Death at a Drop-In (19 page)

“Because I’m getting closer to finding out who is responsible for these murders.  And when I do, there’ll
really
be a good headline in the
Bradley Bugle
.  Because I’ll write the best investigative story ever. I started writing it just the other night.”

Erma squinted at her. 

Myrtle sighed.  “Erma, since you’re here, there’s something I wanted to ask you about.  Red mentioned that you might have seen Tobin and Lucas arguing.”

Erma grinned wide enough at her that Myrtle was able to spot several fillings. “I didn’t
see
them arguing.  I
heard
them arguing.  Well, I saw that they were having a real intense discussion, so I rolled down my car windows.  Out of curiosity, you know.”

“Tobin wasn’t consoling Lucas over the death of Cosette?” asked Myrtle.

“Far from it. Lucas was furious.  He was waving his hands around and yelling at Tobin that he was always mean to Cosette. And something-something about garbage, which I couldn’t really catch.”  Erma frowned with frustration.  “Anyhow, the point was that Lucas was mad, mad, mad. I’ve never seen him mad, have you? Not even when Cosette would treat him like crud, which she did all the time. Maybe he killed Tobin.”

Maybe.  But it seemed more likely to Myrtle that Lucas would have lashed out at Tobin in the heat of the moment—not following him over to a cemetery to surreptitiously murder him on the very morning of his wife’s funeral.  But who knew?

“That was all you heard?” asked Myrtle.  “You didn’t hear what Tobin was saying back to him?”

Erma’s face got splotchy.  “It wasn’t for lack of trying.  But I was driving the car and was already only going five miles an hour. It would have been too obvious if I’d completely stopped to hear what Tobin was saying.  He looked angry.  Had his arms crossed in front of him and it looked like he was yelling.”

“Red told me that Lucas said he was being comforted by Tobin.”

Erma gave her braying laugh in response. 

“All right, I have another question for you.  You left Cosette’s drop-in pretty early, didn’t you?”

Erma quieted and nodded.  “Had some terrible heartburn that night.  I had this dip.  Ugh. It was the worst dip in the world. Spinach and artichoke, but it was weird tasting. Made me feel sick, so I went home.”

Myrtle shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  “There were several of those dips that night, weren’t there?”

Erma shook her head emphatically.  “Nope.  Just the one.  Nasty stuff. Heartburn and nausea. Bleh.”

Myrtle at least had the distinct sense of satisfaction that she’d made Erma Sherman nauseated. “Anyway.  When you left the party, who did you see on the way out?  Anyone arriving, or leaving early?”

Erma squinted in thought.  “Saw Sybil and Felix leaving.”

That fit with what Sybil was saying.  “So they left together.”

“Nope.  Left in separate cars with Sybil telling Felix how much she loved him and Felix looking like he wanted to disappear ASAP,” said Erma, chortling.

“How did Felix look?”

“Mad,” said Erma.  “And Sybil looked fit to be tied that Felix wasn’t telling her he loved her back.”  She gave a leering grin.

“Anybody else?”  Erma stared at her, so Myrtle elaborated. “Did you see Cosette’s daughter, Joan, there?”

“Oh sure. Saw her going around the side of the house.”

Myrtle took in a quick breath.  “This didn’t surprise you? The drop-in wasn’t an outdoor party.”

Erma shrugged.  “The front door was totally blocked up with people.  I figured she didn’t want to try to elbow her way through the crowd.  And I knew her little guy was there.  Thought she was trying to pick him back up and leave again.”

That seemed to be all the information that Myrtle was going to be able to squeeze from Erma.  She now needed to get rid of her as quickly as she possibly could.  “Erma, I’m pretty worn out now.  I’d probably better go put my feet up again.  I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.” Unless Myrtle caught sight of Erma
first
. 

After Erma was dispatched, Myrtle headed into the kitchen to make herself a strong coffee.  She’d used to love coffee in her youth, but as she got older, it tended to upset her stomach a bit.  Still, this morning required a cup of the strongest stuff she could handle.  She dug out her half-and-half, put the sugar bowl on the table, and then poured herself a cup.  Myrtle had even made a full pot of the stuff.  She figured she might need it.

Myrtle sat down at her kitchen table and doctored the coffee with sugar and cream. Her eyebrows shot up as she had a cautious sip.  She’d certainly be fully awake now.  She coughed.

Myrtle caught some movement out of the corner of her eye and jerked her head in that direction, heart thumping.  She relaxed when she saw Miles peering through the back window at her.

