Death at a Drop-In (12 page)

Kim was already not Myrtle’s favorite person.

“In my recollection we’d settled it differently, Sloan.  Your intern was going to do all the basic stories and I’d provide more in-depth coverage.  As a senior reporter,” said Myrtle.  That was perhaps a stretch.  But she was a senior.  And she was a reporter. 

Sloan looked doubtful.  “Kim is actually doing all the news coverage related to the murder, Miss Myrtle.  But if you want to come up with a story of some kind, I’m sure I could squeeze it in.”  He glanced at his watch.  “The service should be finishing up in a minute.  If you have some time afterward, I’d be happy to introduce you to her.”

Myrtle thought she’d pass.  Sloan gave them a jolly wave, which seemed a bit out of place at a funeral, and walked to the outer edge of the group of mourners.

“Great.  Now here comes Red.  My day just keeps getting better and better,” said Myrtle.  “All the people I want to talk to aren’t coming over and I’m surrounded by people I’d rather avoid.”

Miles chuckled as Red came up.

“Kind of late aren’t you, Mama?” asked Red.  He leaned closer to her, peering at her clothes.  “Where is your funeral dress?  You’re wearing slacks to a funeral?  That’s not like you.”

“Apparently, I had a lot of drippy gravy after Mabel Iverson’s funeral a couple of months ago,” said Myrtle, still irritated at the memory.  “That was such a short service and reception that I think I figured I could just hang the dress back up and wear it again.  But no—gravy all down the front.”

“Where’s your lipstick?” asked Red, frowning.

“Melted at the bottom of my dryer.  Want to do your good deed for the day and clean it up for me?”

“No thanks,” he said.  “I’m doing my good deed for the day by coming to Cosette’s funeral.”

Myrtle glanced at the mourners.  “Trying to see if one of the assembled has a terribly guilty visage? Or looks a bit too gleeful?”

“It’s usually not that easy,” said Red dryly.  “I’m just keeping an eye on things. And now the service is ending, so I need to go.”  He stopped for a moment.  “By the way, I met the new reporter that Sloan hired.  She seems to be a real go-getter.  Have you met her?”

“He hasn’t
hired
her.  She’s an intern.  And a mere infant.  No, I haven’t met her.”  His words irritated her and she looked away from him into the woods.  She frowned. “I thought the body was supposed to be in the casket,” she said, squinting at the woods.

Chapter Ten

Red sighed.  “The body
is
in the casket, Mama.”

“Then what’s that over there?” she asked, pointing over at the woods.

“Probably a makeshift camp that teens set up to do some drinking on the sly. Look, I’ve got to go.”  He hurried off toward the group standing around the grave.

“Miles,” said Myrtle.  “That doesn’t look like a makeshift camp to me.”

Miles said, “I don’t know.  It could be a balled-up sleeping bag, I guess.”  He looked at Myrtle.  “Why do I have the feeling we’re going to investigate this lump in the woods?”

“Because you know I’m a better sleuth than Red,” said Myrtle with certainty.  She held tightly to her cane and started moving in the direction of the woods.

“Myrtle,” said Miles, “here comes Sloan and that young reporter.  I think they’re coming to talk to you.”

Myrtle groaned and turned back around.  “I need to redirect them.  Just in case that’s a body over there.  All I need is Miss Hot Shot horning in.”   She pasted a smile on her face as Sloan and the young woman walked up.

The hot day was getting to Sloan and his face had rivulets of perspiration coursing down it.  “Kim, I wanted to introduce you to Miss Myrtle.  She’s the matriarch of Bradley, North Carolina, and the top source of information and leads.  She’s taught English to most of the adults in this town.”

“Whether they wanted to learn English or not,” said Myrtle with a nod.  She beamed at Kim, who was a very attractive young woman with blonde hair and smart clothes.  Her eyes had a gleam of intelligence…and also, thought Myrtle, of condescension.

“It’s good to meet you,” murmured Kim with a small smile.  But her gaze restlessly roamed the crowd as if she wished she were anywhere else but talking to this particular old lady at this particular funeral.

“As a matter of fact,” said Myrtle, “I do have a lead for you, just as Sloan said.”

Kim perked up and refocused her attention on Myrtle.  “Do you?”

“I sure do.  I always want to help a fellow reporter,” said Myrtle nobly.

Miles, overcome by a sudden coughing fit, stepped away.

