Death at a Drop-In (24 page)

Red raised a questioning eyebrow at his mother.

“I have a cousin, Josephine Stringfellow,” said Myrtle thoughtfully.  “She’s the lifestyle editor at the newspaper in Macon, Georgia.  Not only is she my cousin, but I also taught her English when she was young. Plus, I used my contacts to help her find her first job many years ago.  I do believe she owes me a favor.”

Kim was starting to grin now.  “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“I owe you one,” said Myrtle.  “Really.”

After Kim left, Red sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly.  “I really don’t know how you keep ending up in the middle of these cases, Mama.  But I sure am glad this one is over with.”

“Do you have any updates on Lucas?” asked Myrtle.  “And what on earth have y’all done with poor Noah?  What’s going to happen to him?  I understood that Joan’s ex-husband wants nothing to do with the little guy.”

Red said, “We sent a cop out to arrest Lucas.  The little guy was there, but there was a female officer from the state police that sat with him in the kitchen and gave him a snack so he didn’t see his grandfather being taken away.  My understanding is that the aunt—Hazel?—was going to take Noah, at least temporarily.”

“Oh good,” said Myrtle, feeling more relieved than she thought she would.  “He is a nice boy.  And Hazel seemed very competent. That sounds as though it will work out well for Noah.  How was Lucas?”

“Shaken.”  Red shook his head.  “The cops I talked to said he broke down and cried like a baby.  He was still grieving for Cosette and also grieving Joan’s arrest, even though she was the one who made him lose his wife.  Even so, she and Noah were really all he’d had left.”

“Sad,” said Myrtle.  Then she straightened up in her chair.  “Wait. No, we shouldn’t feel sorry for him, really.  He shouldn’t have killed Tobin.  Poor Tobin.”

“But ‘poor Tobin’ was blackmailing him,” reminded Red.  “In a way, Lucas was a victim, too.  And Tobin wasn’t the great guy everybody thought he was.”

Red’s handheld radio that was belted to his waist started making noises.  He took it off and listened for a moment.  “I need to get back to the office,” he said.  “Are you okay?  Are you
sure
you’re okay?”

“I am,” said Myrtle.  “I’m surprised I am, but I am.  Thank you,” she added graciously.

“I suppose I’ll take that walker back to Carolyn,” said Red.  “Since you weren’t actually unsteady when you took that tumble.”

“It might be muddy,” said Myrtle.  “But tell her it helped save my life…in a most unexpected way.”

“All right. Let me know if you need anything.  Actually, let me text Elaine real quick and get her to come over and visit for a while to settle your nerves some more.”

“I should thank Elaine for bringing me those knitting needles,” muttered Myrtle.  The psychic had been right about her needing to take up knitting.  The thought sent a shiver up Myrtle’s spine.

There was a tap on the door and Red walked over to answer it.  “It’s Miles,” he called over his shoulder.  “Are you receiving company?”

“Miles isn’t company.  He’s just…Miles.  Go ahead and let him in.  And don’t bother Elaine—if Miles is going to be here, I don’t want to take her away from stuff she needs to do at home.”

Red said, “Okay.  Although I know she’s going to be dying to check in with you.  Maybe she’ll drop by later.”  He opened the door and greeted Miles and then walked away.

Miles watched him out the front window.  “Looks like he’s taking that walker of yours away. You’ve got to feel good about that.”

“You know, Miles, I feel almost fond of that walker now.”

Miles raised his eyebrows and Myrtle filled him in on the whole story.  She’d needed a wee refill of sherry to get through the toughest parts—as reinforcement.

Miles and Myrtle sat quietly for a moment.  “That’s quite a story,” said Miles finally.

“It sure is,” said Myrtle fervently.

“And you came out of the experience alive and well.  And even smoothly handled the dicey situation with the cub reporter.”  Miles gave her an admiring look.  “I must say, that was a stroke of genius on your part, sending her away by giving her what she wanted. That was a very mature way to handle it.”

“Well, at my age, I
should
be mature, for heaven’s sake,” said Myrtle.  “Besides, I’d originally felt that the girl was too cocky and needed to be knocked down a peg. And she
was
knocked down a peg, although I had nothing to do with it.  Everything worked out really well.”