Myrtle quickly let him in.  “Are you trying to scare me out of my wits?”

Miles looked repentant.  “No.  I was making sure you were up and about.  I didn’t want to knock on the door and drag you out of bed to come let me in.  So I thought I’d check through the window to see if I saw you.”

“I might not even have been dressed respectably,” said Myrtle, feeling grouchy.

Miles must have been biting his tongue, because he didn’t mention the fact that she frequently visited him in the middle of the night while she was dressed in a nightgown.

“I’m guessing you’re here because of the story,” said Myrtle, blowing out a hefty sigh.

Miles pulled out the paper from under his arm.  “Have you seen it?
Bradley Matriarch….”

“Yes, I’ve seen it,” said Myrtle, cutting him off.  “A ridiculous piece of journalism, even for Bradley, North Carolina.  Seriously, with a murderer running around slashing down half the town, all you can think of to write about is someone’s fall.  And she didn’t even get the story
right
.  It wasn’t even a
fall
! If she’d gotten
that
part right, it would have been much more of a story. And it wasn’t on the stairs, it was on the ramp.”

“You didn’t fall?”  Miles’s gaze fell on Myrtle’s bruised arm.

“I was pushed.”

Miles stared at her.  “Pushed.  You’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure!  I could hardly mistake the feeling of a hand on my back, shoving me.”

Miles asked, “You’re not just covering up the fact that you’re not as steady on your feet as you used to be, are you?”

“Certainly not! And I’m very steady on my feet.  Besides, I don’t do anything stupid.  I don’t reach for things on the floor.  I don’t try to run.  I wear sensible shoes. I. Was.
Pushed
!” Myrtle was flushed and feeling defensive now.  If one more person presumed that she’d made the story up, she was sure she was going to scream.  And she felt that uncertain, dispiriting sensation of age pressing down on her again.

“Who do you think would do such a thing?”

“All of them. Any of them,” said Myrtle with a wide wave of her hand.

“Of them?”

“The suspects, Miles! Pay attention.  Who else would shove me down the ramp?”

Miles could think of a few people who might be tempted from time to time.  Myrtle’s own son would likely make the short list.

“Any one of the suspects is a likely candidate.  If someone is capable of murder, he’s capable of silencing someone who is getting too close to the truth.”  As Miles stared blankly at her, she said impatiently, “Me. Me, Miles.”

“Have you found out anything new?  Because from what I remember of the information you’d gathered, it shouldn’t be anything to put your life in danger.”

“It doesn’t seem to be that way to me either.  Joan returned to her mother’s house, although she swears she didn’t.  She was even seen sneaking around the side of the house.  Sybil didn’t leave with Felix at all—they were in separate cars, so they can’t give each other alibis. Sybil admits that Felix and Cosette had a real argument—nothing about Congress, either, although she’s not exactly sure what it was about.  Maybe Sybil came directly back to Cosette’s and struck her over the head with the mallet out of anger.  Lucas had a heated argument with Tobin. Joan says she definitely saw Tobin early on the morning he died.”  She shrugged.  “That’s a lot of facts I’m armed with.  Somebody thinks I’m dangerous.”

The doorbell rang and Myrtle rolled her eyes.  “You’d think I had a revolving door on the front of my house.”

“Here, I’ll get it,” said Miles.

“People will say we’re in love,” said Myrtle dryly.  “Let’s hope it’s not loud-mouthed Erma again.  She’s convinced we spend every waking moment together.”

Miles cautiously looked out.  Myrtle knew he had no desire for a visit with Erma Sherman either.  “Oh.  It’s that cub reporter.”

“Tina?”

“I think her name is Kim,” said Miles, looking back at Myrtle.

“Whatever.”

“Are you receiving guests?” asked Miles formally.

“Let her in.  I have an idea.”  Miles turned to let her in and Myrtle grabbed her knitting from the cardboard box on a kitchen chair.

Myrtle decided that her first impression of Kim at the funeral was a pretty accurate one.  Although Kim seemed to cultivate a fluffy, innocuous appearance with her strand of pearls, long blonde hair, and headband, Myrtle noticed again that her eyes were mean.  She remembered this look on many a bully’s face from her school teaching days.  If there was one thing those days had taught her, it was that she couldn’t stand a bully.

Myrtle beamed at Kim.  “Come on in, my dear.  Can I get you some milk and cookies?”