“Do you see that woman over there?  The one who is heading toward the parking lot?  She’s got sort of a rodent-like face?  Her name is Erma Sherman.  She has an interesting angle on the case that I think you’ll want to hear about.”

Kim was already walking away toward Erma when Myrtle said, “Just keep digging deeper, dear!  She has many different stories to relate.”  Mostly about her ingrown toenails and digestive complaints.  And Erma was impossible to get away from.  That should keep Kim busy.

“I’ll take her out for coffee,” said Kim to Sloan.  “Can I expense that out?”

Sloan looked a little sad and said, “Sure.  What’s the price of a couple of coffees compared to great journalism?”  He gave Myrtle a salute.  “Thanks for that!”

Myrtle smiled at him.  “Oh, you’re very welcome.”  She watched as Sloan walked off to talk to Lucas Whitlow—who appeared to be barely keeping it together. 

Miles came back over to join Myrtle, eyes watering.  “For heaven’s sake,” Myrtle said crossly, “it wasn’t all that funny.”

“You were such a Lady Bountiful, bestowing leads to junior reporters,” said Miles, wheezing a bit.

“And Miss Kim deserved every bit of it.  I saw that belittling attitude.  She deserves every awful description of every disgusting malady that Erma Sherman has.  Come on, let’s check out this campsite thing,” said Myrtle, thumping away with her cane toward the woods.

Miles hurried along beside her.  “I thought we needed to try to talk to Lucas and Joan.  Or see if Sybil or Felix were here.  Or Tobin.”

Myrtle kept moving forward until she got to the lump on the ground, shaded in the shadows of the trees.  “Tobin is here, all right.  But I don’t believe we’re going to be able to do any talking with him. I believe he’s dead.”

Tobin was indeed dead.  He appeared to have been clubbed with a nearby shovel. 

Myrtle said sadly, “You know, Tobin was a fairly likeable guy.  Hard-worker.  Concerned about our street.  And he gave me such a good price on taking down that pine tree.”  She frowned.  “He was something of a pine tree himself.  Tall guy—he must have been kneeling to do some weeding for someone to have hit him like that.”

“Nice eulogy, Myrtle.  Now we need to tell Red,” said Miles.

“With pleasure,” muttered Myrtle.

“Myrtle!”

“I don’t mean that I’m taking pleasure in poor Tobin’s death! Just in the fact that Red was pooh-poohing me about anything being in the woods…
mistakenly
pooh-poohing me.”  She gazed in the direction of the oblivious mourners.  “You know, I kind of hate ruining the service to report a murder.”

“The service is over.  It was apparently lovely.  Everyone looks very touched.  But Red needs to talk to potential witnesses, so we must stop everyone from leaving.”  Miles seemed very insistent on this point, and dashed across the cemetery.

Myrtle waited where she was, gazing down at the body.  It looked as if Tobin might have been doing some yard work here.  Not only was the shovel nearby, but there were also some hedge-clippers and a dark plastic trash bag close to the body. She didn’t spot any other clues.  Had Tobin come to the graveyard early to spruce things up and someone followed him here?  Had he known something that the murderer wanted to keep quiet?

Myrtle looked up as she heard Red’s voice calling out to everyone across the cemetery.  “I’m sorry, but if everyone would stay put and remain where you are.  Please don’t leave yet.”  He was pulling out his phone, probably to call the state police, and striding quickly toward her.

“Body?” he asked her, a little breathlessly and without looking her directly in the eye.

“Body,” she said with certainty.  “Tobin Tinker, as a matter of fact.  Poor fellow.  Looks as if he was out here doing some work.”

“Tobin does yard maintenance for the church,” said Red absently.  Then, “All right, Mama.  Sorry I didn’t pay attention to you earlier.  But it did sound completely preposterous, you know.”

“Perhaps it did.  But you should know I’d know a body when I am looking at one.  Especially at this point.”

Red said, “Yes.  Although how we got to this point is quite baffling to me.  Okay, you know the drill.  Back away from the body now.  I’ve got a forensics team on its way and I’ll need to speak with folks here at the cemetery.”

Myrtle wanted to speak to folks at the cemetery, too.  Fortunately, she had lots of opportunity to do so since Red was so busy trying to contain the crime scene, keep folks away from the body, and talk on his phone at the same time.

Everyone stood in a semicircle around the woods, gaping at Red.  Lucas was the only one who wasn’t particularly interested in the goings-on at this end of the grounds.  He was still standing near Cosette’s grave, blinking in confusion, and favoring his good leg as if his other knee was bothering him.  His thick, gray hair blew about in the humid breeze. He was wearing an old suit that Myrtle could tell had frayed around the wrists. He looked more like an absent-minded professor than an accountant.