“What will you do now?”

“I’m going to write this story up.  It’s going to be the best article the
Bradley Bugle
has ever seen,” said Myrtle, standing up and heading to her computer. “I started the story the other day, but now it’s going to have a spellbinding ending.”

“Guess I should head along home then,” said Miles.  But when Myrtle turned to look at him, he seemed to be in no hurry to move from the overstuffed armchair he was in.

“Why not just visit for a while?” She motioned to the kitchen.  “You could pour us some iced teas and when I’m done with the story, we’ll watch my tape of
Tomorrow’s Promise
.  And if I get stuck on any bits of words for my article, I’ll ask you for help.  You can ride shotgun.”

“Considering the circumstances, I think we should come up with a better description for my assistance.  But I’m happy to stay for a while and offer a helpful synonym or two, Miles said with a smile on his face.”

And that’s how the afternoon was spent.

About the Author:

Elizabeth’s latest book,
Knot What it Seams
, released February 2013 and
Rubbed Out
launched July 2, 2013, under her Riley Adams pen name. Elizabeth writes the Memphis Barbeque series for Penguin/Berkley (as
Riley Adams
), the Southern Quilting mysteries for Penguin/NAL, and the Myrtle Clover series for Midnight Ink and independently.

She blogs at
Mystery Writing is Murder
which was named by
Writer’s Digest
as one of the 101 Best Websites for Writers for 2010—2013.

Other Works by the Author:

Myrtle Clover Series in Order:

Pretty is as Pretty Dies

Progressive Dinner Deadly

A Dyeing Shame

A Body in the Backyard

Death at a Drop-In

Coming soon: A Body at Book Club

Southern Quilting Mysteries in Order:

Quilt or Innocence

Knot What it Seams

Quilt Trip
(December 2013)

Memphis Barbeque Mysteries in Order (
Written as Riley Adams
):

Delicious and Suspicious

Finger Lickin' Dead

Hickory Smoked Homicide

Rubbed Out

Where to Connect With Elizabeth:

Facebook: Elizabeth Spann Craig Author

Riley Adams, Author

Twitter: @elizabethscraig

Website:
http://www.elizabethspanncraig.com

Blog:
http://www.mysterywritingismurder.blogspot.com

Chapter One of
A Body at Book Club

Myrtle was drowsily watching her favorite soap opera when her viewing was suddenly interrupted by a cat’s screaming wail and the sound of dogs snapping and growling.

“Pasha!” she gasped, struggling to her feet from the padded softness of her armchair and knocking a half-finished crossword puzzle from her lap.  Grabbing her cane in one hand and a water pitcher she’d poured after a salty lunch, she hurried out the front door.

Two large dogs were on her front walk, snapping at and nosing a black, frightened cat that was trapped between them and fighting to get out.  Myrtle bellowed, “Stop!” and threw cold water at the animals.  They stopped, swinging their heads around to stare at Myrtle. The cat bolted away as fast as she could go.

“Bad dogs!” snapped Myrtle sternly, brandishing her cane at them and they instantly put their tails between their legs and lowered their ears.

Myrtle’s police chief son lived directly across the street from her and she saw his door fly open at all the commotion.  “You okay, Mama?” he called.

“I wasn’t the one in the dog fight—it was Pasha.  Now she’s run off and I don’t know if she’s hurt or not.” Myrtle was exasperated to hear a note of panic in her voice. It was surprising how important that feral cat had become to her.

Red dodged back inside, finally hurrying out again with his shoes on and his keys in his hand.  He also held something that Myrtle couldn’t really see. He walked purposefully across the street.  “There
is
a leash law in this town.  I sure wish folks would remember that.” His once-red hair, now mostly gray, stuck straight up on the side of his head and he blinked as if he’d just awakened from a nap.

“You know how the old-timers are here in Bradley,” said Myrtle.  “They just ignore whichever laws inconvenience them.  I don’t know who owns these dogs and they don’t have tags on them.”  She started calling for Pasha.  “Kitty, kitty, kitty?” Her heart was still pounding and she breathed deeply to settle herself down.

