Cleaning is Murder (A Myrtle Clover Cozy Mystery Book 13)

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

Then Wanda’s ruined voice very clearly said, “Puddin. You is in danger.” She paused. “That is all.”

  There was a click as Wanda hung up.

  Puddin gave a great gasping breath and Myrtle said sternly, “You will not cry. I’ve had enough from you today. You need to stop bragging and carrying on and just hang out at home the rest of the day with your new book.”

  “An’ skip work?” asked Puddin thoughtfully.

  “Not the best idea. But maybe, depending on whose house you’re cleaning, you should carry a baseball bat with you when you do,” said Myrtle. “There is someone dangerous in this town.”

  They dropped a quieter and more thoughtful Puddin off at her house.

  Miles said, “Where are we off to now? Food, perhaps?”

  Myrtle sighed, “I suppose so. Let’s pop by my house and have something there.”

  But when they drove up, they saw Red slipping surreptitiously inside Myrtle’s house.

  Myrtle said, “Drive on! I’m not in the mood to deal with Red right now and I’m sure he’s not in the mood to deal with me.”

  Miles passed Myrtle’s house and cut down another street. “I thought that you usually liked trying to catch up with him in the middle of a case. You like seeing if you can get some more information from him.”

  “Yes, but not right after a second body has been found. He’ll be dashing in there to grab some of my chips or nuts or something extremely portable and then dashing out again. I can promise you that he won’t find the time to say two words to me. Then he’ll rush off to spend the rest of the day trying to talk to everyone,” grumbled Myrtle.

  “Sort of like what we’re doing now,” said Miles. “Minus the food.”

  “I’m starting to wonder if there will be any left,” said Myrtle.

  “Should I head to Bo’s Diner then? It’s really the only option, isn’t it?” asked Miles.

  “It’s the only one that will afford you the opportunity to eat something at least nominally nutritious,” said Myrtle.

  “Albeit fried,” said Miles sourly.

  “Welcome to the South,” said Myrtle.

  As it happened, though, Miles didn’t even make it all the way to the diner.

  “Stop the car!” hissed Myrtle.

  Miles obediently followed her directions after carefully putting on his blinker and slowly turning into a spot.

  Myrtle said, “That’s Steven, isn’t it? Going into the fried chicken place.”

  Miles looked. “It sure looks like him. And he’s with several emergency medical technicians.”

  “All right then, let’s go to Clark’s Clucks,” said Myrtle.

  Miles made a face. “Fried chicken is not exactly the healthy option that we were talking about. As I recall, this place has so much grease that it glazes the bottoms of the paper takeout bags.” But he moved the car into a parking spot in front of the restaurant.

  “It may not be healthy, but considering that we’re dining with a team of EMTs, I think we’ll be all right,” said Myrtle.

  “It also looks rather noisy in there.” Miles pushed his glasses up on his nose.

  “Is that migraine still toying with you?” Myrtle snapped her fingers. “You know, I can’t believe that I didn’t think of it before, but one of the helpful hints someone sent into the paper recently was that ginger ale can help with migraines. Except I don’t think you’re supposed to drink it if you’re on a blood thinner. You’re not on a blood thinner, are you?”

  Miles said morosely, “Not currently, but who knows what sorts of health problems I might encounter after a meal at Clark’s Clucks?”

  “They have a variety of drinks here. You can get one out of their fridge,” said Myrtle. She started walking briskly toward the restaurant with Miles following a couple of paces behind.

  Compared to Bo’s Diner, which wasn’t exactly a fancy establishment, itself, Clark’s Clucks was something of a hole in the wall. The aroma of fried food was noticeable yards from the door and was overwhelming inside. The interior was dim and crowded. Myrtle and Miles stood there for several moments, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  While she was waiting and blinking, a deep voice said, “Miss Myrtle! Here, you shouldn’t be standing. Guys, make room for Miss Myrtle.”

  Apparently, there were no such accommodations made for Miles, who was left glumly standing in a long line that reached to the door.

