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

by Elizabeth Spann Craig

  Red sighed. But he knew when he was caught between a rock and a hard place. He did still want to raid his mother’s fridge. He did not want her changing the locks. And he knew that she was the type of woman to do it. He said slowly, “There’s not a whole lot to know, Mama. Gabriel was hit over the head with a blunt object, most likely a tire iron picked up from his own garage, then a fall down the back stairs finished him off.”

  “So a crime of opportunity?” asked Myrtle.

  Red said, “It was an opportunity of Gabriel’s own making. We’ve heard that Gabriel liked to stir things up. He was fond of obtaining information and then holding it over the victim’s head, just to make their lives stressful.”

  “Blackmail?” asked Myrtle.

  Red shook his head. “Nothing even that elaborate. That was more like Amos. Gabriel liked teasing his targets with his information. Chances are, Gabriel figured out who killed Amos and was toying with them over it.”

  “Did anybody see or hear anything?” asked Myrtle.

  Red said, “Not a thing. The mechanics on hand didn’t notice anything, but then there are people milling around all the time, waiting for their oil to be changed or whatnot. And the place is incredibly noisy with drills and clanging and the guys yelling to each other. Plus, the mechanics liked working to loud music. It would have been a miracle if anyone had heard anything.”

  Myrtle said, “One more thing. What about Alice Porper’s alibi? Did it check out?”

  “What, at the dress shop? As it happens, Alice was running late that morning and had someone covering for her until she got there. So not the very best of alibis.” He frowned. “You mentioned that you had something else you needed from me. Besides information.”

  “Oh, yes. You see, I’ve had all of these expenses lately. It’s been rather hard on my retired teacher budget. My food costs alone have tripled,” said Myrtle pointedly.

  Red sighed and pulled out his wallet. “How much?”

  “Enough to pay off the rest of these wretched garden club gala tickets and then some,” said Myrtle.

  Red carefully counted out bills before giving up and thrusting all of them at her.

  “Thank you,” said Myrtle sweetly.

  He glanced at his watch. “Now I really have to make tracks before Elaine looks out the window and sees me over here.” He gave her a serious look. “Don’t go investigating this. There’s a very dangerous person out there.”

  As he started walking out the door, Myrtle’s phone rang. Red carefully locked Myrtle’s front door and pulled it shut behind him. Keep it locked! he mouthed.

  It was Puddin on the phone.

  “So is Mr. Miles gonna pick me up, or what? You know Dusty’s truck done broke,” said Puddin. “And Dusty is drivin’ my car now.”

  Myrtle sighed. “Are you sure you want to go to book club? I can promise you that I frequently don’t look forward to our meetings. Tippy tends to pontificate when she hosts and Georgia is loud and says inappropriate things. The food is unremarkable.”

  “I done read the book! When will I get picked up?” asked Puddin.

  Myrtle looked at her clock. “I’ll call Miles.”

  Miles sounded as though he’d rather have a tooth pulled than attend book club. “Okay. We’ll pick her up on our way to Tippy’s.”

  “Not that it’s on the way,” muttered Myrtle.

  “So I guess an extra fifteen minutes or so for you to be picked up,” said Miles.

  Puddin was sitting on her front porch when Miles pulled up some time later. She was wearing what appeared to be her best clothes since Myrtle had never seen them before and they had a new and untouched look about them. She was clutching Myrtle’s copy of 1984, which now seemed to be rubber-banded shut.

  “Papers keep fallin’ out,” said Puddin.

  A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of Tippy’s large home. There were quite a few cars there.

  Myrtle said, “You see what happens when we have a speaker? Practically everyone seems to be here.”

  “I just hope that Philomena can help give the club some good titles to read,” said Miles.

  Myrtle said, “Not that the club ever listened to us. But maybe they’ll take it better coming from a librarian. Fingers crossed, anyway.” She frowned at Puddin. “Make sure you don’t brag about solving the case. You’re making yourself a potential target for the murderer.”

  Puddin’s eyes grew huge. “The murderer is at book club?”