Myrtle walked up to him.  “Lucas, I wanted to say again how sorry I am about Cosette.”

Lucas stared vacantly at her.  Myrtle wondered if maybe he were on medication.  She tried again, “The service was lovely.  I know it’s exactly what Cosette would have wanted.”

These words seemed to work a bit better.  Lucas stirred out of his reverie and said, “Do you think so?  I hoped she would have.  Hazel helped a lot, you know.”  He looked vaguely around again.  “Where did Hazel go?”

Myrtle spotted her in the crowd.  “She’s down the hill near the woods.”

Lucas frowned as the situation unfolding below them finally registered.  “What’s going on down there?  Did someone get sick?”

“I’m afraid there’s been another tragic death,” said Myrtle. She shook her head sadly.  “I don’t know what the world’s coming to.”

“Another death?  Who is it?”  Lucas clutched a hand on the top of one of the nearby chairs under the funeral home tent.

“Your neighbor, Tobin.  I know he lives across the street from you—were y’all close?” asked Myrtle innocently.

Lucas looked at her, and then rapidly glanced away.  “Oh, that’s too bad…he was always a good neighbor.  No, I’m afraid we weren’t very close.  He was often at odds with Cosette for having so many events at our house.  The cars blocked his driveway, you see.  But he and I got along well. Tobin actually came over to express his condolences.”

“And you talked to him?” asked Myrtle, remembering that Lucas was barricaded in a bedroom, at least when she’d been there with Miles.

“Only for a few minutes,” said Lucas.  “I wanted to make sure he knew I had no hard feelings about the problems he’d had with Cosette.  And he seemed to want to patch things up with me, not that I’d had any problems with him.  We let bygones be bygones.”

His gaze wandered back to the group at the edge of the woods.  “What is Red saying about Tobin’s death?  Does it seem to be a heart attack?  It’s so hot here that I’d think even a heat stroke is a possibility.”  Always polite, he added, “I’m so sorry about the weather, Miss Myrtle.  It was kind of you to come out in the heat like this.”

Myrtle said, “I was happy to, Lucas.  But unfortunately, it does seem to be another murder.  I noticed that he’d been struck over the head with a shovel.  I know you saw Tobin the other day when he came by your house, but have you seen him more recently than that?  This morning, maybe?” 

Lucas shook his head, again not meeting Myrtle’s eyes.  At that moment Red walked up, saying, “Lucas, if you don’t mind, could I speak with you for a few minutes?”

Joan walked up, wearing black pants that were too tight on her and a similarly ill-fitting blouse.  Her eyes behind her thick glasses were concerned.  “Why do you need to speak with Dad?”

“I need to speak to everyone here to try to figure out Tobin’s movements, Joan,” said Red steadily.  This time Red gave his mother a beseeching look and she was only too happy to comply. 

“Joan, it’s okay.  Red has to talk to everybody.  Unfortunately, there’s been another dreadful murder.  That’s what’s happening down near the woods.  Tobin Tinker is dead.”

“What?” Joan gasped.  “But I just saw him!  I saw him this morning at ten o’clock when I was on my way to take Noah to Elaine’s house.  He was as alive as anything—doing yard work here at the church.”

“Did you see anyone else around while you were driving around?”

Joan said slowly, “You know, I did see something a little unusual.  I saw Felix Nelson walking by.  I don’t think of him as someone who exercises.  He didn’t look like he was walking for his health, either—he had a suit on and that bow tie of his. I chuckled over it, actually.  He looked like he was off for a business meeting instead of a walk.  It was already hot and he was sweating.  I figured Felix couldn’t stop being formal, even when he was working out.”

Joan looked toward the woods again.  “I understand why someone would want to murder my mother, but why on earth would someone want to murder Tobin Tinker?”

Myrtle watched the other mourners while she waited for Red to talk with her.  The sun was nearing its hottest point of the day, but it was ignored by the funeral-goers, who were avidly watching as a forensics team arrived and as Red spoke to various people at the funeral. 

Myrtle was at the point in her life where heat was not something to be ignored or trifled with.  She’d seated herself under the funeral home tent as soon as she’d spoken with Joan.  Miles spotted her and turned from the conversation he was having with four widows (Miles was extremely popular among the widow population) to join her.  The widows shot Myrtle a look.