  Myrtle knew when to play up her age. She said in a faint voice, “Thank you, young man.” She peered closer. “Oh, goodness, it’s Steven, isn’t it? It’s so dark in here that I didn’t even see you at first. How have you been?”

  “The question is more, how have you been?” he asked with concern. “Everything all right? I thought you looked a little weak when you came in. Need me to check your blood pressure or anything?”

  Myrtle gauged this. She decided that she had Steven’s attention now and that he might be more distracted if she let him check her vitals. “I’m all right now that I’m sitting. It’s just the heat outside and the sun and then it was so dark in here. I was disoriented.” She had been nothing of the kind.

  Steven nodded in an understanding way.

  Myrtle continued, “What’s more, everything has been so very upsetting lately. It’s really given me a turn. I suppose you heard about Gabriel’s death? And right on top of Amos’s, too.”

  Steven reached out and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “I know you must get upset hearing about that kind of violence. And you probably hear a lot more about it than you need to, what with your son being police chief. But if it makes you feel any better, I’m sure you’re completely safe here in Bradley. And what’s more, I don’t think either of those guys were all that great.”

  “Really?” asked Myrtle in an innocent voice that would hopefully make Steven elaborate.

  “Really. I know you’re not supposed to say bad things about the dead, but in my opinion, Amos and Gabriel were both asking for whatever it was that they got. I’ve been out of the loop a little because I’m getting off a double-shift, but if people are acting like they were super citizens of Bradley, then I’m telling you that they’re just saying that because they’re dead. Well, you know what I thought about Amos. I talked about him last time,” said Steven. He glanced away for a second to check the line, which hadn’t moved.

  Miles, looking pale, flashed Myrtle an irritated look.

  “But you really did feel the same about Gabriel, too?” asked Myrtle in that same sweet voice.

  “I did. I certainly don’t think that Bradley suffered a huge loss there. Oh, except for the fact that he was a decent mechanic and ran a decent garage. Aside from that, I gotta tell you that I didn’t like the guy. And I sure didn’t like the way that he treated my sister,” said Steven.

  Myrtle said, “You mean the way that Amos treated Philomena?”

  “No, I mean the way that Gabriel did,” said Steven in a distracted voice as a name was called for a table. It wasn’t, fortunately, a name from his group.

  “What did he do?” asked Myrtle, leaning forward. “For some reason, I had the opinion that Philomena and Gabriel didn’t see much of each other.”

  “They certainly didn’t, not after Gabriel dumped her that way.” Steven’s face flushed at the memory. “She had just started getting over Amos and then she was devastated when Gabriel ended their affair. For someone who was brilliant enough to go to an Ivy League school, my sister sure has a knack for picking the wrong guys.” He looked uneasy. “Hey, you’ll keep it under your hat that they were an item, won’t you? She kept it a secret, of course. She worries a lot about her image in this town and what people think of her.”

  “Of course I will,” said Myrtle, crossing her fingers out of sight.

  He turned quickly again. “Miss Myrtle, the table is ready for me and the guys. You’re sure you’re all right? Your friend will be able to give you a hand if you need one?” He looked doubtfully at Miles as if not at all sure he was up for the
task. Miles was looking around bemusedly as if pondering how he’d ended up in Clark’s Clucks.

  “We’ll be fine, thanks. In fact, I don’t think I have it in me today to continue waiting in line. I’ll pick up a ginger ale for the road and we’ll be on our way. Maybe I should hydrate more than eat,” said Myrtle.

  Steven smiled at her. “That sounds like a good idea, Miss Myrtle, especially in this heat. You take care, okay?” And he left to join his group.

  Myrtle picked out a ginger ale, paid for it, and then gestured to Miles, who was still surrounded by throngs of people waiting for a table, to leave.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Miles pushed open the old wooden door with relief.

  Myrtle shoved the ginger ale at him. “Here. You should drink this for your migraine. You don’t look so hot.”

  “It was the environment in there. It was too hot, too crowded, and too loud. I’m not thirsty now. Could you stick it in your purse for a while?” asked Miles as they got into his car.

  Myrtle sighed and dropped the ginger ale into the depths of her pocketbook.