Kim gave a hard smile, which didn’t reach her eyes.  “No thanks.  I came to get a follow-up for my story.  How are you doing? People apparently want to know, so Sloan called me to get in touch with you.”  She didn’t bother to disguise the bored tone in her voice. 

“Oh, I’m doing just fine,” said Myrtle sweetly.

Miles frowned.  “Myrtle, didn’t you want to tell Kim….”

He was determined to tell about the pushing, Myrtle could tell.  She interrupted him.  “About that interesting conversation I had with Red?  Why yes.  Yes, I did.”

Myrtle ignored Miles’s furrowed brow and said, “I’m sure you’re sick to death already of that silly story about my falling.”

Kim looked rather discomfited and Myrtle suspected that she’d hit the bulls-eye.  “No.  Well, a little.  But it’s a small town.  Apparently people here are interested in stories that wouldn’t be printed in other papers.”

“Wouldn’t you much rather be working on that big story?  The murders?”

Kim’s mean eyes gleamed.  “Of course.  But there’s no more information being released right now. Wait.  You’re the police chief’s mother, right?”

Myrtle gritted her teeth at being described that way.  “Yes, I am.  Of course, Red tries to be very careful about releasing information.  But you’d understand if he lets things slip from time to time.”

“It would be only natural,” agreed Kim, still in that forced pleasant tone.  Then she frowned.  “I thought Sloan mentioned that you had plans on reporting this story yourself, Mrs. Clover.”

“Me?”  Myrtle released a gale of trilling laughter that made Miles’s jaw drop.  “Sloan is such a joker.  He knows that it’s all I can do to keep up with that helpful hints column every week.”  She felt a slight pang as she realized it was actually time to turn in another column and she’d completely forgotten.  “Perhaps he’s flattering me, trying to butter me up.  I was his English teacher once, you know.”

“So what information was it that Chief Clover provided you?” asked Kim, cutting to the chase in a hard voice.

“Well, apparently there was a witness to the murder at the cemetery.  Since it was all out in the open on public property, you know.  This witness loves to come get the pecans from the trees in the cemetery.  Have you noticed the lovely pecan trees there?” asked Myrtle innocently.

Kim shot her an impatient look.  “No, I haven’t.  So the witness was in the cemetery and had information on a suspect?  Not enough to make an arrest, apparently.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know that.  But since there haven’t been any arrests, then I would suppose not, would you?”

Kim was snapping open her tiny purse and pulling out a tiny notebook and pencil.  Myrtle felt a twinge of purse envy.  Her own pocketbooks were monstrous things.  She’d tried to carry something smaller, but had found smaller bags did her no good because she wouldn’t have the things she needed at hand.  Still, seeing a pert pocketbook like Kim’s made her sigh.

Pencil poised over the pad, Kim looked expectantly at Myrtle.  “What is the name and address of this witness?  Did Chief Clover tell you that?”

Myrtle was warm with satisfaction.  “It’s Darla Covington. She loves to get pecans to sell at the farmer’s market along with her corn, tomatoes, and okra. She lives on a farm on County Road Five.”

Miles gave her a reproving look.  “That’s pretty far away, Myrtle.  She’s a young woman traveling alone.”

Kim gave Miles a disdainful look down her small nose.  “What an old-fashioned view, Mister….I’ve forgotten your name.  I’m doing a job and sometimes I have to be alone.  I’m safe in Bradley, I promise you.  If I
don’t
feel safe?”  She opened the small bag again and held it to show off its contents to Myrtle and Miles.  There was a rather prissy-looking gun sitting demurely in the bottom of the purse.

“Don’t worry about me.  I’ll be fine.” Kim looked smug.

In Myrtle’s experience, smugness usually meant that the person feeling it was in a lot more trouble than they thought.  “Miles is right, dear.  You should take Sloan with you out there.”  Which would serve Sloan right, handing over her story to this young woman. “You just never know.  But talk to Darla.  See what she saw that morning.  Maybe you can crack the big story.”

Kim’s eyes gleamed.  She must be dying to get out of Bradley.  But she needed a big story to get a job at a paper in a larger town.  Kim stood up and walked toward Myrtle’s front door.  “Don’t bother getting up,” she called behind her without even turning her head.  “I can find my way out.  I’ll write a follow-up story that you’re feeling fine, Mrs. Clover.”

Miles’s gaze fell on a folder that Kim had left on the table.  His hand reached for the folder as he opened his mouth.  He snapped his mouth shut again as Myrtle stretched out and slapped his hand hard.