Death at a Drop-In (20 page)

“Bye-bye, Kim!” sang out Myrtle.

Chapter Seventeen

After the girl left, Myrtle picked up the folder.  “Go lock that door, Miles.  With any luck, she won’t remember this folder until tomorrow.  I can say it must have fallen off the table and underneath where I couldn’t see it.”

Myrtle opened the folder as Miles walked back from locking the door.  “Wait a minute,” said Miles.  “There are no pecans yet.  Those are harvested in late fall here, aren’t they?”

Myrtle said, “She wasn’t going to know any better.  It was all she could do to rein in her impatience enough to even have a conversation with me.  Disdainful little miss. No, I made it all up, of course.  Tina was getting underfoot and it was time to get her out of the way for a while.  Couldn’t keep tripping over her while she was getting constant updates on my stupid fall.”

“It’s Kim.  Not Tina. Is there even a Darla Covington out there?”

“Of course there is!  And Darla will give her what-for, let me assure you.  Little Miss Thing won’t know whether she’s coming or going after that.”  Myrtle shuffled through the papers in the folder.

“What’s in there?” asked Miles.  “And do you mind if I help myself to some coffee?”

“Go right ahead,” said Myrtle absently.  “And—a lot of random pictures and notes.”

“Pictures?”  Miles poured himself a generous cup of coffee.

“Yes.  The kind of pictures that look like they’ve been printed off a computer.  It looks like what’s-her-name was trying to take a bunch of pictures in the hopes that something she shot on film would be important or related to a story.  Thank goodness she didn’t arrive during the aftermath of my fall.” The idea of a picture of herself sprawled across the library ramp made Myrtle shudder.

Miles took a long sip of his coffee, then made a horrible face and coughed.  “How strong did you make this stuff?  Could it possibly be lethal?”

“Don’t be a baby.  I was simply trying to wake up this morning.”  Myrtle gestured to her empty cup.  “I drank all of mine.”

Miles was still coughing.  “This is going to put hair on my chest,” he gasped.

“Silly.”  Myrtle got to the last couple of pictures in the folder and paused.  “Now this is interesting. I guess Kim must have been trying to take a picture of this cat hunting a bird.  But look what’s in the far corner!”

Miles took the picture away from Myrtle. “That’s Sybil, isn’t it?  Talking to Tobin?  Is that the day he died?”

“Not according to the timestamp on the photo. But Sybil acted like she had no idea who Tobin was, remember?  And here she is engaged in conversation with him.”

“Engaged in conversation?” Miles squinted at the photo again.  “Isn’t that a bit of a stretch?  It seems more like they’re having some sort of brief encounter of some kind.  Maybe he’s asking her what time it is.”

Myrtle snatched back the photo. “She’s not wearing a watch.”

“She could check her cell phone and see the time.  I’m only pointing out that it’s possible that this wasn’t something at all memorable and perhaps she had no idea who the guy even was.  Then, when you asked her about Tobin, she
did
give you a blank look because she didn’t know the man’s name she was speaking to.”  Miles voice was incredibly reasonable.  She hated it when he sounded reasonable.

“Maybe,” grumbled Myrtle, still staring at the picture.  “Just the same, I think I’ll ask Sybil about it.”

“When are you planning on seeing Sybil again? I could go with you.”

Myrtle said, “I don’t know.  I’m feeling all out of sorts now.”  She drew in her lip when she realized she was pouting, but felt at least that she was owning the emotion.  Why shouldn’t she be out of sorts?  Getting shoved, folks lying to her, constant visitors to her dusty home that Puddin didn’t have the skill to clean properly? It was all most vexing.

The doorbell rang and Myrtle groaned.  “Welcome to Myrtle Clover’s bar and grill.  Do you have a reservation?”

Miles knit his brows.  “Usually you’re happy to see visitors.”  He hurried up to peep out the window and back to report, “Especially when suspects are at the door.  Lucas, Joan, and Noah are here…bearing food, too.”

Myrtle brightened.  “Guess they’re returning the casseroles with food in them.”  Her face darkened again.  “Unless it’s poisoned.  Because it could be.  They might have flung me down the ramp yesterday.”

“I’m letting them in,” said Miles with determination.  “And I think you need to try to shake this mood.  It’s most unlike you, Myrtle.”