  Miles chuckled.

  “That’s not very likely. What’s more likely is that everyone in this book club would gossip and spread the word that you know who did it,” said Myrtle.

  “Which I do,” said Puddin, although not very convincingly. “Haven’t been bragging, no how. Just told Bitty.”

  “Your cousin Bitty has the biggest mouth in Bradley,” said Myrtle.

  Puddin muttered under her breath as they walked in.

  There were indeed a lot of people in attendance at book club. Myrtle was sure she hadn’t seen Sherry or Blanche at book club for a while. Georgia was there and was already talking about the book, which was a club no-no. Tippy was directing people to food and beverages while speaking with Philomena.

  Miles was, of course, quickly whisked away from Myrtle. He was extremely popular with the book club and the ladies flirted mercilessly with him. Myrtle found herself in a conversation with Sherry in which Sherry tried to convince her that she was missing out on group yoga at the fitness center. Myrtle was quite sure that she wasn’t missing a thing.

  Finally, it was time for the meeting to start. Miles sat down next to Myrtle.

  Miles said, “I can’t wait to see what Georgia thought of 1984. Especially since it was her pick.”

  Myrtle glanced at Georgia. Georgia was something of an anomaly in the club, although certainly not as much of an anomaly as Puddin was today. She was covered with tattoos, collected ceramic angels, trolled yard sales, swore like a sailor, and apparently reminded Miles of someone he had served in Vietnam with.

  “I think you want to hear what Georgia thinks because of your secret crush on her,” said Myrtle, not doing a good job suppressing a smile.

  Miles changed the subject. “Why isn’t Puddin sitting over here with us? I thought she’d want to hover nearby. She doesn’t know most of these women.”

  “Only because they can afford better housekeepers. But I’m sure her cousin Bitty keeps her informed about all of these women considering the gossip queen that she is. Puddin likely knows more about them than we do,” said Myrtle. “And I’m pretty certain that Puddin is trying to prove a point by sitting over there with Tippy. She was quite offended by my supposition that she was not a reader.”

  Tippy was still going over club business and asking for the minutes of the last meeting. Miles said in an undertone, “I still say this will be a disaster no matter what. On the one hand, Puddin will spew some complete nonsense about the book.”

  “Which will put her on the same level as most of the other women in the club,” pointed out Myrtle. “Remember when Erma thought that To Kill a Mockingbird was about Girl Scouts?”

  Miles continued, “Or, on the other hand, she’ll wisely keep her mouth shut and will continue returning to book club on a regular basis.”

  “Which we do not want,” said Myrtle. “I can’t handle more exposure to Puddin than I get from having her clean for me.”

  “Did she call you up and ask you a million questions about 1984?” asked Miles.

  “Oddly, no. Except that she mistakenly thought that it was a historical novel of some sort, because of the title,” said Myrtle. She frowned in irritation and then hissed to Miles, “Why on earth do we have to suffer through the minutes of the previous meeting? Do we really need a recap of eating pimento cheese sandwiches and drinking iced tea?”

  After another excruciating wait through the rest of the minutes that were painstakingly read by the painfully shy and timid Margaret Goodner, it was time to start discussing the
book.

  Georgia, as the person who’d proposed the book, started the conversation. Usually the club members stayed seated and talked about the book in a round robin manner. Georgia decided to break with tradition and stood up, walking restlessly around.

  In her loud voice, she said, “I know I picked this selection, but boy, this book is messed up!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The ladies tittered nervously. Georgia always seemed explosive and they never really knew when the explosion was going to happen.

  She continued, “I mean . . . it was good and everything. I liked the theme pretty well. I get that it was meant to be a cautionary tale. But wow. It wasn’t exactly a feel-good read, was it?”

  Apparently, that’s all that Georgia had to say about it. Myrtle frowned. Georgia was one of the few members who had ever proposed anything remotely literary at the club. It simply wouldn’t do if Georgia gave up at this point. Myrtle saw Philomena looking in her direction and mouthed, “Help!” at her.

