbecile!” hissed Myrtle. “You won’t find him at book club because he barely knows how to read.”

  “Did you teach him, too?” asked Miles morosely.

  “Certainly not! He’s older than you are,” said
Myrtle. “Look, we can start moving to the front of the church.”

  Finally, the crowd at the front of the church dwindled and Myrtle and Miles hurried to speak to the family before they left for the reception. Myrtle noted that Red was still there, watching the family from a respectful distance. Rose was already in the pew, gathering her purse.

  Myrtle said kindly, “It was a lovely tribute to your mother, Rose.”

  She was surprised as Rose reached out suddenly and pulled Myrtle in for a hug. Myrtle patted her awkwardly on the back as Rose’s muffled voice said, “That means a lot to me since you really knew Mama.”

  Miles cleared his throat. “The entire town was here to pay their respects. That must make you feel good.”

  Rose said, “If anything can make me feel good right now. It’s been such a horrid week. And now we’ll have to plan a service for Aunt Nell! I didn’t think I’d ever have to figure out two services in a week. And of course, I can’t just copy what we did for Mama because she and Nell were so different. What worked for Mama won’t work for Nell.”

  Miles looked vastly relieved at this pronouncement, having no apparent desire to repeat the past hour and a half.

  Myrtle said, “I’m sure you’ll come up with something simple and splendid. I’m just so sorry about your poor aunt.”

  Rose nodded. “It’s such a shock. I mean, Mama’s death was a shock, but then to have Nell’s on top of it all?” She sighed. “And I had just seen her. Not that that means anything, really. But it made it that much harder for me to get it through my head that she is actually gone.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely that you could see her before she passed. Was it in the last couple of days then?” asked Myrtle in her best concerned old-lady voice.

  Rose quickly said, “Oh, I really hadn’t seen her, seen her. I only meant to say that I’d run by her house to help her change a lightbulb that was difficult to access. I wish that I’d had a real visit with Nell, but I didn’t. The night she died I was out walking dogs. Tippy’s dogs, actually. She’s been out of town for a little while,” said Rose.