Myrtle stuck her tongue out at his back as he strode to the door, and then looked as demure as possible as he let Lucas and Joan in.  She even picked up her knitting to play the fluffy old lady role again.  Of course, it sort of gave her away that she didn’t even have a row of knitting done.  She really needed to have Elaine come by with some finished projects so that Myrtle could pretend she’d just started a new one.

Noah ran in and up to Myrtle.  “Cookies?” he asked hopefully, looking for the jar on her counter.

“Of course! If it’s all right with your mama,” said Myrtle sweetly.  “And what do y’all have for me?  Casseroles?  What a treat!”

Joan put her casserole in the fridge and took the one from her father and stuck it in there, as well.  She pushed her mousy hair out of her eyes and peered at Myrtle through her thick glasses, examining her.  “Well, we couldn’t simply return the dishes empty after we’d read in the paper this morning about your spill.”

“Terrifying,” said Lucas, looking at Myrtle with concern as he walked in to join them.  His limp didn’t seem so bad today.  “Did it scare you to pieces?”

Myrtle thought back to the moment she’d started falling and shivered.  Actually, it
had
scared her.  Which made her mad.  She hated being scared.  She made a decision: instead of feeling despair from the fall, she’d feel anger.  Anger could be a powerful motivator for Myrtle—and she really didn’t like feeling depressed.

Joan glanced across and accurately read the expression on Myrtle’s face.  “Of course it scared her to pieces.  At least you’re all right.  Here you are, knitting away, safe and sound.”

As if on cue, Myrtle started making knitting motions again with her needles.  It was amazing that she could even remember as much about knitting as she did.  Must be muscle memory.  “Safe and sound…and now well-fed, too.  So considerate of y’all to bring food.”

“It’s something for lunch and something for supper.  I put reheating instructions on the tops of the casseroles.  Noah, only two cookies,” said Joan sternly, wagging two stubby fingers at the child to illustrate.

“Won’t you have some cookies too, Joan?  Or Lucas?”

Lucas shook his head and Joan looked ruefully down at her round form, which she’d unsuccessfully tried to hide with a baggy sweat suit.  “I’d better pass on cookies, Miss Myrtle.  But thanks.”

Myrtle beamed at Joan and then turned to Lucas and said teasingly, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

His broad face colored.  He said, “I can’t. But Joan does an amazing job so she cooked for the both of us.  I was eating high on the hog when Hazel was staying with me.  Didn’t realize how good I had it,” he said with a sigh.  “But she had to go back home, of course, and Joan has been sweet to help me out.  Cosette was such a wonderful cook,” he said wistfully, patting his generous stomach.

Myrtle noticed that he misted up, but at least didn’t seem quite as distraught as he had before.

Joan watched him with a solicitous eye, apparently concerned he might suddenly get very mushy.  Noah chirped, “Milk?”

“Of course! We definitely need some milk to wash our cookies down,” said Myrtle.

“I’ll get it,” said Miles, looking glad to have something to do.  He wasn’t wonderful with emotions and was likely just as worried as Joan that Lucas was suddenly going to tear up.

“Are you feeling all right, then?” asked Joan as Noah gulped down the milk that Miles handed him.  “Not too sore?”

“I’m pretty sore today,” admitted Myrtle.  “But then, that’s to be expected.”

“I think you’re very lucky,” said Lucas.  “Falls can be a terrible thing.”  He looked out the window.  “Do you enjoy living on the lake side of the street?”

“I used to when I was younger and when Red was growing up. Sometimes I’ll still go down to the dock and sit and look at the water.  I have a rocking chair down there.  I sold the boat to Red since I figured my boating days are over.  He takes it out sometimes to fish.  And Jack likes the boat, of course.”

Lucas walked over to the window and looked out into Myrtle’s backyard.  “You have some nice shade here, too.  I bet it helps you keep your air conditioning costs down in the summer.” 

“I do like the shade.  And the yard looks pretty good, despite having Dusty as the yardman.” She snorted.  “Although my gardenias are looking kind of puny right now. They’re turning yellow and dropping leaves.”

Lucas turned to look in the direction of the bushes.  “I’m sorry to hear that. Looks like whiteflies. You should call Dusty up and tell him that he needs to spray the bushes the next time he’s here.”

“He’ll probably pass out from surprise that I’m asking him to do anything other than prune, cut grass, or weed trim,” said Myrtle dryly.  “Well, if he won’t do it, then Red can.”