  Philomena said cautiously, “Reading the classics can be tough, can’t it? Sometimes these books won’t have the happy endings that we’ve gotten used to with commercial fiction.”

  The nervous tittering stopped and there were some discontented murmurs taking their place. Happy endings were, for this particular book club, what the entire reading experience was all about. Tippy, a consummate hostess, looked nervous. She was no fan of discord.

  Tippy cleared her throat and said, “And, for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her, this is Philomena Fant. Philomena is a librarian and has graciously agreed to be our speaker today.”

  The club members put on their polite neutral faces. They could tell when Tippy wasn’t pleased and none of them wanted to be on Tippy’s bad side since she was very influential in the town.

  Puddin, however, did not seem to be picking up on any messages at all. She said, “Yeah, but it ain’t fun sometimes to read them kinds of stories.”

  Miles murmured to Myrtle, “Eloquently stated.”

  The members murmured in agreement with Puddin as Tippy tried to maintain control of the meeting. “Let’s see. I think we’ll start going around in a circle with everyone talking a few minutes and giving their thoughts on the book. Puddin, why don’t you go first?” Tippy smiled at the assembled readers and said, “And for those who haven’t met Puddin, this is Puddin . . . .” She paused for a last name and, not getting one, said, “Puddin.”

  “Here we go,” said Miles under his breath. He seemed to be bracing himself.

  Puddin, like Georgia, decided to stand up. She swaggered, giving a beneficent, condescending grin to each of the women as if about to impart some sort of literary wisdom on all of them.

  “This will be bad,” said Miles.

  Puddin said, “It was a good book. Like she said,” gesturing to Georgia, “it coulda been better. But there was them symbols and things.”

  Myrtle frowned. Puddin was noticing symbols?

  “Stuff like that glass paperweight that Winston got. You might think it was just a glass paperweight an’ that was it,” said Puddin.

  Tippy frowned as if she’d either skimmed over the glass paperweight parts or had taken them at face value.

  Miles whispered, “What’s going on here?”

  Myrtle sighed. “I think it’s my marginalia in the book. It was my copy of 1984 that I taught for school and all of my notes for class were in there.”

  “Well, she’s going to sound like a genius compared to everyone else,” said Miles.

  Myrtle said, “And you know what it’s like when she gets attention for anything. We’ll never get her out of book club.”

  Puddin was continuing, smirking, “But you see, the glass paperweight symbolized the beauty of the past and Winston’s struggle to understand it.”

  Blanche asked slowly, “Winston can’t understand the past?”

  “No!” said Puddin, shaking her head. “Because it was rewritten by the government so much!”

  “Oh, she’s loving this,” muttered Myrtle.

  “Then there’s them telescreen things. Awful! Them can spy on you an’ force you to watch that propaganda stuff,” said Puddin.

  It went on and on with Puddin covering everything that Myrtle and Miles would have brought up during their own turns.

  Miles said quietly, “I’ll hand it to her—she does have a good memory. She doesn’t even have notes in front of her.”

  “And yet she can’t remember when it’s her day to clean my house,” said Myrtle sourly.

  Everyone else’s turn was not nearly as good as Puddin’s. They just reported their feelings about the book. When Myrtle’s turn came up she said shortly, “I have nothing more to add.” At this point, Myrtle wanted to get the sharing time over with so that they could listen to Philomena. Hopefully the club members weren’t so attuned to propaganda after reading 1984 that they could recognize Philomena’s talk for the propaganda it was.

  Philomena began slowly, talking about her own life of reading and how much richer it was when she first decided to expand into other genres and then more deeply into classical literature. “It opens up your mind so much.”

  The club members looked at her doubtfully, unsure whether they wanted their minds opened or not.

  Philomena offered ideas for where to go after reading 1984, and then suggestions following that. She’d carefully created a handout for each member with all of her suggestions and why she thought they might be a good match for the club.

  Miles said quietly, “Well, she’s done everything she can. I suppose it’s up to us now.”