“Pasha’s too smart to come out before she thinks she’s safe, Mama.  Maybe after I’ve put these dogs in the police cruiser, she’ll come.”  Red whistled to the dogs and clapped his hands, and then he held out whatever he’d been carrying and the animals obediently followed him as if he were the pied piper.

“Treats? For bad dogs?” Myrtle was outraged.

“Well, they’re just acting like dogs, Mama.  And I’ve got to get them into my car—I figured hot dogs would be sure to lure them in there.”

Sure enough, the dogs were all over those bits of hot dogs.  Once they were in the car, Red slammed the back doors and walked around to the driver’s side.

“You’re arresting those dogs?” asked Myrtle.

“Just taking them down to the station to hang out there until someone claims them.  That way I can also remind the owners about the leash law,” said Red.

Myrtle watched as he herded the dogs into the back of the police car.  He backed out of his driveway and then rolled down his window.  “Mama, I’ll help you look for the cat when I come back, okay?”

Myrtle raised her eyebrows in surprise.  “I thought you weren’t exactly Pasha’s number-one fan.”

“I’m not.  Shoot, Mama, it’s a feral cat. How am I supposed to feel about my octogenarian mother hanging out with a wild animal? But it’s better for me to be stooping under bushes to look for her, instead of you. You’re unsteady on your feet as it is.”

Myrtle glared at him. He was interfering, as usual.  “I’m just fine on my feet, Red.  This cane just helps me move faster, that’s all. Go on to the station.  I’ll get Miles to help me.”

He drove off and Myrtle stuck her tongue out at his car as it left. She decided to leave her friend Miles alone for the time being.  His guilty pleasure was watching her soap opera—she’d gotten him hooked on it, and it would just be wrapping up now.  Myrtle looked around her. “Kitty, kitty, kitty?” she called, bending down to look under bushes and neighbors’ cars.

Which direction had Pasha run off in?  Myrtle had to admit she wasn’t sure, she’d just seen her run. Maybe she’d run far away, making sure she was well out of the way of those dogs.  Myrtle walked back inside, opened a can of albacore tuna, and kept looking.  After scanning her yard and her neighbors’ yards, she moved down to the next block of houses, calling as she walked and hoping that the smell of the tuna might tempt the poor cat out of hiding.

The sun blazed down on her and the early-summer humidity felt oppressive. Myrtle thought she saw some movement in the bushes of a shady yard and walked right into the yard, calling and holding out the can.  A squirrel scampered away and Myrtle gave an exasperated sigh.

She jumped a little as an authoritative voice barked, “Hey there.  Miss Myrtle. What are you doing?”

Myrtle looked up to see Rose Mayfield standing in her front door, hands on her hips, and an impatient look on her face.  “I’m looking for my lost cat, that’s all,” said Myrtle.

“For heaven’s sake.  How will it help the cat if you have a heat stroke in my front yard?” Rose looked imperiously down her aristocratic nose at Myrtle. With her thin frame, brunette hair laced with gray, and angular features, Rose had always reminded her of a particularly cranky Katharine Hepburn.  “Come on inside,” she said briskly, holding the door open.  “Have some water, cool down, then you can find your pet.”

“She’s not a pet,” said Myrtle as she walked in, sitting down on an antique sofa and carefully setting down her can of tuna.  “She’s a feral cat that I’ve befriended.  Pasha’s very sweet, though.”

“I’m sure she is,” said Rose, cutting her off as she quickly walked into the kitchen, wet down a dishcloth with cool water, and handed it over to Myrtle.  The look on her face indicated that
she
wouldn’t allow
her
elderly mother to
have
a feral cat.  “I’ll get you some ice water. Please have a seat.”

Myrtle didn’t like being lectured, but this time she bit her tongue and didn’t argue with the authoritative Rose.  That’s because she discovered that she
was
, actually, thirsty. She gulped down the water Rose brought her and then gave a begrudging apology for imposing, since Rose, arms crossed in front of her, looked so incredibly put-out.

“Oh, it’s fine,” said Rose impatiently.  “Your visit will distract me from the murder going on next door.”

“Murder?” asked Myrtle with quickening interest.

Read the rest of
A Body at Book Club
when it releases in Fall 2013.