Miles said, “I should get your opinion on my own bushes.  They don’t look so hot either. And I’m no fan of commercial insecticides, so I don’t even know what I could do about them if it’s whiteflies.”

“How environmentally conscious of you, Miles!” said Myrtle, raising her eyebrows at him. 

“Well, whatever I spray in my yard will eventually wash down into the lake, right?” Miles shrugged.  “I doubt we want to drink that, that’s all.”

“I can take a look, if you want.” said Lucas.  “Want to walk over there real quickly while Joan and Noah have a short visit?  Maybe I can remember what to put in a homemade, natural insecticide.”

As they left, Joan said, “That was nice of Miles to do that.  Dad needs the distraction.”

Myrtle said, “I’m glad to see that he’s out of the house.  I’m sure it’s got to be good for him to see people.”

“I think so.  He’s having a hard time adjusting to life without Mother.  His tendency is to want to stay inside and mope.  I have to keep calling him up with ideas for getting out and visiting folks,” said Joan, taking a napkin to Noah’s chocolate-covered face.

“It’s a shame,” said Myrtle.  She pretended to idly pick at the checkered tablecloth. “And such a pity that he’s having to be without your mother.  You must have wracked your brain trying to think of what you might have seen.”

She glanced up in time to see Joan watching her intensely behind her thick lenses.  Joan said, “Of course.  Although Mother and I were definitely not close, I would want to help the police with their investigation as much as possible.” 

This all sounded rather rehearsed to Myrtle. She pressed a little harder.  “You know, I was talking with my neighbor this morning and she mentioned seeing you return to the party that awful night. Sybil, of course, had mentioned it to me too, but having Erma corroborate that fact…”  Myrtle shrugged.

Joan opened her mouth, apparently to protest, and then snapped it closed again.  She and Myrtle watched as Noah rearranged Myrtle’s refrigerator magnets and talked quietly to himself.

“You’re right,” said Joan, after heaving a sigh.  “I did return to the drop-in.  But it’s not what you’re thinking.  I had second thoughts after I left.  Mother drove me nuts and made me furious.  She was pushy and treated me as if I were still a kid.  But she really cared about me and about Noah—although she never showed it in the right ways.  After I cooled off a while at the store and at home, I realized I owed somebody an apology.  Actually, I was thinking that I owed it to Noah.”

“But you were seen going around the side of the house,” said Myrtle.  “Noah was inside in a bedroom.”

Joan shot Myrtle a slightly annoyed look.  “That’s right.  But you have to remember back to that night.  Mother had invited most of the town to come over and many of them had shown up.  That small house was so crowded that it was hard to move through it.  Even if I
had
decided to push my way through, people would have stopped me to talk every few feet.  Besides, there were a lot of people blocking the front door.”

“So you walked around the back….”

“….and I saw my mother on the ground.”  Joan stopped and seemed to be considering her words carefully.  She glanced back over at Noah, but he was still absorbed in the magnets and not listening at all.  “I know this sounds cold.  I didn’t wish my mother ill.  I did start to go to her, but she was so still that it seemed as if I were already too late to do anything to help.  Then, when I heard your voice going into the yard, I turned around and left.”  She slumped in her chair. “I knew Dad was there and that the sitter was still with Noah.”

“You went back home?” asked Myrtle.

“I did.  I think I was almost in a daze.  I know I shouldn’t have done any of that.  I should have run to Mother, checked for a pulse.  I should have dialed the police or called an ambulance.  I should have alerted everyone at the drop-in.  I should have gone to Noah and taken him to a quieter, less-confusing place.  But I didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I knew how it would look.  I had to be one of the top suspects. Everyone knew how I talked about Mother.  And I was conveniently on the scene.  I started thinking about Noah and how awful it would be for him if I ended up going to prison—even though I hadn’t even done anything.  I left.”

Myrtle gave her an assessing look.  It was something of a believable story…but then, wouldn’t she try her best to make it be so?

“Potty!” proclaimed Noah, abruptly pausing in his magnet redecoration.

“Do you need to go potty?” asked Joan, giving Myrtle an apologetic smile.

“That’s fine.  The potty is right down the hall there.”  Myrtle stood up and peered out the window as Joan got up to escort Noah.  “Miles sure is talking your father’s ear off about his shrubs. I didn’t realize your dad knew so much about gardening.”

Joan shot her a swift look that Myrtle couldn’t read. “He knows lots about many things,” she said.