  Myrtle nodded. She frowned as she saw the ladies’ crinkled brows as they surveyed the handout. It didn’t look as though they were exactly thrilled by the idea of reading any of them.

  Everyone clapped politely however. Myrtle hissed to Miles, “Now remember, I wanted to ask Philomena about what her brother said. That she’d been dating Gabriel.”

  Miles said, “You really think you’re going to have the opportunity to speak with her alone?”

  “Why not? Most of the ladies are probably going to avoid talking to her in case she tries to convince them to start on her reading list,” said Myrtle.

  Sure enough, at the end of the meeting, Philomena was standing awkwardly by herself. Myrtle swooped in. Miles tried swooping too, but he was waylaid by one of the merry widows in the club. He gave Myrtle a miserable look as he was ensnared.

  Myrtle said, “You did a wonderful job, Philomena. And I loved that you printed out your suggestions for the group.”

  Philomena smiled at her but her eyes were doubtful. “Do you think so? I’m not sure—they all seemed a little resistant to the idea.”

  “They’re simply slow to embrace change. I’ll be sure to bring up your book list at every opportunity,” said Myrtle.

  Philomena said politely, “You seem to have a very solid book club. There were certainly a lot of members here for the meeting. I was surprised to see Puddin here, too. I need to ask her how she’s enjoying the Sherlock book.”

  Myrtle pursed her lips together. She’d be shocked indeed if Puddin had made any headway at all with the Sherlock book. She was also dying to note that Puddin’s commentary on 1984 was all taken directly from Myrtle’s own analyses but realized it would make her sound churlish to say so. Instead she grudgingly said, “Yes, Puddin seems to be engaging in quite the cultural Renaissance lately. I believe she’s planning on attending the garden club gala tomorrow, too.”

  Philomena said, crinkling her brow in thought, “She seems like so much more of a perceptive person than I’d have thought, too.”

  “Yes, doesn’t she seem so?” said Myrtle rather flatly.

  Philomena said in a hushed voice, “Which is exactly why I thought she might be involved in those murders. She’s more than she appears.”

  “But completely incapable of murder, I assure you,” said Myrtle.

  Myrtle paused. Then she decided that there was no
great segue from book club and garden club to ex-boyfriends, so she simply came out with it. “By the way, I was speaking to your brother yesterday. Such a nice young man.”

  Philomena smiled. “I’m surprised that you had the opportunity to catch up with him. It seems as though he’s always working.”

  “He was actually coming off of a shift when I was speaking with him,” said Myrtle. “And he was still generous enough to make sure that I was all right after I felt faint.”

  Philomena said proudly, “It sounds like him. Did you have a nice talk?”

  “It was brief. Although he did mention something that I found a little confusing. He said that you and Gabriel had been having an affair,” said Myrtle.

  Philomena’s face turned pink and she glanced around quickly to ensure no one was listening in. Myrtle wasn’t sure if Philomena’s blush was because she’d been caught in a fib or because of shyness related to talking about her personal life.

  She said, “We were seeing each other for a little while, yes. He was in an unhappy marriage. It didn’t last very long because he called it off.” Philomena sighed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more forthright about it, but to be honest, it’s something that I try not to think about. It wasn’t a happy time for me. And I’ve kept it very quiet.”

  Philomena glanced at her watch. “I’m so sorry, Miss Myrtle, but I need to leave for the library. Thanks again for inviting me to speak here. See you at the gala.”

  Myrtle was going to rescue Miles from his conversation when Tippy walked up to her. She said, “Your friend Puddin is a dark horse! I never would have guessed that she had such a talent for literary analysis.”

  “Yes, few would guess that,” said Myrtle a bit sourly.

  “I guess it just goes to show that you can’t judge a book by its cover,” said Tippy.

  Myrtle said, “I suppose not.”

  “You’ll be bringing her back each month, won’t you? I really appreciated her insights today on the book. I have to admit that I didn’t actually enjoy the story very much, but I gained a whole new perspective after she delved into the symbolism and theme and other aspects of the book,” said Tippy.