  “What did Steven have to say?” asked Miles.

  “Well, after he finished inquiring after my health, he told me that his sister had an affair with Gabriel for a time,” said Myrtle.

  Miles’s eyebrows shot up. “I never would have guessed that.”

  “Apparently they must have kept it hush-hush since Gabriel is married. Her brother also mentioned that she was very conscious of what people in town thought about her. Steven, bless him, isn’t discreet. Anyway, Steven didn’t think much of Gabriel because he’d ended his affair with Philomena rather abruptly and she was still hurt from being dumped by Amos,” said Myrtle.

  “Do you think that Steven could have done it?” asked Miles.

  “He was certainly angry enough at him to have done it. He’s very protective of Philomena. But we saw for ourselves that he just came off a shift. With the nature of his job, he wouldn’t exactly have time to slip away, commit a murder, and then hop back into an ambulance again. He’s part of a team,” said Myrtle.

  Miles drove slowly toward Myrtle’s house. “So Philomena lied to us. She said that she hardly ever saw Gabriel and that she avoided spending time with him.”

  “Either she’s so used to lying about their affair that she’s continuing to do it or else she has something to hide,” said Myrtle with a shrug. “At any rate, we’re seeing her tomorrow for book club.”

  At the mention of book club, Miles winced.

  Myrtle said, “You need to have this ginger ale. I’m telling you, whoever sent in that tip for my column swore by it.”

  Miles said, “Not while I’m driving. Just hand it to me before you get out of the car.” He paused. “You are getting out of the car, aren’t you? We’re not going anywhere else?”

  “I still want to speak with Alice Porper, but I also want to make sure that I write an article about Gabriel’s death for Sloan or else he’ll find a way to bypass me and run a story himself. Let’s worry with Alice tomorrow after book club,” said Myrtle.

  Miles said, “I don’t even remember who is hosting book club tomorrow.” He swung his head around and gave Myrtle a horrified look. “I’m not hosting book club tomorrow, am I?”

  “No. Technically, it’s Georgia’s turn to host since she chose the book. But Georgia’s home isn’t exactly set up for a lot of guests. Too many knickknacks,” said Myrtle.

  “Not to mention that coffin she acquired at a yard sale that she uses as a coffee table,” said Miles with a shudder.

  Myrtle shrugged. “She said she wanted to find some practical use for it before she needed it. She said it was a real steal.”

  “I definitely can’t see our dignified book club president putting her wine glass or tray of hors d’oeuvres on a coffin. Who’s hosting instead of Georgia?” asked Miles. He pulled the car into Myrtle’s driveway.

  “Our dignified book club president is. Tippy offered. And Tippy is the one who coordinated with Philomena to speak,” said Myrtle.

  “And Tippy will be the one to deal with Puddin,” said Miles. “This should be the most interesting book club meeting yet.”

  Myrtle gave a vague affirmation of that fact, but her mind was already writing the article for Sloan. She got out of Miles’s car, set a time for him to pick her up the next day, and left with the ginger ale still in her purse.

  The next morning, she had just finished getting dressed when there was a knock on her front door. She frowned. It was only seven in the morning. Myrtle peered out of her front door to see Red standing there, looking shiftily toward his house as if on the lookout for Elaine. Pasha was next to him, looking steadily up at Myrtle.

  Myrtle opened the door to both of them and they both entered hastily—both asking to be fed.

  Red said, “Didn’t want to let myself in this early in the morning. Figured I might give you a scare.”

  “Is Elaine even up this morning? As I recall, she usually tries to sleep in until Jack wakes her up,” said Myrtle. She followed Red and Pasha to the kitchen.

  “No, she’s not up, but I could hear that Jack was already stirring when I walked out the door, so it’s only a matter of time. She left some sort of low-fat quinoa, raisin, and feta cheese muffins for me.” He thrust a napkin full of napkins at Myrtle. “Can you get rid of them for me?”

  Myrtle took them and sighed. “She’s trying to make sure you’re healthy, Red.”

  “Then why is she so obviously trying to do me in? She gave me a plate of kale and broccoli last night. And a bean medley.” Red rummaged in her freezer and his eyes lit up when he discovered frozen bacon egg and cheese croissants. He dumped all the boxed contents onto a plate and put it in the microwave.

  “Certainly sounds like quite a bit of fiber,” said Myrtle as she took a can of tuna from her pantry for Pasha. The cat purred loudly as she brushed lovingly against Myrtle’s legs.

  “Roughage was the word that Elaine used,” said Red, making a face. “She thought it would be more filling. Created all sorts of gastro distress.”

  Myrtle dumped out the can on a paper plate and lay it on the floor. Pasha, ravenous, attacked the food.

  The microwave stopped and Red took the plate to the table and, equally ravenous, attacked his own food.

  The feral cat and Red were on par to finish simultaneously. “You know, I have nothing against offering you refuge from Elaine’s latest horrid hobby. But you should be offering me something in return. Half the time you’re sneaking into my house and back out again when I’m not even here.”

  Red raised his eyebrows. “Keeping tabs on me? Do you have Erma Sherman acting as a spy?”

  “As if I’d ever approach Erma about anything. No, but I’ve spotted you, as you’ll recall. And there’s evidence of a diminished food supply here,” said Myrtle.

  Red sighed. “I know, and I feel bad about that. But the truth is that I’m slammed at work right now. If people would stop getting murdered in this town, maybe I’d have a break. Right now, my breaks are consumed by paperwork, even when I’m not actively running around and gathering information. I’d go to the store and help you stock up if I had the chance.”

  “Then perhaps you can help me in another way,” said Myrtle.

  Red gave her a suspicious look as he took a final bite of a croissant. Pasha had proven herself the winner and was already languidly washing her face with a paw.

  Red said, “I’ve already helped you with your clogged sink. Now what?”

  “This time it’s easier. I simply want a little information. Tell me how things are going with the investigation,” said Myrtle. “And then perhaps one additional favor.”

  “You know that I can’t talk about work,” groaned Red.

  “You’re the police chief. You have the leeway to do exactly what you’d like. Besides, I’m asking for some basic information, that’s all. A little direction,” said Myrtle.

  “And to know whether Puddin is still a suspe
ct,” said Red with a shrewd squint.

  “It’s just such a ridiculous concept. I can’t imagine you’re still entertaining it,” said Myrtle. Pasha finished her bath and focused on Myrtle’s face until Myrtle invited her up on her lap.

  Red said, “You don’t think that people have the capacity to surprise you anymore? I know you’ve been on this planet for a long time, but surely you’re still up for surprises.”

  “On the contrary, people surprise me all the time. But there’s usually only one surprise at a time. Puddin has already surprised me once in the last week.” Myrtle scratched Pasha under her chin and the cat purred loudly.

  “What surprise was that?” asked Red.

  “She’s attending book club with me this morning, having somehow read 1984. And then she insisted on going to the library and voluntarily picking out a book to read in her spare time,” said Myrtle.

  “Was it a book about the history of game shows or soap operas?” asked Red.

  “It was Sherlock Holmes.”

  Red scowled. “Although that should stun me, I’m sadly not surprised. I overheard some folks in the pharmacy saying that Puddin knew who’d done it. Which sure came as news to me since I haven’t heard from her.”

  “Oh no. I’d told her to stay home yesterday afternoon and keep her mouth shut! I thought that Wanda had scared her a little, too. Instead, it sounds as if she’s been bragging around town. She either keeps getting haplessly drawn into this case or else is playing at solving it. Anyway, this should absolve her from being a suspect. All of Puddin’s mental capabilities are being challenged by trying to read and figure out who murdered Amos and Gabriel. She doesn’t have any room in her life for killing people,” said Myrtle.

  “She must be the unluckiest person I know, then. Puddin sure does seem to be on the spot whenever there’s a serious crime,” said Red.

  “You know that Dusty’s truck is falling apart. It’s not surprising that she happened to be at the garage. It was simply unfortunate that she happened to be there when there was another body to be found,” said Myrtle. “You’re trying to distract me at this point. I still haven’t received my information from you.”